#maybe they sit on the rock/stump/log and they sit around where you planted? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeyabyss · 3 years

Text

How the newly Dateables would do in a “The Forest” AU

So this was inspired and allowed to post by @lucifers-favorite-pen

I read theirs about the brothers and had to write something for the others as well!

Definitely check out their post too: The Brothers in “The Forest”

Warning: some curse words, very slight gore

Solomon:

I have ANOTHER child?

ignore that, I didn't say anything, you have no proof I have a child, can I request a paternity test before I start searching for him?

will spend at least an hour at the planecrash harvesting everything that seems of use... So basically picking up everything until his bag is completely stuffed

no magic? That's a problem, tries to summon his pacts nonetheless, obviously fails, gets a bit disgruntled by the fact he now has to carry all the shit he picked up himself, will try to load it into the bag of someone else only to get called off

"but it's for us~ it's going to help the group immensely! Won't you help me carry it?"

Lucifer: "why would we need so many wristwatches and coins?"

"to make bombs!"

Lucifer:" that would only endanger us more, leave it here"

Solomon getting forced to leave things behind so he isn't overloaded anymore (Mammon will most definitely pick up all the wristwatches for later selling purposes)

will not help building a shelter, “you know I would help but I'm just not as strong as you... In our team I am the brain and you guys are the brawn”, will get hit by the demons... That's probably the first time he dies, through discovering friendly fire

will be using the brothers as a shield, because he doesn't want to respawn and lose all his stuff

actually will help Beel building traps around the base, well he tells where to put what, but that still helps to fend off many nightly visitors

will collect body parts of the cannibals out of the traps first thing in the morning

"Solomon are you making a cannibal leg stew? I think I just became a vegetarian"- everyone. periodt.

5/10 survivalist. He sure is intelligent and will make some things easy, but he is still a shady and selfish bitch, You're getting attacked? Watch Solomon hiding 2 meters away from you behind a rock while he plunders Mammons dead body

Diavolo:

“oh? This is way more fun that sitting in this noble meeting I just got teleported out from” (every noble will panic, but Dia doesn't care)

“this is my son? How exciting I'll show him his future Kingdom once we saved him! wait he's not real? He will disappear when we finish the game?” sad Dia

is excited all the time, “oooh is this what a camping trip feels like? Except for the plane crash of course... But walking around the forest with friends, making a shelter, eating food at a campfire... That's exactly a camping trip!”

Diavolo please calm down, you're going to lead the cannibals to us

"Cannibals? How interesting, but would they even eat us? I mean it's a human game right? So if humans see them as cannibals then they would eat humans not demons or angels right?" sorry Mc, you’ll be sacrificed...

Will test out that theory. Surprise, he is wrong and almost gets eaten if it weren't for Lucifer and Barbatos protection, gets a good scolding afterwards, will be more cautious from then on

“Barbatos, I command you to protect Mc all the time! We can't have something happen to them even if it is just in a game”

building a shelter? Never done it before but it sounds fun, will instantly adjust to Beel, if you chop wood you have to get rid of your shirt first right? Will give his best and use his strength to carry as many logs as he can

just shirtless lumberjack Diavolo

hears someone complain about not being able to use magic. Oh right he could have used magic, had too much fun to even consider using magic. “This is a great challenge for us all!”

10 /10 even though he doesn't notice it, he is giving his best without having to think about it, has a whole lot of fun and isn't the tiniest bit scared. Will ask for a repetition of the game, ending in everyone running away to destroy the game disc

Barbatos:

smiles while he asks who of the brothers he has to murder thanks to this mess he's now in

will kill Levi, confused when he respawns without Barb having to rewind time, makes the job easier for him

will give out jobs to the group to organize everything so they can be sure they have everything covered

"Mc your job is not dying, sit down on this tree stump and watch out for any inconvenience that might occure... What did you just say? Could you repeat that?... There is a horde of naked men without genitals running down the hill? I- Did you hit your head in the plane crash?"

"Oh unholy devil king, you are right!"

Will move camp immediately somewhere more safe

build a camp? He has so many jobs, he is overseer, he will find food and make meals out of it, he will make a list of the materials they have and calculate how long they can last with it

will be on night watch every night, makes them move to a new location almost every day due to spotting patrols, not everyone is happy about it but they do as he says cause Dia trusts Barb, and Lucy follows everywhere Dia goes, and everyone else is scared of Lucy

will not die, the first fight he gets into a sweat will be in the endgame, will be packed with medical equipment, food, drinks and strong weapons, endgame is suddenly easy

10/10 pacifist run (besides the unavoidable fights in the end), is pretty chill most of the time, has everything and everyone under control

Simeon:

"did anyone get hurt? Here let me check up on everyone, oh my-" holds hands over Lukes and Mcs eyes and whispers to the others "Is that stewardess dead?"

Mammon:"sure is" instantly starts searching for valuables on the dead body

Simeon will guide Mc and Luke out of the plane to the side where they can't see any gore and make them wait there

holds hands of Luke and Mc on the way through the forest so a) they don't get scared and b) so they don't run off after any animals they see

shelter job? Take care of the children (Mc and Luke), plant a garden of herbs and berries with Luke, Mc and Barbatos, keep Solomon away from the campfire it's dangerous enough already, don't let Solomon cook a concoction that will kill them even faster

weird, naked, unsocialized man are attacking us? “Mc, Luke stay close behind me! I, archangel Simeon will protect you... With this sharp stick, cause I don't have any other weapons or magic to hand, but do fear not!”

will die the first time protecting Luke and Mc... Will be devasted when they both respawn with him as well “I failed at keeping you safe... forgive me”

will craft himself a bow and arrows and be even more determined to protect the precious young ones

will not kill animals, “we have enough berries, herbs and other edible things, look this tree bark tastes great, it's like spaghetti if you cook it in hot water and with this berry juice on top it's a perfectly fine meal” Will be the only one eating it, even Luke prefers not to

will not give up and stay positive (even when everyone ignores his suggestions), Mc and Luke try to cheer him up by doing some of his suggestions

