#Moomoo Farm

[acquired-stardust]

Pokemon Crystal Gameboy Color 2000

[bonefall]

[ID: Ask from @storiesandsquirrels, transcribed in alt text]

also: link to Cow Lore

There's one major misconception here I've gotta correct before answering earnestly; Holsteins do need Super Duper Food. This is one of their major problems as a breed, you need to give them high quality feed for high quantity, low quality milk.

But! That said! These are valid questions that deserve real responses. In spite of the quick correction, I actually want to answer them as you phrased them because I think it would be more illuminating. I'm going to try and summarize them as I go along;

Question 1: "Why wouldn't we want to use The Most Efficient Cow?"

The simplest answer is disease. My ""prediction"" came true, and bird flu has mutated to spread extremely easily through the infected udders of Holsteins. No one has died of bovine-contracted HPAI yet, but with Brainworm Bobby and his love of raw milk in charge of the CDC...

well. my last prediction was prophetic. let's hope this one's not.

Minmaxing a breed for one specific purpose always means intensive inbreeding. Like I mentioned, 9 million Holsteins are genetically equivalent to 60 individuals. A more genetically diverse population is one that will be better at preventing disease outbreaks, and reducing their severity when they do.

And what even is the Most Efficient Milk Cow? If you're only selecting for pure milk production to drive down its cost, you get a breed of cattle that lacks every other important trait that would make it good livestock;

They get sick more often, due to inbreeding depression and lack of physical fitness, requiring more antibiotics and veterinary care.

They are bad parents who will need more human intervention to birth and raise calves

They won't be good grazers, meaning they need a specific food grown for them, increasing how much "functional" land is actually dedicated to cattle husbandry.

Their carcass won't yield as much meat, so more cattle have to be raised and slaughtered to meet demand.

Their bodies will burn out much quicker than a healthier animal, meaning you need to replace your livestock more often.

When it comes to living beings, "efficiency" is "fragility." It's not a stable system to begin with.

Even with the pure logic aside, just, step back here and look at the situation with a heart. We'd be making unhealthy, short-lived animals lacking critical instincts to lead good social lives. AND we probably haven't even fixed the "less land" problem, just shifted the land off-site.

For what? For more milk? We have SO MUCH milk we don't even know what to do with it!

Question 2: "Isn't an overabundance of cheap milk a good thing?"

no.

Under the infinite genius of Capitalism, thousands of gallons of milk just gets poured into the sewer daily because there's too much of it. Transporting it to a processor would cost more than it's worth, sometimes the processors turn milk away because they don't want to overproduce products, and even the US government can't subsidize every last drop; it still has 1.4 billion pounds of cheese in various caves and warehouses across the country.

The price of milk cannot get any lower because it's already being sold below the cost it takes to produce it, and yet, we're still here literally pouring it down the drain.

[photo from bill ulrich who photographed a farmer dumping milk back during the pandemic. this isn't even a recent photo. this happens every time there's a milk surplus. im using this photo because i like the farmer's cunty little pose. look at him. "just ain't right"core.]

And milk being dumped into the sewer is more than just wasteful. It's a biohazard.

Milk doesn't stop rotting when it's dumped. If you live downstream of a milkhouse, improper milk disposal reeks.

It's full of nutrients, too, which causes diatoms, cyanobacteria, and other types of algae to go into overdrive-- causing a Harmful Algal Bloom event in the water, or HAB.

HABs are horrific. There's HUNDREDS of different types. They can suck up oxygen and create "dead zones" which kills all aquatic life, they can poison the water supply for an entire town, and some can even cause toxic fumes that make it hard to breathe on land.

Now, listen, I don't want to scare you into never dumping out rotten milk or anything! It's that on an industrial scale, it's REALLY REALLY bad if a farm overproduces milk-- especially crummy milk that can't be made into decent cheese or other dairy products.

