#probably because there's like . one dark skin tone and it's crazy ashy

[piosplayhouse]

I guess it's more of a show of demographics than anything but I'm always a bit side eye-y when discussions around SSO's character customization update ONLY revolve around people being mad about there not being enough skinny body types (often with a weird undercurrent of fatphobia which people should absolutely fuck off with) and not like. Wow it's great that they're bringing in more ethnic features and skin tones and textured hair so more kids can actually feel comfortable and represented in the game

#i literally dont think I've ever seen a dark skinner player character in the game #probably because there's like . one dark skin tone and it's crazy ashy #idk #i saw a post on reddit at some point that was like 'is your player character supposed to be you or an oc' #and there were a few posts there that just straight up said. im [x] ethnicity. even if i wanted to the characters physically cannot look #like me #which sucks!! #honestly im just so excited to finally not look like a middle aged white woman and i know other people are too #sso

[littlemessyjessi]

And another thing! Where is the representation of my melanin queens on every day things?! I’m just really upset about alot of fanfiction right now.  Like, I don’t get it.  I’m using every fucking piece of information that I have gathered from my godmother, an indescribably beautiful melanin goddess, over the years and I’m using it in fucking fanfiction because it’s fucking important.  For example:

My godmother, Dana, is a STUNNING black woman.  She was there for me when my birth mother would straight up drop me on her doorstep and I would see her for months. 

Dana, the queen that she is, is a beacon of light and information. 

I had an interesting childhood.  

I’m a mixture of a lot ethnicities to be honest and I spent my childhood back and forth between two countries if you want to know the truth about it.   But when I was in the USA, I was supposed to spend time with her which lasted for all of about two weeks full of abuse.  Looking back, honestly being with Dana is probably what saved me. 

Anyway, personally I’m a red head but my curl pattern is somewhere between 4B and 4C.  Naturally, it has a tendency to be frizzy and is heavy on the dry side.  I have my mother’s hair. 

Dana knew this, as she grew up with my mother and actually has a very similiar hair texture. It’s just that her’s is dark. So she knew exactly how to handle me when my mother jumped ship. 

And my dad didn’t know how to do that.  He’s Serbian and white. Not to mention the fact that he worked all the time over the road trying to provide for his four children. He wasn’t around much but it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be.  It’s just that someone had to provide for us and that was him.  Side note:  All of have different mothers and they’re all crazy.   I think he has a type.  He didn’t turn them crazy.  No, no. They were like that when he met them.  I just think he’s a glutton for punishment. 

Anyway, the hair. That was a foreign language to him.  I mean, he tried but he was hopeless until Dana legit showed him. 

This fucking angel introduce me to the bonnet when I was four. Four.  To this day, I refused to go to bed without a bonnet.  

She also introduced me to protective hair styles and the concept of a damn headwrap.  Which is fucking life changing mind you.  My cuban fiance, Valentina, bonded over this when we first started talking because she video calls me one morning to talk to me while we were getting ready for our respective days. 

Of course, I answer.  Still in my pjs, bonnet on my head and slathering myself in shea butter.  Again, thank you Dana for your life changing knowledge of shea butter and cocoa butter.  I attribute my good skin to you, love. I’m in my late twenties now and honestly I don’t really look any different as to what I did when I was eighteen.  Perhaps, it’s genes.  But I think it was Dana and her knowledge. 

Anyway, we’re sitting there talking and all of a sudden Val just has the biggest smile on her face and I’m like, what?

And she was just like, “I love that you have your bonnet on.” 

And I was like, “Uh, ok? Should I not?” 

And we got into a whole discussion about it and how it’s viewed.   

Listen, if I am deep conditioning my hair I will walk straight out this house with a bonnet on and not give a single fuck.  You think I’m playing but I am not.  And that’s my point.   I don’t know why things like this are looked at differently and I’m sick of it.   

What’s even more disgusting is that I would get less looks for it than a black woman.  Why?  Because regardless of the fact that I actually came out of an extremely deeply darkly skinned woman, I pass as white. 

That god damn statement enrages me to my core.  The fact that I, someone who passes as white, can do basic things like wear a bonnet or a headwrap and while I may recieve some strange looks here and there..... it’s really nothing. 

Whereas a woman of dark complexion has a totally different experience.  And that enrages me.   I used to lose my temper over it when I was about 10 or so and Dana would take me to the movies on Sundays.  That was always deep conditioning day and so we went in our bonnets.  And these mother fucking girls would snicker and point and act like fools.  I, all 4′11′’ of me, nearly got into a fight with them b/c I have a short fuse on a big bomb.  But Dana just pulled me back and told me not to worry about it.  But I was upset.  Dana is literally one of the most beautiful people I have ever met, inside and out.  And I couldn’t understand how someone could be so nasty.   We had a talk that day about skin and why it was different.   I mean, I knew Dana and I have different colors to us but I never thought much about it to be honest.  

She was very honest with me in her experiences and she told me that we were different and even though that shouldn’t make a difference at all, for some people it did. 

Cue tiny preteen Kenny going on a fifteen minute rant until she gave me pineapple and tajin and told me to chill out, lol. 

Also, if you’re not putting tajin on your pineapple, what are you doing?  You’re missing out and I highly reccommend you see to it immediately. 

She told me the best thing to do was to ignore them and to just live my life.  And I see her point but I also don’t.  Because if you always look the other way then nothing changes b/c it just keeps getting swept under the rug.   

Dana is a lot nicer than me.  And perhaps, she’s smarter b/c she’s older and she just knows more than me.  But I will not stand for this! 

I realize how ridiculous that may sound but I don’t care.  I will call someone out on it in a heartbeat. 

I just get heated about things I feel strongly about. 

So all this to say that I was listening to this video where a girl was talking about how upset she was about the lack of representation in fanfiction and I was just consumed with anger b/c she’s right! 

And I was just so pissed. Poor Val listened to me rant forever before she just called Dana and was like, ‘Please calm down your child.” 

Because yes, as far as I’m concerned, Dana is my mother.  Not my birth mother. 

And, lol, Dana told her, “Just give that little hot cheeto some pineapple and tajin. Or make her some kool aid.  She’s just gotta rant for a minute and get it out of her system.” 

And Val said, “I tried to give her kool aid.  She spazzed out and drank half a pitcher.  Now she’s on a sugar high and she’s worse.” 

I’m assuming Dana told her to just hand over the phone and she promptly told me to calm down before she came over to deliver an ass whoopin.  

And then she asked me what was wrong and so I told her. 

And so she said, “Just write the fanfiction how you want it.   That’s what you’ve always done. So if you want to see mentions of bonnets in stories, start putting them in.   Make it a point to create scenes that specifically give you an opportunity to showcase some of that stuff.  Talk about the struggles of finding a foundation that actually matches your skin tone.  Talk about wash days and co washes.  And for the love of the all mighty, please mention to someone to put some damn lotion on their elbows and knees.  I’m tired of seeing these ashy ass people.” 

And we talked for quite some time about it and she made me feel better.  Like she always does.  I didn’t come out of her but Dana has always been my mother.  And always been there for me.  Always given me the best advice.   Always knew just what to say when my emotions wreck me. 

So I know a lot of you like my reader content and I’ll continue to do that. I promise.  I mostly just do plus size reader. But maybe we’ll include some specific POC plus size reader.  I mean, that’s not new for me.  I’ve done that before but you get my point.  The only way to get passed some of these irritations and unfairness is to normalize it to the point of common knowledge. 

And you might be seeing more and more POC OC’s from me.  This isn’t new either as I’ve got plenty of them.  But you might see an influx lol.  Because I’m upset about it and b/c it’s deserved.  You know what I mean?  

Also, for the love of god, please please please if you are writing reader insert when you are talking about someone blushing... jesus christ, Dana could be embarassed and you’d never know b/c she is literally as dark as a dark chocolate bar.   Blush doesn’t show on her skin tone and I can imagine it doesn’t show on a lot of deeper skin tones.  It doesn’t on Valentina and she’s cuban caramel candy.  

There are other ways.  Like heat creeping up the neck or whatever.  You know what I mean.  

Also, the ‘he ran his fingers through my hair’ bit?  Ugh.  First of all, with my hair.... I’d like to see them try.  Second, don’t. touch. my. hair.  

Just saying.  There are other ways.

Anyway, thanks for listening. 

And Dana, if you’re reading, cause I know you come read my stories sometimes- thank you for listening and giving me good advice.  As you always have.  I love you and I’m just really thankful you’ve always been there for me and taught me so much.  I love you, Mama D.

Love, 

Kenny

Also, ya’ll pray for me.  I have a whole pitcher of kool aid, that I made so it has way too much sugar in it.  And if I can’t calm myself down, Valentina may murder me.  And ya girl is trying to get some tonight, lol. 

P.S. If she does away with me and you never find my body, someone just tell Idris Elba, Queen Latifah, Sebastian Stan and Aaron Taylor Johnson that I love them and that I died well.  

Probably not though.  

Valentina is mean.  She’d make me die a slow and horrible death. 

Like depravation of cuddles and chocolate. 

The horror. 

Shit, I like her feisty though. 

Anyway, I’m rambling. 

I love y’all and that’s really all I had to say about the issue lol. 

#kenny rants #poc #poc reader #poc oc #poc fanfiction #melanin #melanin queens

[willow-salix]

Little something that wanted to come out for the Sensory Sunday prompt of "Smell" by @gumnut-logic

Witches rely on their senses more than anything else. Witches see the world differently to other people, they see, they feel on a different level. They feel, they notice, they pay attention. A big part of their gifts, the magic that they weave is linked to their senses, it’s linked to the conjuring up of energy which they shape, they mould to push out towards their goal. The real power lies within the heart of the witch, not in the tools, not in the elaborate rituals, not in the clothes or the magic words, but in their very essence.