5/10 he really tries but there is only so much he can do, he has no real weapon and even when he does he prefers to only knock out his enemys and run, making the cannibals only more aggressive with every fight

Luke:

doesn't see shit, because of Simeons hand, “what happend? What's going on? Why are we waking up in a plane?”

follows Simeons advise, gets extremely embarrassed about holding his hand "I'm not a child! I won't run away!.... Oh look there is a cute deer... did it get separated from his family? Maybe we can help him? Wait Simeon don't pull me away-"

"don't worry Mc I'll protect you!" gets scared of the cannibals and will hide behind Mc and Simeon

won't be able to do any physical labor to help build a shelter due to his childlike physic, will carry dry sticks and rocks to the camp with Mc and build a campfire for later

“I want to bake some dessert, do you think we can find flour here? And eggs? I can make a cake through melting these chocolate bars we found at the airplane, okay let me go look for baking materials”

from there on nobody left him even one second of privacy, you need to go to the toilet? Okay let's go to this bush I wait behind you, you don't need protection while peeing? Maybe not but you might run away

Luke being stressed and embarrassed 24/7 and getting teased about it by the demons... You need to go to the toilet again? Let me take you on a walk chihuahua~

1/10 he is not a help most of the time, does prioritize the wrong things, it's just a game...and he is weak for sweets and cute animals

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me swd #obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke

125 notes · View notes

rheyninwrites · 4 years

Text

In the Night

M/M

(I said I was writing a Bill/Kieran fic after the smut gods blessed me, so here it is. Enjoy.)

Bill sighed as he watched Kieran from across camp, his mood dark. He’d asked him to join him for a drink, and at first he had, even if he’d been as jumpy as a cat on a tin roof. He’d hoped that a few drinks together would loosen them both up, putting Kieran at ease and giving him the courage to finally do something about his feelings. Instead, the second he’d been distracted, Kieran had run off, terrified. It was all Dutch’s fault. He’d been the one to suggest that Bill threaten to cut his balls off. Now he wouldn’t even look at him.

With another sullen sigh, Bill downed the last of his beer, tossing the bottle to the side. He stood, meaning to fetch more alcohol to drown his sorrows in, but halfway there he realized he needed to relieve himself, and made his way to a dark patch of wood instead. The entire time, his mind was on Kieran. His face, his slim hips. The way he laughed, all dry and goofy. The gentle voice he used to talk to the horses. Bill loved that voice, with its soft sweetness. He’d thought more than once, in the dark loneliness of the night, of Kieran talking to him in that voice, stroking the hair on his bare chest as he laid against him.

Just as Bill was fastening his pants, he heard footsteps behind him. He jerked around, and was surprised to see the very man he’d just been thinking about standing before him. Immediately, Kieran started stuttering apologies and trying to back away, until Bill held up his hands and assured him he was leaving. He got three steps before he stopped.

“Hey, Kieran?”

“Yes, Mr Bill?”

Bill sighed wearily. “Knock off the ‘Mr.’ stuff, okay? Whatever happened before don’t mean shit now. You’re one of us, right?”

Swallowing thickly, Kieran nodded. “Yes sir, Mr . . . Bill. Bill. Sir”

“Alright then, listen here.” Bill put his hand on Kieran’s shoulder, shrugging awkwardly. “The thing is . . . well . . . ,” he lowered his hand, stiffening his shoulders. “It’s just . . . can I talk to you? Just for a minute, after you’re done here.”

“Uh, sure Bill.”

“Great! Well, alright. I’ll wait for you just over here.”

Kieran finished, then wandered over to where Bill was sitting on a log. He’d almost missed him, it was so dark, and they were far enough away from camp that the firelight didn’t reach. He stumbled over a stump just as he reached him, and was surprised to find that Bill caught him easily, planting him on the log beside him. For several long seconds, Bill just stared at him, saying nothing. Finally Kieran cleared his throat.

“You, uh, wanted to talk to me?”

Bill snapped out of his stare. “Yeah. Uh, the thing is . . .” He fidgeted awkwardly, twisting his fingers into a strand of grass between his legs. “The thing . . . the thing is . . . .” Bill tossed the grass away, staring down at his hands. “What do you think of men being with other men?”

“What, you mean like men and women are together?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Or not. Or maybe yeah?”

“I don’t know. Reckon I can see the appeal.”

Bill’s head jerked up, eyes fixed on Kieran. “Yeah?”

“Well, sure. Sometimes women are pretty, sometimes men are. And sometimes men are handsome, sometimes women.”

“You ever liked a man?”

“Sure. Never did nothing about it, though. Couldn’t even mention it around Colm. They talk bad enough about ladies. Men who like other men was even worse.”

Bill swallowed hard. Kieran’s knee was pressed against his, his legs spread wide. Memories of him tied to the tree with his pants around his ankles were flooding his head, and Bill was getting harder by the second. If he didn’t speak up now, it would be another long, lonely night, stroking himself and wishing he had more courage.

“You want to?”

Bill’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, barely over a mumble, and at first Kieran was confused. Then the pieces started falling into place, especially when he saw Bill look up at him, cheeks pink and eyes pleading.

“Wait a minute . . . you like me? I mean, LIKE me?”

Bill’s cheeks deepened to crimson. “Yeah. Maybe. Or not. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Kieran’s lips were on his before he had a chance to breathe, then he sat back. Watching Bill, big, strong, manly Bill, get flustered had to be one of the best things that ever happened to him.

“I always knew you were a big ol’ teddy bear,” he grinned.