In fact, if we did produce milk on a smaller scale, it would be better for everyone! Unless you're a Milk Guzzling Fiend like I am, you probably wouldn't need to buy a whole gallon at a time. In countries like Italy, it's sold fresh and in smaller containers, and you're just expected to pick it up as you need it.

This is why milkmen used to exist, and still do in places that are cool; they'd deliver your supply fresh from the creamery. Less waste, less stress! The "subscription model" is actually sooooooooooo much better for milk production, since it helps to stagger out those "surges and drops" of demand that leads to milk dumps.

Question 3: "If the cow eats less, doesn't that mean less land for pasture, which is a good thing?"

There's a lot to unpack within this sentiment. It's actually based on a couple of common assumptions on a few levels, which are incorrect in fascinating ways. Challenging this means opening up your worldview on how complex keeping livestock actually is!

I'll start with the simpler part;

You could cut fresh pasture out of the equation entirely and shove a cow into a concrete pen with a food box-- but are you counting the land growing the fodder?

When you grow corn the way that we do on industrial farms in the US, it's unbelievably destructive. Unending oceans of monoculture. Fogged with pesticide, pumped full of fertilizer which causes HABs like dumped milk does, sprayed with thousands of gallons of wasted water.

When you look at this image, I need you to understand you are looking at a dead zone. Like a suburban lawn, just because it's green doesn't mean it's good. Nothing grows here but corn and pests of corn, which gets poisoned and dies without returning any of that energy to the ecosystem.

This is usually what is being given to "grain-fed cattle," either when they're sent to a feedlot to hit their slaughter weight, or when they're lactating so they need the extra nutrition. It's also so nasty it's inedible to human beings.

Now, a lot of cattle farmers will just supplement their cow's diet, doing a mix of pasture feeding (much cheaper) and grain feeding (quicker gains). But the facts on this are clear; pasture-kept cattle result in LESS emissions and need LESS total space than cows in confinement.

In fact, there were a LOT of benefits!

Overall gas emissions from the cows dropped by 8%

Ammonia pollution was down by 30%

Not needing to run farm equipment for fodder planting and harvest reduced carbon dioxide emissions by 10%

Rotated crop fields didn't sequester carbon; but the newly converted perennial grasslands store as much as 3,400 pounds per acre.

The outside cows did produce less milk volume, but the milk they did produce was higher quality. So, looking at all the benefits here, it's clear that pasture is actually something that should be embraced for ecological reasons, not rejected.

In FACT, it should be EMPHASIZED. Because, this is the mind-blowing part,

Pasture can ALSO be an ecosystem.

In fact, I'm a Warrior Cats guy who once did a deep dive on moorlands just so I could write WindClan better. There are entire biomes that only exist because of grazing, and British lowland heath is one of them!

Keeping cattle in a sustainable, ecologically sound way is going to look different depending on where in the world you're doing it. So many earnest, good-willed people have bought into the lie that humans are a problem, and that everything "associated" with us becomes a barren wasteland as if we are tainted. YOU are not the problem! The problem is, and always has been, exploitation. Unsustainable relationships with the land we're part of.

Indigenous people in Europe, Asia, and Africa have been keeping cattle for thousands of years. In North America, cattle can be used to maintain ecosystems that have been badly affected by the colonial eradication of the American Bison. In South America, Brazil specifically has been making incredible advances with highly efficient integrated crop-livestock-forestry farming.

Generally, pastures here in the US are not as intensely managed as an equivalent crop field. Some people fertilize them, or water them mid-summer, but absolutely not to the same extent as industrial corn farms. Cattle are typically rotated between pastures, allowing each to re-grow before they come back to graze again.

Obviously, yes, overgrazing can be an issue. Not every open space should be converted into a pasture, and the destruction of other environments to turn into cow land is a problem. But that is an issue of bad land stewardship, not the mere practice of keeping livestock.

Bottom line, though? Cattle who can graze and survive outside are better for the environment than cattle that can't.