For Selene her sense of smell is second to none, as finely tuned as a bloodhound's. She could identify herbs in a jar by smell while blindfolded, she was more likely to be roused from sleep by the scent of coffee than an alarm call.

Scents can be pleasant, energising, calming, comforting, arousing, alluring, insulting, horrendous, vile and nauseatingly horrible. They are many and varied but each and every one serves a purpose to her.

To her everything had a smell that was unique to it, things, people, places, they all had a scent she associated with them and they could affect her mood and her energy in both positive and negative ways.

She loved the smell of old books, they relaxed her, calmed her as she flicked through the dusty pages and felt the paper crinkle beneath her fingers. Incense was something she used every morning and evening, setting the tone for the day or helping her wind down after a hard night, lavender, rosemary, sage, nag champa, patchouli, fruits and herbs, she loved them all. The smell of baking cakes and bubbling soups could invoke calming memories of her Grandparents, the smell of the sea made her senses tingle, energising and empowering her. She was ruled by her nose as much as Scott was ruled by his stomach.

One of the first things she had noticed about her John, apart from that voice that just rubbed against her senses like a purring cat, was how he smelt. He smelt like the night, like the sky, like stardust and moonlight, all combined with a soft, calming scent of some kind of aftershave or shower gel that she couldn't identify but immediately wanted to buy shares in. She’d buried her nose in that little dip just below his ear and breathed him in, her eyes closing in pure bliss. That scent conjured up memories of late nights in quiet woodlands or on a solitary hilltop, the full moon shining in the sky. 

Whenever she inhaled that scent she imagined that if she tipped her head back she’d see a blanket of stars twinkling up high, pinpricks of light in the darkness, as sure and everlasting as the earth itself. That was where she was most happy, soaking up the energy, soaking up the magic that danced in the air and he was the human embodiment of that. 

She’d known from that first moment that he would be important to her, that he was destined to be in her life and to make it so much better.

She’d sat in the back of a massive craft, overwhelmed, dizzy and weak, she was shaking from adrenaline and fatigue, the gorgeous spaceman that smelt of everything that was good in the world wasn’t there anymore and for the first time in a very long time she felt vulnerable and just wanted to be at home.

She'd closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths in an effort to calm down and stave off the panic attack that had been threatening since she had been thrown into that blasted tree. The big machine smelt like any other mechanical device, like hot metal, grease and for some strange reason, undertones of cheeseburger. But then, mixed in amongst those nose offending scents had been the boys, comforting and friendly to her nose.

Gordon always smelt like chlorine and saltwater, which was hardly surprising given that it was him, but he also carried the warmth of sunshine on him like it was ingrained in his skin along with something tropical, almost coconutty. He gave off a happy, buzzing energy that you just couldn’t help but be drawn to, cheering you up in your darkest moments.

Virgil was a contradiction of smells wrapped up in a big, cuddly bear package. He smelt like engine oil, turpentine, paint and all sorts of manly smells, but he too had undertones of something more. He smelt of woodland forest and the earth after it rains, something fresh and natural that soothed her soul. She could imagine that he would be the very best person to send to anyone that was panicked and scared, anyone that was in need of calmness and comfort.

He’d spoken to her so kindly, had made sure she was OK and had been respectful of her tools even though he probably thought she was crazy. He looked like he should be gulping beer and watching football but had settled in his seat and lifted the big machine into the air with the bare minimum of effort. He’d checked on her one more time and then politely inquired if she minded them listening to some music. Of course she’d said no, thinking that music might be a nice distraction for her. She’d expected something with a hard beat, or energetic workout music because no one got those size shoulders without hitting some serious weights. The last thing she’d ever thought to hear oozing out of the hidden speakers of his console was the soft strains of Vivaldi. 

It was Virgil and Gordon that knew her secret and had been sworn to secrecy, it was them that knew the big, tough witchy had one very real fear, a fear that could paralyse her and turn her into a blubbing, sobbing, shaking wreck. She was terrified of needles. It was Gordon and Virgil that she had grabbed hold of at the hospital for her tetanus shot and refused to let go of, it was them that had stayed with her the entire time. It was Gordon that had distracted her with an endless stream of stupid jokes as the doctor had readied the syringe and it was Virgil that had wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head in against his chest telling her not to look and that it would be over in just two seconds. Virgil that smelt like comfort and kindness, Gordon that smelt like warmth and cheer. They had navigated her fears, calmed her hysterics and not held it against her when she had sworn at them more times than she could count.

Scott had two layers to his own unique scent. He had the freshly washed, impeccably groomed, shower gel, antiperspirant, spicy cologne and hair gel of first thing in the morning and by evening, after a rescue he’d have the chemical tang of jetpack fuel, and his skin smells slightly of the material used in their uniforms with just a hint of sweat that the material hadn’t managed to soak up.

She remembered the first time she had caught a wiff of that unique Scott smell and had an inkling as to the man that was standing before her. He’d been watching out for her all night, joking and being the perfect companion but the second he’d gotten her alone had been the moment he’d made his stance perfectly clear, hurt my brother and you’ll have to deal with me. She wouldn’t say he’d radiated hostility, more of a warning, letting her know that family was everything to him. Luckily she’d passed the Scott test.

Scott had quickly become one of the most important people in her life, one that she was closest to. He was an immovable force of nature, a solid, dependable, strong presence in her life that she couldn’t do without now. Scott was strength, Scott was the protector, the one that everyone deferred to to fix everything, even when it seemed impossible. Scott gave off an aura of carefully controlled energy but with an edge of hardness that he never showed to his family only to the people that really pissed him off.

Kayo smelt almost the same as Scott in that high octane way, she didn’t wear perfume, she didn’t bother with fancy hair products or highly fragranced antiperspirants, she was a simple one, a wash and go type. Her hair always smelt of shampoo, her skin often had the same residue of jet fuel and uniform material and she had the same idiot repelling energy as Scott though she was harder to get close enough to to feel it.

Then there was Alan, gods she adored that boy more than life. She remembered the first time she’d hugged him, having known him less than four hours, having watched him fear for his brother's life but still be so brave about it. He smelt soft and warm, with a sweetness like a hint of chocolate under the usual teenager smell. He smelt faintly of soap, but it had faded over the course of the day, maybe two, since he’d showered. He had the same sunny warmth that Gordon had, with a buzzing energy of pure happiness. He was adorable and she just wanted to keep hugging him, like he made the world better just by being in it.

Everywhere she had walked in the Villa had held faint traces of their unique scents apart from John’s unless you were in his room or he’d recently vacated the couch. But it had smelt homely, welcoming, comforting, that was until Grandma started cooking and the smell of burning spices permeated the air. 

Grandma smelt comforting, like flowers and cookies even though her baking could count as a nuclear disaster. Her ever present leisure suits smelt like washing powder and fresh air as she often insisted on drying clothes outside after she blew up a dryer. Her hair smelt of the same hairspray that Selene's own grandmother had used and the same lily of the valley perfume was liberally spritzed about her person. In short she smelt like love in a way that only Grandmas could.

The air of the island itself was unique, it mixed the fresh ocean air with the damp coolness of jungle plants, along with the earthy, ashy smell of the volcanic rocks. It was a smell that was hard to describe but even harder to forget once you knew it.

For her there was nothing better than walking into a room and catching the scent of moonlight and stardust in the air, that tingling of energy that signaled her love was home. 

She was now used to there being an unlimited supply of hugs, warm bodies to relax against, heavy arms slung around her shoulders and the comforting scents of the people she loved more than anything. Any time she needed strength, energy, happiness, calming or love she'd focus on them, she'd smell them on the air, she'd breathe them deep into her lungs and she'd hold them close to her heart, weaving that love into her own unique magical essence to conjure up the most powerful of magic. 

To Selene home had always smelt like the lingering scent of incense, coffee, warm candle wax and burning sage. She was a witch, it came with the territory, but now the thought of home was mixed in with the island and all the family that came with it.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #sensory sunday #smellsamazing #Smell

[himbowelsh]

For the spooky prompts, can I suggest ‘I...I think I have fangs’ for webgott and/or baberoe? Love your writing btw!

spooky scary skeleprompts (ACEPTING)

He doesn’t want to answer the phone — half because it’s two in the freaking morning, and half because it’s Webster calling.

He can’t imagine any particular reason why anyone would be calling him at this hour, but knowing Webster it’s probably something ridiculous. Webster has a penchant for being dramatic, especially at times most inconvenient to everyone else. He doesn’t seem to care, but if Joe had his way, he’d grab him by those broad shoulders and shake him until he rattled back down to earth.

Calling him at two AM is crossing a new line for Webster, but it’s standard fare in terms of ridiculousness.

He answers the phone anyway, (because it could be an emergency, even if it probably isn’t) but he sure isn’t happy about it.

He doesn’t waste time with greetings. Pleasantries are for people who’ve gotten more than three hours sleep. “What the fuck do you want, Web?”

His tone might be bored-verging-on-pissed-off, but when Webster speaks, something in Joe freezes up. He can’t explain the instinctual certainty that something isn’t right. The only possible cause he could come up with is the panic saturated into every syllable out of Webster’s mouth, dripping from his mouth like a leaky faucet. Webster, who is usually cool, or at least has too much pride to show his fear, sounds downright terrified.