Bill huffed, then turned and pressed his lips to Kieran’s. While he was occupied with the kiss, Bill slipped his hand over his, moving it to rest between his legs. Though he didn’t break the kiss, he gasped slightly at the feel of Bill’s cock, rock hard beneath his fingers. He traced down it’s length, then wrapped his hand over it and squeezed, making Bill moan against his lips. When he started stroking him, Bill threw his head back, squeezing Kieran’s thigh hard, biting back a moan. Soon his hand was wandering between Kieran’s legs, looking to return the favor. When Kieran brushed his hand away, he sat up, pushing Kieran’s hand away and moving to kneel between his legs. His thick fingers fumbled with Kieran’s buttons, eager.

“I always wanted to do this.” He whispered, gruff voice heavy with lust. Soon Kieran’s pants were undone, Bill’s heavily calloused hand wrapped around him. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and then Bill leaned forward.

The second Bill’s lips closed around him, Kieran knew that this was as close to heaven as he’d ever get. He’d been with women, but this feeling- warm, soft, so fucking wet- was so much better than pussy. Bill’s mouth could work magic, his tongue running against the underside of his cock, lapping against his tip as precum flowed. When he started sucking, head bobbing up and down, Kieran knew there was no way he was going to last. Already the space between his legs was hot, tense, and Bill was sucking harder, faster, with a desperation he’d never known. If he’d known it would feel this good to have a cock in his mouth, he’d have done it years ago. Suddenly, he felt Kieran’s hand in his hair, tugging backwards, and the tension at his scalp made him groan.

“Bill, I’m . . .” Kieran started, looking down. That was a mistake. The clouds had parted just enough for Kieran to see, and the sight of Bill between his legs, mouth around his cock and groaning in pleasure was more than he could stand. He tried to back away, pull out of Bill’s mouth, but by the time the head of his cock was against Bill’s lips, he came, climax spurting across Bill’s tongue and dripping into his beard. Before he could apologize, Bill had him in his hand again, leaning to trail his tongue across his cock and lick him clean. Kieran watched every second, turned on more than he thought he could be at the sight of this big man made so weak by him.

When Bill had cleaned him to his satisfaction, he tucked himself away, still reeling at the sight of Bill’s starry eyes. Now he was on his knees in front of him, panting, covered in sweat, with his cock tenting the front of his pants. Kieran flashed him a grin.

“Bet you’d like me to do something about that problem you got there, huh?” Bill nodded. “Well, why don’t you drop your pants and I’ll see what I can do.”

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 kieran #kieran duffy #rdr2 bill #bieran #bill williamson #rdr2 smut #nsft #mxm #m/m fiction

72 notes · View notes

dracoqueen22 · 4 years

Text

Making Friends I - Conversation Starter

Title: Conversation Starter Universe: Tethers Characters: Tempest Teapot, Dakota Sorrel, Rathi of the Cinders, Easton Rating: K+/G Desc: Tempest is surrounded by pretty people, but Easton is the newest face, and so it must be up to her to make the first overture.

Easton loitered in the periphery of their camp like a stray animal who couldn't decide if he wanted to be kept or not. He sat on a stump, legs curled lotus beneath him, long white braid tucked over a shoulder, studiously ignoring their entire party. Tempest couldn't stop staring. He was so pretty. Pretty like women were pretty. She didn't know men could be so pretty. She imagined him painted up like a princess, his hair dripping in jewels, his body draped in fine materials, perhaps a dress to swish around his ankles. Oh, they’d suit him well. He was pretty enough for it. She gnawed on a strip of dried venison and contemplated their guide. He was tall, too. A little on the thin side. Gods, he had the longest legs, too. They went on for days. He wielded a longbow, which meant he had strong arms and hands. Good for lifting things. "You're drooling," Dakota said. "I'm not!" Tempest said. Except maybe she was. So she wiped at the corner of her mouth.

"He's so pretty," she mumbled around the meat. She shifted her weight, calves aching a bit from the casual crouch she'd dropped into.