...but hey, you know what Holsteins happen to be really bad at?

EVERYTHING. GRAZING.

They are notoriously terrible grazers. They can't do megan THEEEEE thing that cows are known for. Fragile frames, a lack of fat to keep them warm outside, increased demand for food, distaste for any rough forage, horrible mothering instincts, the list goes on. Holsteins are a NIGHTMARE to try and keep outside all year round compared to other breeds.

(especially heritage breeds, like the Milking Devon, Florida Cracker, or Texas Longhorn. Between these three, you'd be totally covered in 80% of American climates.)

I've already explained why it's not actually very good or important that we minmax milk volume, but even if that was actually something we should value, there are so many downsides that they would absolutely not be the dominant cow breed in a truly "efficient" system.

"Less cows means less cow food and cow land" is sound logic, but Holsteins are not the right cow for that job.

Question 4: "How could this be done in a way that doesn't increase cost of living?"

I'm not sure how to answer this question, simply because I'm not Bonestar, Leader of AmericaClan. Wish I was. I would rule tyrannically.

It's worth noting that Brazil is the second largest producer of beef in the entire world, AND the number one largest exporter of it, AND only puts 30% of its land to total agricultural use. The USA dedicates over 50%. And also Brazil is net reducing its amount of agricultural land while increasing output.

It seems clear to me that the USA actually has a massive food waste and resource distribution problem, to the point where the price we pay for stuff is actually wildly disconnected from the actual value of the goods and labor.

I think the way that us Americans tend to frame our conversations on these topics as "growth" vs "cuts" instead of asking how to minimize waste by making existing systems more efficient prevents us from solving problems. We're also just... really culturally resistant to the idea of anything being more "expensive," even if it ends up costing us a lot more money in waste or mismanagement later.

Penny wise and dollar foolish ass country.

Question 5: "What can we personally do about this?"

I mean, I wasn't making a call to action in Cow Lore, I was just explaining to one of my regulars why I don't like Holsteins LMAO. Since you're asking though...

I don't think we can change the wider trend in the dairy industry without actual government intervention and regulation, though, and that's very unlikely in the current political environment. they just sent random dudes to Ausalvador-Birkenau and when the Supreme Court said "bring this specific person back" they said "nuh uh." fellas I don't think we're getting better dairy regulations in the foreseeable future.

So I think the most productive thing to do is focusing on supporting small farms and heritage breeds. Get involved in your community garden or heritage society if you have one.

Not only is that generally a very rewarding thing, but it will be helpful to you in case The Situation Gets Worse. Knowing your neighbors and having real human connection is your best defense against economic recession.

Supporting the locals is always a great thing to do, which can be as simple as going to farmer's markets. You don't need to buy fancy food every day to make an impact on your community-- it can be a treat sometimes!

You could also subscribe to the Livestock Conservancy's free newsletter, where they talk about the work they're doing and upcoming events. If you're a knitter, crocheter, or any other kind of fiber artist, you could even join in on a challenge they're running where you make items out of rare wool for prizes!

Should you end up liking the work they do, you can become a member for 4$ a month, or go to one of their educational events.

Even just talking about the problem can do a lot! Did you know the Highland Cow was actually critically endangered in the USA within the past 10 years? It was the work of the Livestock Conservancy, plus a surge in their popularity, that helped to bring their numbers up. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.

All that said, remember, you can't solve every problem. It's a big world and there's a lot of them. Being made aware of an issue doesn't mean you have to drop what you were previously doing-- just care a lot about something that you want to improve, and let that guide you.

[anapplinaday]

🥛 Farm Fresh 🐄 // #241 Miltank

[lovingcare-1210pro]

[chaserainbows]

@kriistalclear Kris to May maybe???? or anyone you want fnamsdg

 « can you help me? i think i’m lost. »

Route 119 was a long, winding road through the woods, and the constantly changing weather conditions make it easy for even experienced travelers to get lost in it. There was only a light drizzle that day, but the strong winds still made the route difficult to traverse through, and May was thankful for the fact that she was feeling very cozy indoors, drinking a cup of hot chocolate in the Weather Institute during one of her frequent visits.