“Joe,” he gasps into the line. His voice is strained, like a coil drawn tight, and he’s breathing like he’s run a marathon. “Joe, I need — you gotta help me.”

As soon as Joe hears that, he knows something is very wrong.

He’s sitting up in bed before he knows it. His free hand is already fumbling for the lamp on his bedside table. He finds himself internally mapping out the location of items in his room, from the pair of jeans shucked onto the back of his desk chair to the sneakers lying on the floor. Rushing could get him out of here in two minutes, probably.

“What is it?” he demands. When a few seconds pass, he grinds his teeth. “Talk to me, Web.”

“I don’t know,” Webster says. He sounds strained, like an injured animal. It twists Joe’s stomach. “I just woke up. Something’s so — so wrong. I can’t explain it, it sounds crazy, it is —“

He’s got one leg in his jeans. “Web, shut the hell up and tell me!”

Webster falls silent just long enough to take a deep breath, which he exhales into the phone a second later. When he speaks again, he seems to have regained some semblance of control, but panic still laces his words. “I… I think I have fangs.”

Joe goes still. He blinks in bewilderment, half tucked into his jeans, wincing in the too-bright light of his room. The sensible part of his mind is screaming that this has to be a prank. Webster called him up this late just to fuck with him. That’s the only explanation, because the simple fact is humans cannot have fangs. That’s impossible. Joe has seen Webster’s (stupid, perfect) teeth enough to know that they’re normal. Since people can’t just grow fangs overnight, that makes what he’s saying impossible.

This is what logic tell him; however, he knows Webster better than that. No matter what doesn’t make sense, Webster would never prank him like this. It’s below him; and he could never get that edge of undiluted panic into his voice. He’s not that fantastic of an actor.

His mind tells him this is impossible, but Joe’s gut instinct tells him that Webster is telling the truth.

He’s still rambling, of course. He’s Webster, he doesn’t know how to stop talking. Joe just wishes he would, in order to cut off the distracted, disjointed babble on the other end of the line. “Joe, I don’t know — I don’t know. I need help, okay, I need — I need someone to come here and tell me I’m not crazy. I need someone. Can you…”

Joe cuts him off. “Yeah, sure Web,” he says, not taking the chance to hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

He slips into his sneakers and makes his way out the door, not sure who’s more insane at the moment — Web for calling, or himself for not hesitating to go to him.

By the time Joe reaches Webster’s house, it’s nearly three in the morning. There is a chill in the air, the type you only find in California in the middle of the night. It makes Joe’s flesh prickle, minute shivers coursing through him as he pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders. His knuckles make hollow thuds against Webster’s door. He waits for a few seconds, shuffles his feet, then rings the decrepit doorbell he knows doesn’t work for good measure.

“Web,” he hisses, rapping on the door again. “It’s me, open up!”

For a second, there is nothing.

Then, the door opens to reveal Webster.

Webster, ashy pale and trembling, knuckles tight around the door frame. Webster, shrunk into himself like he’s desperately trying to hide. Webster, who looks at Joe like he’s seeing a ghost.

“You’re here,” he exhales, and his voice pitches when he murmurs, “Joe —“

“What’s happening?” Joe demands, not wasting another second. He pushes his way into Webster’s house and shuts the door behind him. Without the streetlights sun glow, they are immediately immersed in darkness. Webster shrinks back into the shadows as Joe rounds on him.

“Web,” he says, and moves forward. One hand comes to a rest on Webster’s shoulder, and Webster lets out a whimper like a wounded animal. Joe’s alarm spikes. He tries cupping Webster’s face, concerned he might have a fever, but Webster twists out of his grasp before he gets the chance to feel much. All Joe concludes about Webster’s bare skin is that he’s not burning up; rather, he feels cold, and clammy.

Webster twists out of his grasp and stands before him. Silhouetted against the window, Joe can see how his chest heaves. His shoulders are tense, arms motionless. Joe can’t see his face in the dim light, but he swears he can spot his eyes gleaming.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” is the first thing Webster says. Joe’s heart sinks.

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he rasps. A whimper follows his words, and his shoulders tremble with a great heaving breath. He takes a step closer. “Please… please, I’m just so hungry…”

“We’ll make you something to eat,” Joe suggests, swallowing past the lump of panic forming in his throat. (Panic? It’s Webster. He knows Webster. Why does he feel afraid?) “Then we can sit down and figure out what the hell’s going on here, and we can make it better. We’re gonna make it better, Web.”

He takes a step backwards as Webster keeps advancing. His thighs hit the back of the couch. He can’t retreat any further.

Webster shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “I can’t,” he murmurs. Then, voice breaking, he gasps out, “I want you to make it better!”

Webster is right on top of him now, and Joe’s heart is racing. He feels like the little boy who used to hide under his covers because he feared monsters in his closet. Once again, he is the child rushing past the dark corner of his basement out of fear of what dwelled in the shadows. Only now he stands in the darkness, and the monster is right in front of him.

He can see Webster’s face, now that they’re only inches apart. He looks frightened, agonized, ready to cry — but there is a glimmer of feral desperation in his eyes, and that terrifies Joe more than anything else.

He places a hand on Webster’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Web. We’re going to figure this out. Just —“

“Please help me,” Webster says, and leans in.

At first, Joe doesn’t realize what’s happening. He feels Webster’s mouth on his throat, and his first thought is a kiss. His body tenses up without him meaning to; he leans in to allow Webster better access, eyes fluttering of their own accord. And then -- then he feels it.

There is a startling flash of pain, and the sensation of fire coursing through his veins all at once. For a few seconds, Joe can feel nothing but agony. He gasps and struggles; but Webster’s grip has suddenly become a vice, locking him in place no matter how he squirms. The pain only lasts for a few seconds before everything seems to go numb. It happens all at once, like the curtain falling over a stage. His head grows cloudy, the fire in his blood turns to sand, and the will to struggle drains out of him. The suddenness of it all leaves him slumping into Webster’s embrace. The other man says nothing. He only eases Joe back against the couch, and continues to drink.

Just as Joe’s vision is going dark, he feels Webster break away. Blood stains his lips; it drips down the corner of his mouth in gory rivulets, streaming into the loose collar of his shirt. His wide eyes are a bright, searing crimson.

“Thanks, Joe,” he exhales. “You helped a lot.”

He leans in again. The last thing Joe feels before hazy unconsciousness claims him are Webster’s lips against his own. His kiss cradles him down into the darkness.

#vAMPIRES! #vampires vampires vampires!!!! #joe didnt die btw hes just unconscious from blood loss web wouldnt KILL him #but VAMPIRES this was so fun #tw blood #webgott #thank you for prompting this! <3 <3

[thegarwulf-blog]

Haemons Wrath: The Birth of Jane Rydding of the Hood (part 1)

It was the first day of spring in the small town of Pontreux, France. It was a small town tucked away in the gentle rolling hills just inland from Guingamp, it was (and still is) known for its beautiful scenery, flowers, streams and rivers. If you were to take a boat down the River Trieux, beautiful arrangements of hydrangeas and other floral arrangements are on display.

Relatively calm, other than the hustle and bustle of trade circulating through Brittany, Pontreux was quiet, but if you listened closely to the locals you would hear the whispers of the fairly odd family that lived just out of town on the river banks. The strange but infamous Rydding family that had migrated to France for reasons often gossiped about in small circles, some say they were witches, some said they were simply crazy, but if you took the time to get to know them... you would realize they were so much more.

Jane Rydding stood in awe of the large family crest that was draped over the walls of her family's large stone keep. The large tapestry stained with red dyes and the helm in the center was used as a a marker for all the family members traveling from different parts of Europe. The first day of spring was a very important day, which was the annual Rydding family gathering. Most families of normal standards would call such an event a “reunion”, but this was so much more.

This was the harvesting of the ink, or better called, the script of the Moko. Passed down from generation to generation, the Rydding family was the keeper of the secrets of this rare form of staining the skin that granted the wearer abilities beyond the normal scope of human capabilities. Different ingredients were gathered, harvested, or collected by family members that traveled the world to obtain their respective parts, and all come together on the first day of spring to make the mystical dye.

A process Jane was aware of, but today would be the first day of her indoctrination into the fold. As tradition would hold, the first spring after ones 13th birthday, the Rydding family would pass on their secrets of the moko script to the youth.

But none of that mattered at the moment, because all Jane could think about were the wonderful smells of berry cobbler and other goodies coming from the kitchens. Glancing one last time at the large tapestry on display with an inscription at the bottom that read “God be with the right”, she made her way down the beaten path, through the large iron gates of the keep and followed her nose straight to the kitchens where here mother and some of the other women prepared the feast for the celebration later that day.

Jane's mother, Ava, looked up from her oven when she noticed the long black hair atop a slight framed, pale figure of her daughter sneak through the large stone doorway in the kitchen. She fought back a smile, Jane was always sneaking into the kitchen to steal a taste of whatever sweets that were being prepared for a meal. She pretended not to notice until she saw a small hand reach for some fresh picked berries.

“I see you, Jane.” Said Ava, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. She stifled the laughter in her faux stern tone.

Jane looked at her mother wide eyed with a smile creeping across her face.

“Come here sweetheart.” Said Ava, turning her attention away from the oven and holding her arms out to her daughter.

Jane ran into her mothers arms and started snickering which was met with her mothers laughter.

“What am I going to do with you?” Said Ava, brushing back Jane's long black hair, “Always sneaking about, eating all the sweets before supper.”