"Aye, and likely to bite your head off if you try, so don't bother," Dakota grumbled as he bent over the new pair of socks he was knitting for her. It was a strange thing. Her socks kept getting holes in them, right at the tip where her big toe was. She went through socks like most people went through... well, something they tend to go through quickly anyway. "Maybe he's nicer on a one-by-one basis," Tempest contemplated aloud. She sucked her fingers clean. "He just needs to get to know us." "I don't think that's going to help," Dakota warned, but there wasn't much strength behind it. Just a kind of tired resignation. Good. He was learning. Tempest stood up, hissed when her calves protested, and bent over to rub at them. "I'm going to go talk to him," she declared after the initial spasms ended. Dakota sighed. Tempest adjusted her clothing, dragged a hand through her hair, and then realized she'd kind of dragged a bunch of jerky-spit through her curls, too. Oops. "Wish me luck," she said and picked her way through the camp, skirting around the low fire and tossing a wink at Rathi as she passed. "You beat me to it," Rathi said with a slanted look at Easton, a bit of hunger in her eyes. Tempest couldn't blame her. He was so damn pretty. Then again, their whole party was gorgeous. Tempest wondered how she got so lucky to be able to travel with a whole group of pretty, pretty people. She could ogle all day and never get bored, except Dakota. He was pretty in his own way, but Tempest didn’t ogle him. That would be weird, and a little gross. He was like her little brother. She had to keep an eye on him for his safety, not for ogling him. "You can have the leftovers," Tempest promised. Rathi chuckled, and Tempest let her be, approaching Easton without bothering to hide the fact she was doing so. She didn't want to sneak up on him. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Closer now, she could see he was reading. He balanced easily on the log, and a book was open in his lap. He leaned to the side, one elbow on his knee, chin balanced on his knuckles, and though he looked completely absorbed in the book, Tempest figured he had to be paying attention to his surroundings. He had to know she was coming. Still, she tromped extra loud on a few crunchy leaves just to make sure. Easton’s short-sword was within reach, and though she couldn’t see the longbow, she figured it was close at hand and ready to draw in a flash. “Isn’t it too dim for you to see that?” Tempest asked as she moved to crouch in front of Easton, so that he couldn’t hide from her by looking down. He turned a page without meeting her gaze. “I have dark-vision,” he said. He had a deep voice, deeper than she would have expected for someone so lithe. Tempest propped her elbow on a knee and her chin on her palm. “Oh. Well, that’s handy. I wish I had dark-vision.” He said nothing. He focused on his book as if he thought she’d give up and go away, probably in an annoyed huff. Well, Dakota would. Probably Tyrael, too. Not Tempest though. Her curiosity outweighed all of it. He had such pretty eyes, too. They were honey-brown, but toward the pupil, they were an amber-red in little uneven spikes. She thought he was maybe a half-elf or something, because he had those slightly pointed ears, and most elves were of the lithe sort. “Whatcha reading?” Tempest asked. She didn’t understand the fascination with reading herself. Books were boring. Sitting in one place to read a book was even more boring. There were much better ways to spend her time. Easton tilted the book so she could see the spine and the cover and the title. Not that it helped. Tempest could read, but not whatever this language was. The writing was broad and looping and the letters made no sense to her. “Okay, so I can mostly read Common, and I can kinda speak Elvish when someone is talking to me nice and slow, but there’s no way I know what this is,” Tempest said. She could also speak Halfling, but doubted that was relevant. He lowered the book so it was easier for him to see. “Then you don’t need to know what it is.” “Wow.” Tempest’s eyebrows crawled toward her hairline. “You’re nice to look at, but you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?” Easton blinked and finally looked at her. He lifted one sculpted eyebrow -- did he sculpt those himself? “Should I be something else?” “Huh?” “We’re strangers,” Easton pointed out. He sounded impatient and put out, like her very presence grated on him. He hadn’t told her to leave yet though so she figured she was winning as long as he didn’t say it outright. Tempest pushed air through her lips. “So?” She stared at him, like Blizzara used to stare at people who were being rude and ought to know better. “Doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.” Easton, without taking his eyes away from her, marked his place in the book and closed it, resting one hand on the cover. “What do you want?” Ohhh. Progress! Tempest grinned and rocked a bit where she crouched. “You said it. We’re strangers. How about let’s fix that?” “And if I’m not interested?” He had a weird way of talking, too, lingering on certain words like someone told him he was supposed to emphasize them, but he kept forgetting which ones it was. Maybe Common wasn’t his native tongue. Tempest tilted her head, aiming her left ear toward him so she could hear better. “That would be a shame. I’m a pretty interesting person.” His lips twitched, like he was fighting off the urge to smile. “An odd one at least.” “You probably think you’re insultin’ me, but you’re not,” Tempest squinted at him. She swallowed a laugh because she thought that might make him clam back up, and she was already making progress. Besides, looking at him was hardly a trial. He was just so goddamn pretty. “I rest my case,” he said, but there was a shadow of a smile in his lips, on the edges. She wondered what he’d look like with a real smile, with his eyes bright from humor or happiness. Tempest grinned and pointed at his mouth. “I saw that.” He, however, pretended she hadn’t said anything. He gave her a keen look, like he was measuring her, probably in the same way she’d measured him. “... Tempest, right?” “You remembered!” Tempest stood up, wincing as her calves protested, and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m proud of you. See, we’re not as much strangers as you thought.” He rolled his eyes, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased away. He looked at her directly which was nice because Tempest did not want to have to crouch again. Her calves did not like it. “Now you’re being a smart-ass.” “What gave me away?” Easton snorted and sat back a little on the log, looking more engaged this time. “Fine,” he said, with a vague gesture. “What do you want to know?” Oh, boy. So, so much. But she had to be careful or she’d scare Easton away. “Hmm.” Tempest tapped her chin before planting her hands on her hips. “What were you reading?” “It’s a bestiary.” Tempest blinked. “A what?” One of Easton’s lips curled with amusement. “Bestiary,” he said, repeating the word slowly. “They’re encyclopedias of various creatures.” “Does it have pictures?” “A few.” Tempest frowned and rocked back and forth on her heels. “I prefer pictures,” she said, and decided to tiptoe into more personal questions, maybe get him to open up. You had to be careful with these stubborn, asshole types. They clammed up faster than a… well, clam. “Where are you from?” Easton’s lips thinned. His face immediately closed down, and Tempest cursed herself for asking the wrong question. “Nowhere in particular,” he said, and his voice grew thicker, as did his accent, like words were the hardest thing to manage. “It doesn’t matter.” “Sad past, huh?” Tempest asked, careful to keep her tone light and airy, like she wasn’t really invested in the answer, even though she most definitely was. Easton squinted. “What makes you say that?” Tempest tilted her head from side to side, staring up into the canopy of the trees. “Dakota gives me the same answer when I ask him about his hometown. I put two and two together.” “Perceptive of you,” Easton said. “I’m a perceptive person!” “Except for the part where I wanted to be left alone.” Easton picked up his book and brought it into his lap once more, opening it to the marked place. Damn. She was losing him. “No one really wants to be alone,” Tempest said, because she knew this to be true. People might say they wanted solitude, but the truth was, they just didn’t want to be hurt anymore, and couldn’t trust the world wouldn’t hurt them. “I do,” Easton said. Tempest scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Then you’re lying.” “Am I.” It wasn’t a question, not the way Easton said it. His head tipped down, back to his book, and Tempest was left looking at the crown of his head, the intricate knot of his long, white braid. She wondered how soft his hair was, or if he liked it being pulled. “We’re done here.” Tempest opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut. Easton and Dakota were a lot alike, but she got the feeling, she couldn’t push Easton quite like she pushed Dakota. With Dakota, there was a little kernel of affection she could prod at. Tempest knew the name of that kernel only because Dakota had muttered it in his sleep once. Mathias. His little brother. Who Dakota loved above all else. Tempest knew her existence tapped into the part of Dakota desperate to care for another person, and Tempest was willing to slide into that slot, if it brought Dakota out of his shell. Easton, however. Easton would need a different approach. So Tempest smiled brightly, though Easton wasn’t looking at her. “Alright, well, enjoy your book.” She left with a parting wave, but Easton didn’t acknowledge her departure. He kept his attention focused on his book as though it held all the mysteries of the universe. Well, it was a start at least. Tempest hummed to herself as she traced her route back to Dakota’s side, passing Rathi along on the way and offering her a wink. Rathi gave her a thumbs up, but went back to whatever quiet conversation she was having with Celeste. Tyrael was already asleep, wrapped up in his blanket and curled in the roots of a tree. Dakota didn’t look up when she approached, but he spoke when she flopped onto the forest floor beside him. “How’d it go?” Tempest grinned and folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the stars through the canopy of trees. “I’m going to adopt him.” “I don’t think that’s how it works,” Dakota said, and there was a hint of chastisement in his tone, probably a tone he’d used with his younger brother too many times for him to count. “Why not?” She slanted him a look, idly noticing that he needed a haircut sooner rather than later. “I adopted you.” Dakota’s brow furrowed, but then he peered at the yarn wrapped around his fingers, and Tempest assumed he was frowning at a knot. “I am reasonably certain it was the other way around.” “That’s what you think,” Tempest said. She watched Dakota for a moment. It never ceased to fascinate her, how deftly his fingers moved, almost too quick to track. How he could take a bundle of colorful yarn and within an hour, a sock had taken shape. She’d always heard orcs were clumsy, brutish creatures, but there’s nothing clumsy about Dakota. Tempest figured a lot of stories she’d heard about a lot of things were just that – stories. They didn’t often match the reality of a thing. “He’s lonely,” Tempest added after a minute. Dakota snorted. “I doubt that very much.” “He is. He just doesn’t want to admit it, so he’s a jerk to people.” “What makes you say that?” Dakota asked as he squinted at his work, in much the same way Easton had squinted at the pages of his book. Tempest crossed one leg over the opposite knee and set her foot to bouncing. “You two are a lot alike.” Unsurprisingly, Dakota said nothing. His face darkened into a glower, and he sighed, doing something with the yarn in his hands. He shook out the sock, in all its garish colors because he knew Tempest liked having ridiculous socks. “Let me see your foot,” he finally said. Tempest stuck her foot in his lap, her worn socks covered with dirt and leaves, her big toe sticking out of the hole. She wiggled her toes. Dakota rolled his eyes, but he held up the sock to the bottom of her foot to check the fit as if this wasn’t the fourth pair he’d knitted for her. He checked the fit every time, and Tempest wondered, had he done this for Mathias, too? Had he knit socks for his younger brother, and had to check the fit as Mathias had grown? “It’ll work,” he said. “Take your dirty foot back.” Tempest grinned and obeyed. “We’re gonna keep him,” she said, slanting a look at Easton, who she could barely see around the crackle of the fire, still bent over his book and studiously ignoring everyone else in the party. “I guess we’ll have to see which of us is right,” Dakota said, and went back to work on her socks. Pah. Tempest already knew what the end result was going to be. Easton was one of them. He just didn’t know it yet. ***