Wait, is that someone outside?

She gulped down the rest of her drink (not letting it get cold!), took an umbrella for herself and one extra just in case that person needed one as well, and then went outside to check up on them. As it turned out, her guess was right on the money and the person she was talking to really was lost, but something about her looked… kind of familiar?

“Are you okay?”

She doesn’t necessarily remember seeing someone that looks like Kris, but she does feel like she remembers hearing about someone that matches the way one would describe her. Greenish hair, pigtails, very tall… She’ll remember eventually.

“Oh, this is Route 119. It connects Fortree and Mauville, but the weather in this part of the region is a little…” She made a vague hand gesture as if to say ‘messy’. “Unpredictable, so it’s not uncommon for people to end up getting lost. You know, the Weather Institute’s right around the corner if you need to get some rest! I can take you there if you want.”

She didn’t actually ask the employees if they mind visitors, but she’s sure they’ll be okay with it. It’s for a good reason!

“By the way, my name’s May. What’s yours?”

[thecoochiefairy]

country slangin’. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.4K word count. original!blackfemreader, countryboycoded! onyankopon, farmer!onyankopon, southern!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ after hearing that glorilla sample, it gave me—an idea. so here you go. muah.

visual. visual.

YOUR HUSBAND HAD AN ATTITUDE. It was entirely valid in this case—but you wished that he’d let up just a bit. A small pout formed at the ends of your lips, hand slowing to stir the sugar within your lemonade pitcher as you watched him. You could see it in the way his bicep flexed as he leaned into his Ford F—450, twisting his wrench as he removed and replaced different pieces within the truck's engine. 

It wasn’t Onyankopon’s fault—the day before was completely fine. Your husband was a vision of the south—from the mixture of his New Orleans and Mississippi twang, the annoyance of how he was never afraid to get his hands dirty, the smooth umber of his skin from being under the sun at a constant—his dark pink lips—full, soft, the gold of his grills shining with each word falling from his mouth. He was a dream. 

The morning started off well. You ran your face beneath the warm water of the shower, grinning the moment you felt his broad body step in with you, his low grunt suffocating the flush of your throat as he sucked at it.

Your affection for each other might’ve…distracted from his work on the farm. It was four acres far out from the city—cows, pigs, horses, chickens— a domesticated life that you enjoyed as a wife, coming to live within the countryside of Mississippi the moment you eloped.

Back to the point of how Onyankopon’s attitude came to fruition—it was still the day before, your French tips pouring soybeans into the bucket of your piglets Love and Bug’s tin for their lunch. The deep ginger of your curls drape along your shoulder as you bend forward, your hand raising over your freckled face to block the sun as you look across the field. Horse shoes gallop from across the field as he tugs at its reins—you were always watching him.

Riding bareback, the horse beneath him continued to gallop—the cowboy hat atop of his head blocked him from the sun, cornrows tight along his scalp, white tee he wore clinging to his tatted figure. The sun beamed against his shown skin, and you can nearly hear the whistles he makes as he guides the cows back into their barn.

The halter romper you wear compliments your caramel complexion, the picnic plaid of it hugging your body in ways it shouldn’t have—the mound of your hips, the fat of your ass—you dig your boots into the sediments of the ground, giving him a soft wave. 

“Mornin’, baby.”

His voice is deep, full of grit. It makes your body warm.

His boots fall onto the ground the moment his feet dismount the horse, sizing you up with each step that brings himself closer. Onyankopon’s eyes are on your form—drinking in every inch, your hips, your waist, the full of your ass against the tight fabric of your romper, your blush. 

“You know I’m a lil’ dirty, babydoll. My fault.”  

His hands go to grip your face regardless, pulling you into his body. His musk surrounds you, all man.