“Sorry momma.” said Jane with a giggle, “Everything smells so goooooood!”

“Well, you know what the punishment is for burgling... you little burgler.” Said Ava, doing her best to keep a stern face.

Jane’s eyes grew wide, “What momma?”

“You have to help Great Uncle Jean keep the little ones from tearing the keep to pieces.”

“But momma!” said Jane, not wanting to babysit during the most exciting day of the year.

“Go on Jane, who knows, you might learn something.” She said with a smile.

Jane dropped her shoulders and began to shuffle out of the kitchen.

“And Jane.” Said Ava, “I dont want to see you back in the kitchen.” She put her hands on Janes shoulders and guided her out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the large open commons room filled with tables and chairs and the sounds of childrens feet running thumping on the floor and laughter thick in the air.

“I don't want to babysit momma!” said Jane, pouting.

“Its only for a little while, here take this.” Ava handed Jane a small cloth napkin wrapped around some blackberries. Jane smiled, Ava winked and said as she walked off, “I better not catch any more burglars in my kitchen!”

Jane looked around the large, stone walled commons room and located her Great Uncle Jean sitting in a chair surrounded by several children laughing and making a lot of noise. Jane made her way over towards Unlce Jean to see if there was anything he needed help with.

As she got closer, she could hear the children begging for stories.

“Come on Uncle Jean, tell us about the wolves!” Said one small child.

“I want to hear about the Order of the Hood!” said an all to familiar little voice. Jane looked and saw her younger cousin Anya, with her hair in little pigtails, wearing a short little summer dress with no shoes on. She had red heair and her face was covered in freckles.

“Jane!” said Anya, as she ran and jumped into Jane's arms.

“Ugh, youre getting so big!” Said Jane as she picked up little Anya and spun her around, “What are they feeding you?”

Anya laughed and yelled “Weeeeee!” as Jane spun her around.

“Ok, ok children everyone gather around and quiten down.” Said Unlce Jean.

Unlce Jean was slightly different from the rest of the Rydding's. His face was scarred and he was missing an eye, often covered by a tattered brown, leather eye patch. In his old age, his hair and beard had turned completely gray. Despite his large stomach, probably a result of gallons of honey liqour,  he still maintained strong features and powerful arms and shoulders that were covered in different ink formations that were foreign to Jane.

A large ax sat propped beside his chair, too large for Jane's small hands to weild, it handle was made from some type of dark, ashy wood. Its dual sided blade looked worn, but the edges gleamed and looked sharp enough to cut through the thickest of trees.

Uncle Jean Cleared his throat,” Ahem, ahem. Ok, since you little lot won't stop pestering me.” He said with a stern face that quickly turned into a warm smile, “I guess I'll tell the story of King Lycoan and his 49 sons.”

“Who is King Ly... Ly...” stumbled a small brown haired boy.

“Lycoan.” Said Jean, “Legend has it that he was the original wulf. He was the first to take on the curse of the lycan.”

There was a hushed silence among the children, a few shushed the last couple that were whispering. They all stared intently at Jean.

“Legend has it, as told by the ancient Greeks, that there was a strong king, but some say he was a bad king. Some say he hurt his own people, even made them the slaves of his fifty sons.”

“He had 50 sons?” Said one small girl, eyes wide open.

“As a king, he had many different.... wives.” Said Jean, with slight hesitation, trying to avoid the awkward topic, “After all, he gave all of his sons their own kingdoms, where most of them ruled much like he did. With a strong fist and little care for the people under their rule. He was a viscous and brutal conqueror, with little mercy to the cities that fell under his rule.”

“Was it because he was a wulf?” Said another child.

“No, this was before he was ever under the curse. As legend goes, the mighty Zues decided to see the might of the king for himself, and took the form of a common man. He visited the different kingdoms of all of the sons and found them all but one to be evil and careless of the people under their rule. The prophets became aware that Zues was present and rumor spread throughout the countryside that Zues had come to save the people.

Lycoan heard the rumors of the people, but was skeptical of the traveling stranger. He had no faith in the gods and used religion as a way to oppress his people.

Eventually a feast was prepared for the mysterious traveler, despite the warnings of Lycoan's son Nyctimus, the purest of heart among all the sons, Lycoan wanted to test the King of the Gods. Seeing Nyctimus's caution as a weakness, he killed his own son and prepared his as a meal for the god.”

The children gasped.

“You see, feeding human flesh to the gods was considered an abomination, but Lycoan lied to Zues, and told him it was fresh from his own personal livestock. In a fit of anger, Zues overturned the table and struck down the kings guard with lightning bolts. The king, realizing the error in his ways, begged for mercy.

Zues looked down upon Lycoan and cursed him and his sons by turning them into the very thing that they were, predators. Cursed to be hunted and hated by all. He would also carry the disease of Lycanthropy, cursed to turn anyone he grew close to into the monster that he was, also to be hunted.”

“He killed his own son?!” said the small, brown haired boy.

“That's where it gets interesting,” said Jean, “ This is where the legend gets a little hairy...”

Jean chuckled a little as if he had just made some clever joke. He reached over and lifted up a flask with some sort of unknown contents and took a long gulp. He wiped his mouth with his other arm and let out a belch that was met by the children's laughter.

“Some say Nictimus was resurrected by Zues, because he was pure of heart. Some say he was also cursed by Zues because he didn't stand up to his father in the presence of Zues. Some say, and this is the most interesting bit I've heard, that Lycoan made a deal with Hades, that he would trade half of his purest son's soul, so that he and his sons could walk among humanity again. The only problem was, making a deal with a devil never turns out the way you planned it, so they could turn into human form, but they still carried the curse of the wulf.”

A low mumble broke out among the little ones, some talking about the story, some pretending like they were monsters to scare other kids, some asking when dinner was.

“Jane” spoke a deep voice with a strong Spanish.

Jane looked around and saw one of her older cousins, Vincent, walking up from the cellars. Vincent had traveled from Spain, he had a strong, defined jawline with his jet black hair kept short. He had a goatee that accentuated his mouth with beautiful white teeth. Outside of the family, he was known as somewhat of a ladies man. He had deep, amber eyes that almost seemed to glow. You could also see some strange ink markings peeking out of his shirt at his neckline against his tanned skin.

“Come here dear.” He motioned for her and smiled handsomely.

Jane walked over and joined him next to the large cellar door that stood in a corner of the large commons room.

“Everyone gather around, I have exciting news!” he proclaimed loudly. He paused as everyone filtered in the room, cousins, their children, family from all over.

“Everyone, listen up.” he said, “This year, we celebrate our little Jane's 13th birthday!”

Everyone clapped and made congratulatory proclamations, which came across as a muddle of voices.

Ava appeared from the hallway that led to the kitchen and stood next to Jane, kissing her on the top of the head and saying, “Im so proud of you dear, I love you so much.”

“I love you too momma!” said Jane, squeezing her mother as tightly as she could.

Jane felt Vincent's hand on her shoulder as he bent down so only she could hear him.

“You're now an old maid.” he said to her under the commotion in the room with a wink. Jane punched him in the leg and replied, “I am NOT!”

He laughed and addressed the crowd as the noise died down, “And we all know what that means. For centuries, they Rydding family has passed down a sacred and vital tradition, from elders to youth, starting on the spring of the young ones 13th birthday. It is on the first day of spring where we all gather here to bring our respective ingredients for the harvesting of the script of Moko, an ancient ink that we use to empower all those able to defeat the evil that weighs on us. I can't be more proud to finally have the daughter of ...”

Vincent was interrupted by a loud, dull crash off a wooden barrel hitting the floor.

“Henry Rydding, I swear if you were ever on time I would honestly worry.” Said Vincent with a big smile.

Henry Rydding was Jane's father. He was short in stature but muscular with a wide build. He had deep black hair and light blue eyes that seemed to glow, which was a common theme in the Rydding family. He had a scruffy complection and a deep scar around his neck. He was slightly out of breath due to the weight of the barrel of water he had carried up from the river.

He spoke in a deep, raspy voice, “I wouldn't miss today for the world.”

Henry held out his arms and Jane almost knocked him over running into his arms.

“Daddy!” she yelled. He deftly picked her up and spun her around as if she was weightless.

“Ladies and heatherns” said Vincent, glancing with a humorous grin in the direction of Uncle Jean, being met with a belch and an obscene hand gesture, “I give you our newest scribe of Moko, Jane Rydding, daughter of Henry and Ava Rydding!”

The room erupted with cheers and congratulations, children danced around in circles, family members made their way over to Jane and Henry to congratulate them.

“Where were you daddy?” said Jane.

Henry smiled and looked at Ava, “I think it's time we start teaching our little girl about who she is.”

Ava smiled and nodded, then gazed lovingly at Jane with tears in her eyes “She grew up so fast.”

Henry gently brushed his hand across Ava's cheek, her gaze met his and he leaned in and kissed her deeply.

“Our families already big enough,” said Vincent, wading through a small group of children running in circles, trying to to trip over a little boy rolling around on the floor, pretending to have been shot by an arrow, “You two get a room!”

Henry laughed. Vincent roared like a monster and fell to the ground and pretended to die as a little boy shot him with a fake bow and arrow.

Henry bent down to eye level with Jane, “Are you ready to get started sweetheart?”

“Yes daddy” said Jane, with excitement in her voice.

“Come with me, honey.” said Henry as he reached for a satchel sitting close by the door. He also sheathed a hatchet on his belt next to a large knife that he always carried with him. It was a strange hatchet that had a dark, charred handle and a blade that almost seemed to have a dim blue glow.