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome! Feel free to reblog, chat in the tags, send me some comments... etc. I’d love to know what people think of my characters, the universe, etc. This is gonna be a pretty hefty series, I promise! I’ve got loads and loads more content to come.

#original fiction #original fantasy fiction #series: tethers #draco writes original fiction #dakota sorrel #tempest teapot #easton | riordan shaye #rathi of the cinders #the adventuring party which is yet to be named

1 note · View note

thestarshiphope · 5 years

Text

Personal Log: Aishi Taro

*The recording device crackles to life*

<Begin Log, 8/00/00> I’m beginning this audio log at the recommendation of our therapeutic hologram. Just as kind of a way to keep myself sane while we’re out here. I guess I’ll start with a few details. My name is Aishi Taro, chief of security for Project Gofer. I turned 28 just before the meteor showers. I have two moms and a dad. Or...had, I guess.

Sorry, sorry, don’t wanna get morose just yet. We’ve got a crew of about 26 on board and the sixteen Ultimates in cold sleep. Orders are to keep them frozen until we arrive. No idea why, and it’s a shame. I’d love to talk to them. I’m sure they’ve got some stories to tell.

Also, because Earth time doesn’t really matter out here, we’ve been counting up since we left. It’s been 200 hours since launch, so a little over 8 days. We’re already coming up to Uranus’ orbit soon. Yes, haha, that’s so funny.

<Begin Log, 29/00/00> We’ve just crossed the Kuiper Belt, which means we’re officially beyond the Solar System’s borders. Hard to believe we’re never going back. All we can do now is keep moving forward. Not that that’s sitting well with a lot of the crew; most of them are homesick, depressed, and agitated. There’s already been two fistfights I had to break up.

Okabe and Yamasaki are always in the lab, tending to the Ultimates’ pods. I have to make sure they’re sleeping and eating properly. Honestly, I’ve been slacking on it myself. I looked into one of the pods, just to see if I could see any of them, but it’s fogged up. I feel so sorry for these kids. They had no idea what they were really in for.

<Begin Log, 17/02/00> Sure is a lot of nothing out here. Yeah, the stars are pretty, but other than that it’s just void. All that’s separating us from are a couple centimeters of metal, plastic, and glass. Okay, okay, not gonna think too much about that. We’ve been having fewer incidents, and I think we’ve started to settle into the idea that this is home now.

We all try to keep ourselves busy. Not much time for small talk, although I have been talking to Kobayashi lately. She’s real pretty, but I can tell she’s been depressed ever since we left home. Maybe I’ll ask her out, see if she’d be interested. Not much we can do here, but hey, a little company’s nice, right?

<Begin Log, 24/04/00> My date with Kobayashi went well, I think. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since we got here, so that’s gotta count for something. She brought up the breeding program, but then asked me to forget about it. Honestly, it’s been on my mind too. We’re all expected to do our part in one way or another.