“Vincent, I'm taking Jane down to the river. We're going to get started.” Said Henry.

“Yes sir, I shall await you're return, Master.” said Vincent, comically while placing a hand on Henry's shoulder.

“Master?” said Henry, with a comical look on his face.

“...of taking your time.” Said Vincent quickly turning away with a smile on his face, bracing for the hard shove that Henry delivered in playfulness.

“We should be back within' an hour.” said Henry.

Vincent playfully rolled his eyes, “I'll be sure to hold you to that.”

Henry gave one last smile to Ava and Vincent and a quick wave to all those that were paying attention. He put his arm around Jane and shuffled her out the door.

The spring air filled Jane's senses as she closed her eyes for a breif second and thought about picking fresh spring flowers. Yellow ones, blue ones...

“Ok Jane, listen and pay close attention.” said Henry as he walked beside Jane with his hand on her shoulder, “You know that each part of the family brings their own ingredient for the moko script from all over, right?” said Henry.

“Yes daddy.” she replied, looking around at the beautiful, thick forest that lay ahead of them as they walked down the river banks that bordered up to their house.

“Well, our ingredient is the water from this river. It was a mere accident we found this river, actually, we didn't find this river. LeFerve did.”

“You mean the H...”

“Yes dear, he found it the first time he beheaded a Garfulf on these banks.”

“A garwulf?”

“Do you remember the tale of Lycoan?”

Jane nodded.

“It is the best answer we have for the existence of the 49 elder wolves, or Garwulvs in the world. We believe that they were the direct son's of Lycoan. We don't know what happened to Lycoan or if he even still lives, but what we do know, is there are 49 horribly evil beings that are threatening the very fabric of humanity. Well... actually only 43 now.”

“But if there's only so few, why are they so bad? We have armies and ships and ...”

“Well for many reasons honey. First of all, we haven't found a way to kill them. We can only stop them, but there is always a chance they could resurface somewhere else. According to legend, they were cursed to live forever, never to die, only to watch their sons and loved ones die. The problem is, they stopped loving or being anything human thousands of years ago. Every time one of them is beheaded, the Order brings the head here and places it in this very river. For some reason, they cant cross this river or make any contact with the water in it. We believe that the weight of the sins makes the heads sink to the bottom of the river and keeps it there. As long as the head stays there, the wulf lays dormant.”

“So why don't we just capture them all and put them all here?”

“It's not so easy love. Other than Lycoan and his sons, there are many other forms of wulf that stem from the original 49, and make no mistake, the blame rests souley on them for spreading such a plage.”

Jane could see what looked like a glint of pure hatred in Henry's face before it softened and looked back at her.

“But for every whisper of doubt that evil brings, there is a calling for light to fight back that darkness. We are that light, or at least, a part of it.”

Jane, feeling overwhelmed, had so many questions.

“What do you mean 'other types of wulves'” she said, with a nervous tone. Ignoring the butterfly fluttering inches in front of her face.

“Well, first and foremost, you have the Garwulf. For all intensive purposes, we'll say they are like the nobility of all wolves. The highest of the high. And through they have lived for centuries, we have only discovered the existence of the true depts of their evil over the past 100 years, when the wife of the noble Bisclarvet ousted him as a wulf. She was the one that really began to expose what they were.”

“But haven't we been making this ink... the script of Moko for thousands of years?!”

“You know as well as I do, Wulves aren't the only evil in the world. They are just the greatest threat right now. Back to your question, the Garwulf can take on the form of any human they have feasted on. They have skin like marble, they move like the wind, they have the strength of many men, and well... they can't die.

Then, you have the Vulkodlak. Think of them as the generals of the armies, with much less control. They can take on the form of large wulves, they are rarely seen … or people rarely live that have seen them. They have minimal control over phasing, and when they do, it can be quite violent. They often need the help of charms to aid them in controlling their curse. Some say when they fall under the curse, their soul leaves their body for purgatory and its replaced by the twisted evil of the Garwulf that turned them.”

“Turned them?”

Henry chuckled, “I know its a lot, but one question at a time.”

Jane had lost track of time and was so engulfed in the seemingly endless information that her father was sharing with her, that she hadn't realized how far into the forest they had walked. They were now surrounded by dense brush and trees. The moist air felt cool on her skin that was coming off the river. The trail they were on enabled her to look down into the river.

Henry stopped her.

“This should be far enough. I believe we're in the right place.” he said, letting his satchel onto the ground.

“Look into the water, what do you see?” he said.

Jane looked into the deep river, straining her eyes, trying to find some clue as to what her father was talking about.

“I can't see anything daddy.”

Henry smiled, then took on a more serious gaze into the river. She saw his mouth move and he pulled something out of his satchel and sprinkled it into the water. Immediatley it was if she could hear her dads voice whispering all around her, it was him, but he was everywhere. His eyes seemed to brighten as if they had their own light.

“Daddy...” she said in disbeleif.”

“Look into the river, what do you see now?” Henry said, motioning toward the river.

She gazed into the river. It was if she could see through the water, its as if everything undeneat the surface of the water had become incredibly clear. As she focused intently, she saw what looked like the head of a statue. It was the face of a horrible monster, similar to a wolf, but much more tenacious looking. The teeth looked like what you would imagine of the great sharks the sea fishermen spoke of. The ears were large, but proportionate to the rest of the head. The eyes seemed to glare in her direction, and as she looked as closely as she could, it seemed as if for a split second, they had a red glow to them. Immediatley her chest felt heavy, it seemed like everything around her grew darker, she could feel every hair on her body standing up as a chill seemed to run through her very soul.

And in a split second, the eyes moved, as if to focus on her. She screamed and fell backwards.

The whispers stopped immediately and quickly were replaced by the sounds of the forest.

“It looked at me!” she said, almost out of breath, “Was that a … a....”

“Yes dear, that is the head of a Garwulf.”

Jane took a deep breath as all of the stories she had heard seemed to merge in her mind with what she was seeing. She knew their were bad things in the world, she knew there was evil, but seeing it for the first time made it real. Her small world felt so much bigger, so much more horrifying.

“Don't worry, it can't hurt you.” Henry said. He pulled a small canteen out of his satchel and filled it with river water.

“This water has properties that we can't entirely explain, but one thing is for sure, it has brought the script of Moko to a whole 'nother level. It is stronger than ever, so much that we felt in necessary to relocate from Sussex and live here. That way, we can protect it and always have an abundance of it. It has become the backbone of the script and your mother and I are responsible for bringing it to the harvesting every year.”

Immediately it made sense why her father had been bringing in all those barrels of river water. She glanced back at the river, where the horrible face had stared deeply into her soul.

“So there are two kinds of wulves?” she said, with a tinge of fear in her voice.

“No, there is one more. At least one more that we know of and it is the most common that we have to deal with. It poses the biggest threat because they are the most unstable with the weakest of wills. The Ulfhendar, or the lowest form of wulf. They don't actually take on the form of the wulf, think of them more of a mad man. They are much stronger than a normal man, they don't seem to feel pain and will still fight through mortal wounds until the last drop of blood hits the ground. They are pawns, but seem to suffer from insanity. Their hair thickens and tends to grow all over their body, their skin is oil and looks like they havent bathed, their eyes yellow as if struck with jaundice, but the veins course black as if they're very blood has been tainted. They are a reflection of the soul that turned them and act as if that soul lives in them. They are the reflection of evil.”

“Do we... fight them?”

Henry chuckled, “In our own way dear, but not in the way you think. We are best served by what we do best, and that is stain the skin of those born to fight them. We bless them with abilities that level the playing field. We are the rock that sharpens the sword, but usually not the sword itself. We bless those we deem worthy with the abilities we have scoured the earth for. There is still plenty of script that we have not found, but we tend to have the best grasp on it compared to anyone else we know of today.”

“So Uncle Jeans skin... is that our script?”

“Look at you, catching on already.” he said with a wink. He pulled some small bag out of his satchel and removed the hatchet and its sheath from his belt.

“One more thing,” he said, “Come over here and take this. It's now yours.”

She approached her father and reached out for the small hatchet that looked big in her hands. It was surprisingly light and balanced. It had arcane looking carvings on the side of the handle and the blade. She gazed at the small weapon in awe.

“When the stars fall, we shape them and arm ourselves with the weapons of Gods. May you never have to use it. May it grow with you as you grow stronger and wiser. And as always, God be with the right.”

God be with the right. It was the logo inscribed on the Rydding family crest. As she held it in her hands, her father gazed intently upon her and poured some kind of dust into his hand and sprinked it on the hatchet and her hands. Once again, she heard her fathers voice, whispering all around her. His eyes once again began to glow a pale light of their own.

“Keep her safe as she keeps those safe around her.” he chanted.

As the whispers faded, the glow in his eyes faded. He smiled gently and said, “This is yours, may it protect you if you ever need it to and may it protect the ones around you when they need a light in the darkness. The handle is made from the trees of the forest that are fed by this river, then stained with the ink of Moko. The blade is made from the fallen star. Protect this as if it was a part of you, because as of today, it is a part of you. It is an extension of your soul, may it be a light to guide you through your darkest days.”

He kissed her on the head. She felt a strong rush of pride in her chest as she held the hatchet. Her father gave her a small belt out of his satchel so that she could attach the hatchet and sheath it around her waist.

Henry helped her fasten the belt and hatchet around her waist, it looked almost out of place on such a small girl.

“You'll grow into it, trust me.” he said with a smile.

Jane, feeling a strong, overwhelming rush of emotions embraced her father.