Not that that’s the only reason I’ve been talking to her. I mean, yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s a great conversationalist too. We talked for about three hours nonstop yesterday. She gets so passionate about her work. Thanks to her, our colony’s going to have some fast-growing plants with rich fruits and vegetables.

Not that we’ll get to enjoy them. For now, we’re stuck eating worms and algae wafers. Better than nothing, I guess. Anyway, I think I’m gonna ask her out again tomorrow. I wanna hear more about what she has to say.

<Begin Log, 16/08/00> We had our first death today. Hibiki, one of the junior scientists, locked himself in his room and overdosed on medication. Okabe and Yamasaki have taken it the hardest. It was during my latest date with Kotone as well, and I think she might be blaming herself as well. As of today, nobody’s allowed medicine without supervision.

I wonder how many others have been contemplating the same thing. I hope this doesn’t happen again.

<Begin Log, 22/02/01> Kotone’s pregnant. I was so excited when she told me. It w@sn’t ab0ut the pr gram, bu-

-nev3r h@d the chance aga1n.

<Begin Log, 04/05/04> For the first time, we’ve passed another star. Proxima Centauri, I think it’s called. Kotone and Mio were so excited. For a little bit, I thought our journey was over, but Yamasaki told me we’ve got a long ways to go. Proxima Centauri does have a planet, but the star’s too unstable for us to stay there.

I hope we get there before Mio has kids of her own. She deserves to at least know what living on a planet feels like before then.

-gin log, 10/10/15> I talked to Kotone today, and she told me some strange things. She said that, last week, when she went into the lab, Yamasaki was...well, he wasn’t doing anything. That’s just it. He was standing in the corner of the room, staring out the window. When she went to check on him, she noticed he had purple bit marks along his wrist and hand. And they were self-inflicted. Otherwise, he seemed pretty normal, which is even weirder.

Yamasaki’s been acting twitchy lately. I don’t know what it is, but our therapy hologram’s been trying to help him.

Even that doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Last night, I heard a scratching outside my door. I went to check, but...nobody was there.

I swear to God, if I find a penrose triangle drawn anywhere, I’m going to start interrogating everyone. At least Kotone’s keeping Mio out of this.

<Begin log, 16/10/15> The weirdest thing just happened.

It was during our night time. I heard a loud banging noise from outside my door, kinda like the scratching from a few days ago. But then I heard it again. And again. After the fourth time, I got up to check out what it was.

And...I don’t even know how to describe it. It was Sasaki. He was standing there at the end of the hall, I only saw his shadow at first, but he was...he was smashing his forehead against the wall. Just standing there and smashing it, over and over. As I got closer, I noticed the bloodstain he’d left on the wall, as well as the open wound on his forehead.

When I tried to get his attention, he just seemed dazed. Like he wasn’t really there. After I was able to wrestle him away from the wall and to the infirmary, he suddenly came back. He’s in recovery and they’re checking to see if he’s suffered any sort of brain injury.

What the hell is happening on this ship?

<Begin log, 15/11/15> What the actual flying fuck is happening around here? Kotone went in for work today, but she...she found Okabe. He was almost dead, with a syringe jammed into one of his eyes. He’s in intensive care right now and now we’re looking for the one who did it. Kotone’s keeping Mio safe, thankfully.

Yamasaki’s missing. I hope he wasn’t taken.

I miss when things were boring.

<Begin log, 24/11/15> We found Yamasaki on the fourth deck. He’d chewed the ends of his fingers into bloody stumps and was writing messages on the walls.

He’d gone pure fucking mental. I guess fifteen years in space can do that to a guy. He’s the one who went and stabbed Okabe in the eye. He tried to attack us too. I shot him in the knee and we locked him in an empty storage room with some food, just so we’ll have a temporary place to keep him until he calms down.

Even if he has gone mental, that doesn’t explain what’s happened to people like Sasaki. Is our ship haunted? Is this a curse for abandoning everyone back on Earth?

<Begin log, 04/12/15> More than half the crew’s refusing to work. They’re not acting like themselves right now, or they’re talking pure nonsense, like how one of them is president of last Tuesday. Others forget who we are or forget what they were talking about midway through a sentence. Some are even saying things like how we need to turn around and go back to Earth, or that we should cut the life support for the ultimates and Okabe. If they start getting violent, I might have to resort to more extreme measures.

Not that I want to. Eight of the women are pregnant.

Kotone...Mio...God, please protect them.

<Begin log, 24/12/15> Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

This is bad. This is really fucking bad. There was another fight on the top decks, now we’ve basically got a riot going on. At least five crew members are dead. I’m stuck down here on the third deck with Sasaki and Chief Engineer Mizuguchi. We’ve heard gunshots and screams from upstairs.

I can’t get to Kotone and Mio down here! I need to get back up there!

<Begin log, 30/12/15> We couldn’t get up to the top decks. We had no choice but to barricade ourselves in heat exchange and hope it all dies down.

While we were building the barricade, one of them came down to us and pulled out a knife. I shot him, but it hardly seemed like it phased him until he started walking away, dragging a bloody hand across the wall.

I’m down to my last magazine. I need to save our bullets.

<Begin log, 11/01/16> It’s quiet. Too quiet.

<Begin log, 29/01/16> Please. Where’s Kotone and Mio? Sasaki’s on his side, rocking back and forth with a blank look on his face. Mizuguchi’s cradling his stomach in pain. He must be hungry.

Uesugi, why aren’t you there? Why aren’t you helping us? What’s wrong with you?

<Begin log, 13/02/16> It’s all quiet now. I don’t know what happened, but I can’t even hear people walking around upstairs. And at this point, the three of us are too weak to move the barricade. All I’ve got is one can of food left and the seven bullets still in my gun.

I don’t know what’s happened to the Ultimates either. Maybe they’re still frozen or they did cut off life support like they said. I don’t know. I guess I’ll never know at this point.

Is this it? Are we the only ones left? Humanity’s last hope devolving into...this? All of that culture and history and it just comes down to three starving, dying, incoherent men? Some legacy, eh?

Kotone...Mio...I love you both. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

<Begin log, 25/02/16> I’m alone now. I shot them both while they were asleep. They were in pain, rambling, gibbering, they wouldn’t shut up. I can’t move anymore. Don’t want to.

<Begin log, 05/03/16> *There’s a long silence followed by a soft laughter that devolves into frenzied heaving. There’s the sound of a gunshot and metallic clattering. The rest of the recording is one long stretch of ghostly silence*

*Recording ends*

Jesus fucking Christ...

#danganronpa #v3 #danganronpa v3 #miu iruma #starship hope #DR #ndrv3

25 notes · View notes

wendyimmiller · 5 years

Text

Gardening When You Really Don’t Wanna

The most dreaded thing I’ve ever had to face was to be dragged along while my mom took my sisters shopping. Any time this happened, it was beyond awful. A purgatory of boredom and sadness that could last anywhere from endless to eternal.

Picture it this way: I’m an otherwise happy, well-adjusted 5-8 year old boy, but I’m being held hostage in a cavern of clothes racks at some store for the 6th or 7th hour and my arm is being held straight up above my head. All the blood it ever contained has drained from it hours ago, my wrist is gripped white-knuckled tight by an unbelievably strong, terrifyingly frustrated, and appallingly unsympathetic mother, and she is yanking my arm right and left to emphasize each and every syllable–my whole body violently following each yank–from some variation of a sentence that starts with “Mister, you had…” and ends with …”something to cry about.”

Any expedition to go buy clothes was like this. Totally unendurable. But the worst of the worst death marches were treks for Easter outfits. Worse than that? Shoes. Easter outfits? I want to cry right now just thinking about it. What absolute zero is to physics about describes the absolute misery caused by Easter shopping. But, somehow, shopping for shoes was even worse.

There is no telling the amount of pain that went into making this photograph possible.

If I remember right, the main issue with shoes was that one of my sisters had skinny little feet and, for her, there were always several choices of adorably cute shoes. Amazing how much time could leave the universe while deciding exactly which pair, but at the end of the day she went home with nice shoes. On the other hand, my other sister had wide feet and needed “corrective” shoes. This was the double whammy of terrible luck for her and me. The best she ever found were shoes that nuns wouldn’t even wear. Me? A fate that consigned me to dangle from one arm in store after store after store as my mother led us all–wild in sorrow–in an ever widening migration of despair, shoe store to shoe store in what we all knew was a vain pursuit of a cute pair of wide “corrective” shoes.

The sound of this misery–moaning, whining, complaining, crying, and my mother’s hissing, cursing attempts to make it stop–steadily built to a crescendo of unhappiness that–thinking about it–NASA should have recorded and then perpetually beamed into space so as to deter hostile aliens from having any interest in our planet.

Anyway, this is how I spent somewhere around a quarter of my childhood.

And this same level of misery about describes a quarter of my gardening chores. That’s right. Gardening ain’t all wine and roses. You see, I’m not in it for the motions. I don’t garden because I like to push a mower around the yard in a certain pattern. I never have a hankering to go turn a compost heap, or haul brush to the woods, or spread 15-20 yards of mulch. I don’t like trying to figure out why my well-pump isn’t working, and it’s been a very long time since I found anything compelling about digging a hole.

Those activities are merely a means to an end, and the end is a beautiful garden with all the benefits therein: a backyard oasis, a refuge for wildlife, and a safe place to enjoy the sweetest kind of peace on Earth. Bonus credits for a contented wife, adulation from strangers during garden tours, and for a green vegetative kind of privacy that allows open, carefree peeing in the middle of the backyard at any time on any given day during the growing season.

Indeed. All this, not pulling weeds, is why I garden.

And yet even as we speak, here in football season, I have sacks and sacks of bulbs to plant before the ground freezes. It’s been a hard year, I’m kind of gardened out, and no matter how much I try to focus any ESP powers I’ve got, those bulbs just are not going to plant themselves. This, all because I heard Brent Heath speak back in May, got all excited, and placed a big order.

So I will do what I’ve always done: make excuses, put the task off, and try not to think about it too much. And I will do these things for week after week. In certain times when I’m feeling the urgency more greatly, I’ll quietly wish for an injury or a breakdown that will serve as an adequate excuse for failing to get them planted. Eventually however, the day will inevitably come when there’s no room for even one more second of procrastination.

And there I’ll be, on my knees, cold, slimy soil chilling me to my bones, a bitter wind rasping at my face, trying not to smell the dog crap that got on my jeans because it was camouflaged in the leaves, and suffering strange, phantom jerking motions in my right arm. Inside, on TV, The Ohio State Buckeyes are defeating Michigan again. There’s guacamole on the counter. Beer in the fridge. But I’m not inside. I’m outside, and cursing the hell out of that smooth talking Brent Heath.

Another time it’ll be summer. 100 degrees out. And I’ll be cutting down a skanky old crabapple and every single twisty, pokey, gnarly, and ugly branch will have made up its mind to fight me every step of the way. Whatever I want, they’ll want the opposite. They’ll gouge at my eyes. They’ll gash my skin. Nasty, itchy stuff will fall down the back of my shirt. I’ll be sweating, bleeding, and pissed off. There will be no easy angle to position for any single cut. Brush will tangle underfoot. Each of a hundred logs will not stack without a brute force battle of wills, and not one piece of brush will go into the truck and stay there until I’ve discovered–by endless repetition only–the mystical combination of cuss words that will unlock the system. And it’ll suck.

A crabapple displaying full on winter interest in the middle of summer.