“I love you dad, thank you so much!”

Henry felt a strong sense of pride as he embraced his daughter, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. His little girl was about to carry on his families legacy. He felt so much at once, pride, fear, love... and the weight of the world. He wanted to teach her everything. But in this moment, he wanted to hold his baby girl.

It was a beautiful moment. Jane would never forget this moment, because it would be the last time she would ever feel the love of her father. It would be the last time she would ever see Henry alive.

As Jane embraced her father, her thoughts were interrputed by clapping coming from across this river.

“Bravo. Bravo. That was beautiful.” said a dark, harrowing voice. Despite its jovial nature, there was a gruff darkness to it, it was almost as if you could hear the anger... the hate.

Henry quickly released her and faced the figure across the river.

“May I be of service to you sir?” Henry said, in a kind but firm tone.

Jane's eyes widened with fear as she laid them upon the man across the river. He was tall and very muscular. Long, greasy hair wildly flowed down his head to his shoulders. Hair seemed to grow wildly from his ears and face, his skin was greasy and unclean. His eyes had a dark yellow tint, his iris and pupil appeared to be one small black orb. His teeth were twisted into yellow sharpened rows that she quickly noticed when he grinned. She could see the darkened veins in his thick muscular hands.

“Of service to me? Well, that is awful kind of you. Beautiful day isn't it?” said the man, with his gaze falling upon Jane. He made no attempt to hide what looked like hunger on his face. Despite his strong build, his face was sunken in and he looked as if he hadn't eaten in days.

Henry positioned himself in front of Jane.

“We must be getting on our way, pleasure meeting you.” said Henry. He quickly gathered the contents into his bag and whispered to Jane, “We need to go, now.”

She could hear the nervousness in his voice.

“Leaving so soon?” said the man, in low gruff voice, as if he was fighting back laughter.

Henry paused.

“We have somewhere to be kind sir, I bid you a good day.” he began to lead Jane back along the path toward their keep.

“Oh, well... God be with the right, Mr. Rydding.” he said in a cold hiss.

Jane could almost feel Henry's body tense, his entire demeanor changed.

“Stay behind me.” he whispered to her.

Henry turned and faced the man across the river.

“You know me. So tell me, who... or better yet, what are you?”

“You don't know what I am Henry?” said the main, amusement crossed his face before being replaced with a tinge of what seemed like pain.

“Tell me your name, devil.”

The man fought back a chuckle, his face seemed to constantly be fighting emotions. One minute, his face would twist with anger and hate, and then in a split second, it was if he caught himself and force a smile.

“Your God would call me... leigon. That is... if your god knew me.”

“Im only going to ask one more time.” said Henry sternly, stepping toward the strange man.

“I am only a vessel. I am only a drop of rain in the storm. I am but an arrow in a flurry of hundreds that have yet to fall. If I were to speak my name, it would get swept away in the tides of the voices of many. My name doesn't matter anymore.”

“Enough.”

Henry lowered his head and held out his hand, palm down at waist level. His eyes began to glow, then burn like the stars in the night sky. Whispers erupted from the trees, strange designs seemed to glow through Henry's garmets.

“What are you doing?” said the man in pain, as he fell to one knee.

Jane fought through her fear to hear the whispers.

“May this man be free of this curse. Break this mirror of evil so this monster may only gaze on its own evil.”

That was all Jane could hear before Henry started speaking some strange language unfamiliar to her.

“You bastard. We will kill you, we will drink the blood from the necks of your family.” screamed the man, his deep voice was broken by what sounded like some type of flem rattling in his throat.

Henry's gaze met with the man, his face was stone, his eyes bright burning blue, he shouted a word that Jane had never heard before. The man screamed and feel to the ground. Dark, blackened blood oozed out of his mouth and ears, he coughed and vomited the same dark matter out of his mouth.

The man screamed in pain, Henry's voice took a much softer tone as he began to speak to the man.

“What is your name?” said Henry.

Jane looked into the mans eyes, it seemed as if they had returned to normal, despite the pain the man was wearing all over his face.

“Eric.” the man said between violent coughs and vomitting, “My name is …. Eric... from Brittany.”

The whispers faded and Henry's eyes returned to normal, you could no longer see the glowing throug his clothing. Jane could see the worry on his face.

“Daddy, what is happening?”

“Jane, honey I need you to pay attention. I need you to remember everything we learn here. I wish yoou didn't have to see this so soon, but I'm afraid this man is not going to make it. I don't have time to explain everything, but he was under the curse. He is free from it now, but it takes a toll on the body. This man is going to die.” said Henry, he spoke quickly with a sense of urgency.

“What can you remember? I need to know. What do you know?” said Henry, Jane could hear the nervous urgency in his voice.

“Henry Rydding? The Rydding family? Is it really you?” said Eric.

“Yes, how do you know me? What do you know?”

“They are coming Henry, you can't stop them, they're coming. He's coming. It's so horrible...” the man was interrupted again by his own vomiting.

“Who is coming? How many? I need to know, we both know what is happening here. I need you to tell me before it's too late. I need to protect my family.” said Henry, Jane could hear the fear in his voice.

“Haemon, his name is Haemon. He's coming.... he's coming...” Eric fell to the ground on all fours, struggling for air, “I'm... sorry... so sorry...”

Jane could see the horror in her fathers face.

“How many, Eric?”

In his dying breath he fought for one last gasp and muttered one final word before he drowned in his own blood.

“Hundreds.”

[lawlight-week]

Kira is taken down early on, and Light is reborn as a young Shinigami who remembers nothing of what he once was. L is the one to gain ownership of his notebook, and together, they relearn what it means to be human.

L doesn’t leave his hotel rooms too often, but when Light wants to, he’s allowed to wander the city. Whenever he goes on his outings, he always finds himself checking up on a certain former family.

Inside their house, he’ll find the atmosphere eerily comforting. While listening to their boring conversations, he’ll study the photographs found hanging in the hallways, his heart growing in weight each time his name is suddenly mentioned.

“I can’t believe it’s been four months without him, already,” Sayu sighs over dinner one evening.

Light has yet to fully accept that she was once his little sister, or that the empty fourth chair at the dining table was definitely once his. But four months , he ponders, astounded.

When he finally returns to the hotel room, he has to clarifies to himself that, yes, over two months have dropped from L’s remaining lifespan.

During the last few weeks of receiving his eyes, it didn’t take him long to figure out the formula for translating lifespans into human time. And the math still gets easier each time he does it. His favourite guinea pig, of course, is L, since the latter’s lifespan just always so accessible.

But 2 years, 3 months, and 12 days remain floating above the detective’s face.

It’ a surprisingly short amount, and he isn’t permitted at all to tell him how much time is left. Though something much bigger looms over his head in regard to that.

He’s going to have to be the one to end his life.

It became their fate the moment Ryuk threw his notebook down into the room.

But as of late, Light’s grown achingly fond of the human.

L adores his wings, and he knows it too. And if not only from the earlier confession, then in the constant stares it’s made more and more obvious. Sometimes, the dark-haired man will even reach out to stroke a feather.

The first time it happened, Light admittedly flinched at the contact, retracting his wings quick enough to rustle of air against their faces. The detective apologised, but then it happened again the very next day. And the next.

So now, it’s habit that Light simply allows it.

Still frustrated and confused by the meaning of it all, he only continues to follow the human around, day after day. What will he think when it’s time for him to write L’s name down in the notebook?

It starts getting harder to come to terms with the fact that has to do it. Equally, it gets more difficult to accept that he’s grown a soft spot for the man. He tries to justify developing those feelings, telling himself that anyone would do so after spending so much time around someone else.

But those are a human’s thoughts processes. Light doesn’t have human thoughts. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

However, it doesn’t take genius to notice L’s behaviour changing around him as well.

On some nights, rare and shiny, L will join him on the loveseat and lean against his hollow body. Light never phases through him, though; he doesn’t want to. He fully enjoys that solid, warm weight against him.

Even more rare, though, is when L falls asleep on him, and the room fills up with his gentle snores. Knowing he never gets enough sleep, the Shinigami keep dead still for hours on end, just listening to his human’s slow, deep breaths.

And it’s comforting. That’s the easiest part of of it all.

Life alongside L teaches Light again many aspects of being human. But one element still remains annoyingly unclear — that is… desire.

Not desire in the way he craves knowledge, or even in the way he wanted to take Naomi Misora’s life, but desire in the way that causes humans to get frantic and red.

It must have been lost on him in his rebirth. He really can’t seem to understand it.

Light already recognises an array of human-like emotions; rage, loss, and dare he think it; even the beginning of love. But he just can’t wrap his head around wanting another person physically. He can’t relate to the passion that fuels that kind of erratic behaviour simply because he might not have the capacity for it.

And it’s perplexing…

One afternoon, L easily notices the way Light pays extra attention to the topic on TV, and decides to question him on it.

“Do Shinigami reproduce?” he ponders through a lollipop.

Light shakes his head at the grim concept.

“Shinigami are created. We don’t have parents,” he explains, but immediately regrets his choice of words.

“You have parents, though,” L is quick to intervene.

“You know what I mean. Shinigami don’t feel sexual attraction to one another. There isn’t a need to. It’s probably for the best, anyways. As if the world needs more monsters.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” L asks, his tone made up of genuine curiosity. “A monster?”

Light’s chest heaves with a small sigh. It’s a hard question, even to himself.

“In the most literal sense of the word, yes, I do believe so. Do you not?”

L shakes his head in denial, pulling the lollipop from his mouth with a pop.

Light watches the way it gleams in his fingers before clearing another sigh, and opting to re-explain himself.

“I just don’t remember ever understanding human sexuality. Even now, now matter how much I learn about it, I can’t understand it, and it frustrates me.”

He hates to admit that, agitated he could actually be stumped over a human concept.

But at the sight of his honest confusion, L has to forcefully fight off a chuckle. He knows that Light wouldn’t be able to see the humour in it.

“Well, being human, I understand it,” he says, sticking the candy back into his mouth.

His next words come out muffled.

“And I wouldn’t mind showing you that part of humanity.”

Light shoots him a mixed look about what that means.

“Besides, I’ve found myself quite attracted to Light’s new form,” he muses some more, as if it were a normal confession to be making. “I’m curious to see if we can make it work.”

For a moment, the Shinigami’s stunned quiet. His stomach tingles the tiniest bit, but that’s the most reaction he can find out of L’s words. If anything, he’s already satisfied that L would want to teach him, but—

“No,” he firmly states, crossing his arms right away. “I can’t.”

“Even if Shinigami don’t have the physicality down, there are other ways,” L informs him, but the latter grows embarrassed by the implication.

And that’s not all. Light would hate to admit to L that he actually has no idea how to have sex.

“I doubt I’ll find it at all pleasurable,” the Shinigami tries to excuse himself.

L shrugs.

“Even if it’s not physically pleasurable, it can be extremely mentally fulfilling,” he offers back to Light, who frowns at him.

“For humans, perhaps, but—”

“But what? Would it really be so bad to experience a human activity one last time?”

At that point, Light knows he won’t win.

He glances back up to the human’s ticking lifespan and thinks that maybe L’s aware that he hasn’t much time left. Maybe L means himself when he says one last time. And Maybe L is right. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Alright. But you have to fly with me once more. An eye for an eye,” he negotiates teasingly, knowing his human wouldn’t be able to pass it up.

And as anticipated, L nods without hesitation.

—Ah. Is that a smile on him?

It’s weird.

Even though he’s no longer human, he can still clearly feel the switch to tension.

L takes the lead, since he’s the one teaching, and Light can only feel grateful.

Seated together on the hotel bed, L tentatively pulls off his own clothes. So far, it’s not different from what the Shinigami’s seen on the screens.

He studies L closely, trying to spot a new type of yearning within himself. But nothing changes.

Staring right back to him with his signature wide-eyes, L moves in to kiss his jaw softly, as he’s done a handful of times since their first flight.

Light’s eyes lull while he enjoys the warm pressure against his skin. It’s nice.

Feeling more advantageous, L nabs up Light’s lips, happily surprised by the roughness of them.

The Shinigami automatically kisses him back; a part he can do. Kisses are nice, and he can understand wanting them, but that’s where the line both begins and ends.

Anything beyond that is a complete mystery.

L lays down next to him, and Light watches too intrigued, as dark eyes fix on his dark wings.

Taking note of it, Light flexes them a bit, and then lifts one up.

L seems to experience a physical change right away.

Shinigami eyes fall to his human’s hips. Through thin boxers, a growing arousal keeps his interest piqued. And…he wants to see more…even if for nothing more than curiosity.

L understands this without words, and has no problem doing exactly like he offered; simply showing Light how it all worked.

An eager gaze follows L’s hand as the latter reaches down to palm himself through the material, and when L’s breath hitches, red eyes quickly snap back up to see L’s cheeks flushed pink.

That’s… beautiful.

It’s odd to admit, even if to himself.

So he feels like an idiot after finally realising why the reaction to his wings.

Stifling a sound, L sinks into his bottom lip while continuing to rub himself, moony eyes glued to his ashy appendages.

That… was the source of L’s desire?

It makes absolutely no sense.

But at the same time, an inspired Light figures that a show wouldn’t hurt the learning experience. He spreads his wings far out, pride filling him as he does so.

The way L sinks into his lower lip even deeper motivates him to continue.

He flaps his wings a few times. A loud whoosh of air blows past the detective’s ears, and it seems to drive him crazy.

Desperately, L pushes his underwear down, and pale, skinny fingers wrap around his dick, squeezing and stroking.

Light can’t take his eyes off of him. As L lays flat, the Shinigami moves to lean up over his pale figure, studying all of the human’s delicious expressions, each of them putting more of those tingles in his chest.

He nearly forgets to hold up his end of the unspoken agreement when his wings freeze, and L does as well. But as soon as he understands this, they start up again, spreading wide to be adored.

Seconds tick by, and the Shinigami realises himself completely engulfed by the intimate situation.

Panting softly, L’s hand moves at a steady pace, eyes ever glued to his wings.

With L enjoying himself, and Light’s ego being stroked, what more could he want from this?

However, that question is decidedly answered when Light swoops one wing down, incidentally brushing his feathers against L’s bare tummy. In reaction, L eagerly whines, and the noise zaps electrically through Light’s entire body.

He wants… more of these sounds.

Even though there’s no inclination to put his hands on L’s body, with his wings, it feels like a different story. He wholeheartedly brings them both forth, immersing L’s flushed and writhing body within them, and as expected, the action pulls more of those addicting sounds out of L.

“Light!” L cries out, and he’s utterly surprised to feel the man orgasming beneath him, his hips stuttering and his eyes sliding shut.

Ashen wings keep protectively around L as his breath steadies, sated and sleepy eyes blinking rapidly at him

“Thank you,” he says simply, seeming to be at an equal loss of words.

Light’s still not sure he really understands what goes on in a human brain during such activities, but did learn that he’s willing to do it all over again. And that kisses are enjoyable.

Very much so.

Retracting his wings, Light leans down, and gently kisses L, almost surprising him with it, but the return kiss is soft and compliant.

It’s nice.

Later that night, L fulfills his end of the deal and allows Light to carry him through the sky once more.

And when the human kisses Light in the air this time, there is no faltering, and no thin excuses muttered afterwards. A silent truce settles between them. They both stop running from their budding feelings.

Neither say a word aloud about it, and they don’t need to. Things are okay. Things are easy.

#lwts #lawlightweek2k17 #themes #day1 #greed #fanfic #death note #lawlight #submission

[mysticmysterywrites-blog]

Prompt #10

So recently, I revived one of my roleplay from the dead and started gaining replies on it.

The premise was the whole "Two characters getting experimented on" One, and if you dig you can probably find it. However, I think now I want to focus on the doctor character. Kind of. The other two characters are still in the prompt (And hell, will absolutely crop up later, no matter the direction this goes)

Shohel is a man with bleached blonde hair that curls at his chin, toned skin and bright blue eyes. The look on his face is almost constantly one of boredom, and he somehow nearly alway manages to keep a straight face. He's not exactly, in this business to be cruel, but : > that gets touched upon in prompt.

Emer has ashy brown hair, with blue eyes and dark toned skin. She is about 20, but "Is wise beyond her years." Or so she says. She can fuck with technology and dig into the internet and shit, and her powers are as cryptic as she is. Nari has dark skin, with hair pulled back in dreads. He has scars from the time he spent forced to fight, and more wolf like features. Like, his entire experiment was that he was bred to be part wolf. He's 22 at the start of this roleplay.

You can be anyone. Another scientist that's cornering him, attempting to dig information out of him? Maybe they suspect he isn't quiet natural, and are encountering him about it? Or perhaps they really are just the new patient he's suppose to be assigned, and they're about to get caught up in a hell of a lot of bullshit. Regardless, about half way through the conversation at some Random Time, the lights are going to go out, and all systems Will Go Down. That is absolutely Nari and Emers doing, and the plot will go from there.

Doctor Shohel Essa was a simple man.

He was 32 years old, had a fine government job that many were clawing to get at, and was well on his way to climbing the ranks up in the company he worked for. He didn't have a husband yet, but he had the sinking suspicion the man he was seeing was going to propose to him sometime soon. He had no biological kids, he didn't speak to his family anymore, and what little friends he had were met online or through work.

And he..

Well. He didn't quite know what he was doing with his life, anymore.

--

He was assigned to the first one when he was 22.

He'd been such a small thing for a 14 year old. Constantly falling into coughing fits and struggling to keep himself up and alive. Quite frankly, he probably shouldn't have been alive. He'd been born here, raised here. An experiment on splicing genes together, and keeping them stable. The fact that he hadn't died by the time he was ten was a miracle in itself, let alone at least have gotten cancer or something. However, he was strong, far stronger then he'd given him credit for.

"Stabilize him," They'd demanded, watching him with a steady gaze.

So he did.

It took test after test, but eventually he found the source of the instability. Really, he should have seen what would come of stabilizing him. But he was young, and wanted so badly to impress his employer enough to stay. He'd only been an intern, until then, and really still going through school. He'd been his first real assignment, and first REAL success. And they loved it.

And yet, In a way, he regretted stabilizing him as quickly as he had. Because within the year, they were throwing him into pits to have him fight, training him to be a weapon he'd never ask to be. He'd come back with so many scars and bruises, and he'd only have the silence to defend himself as he patched the boy up. He wasn't meant to be a fighter. They wanted to badly for him to train some kind of aggression into the boy, but he didn't have a mean bone in his body.

So, he simply let life go on, and pretended to ignore the guilt that chided in his gut.

--

She'd been assigned to him not even 2 years later.

She'd been the same age as he was when he'd been assigned to him. Two years younger. However, her eyes held a sort of wisdom that held knowledge far beyond her years. It had startled him a bit at first. She looked at him with eyes that told him she knew everything about him. And really, she probably did.