Or, it’s mid spring in Ohio and like a complete freakin’ idiot I again jumped the gun and planted out a bunch of tender stuff. I get home from work after dark, it’s 35F and raining, and they’re calling for a hard frost. And, like a damned soul in a Renaissance painting, I’ll inconsolably drag myself outside, and for the next fours hours I will–in fits and starts–construct the world’s twelfth largest shanty town in the backyard from whatever little bits of scrap wood, chunks of rock and rubble, some string, tape, old sheets, blankets, and filthy leftover plastic sheeting I can find in a panicked effort to save a bunch of annuals, tropicals, vegetables, and some expensive fern that Tony Avent said was hardy to Zone 7b, (at least) from a cold, lonely, continental, Z6a, untimely death.

Fun times.

Here’s what follows that: You drag yourself back inside, take a forever long hot shower, down a few shots, and, sitting there as surly as sin, you think really dark and dirty thoughts. Other people aren’t doing this shit. Other people live in condos. They have their thermostats set at “Giant-Ass Carbon Footprint.” So warm they’ve been forced to strip down to teddies and speedos. They’ve over-eaten a fabulous dinner and drank a bottle of wine they don’t even know enough to appreciate. Yep, you were having a cold, wet piece of plastic that smelled mind-blowingly bad whipping back and forth across your face as you, both hands engaged, tried to tack it down over a row of tomato plants, and those condo people were living a bacchanalian existence. And you loathe them.

And, yet, you garden on.

Honestly, I’m mystified. Where does the fortitude come from that gets gardeners outside to suffer through odious tasks under miserable circumstances simply because they need to be done? I don’t know. Really don’t. But I’ve done it. Over and over and over again. And my gardening friends have all done it too. I don’t know, reminds me of something that parents used to toss off at you with a smirk: “Hey, it builds character.” Maybe gardeners have that.

But, I will say this. Winter is long and it dies hard. It rears its ugly head again and again before it’s finally defeated, and there ain’t no better tonic for that than the almost tearful joy a garden full of blooming bulbs brings. They fill the heart, God bless them, combating cold and gray with color and fragrance.

And then comes summer. Hot and humid. Sometimes you just want to run from the house to the car, from the car to the office, and then back again. A/C to A/C. An inside, artificial existence devoid of anything that stokes our human nature. But under a shade tree you’ve tended for years, you can enjoy a tall drink and the hordes of butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds that come to visit that Lantana you saved. And then can pick some of your own tomatoes right from the vine and bring them in for the BLTs you’ll have for supper.

Some other time you’ll find yourself looking at the empty space where a scabby, rusty crabapple once lived, and you will take huge and vicious satisfaction in knowing that it was living its hideous existence and then you sawed it down. It was ugly and now it’s not. It’s gone. And you’re totally responsible. And, yet, you live as a free man. You feel no guilt. Nope. You feel joy. It poked your eyes. It raked your skin. It hurt your back. But all that’s over now. You’ve got a drink, and you’re smiling almost fiendishly as you enjoy the lovely aromas of ribs roasting in its smoldering wood.

You just try not to think too much about the stump you chose not to grub out. Nor that day sometime in the future when you’ll roll in a 400-pound, balled and burlaped, plant du jour that some speaker at some conference got you all excited about. Yeah. Sure enough. That day will come, and it will be woeful. But that’s just how it is. That’s how it’s meant to be. To have this, you gotta do that. And you’d have it no other way.

Gardening When You Really Don’t Wanna originally appeared on GardenRant on September 25, 2019.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2019/09/gardening-when-you-really-dont-wanna.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

turfandlawncare · 5 years

Text

Gardening When You Really Don’t Wanna

Picture it this way: I’m an otherwise happy, well-adjusted 6-8 year old boy, but I’m being held hostage in a cavern of clothes racks at some store for the 6th or 7th hour and my arm is being held straight up above my head. All the blood it ever contained has drained from it hours ago, my wrist is gripped white-knuckled tight by an unbelievably strong, terrifyingly frustrated, and appallingly unsympathetic mother, and she is yanking my arm right and left to emphasize each and every syllable–my whole body violently following each yank–as she repeats some variation of a sentence that starts with “Mister, you had…” and ends with …”something to cry about.”

Any expedition to go buy clothes was like this. Totally unendurable. But the worst of the worst death marches were treks for Easter outfits and shoes. Easter outfits? I want to cry right now just thinking about it. What absolute zero is to physics about describes the absolute misery caused by Easter shopping. But shopping for shoes was even worse.

There is no telling the amount of pain that went into making this photograph possible.

If I remember right, the main issue with shoes was that one of my sisters had skinny little feet and, for her, there were always several choices of adorably cute shoes. Amazing how much time could leave the universe deciding which pair. Ridiculous. But so much worse was this. My other sister had wide feet and needed “corrective” shoes. This was the double whammy that consigned me to dangle from one arm in store after store after store as my mother led us all–wild in sorrow–in an ever widening migration of despair, shoe store to shoe store in what we all knew was a vain pursuit of a cute pair of wide “corrective” shoes.

The sound of this misery–moaning, whining, complaining, crying, and my mother’s hissing, cursing attempts to make it stop–steadily built to a crescendo of unhappiness that NASA should have recorded and then perpetually beamed into space so as to deter hostile aliens from ever having any interest in our planet.

Anyway, this is how I spent somewhere around a quarter of my childhood.

Yes. All this, not pulling weeds, is why I garden.

And yet even as we speak I have sacks and sacks of bulbs to plant before the ground freezes. And it’s football season. It’s been a hard year, I’m kind of gardened out, and no matter how much I try to focus any ESP powers I’ve got, those bulbs just are not going to plant themselves. This, all because I heard Brent Heath speak back in May, got all excited, and placed a big order.

A crabapple displaying full on winter interest in the middle of summer.

Fun times.

And, yet, you garden on.

Gardening When You Really Don’t Wanna originally appeared on GardenRant on September 25, 2019.

from GardenRant https://ift.tt/2mMuWbW

#GardenRant

0 notes