(She'd tell him later, that she could dig through the technology, mind alone. That every bit of 0 and 1 meant something to her, personally. She had all knowledge she could gain access to with a computer. For better, or for worse.)

They'd told him to be careful with this one. "She's powerful. Too powerful for her own good," The woman hadn't bothered to look up from her clipboard as she spoke to him, flipping through file after file as she did, "She doesn't look like much, but with a snap of her fingers she could probably take down all of our security systems. Keep a close eye on her, got it?"

To a degree, she wasn't wrong. However, she wasn't exactly the strongest he'd met physically. Her power came from what she could do to the air around them- The electronics around them. So, in the end she was less dangerous and more or a pain in the ass.

"Look," He'd pressed fingers between the bridge of his nose, staring down at his the blank screen of his tablet, "I don't have much a choice here. If you cooperate with me, I'll have you in and out of here in no time."

"You have a choice on everything," She corrects, voice steady and so, so certain. Her legs kick out, and she leans back, "Besides. I don't want to go back. Theres nothing to do."

A rough sigh, "What, do you want a book?"

A grin, "Please?"

--

Working with Nari had been like working with a panicked riot that didn't know how to calm. He was just, so constantly anxious, his eyes flickering about and ears moving up and down. He held the type of nerves in his eye that only someone who'd gone through years of trauma and pain could attest to. And really, for a while he had to stop himself from digging through files he didn't belong in. It took maybe five years of working with him, but around that time was when the guilt really began to settle into place

And when he found him sobbing in his room at 5 in the morning, waking up from a nightmare, he had to ignore the gnawing sensation in his gut that he very well knew the cause of it. Instead simply offering him a soft, calming rub of the shoulder.

--

His work with her was slow, and quiet, and sometimes he just sat down to have a conversation with her because he could. Comparatively to Nari, working with her had been a peasant stroll. He knew it had everything to do with how she came here. He'd been raised here, tested on all his life. She'd come in, her powers an enigma that none of them knew what to do with. He was, built for his life, and she was born through it.

And when he found her wandering throughout the halls at 3 am, door to her room carefully deactivated and cameras around the area purposefully turned off, he didn't ask questions. He turned a blind eye as she dug through their files, studying all the experiments they were doing time and time again. And when she admitted she could shut down their systems, all of their camera's and electronic locks, and simply open the door without setting off an alarm, he got her hot chocolate instead of writing it in her file.

--

The girl had been 16, and boy 18 when something clicked into place.

"I have a crazy idea," He'd told his administrator, tapping his clipboard carefully as he had, "And you need to hear me out on it."

They were placed within the same room within the week.

--

They worked well together.

She calmed him down, carefully had him interacting more and more with the rare person he'd encounter. He gave her someone to balance herself on, forced her to show some kind of emotion. They forced eachother to flourish.

They'd forced themselves to grow.

However, the two of them made their company. Nervous, they said. They didn't like how defensive they got over one another. Didn't like the fits she'd throw if he came back drugged and sick, didn't like that he'd fall into panic attacks if he was left alone. It was only natural, he'd think. They'd only ever had eachother, so it was natural for the two of them to get close. But it forced him to think. Forced him to really, truly realize the difference in how he saw them, compared to his coworkers. He saw them as people, and they saw them as tools, and it was just.

That.

--

"I don't think he should be fighting anymore," He chewed against the base of his pen, looking down at the file he'd been given about the kids injuries. He'd been placed up against someone who could move the earth under their feet, and had his arm crushed under the weight of the earth. It had been an unfair fight. And really, all of them were unfair fights. They wanted them to be weapons, wanted the most powerful. But sometimes, they just, didn't focus their energy where it belonged. Didn't see that they were forcing them to-

"Oh?" The woman raised an eyebrow at him, smooth and curious, "Are you concerned for him."

"No. I just don't think that a killed experiment is a useful one," The words felt bitter on his tongue, but he managed to continue despite himself, "We wanted to test his limits? We found his limits. Its having his arm crushed under a boulder.

She stared at him, well into his eyes. But, inevitably, she would just nod her head, "Very well. We'll take him out of the ring then."

He breathed easy.

--

See, the thing about spending so much time with someone is that you begin to pick up on things about them.

He'd spent years with these two. He knew that Emer had taught Nari morse code, and that the way their fingers always touched carefully against skin was an excuse to fall into silent back and forths, or that their gazes and blinks were just another way of communicating. He saw the way Nari's eyes always glanced to the camera when he was alone, checking to see if any of the movements were foreign and jagged. He saw how nervous Emer got when Nari tested alone, the way her leg would bounce and jump up and down.

He saw the way Nari flinched back when he was too quick to lift a his tools, saw the way Emer glared at other doctors that tried to get too close. He saw the way her hands twitched into her gown when she lied, or fingers weaved through her hair when she was nervous. He saw how Nari quietly began to get a bit more snippy and confident in talking back to the other doctors, saw the way bitterness turned to rebellion in his eyes.

He saw so many things in those two, and

He didn't

consider the fact that it went both ways.

--

"Shohel," Emer stared at him.

He looked up at the cameras, dot that was normally bright red now eerily gone. The normal buzz and whirl of the computers around him had fallen silent, and the doors had clicked shut.

"Emer. Turn it back on."

"I have a question," Her voice was steady. Calm. A type of control he only ever imagined having. However, within second the illusion was broken, when her next words were sharp, and filled with the kind of worry only a close friend could have. It felt foreign. Wrong. After everything he'd put the two of them through, to hear the worry fall from her voice for him,"And- I don't want /you/ to get in trouble for it."

He took in a breath.

"Alright"

She stared him, directly in the eye, "You're like us, right? Nari says he could smell it on you. I can feel it in the air around you. You're like us," She leaned forward, head in her chin, "So uh. Why are you over there, and not in here."

His throat dried.

--

See, it was easy to lie to himself.

It was easy to go about some arguably mundane life, and put a few more lives in the line, and hide from his own supposed sins. It was easy to lie to himself as to why he'd always turned a blind eye to their attempts to hide their powers,

It was less easy to lie to himself when he feel asleep, and he found himself walking amongst the waking. It was far less easy to lie to himself when objects had shifted and moved around him throughout his childhood. When he could life himself off the ground with such care and precision that he might as well have been a feather floating through the air. When he could throw a person across the room without much a second thought. It was less easy to lie to himself when he believed he had all of it under control, when he thought, for just a second, that he was attempting to understand himself, not hide himself.

Hm.

--

"What do you mean your switching my charges."

"Your work with them isn't giving us results," The woman had shrugged, "And really, at this point I don't think theres much more work that can be given. 306 - 79's arm prevents him to be of any use to us, and 589 - 04 simply refuses to cooperate. You know as well as I do that it's.. dangerous to keep them around, and especially together. And ripping them apart? Even worse of an idea."

"Ma'am, no offense," He'd grit his teeth, ignore the way the pressure seemed to drop in the air around them, "I've been working with them for nearly a decade now. Hell, I HAVE been working with patient 306 - 79 for a decade," Had it really been that long? He had to avoid pinching the bridge of his nose, "And Eme- 589 - 04, She just needs someone that will work with her. Theres a reason that she doesn't work well with any of the other doctors -"

"Doctor. Theres nothing else I can do for them. Their time is up," He felt his heart freeze, stomach drop, "We really would like to keep you on our team- Really. You're brilliant, and you could /thrive/ given more cooperative subjects. We want to put you on one of our other experiments. For example, there is a young girl that freezes the air around her, or a boy that can supposedly speak to the dead. Really, with your current position in the company you could take any other charge under your wing. Why these two specifically? What's so special about them?"

He pursed his lips.

--

Doctor Shohel Essa was a simple man.

He was 32 years old, had a fine government job that many were clawing to get at, and was well on his way to climbing the ranks up in the company he worked for. He didn't have a husband yet, but he had the sinking suspicion the man he was seeing was going to propose to him sometime soon. He had no biological kids, he didn't speak to his family anymore, and what little friends he had were met online or through work.

And he.

          Needed out.

He'd been distracted as he considered it all day. Consider him selfish, maybe, but he found himself unable to care that, within the day he'd be meeting a new subject that he was suppose to be assigned to. Hell, he'd purposefully picked them, having seen the way that their current doctor seemed to treat them. But, he couldn't bring himself to CARE.

It had been something he'd been so, so hesitant to admit to himself, for the longest time now. They were like his children. They weren't even ten years younger then him and-. Hell, the man he was dating had the same age gap as he had with Nari (Fuck, that was weird to think about) But he'd basically raised them, and he would die for them time and time again. He'd done so many God-Awful things to them, and they were like his children. And having them ripped away from him felt- It was-. He could get them out. He could leave. It would cause a lot of shit but..

His head spun for a moment, and eyes narrowed down at his click board. And for the fifth time in the last 5 minutes, he struggled to read what was on the paper. It was fruitile. He needed to just, get through this meeting and figure out some kind of plan. Really, of all the patients he'd ever encountered, he highly doubted that /Emer/ and /Nari/ would be the ones to fight leaving. He just needed to figure out how to get them out...

Quietly, he reached up with his card key and tapped it to the door, then quickly typed in the code to the door. 5649. This was where he was suppose to meet his supposed new charge, after all. "Sorry for the wait," He didn't bother to look up from his clip board, attempting to force his headspace back into reality, "I got caught up in a conversation with a co-worker. Its nice to finally meet you. My name is Doctor Essa, and starting today I believe I'll be your main physician and Scientist."

#Cherubplay #science experiment