“That’s okay,” your voice is as soft as your wave, “You okay? MooMoo fightin’ you instead of going back to the barn?”

His lips drop onto yours the moment he holds your face, his kiss full of an aggression that makes your thighs clench.

“Mm,” he pulls away a bit, mouth still brushing against yours as his hand strokes your waist, “She mad ‘cause I ain’t give her ass an apple like everybody else. Should’ve been listenin’ when I said take yo’ ass to the barn.”

You giggle, rubbing your cheek into his palm, “She’s stubborn— Gets it from her Daddy.”

“‘Cept my ass still know how to listen,” his hand grips at your ass, “She get’ that sassy shit from you.”

Your eyes flick back to the field, seeing the cow standing within the same spot as all the others had crowded back into the shed. You peck at his chin, “Don’t be talkin’ ‘bout me ‘cause you can’t get your children in check, farmer.”

“I gets’ shit in check—I be havin’ yo’ ass listenin’ pretty good, don’t I?” 

“Negative.” 

He chuckles at that. 

“Go start dinner,” He exhales along your mouth, “I’ll get done with MooMoo and we can finish watchin’ that show from last night. I’ll rub yo’ feet, give you a lil’ massage.” 

“‘Kay’,” you pucker your lips, “You’ love me?“

“Yo’ ass cuttin’ up,” Onyankopon grunts, his hand smacking at your ass once more, pecking your lips in return, “You know a nigga love you. Gon’ back in the house.”

And you did—you’d showered, slipped into the soft silk of your nightgown, glasses tipping at your nose as your curls hung beneath your claw clip—you’d prepared brunch for dinner, shrimp ‘n grits with beignets for dessert, your giggles traveling all along the house as he kissed the sugar off your lips. Your fingers played with the coils of his beard, Princess cut diamond ring shining beneath the lights of your home as you watched TV with him—You were in love. 

It wasn’t until the end of the night that things changed. He held you as you slept, tattooed fingers splayed along your stomach as he cuddled you to his chest. The fan peacefully strummed a comforting tune into the room—but it was being overshadowed at the moment—a distressed mooing was sounding through the windows, as the only cow that was out of the barn had still been MooMoo. 

She enjoyed stargazing, so Onyankopon allowed her to stay outside for this one time, planning to put her up the next morning. She was more of the silent animal, and you knew that only meant two things—that she was actually in distress, or someone had put her in distress. To make matters worse, the motion detectors around your house were going off outside. 

Your heart stuttered within your chest as you’d both woken up at the same time, your body turning towards him, clinging to his arm as your first response of fear. But you knew your husband—he was already slipping out of the bed, the darkness only allowing you to hear the click sound of him loading his shotgun. 

Your hands cling onto his back as you whimper, “Ony, don’t leave me—“ 

“I’ll be back,” he presses his mouth against yours, “Lemme’ just go check on my girl, see if all this fuss is over a dog or sum’. Don’t get out of bed, aight? Forreal’.”

He kisses you firmly once more—safe, warm, making your heart slow just a bit. 

“Imma’ be back, I promise.”

You could only nod in return. 

It could’ve been five minutes, it might’ve even been thirty. But your body tensed the moment you heard the front door slam shut, heavy boots thumping up the stairs before the door opened. Your body relaxed the moment his silhouette came into frame—but just by his energy, you could feel his irritation. 

“Baby?” you call, “You okay?”

You could hear the thump of his gun being dropped onto the ground, “I’m good. I just put MooMoo back up—she was layin’ on her side.”

The grunt in his voice makes you frown, “What?” 

“Dumbass niggas was prolly’ passin’ through and seen the farm—thought it was funny to be tippin’ cows like some fuckin’ kids.” 

You watched as his tattooed figure moved into the bathroom, his fingers lifting to turn on the light as he began to wash his hands. 

“Muhfucka’s lucky I ain’t catch they ass—“

“You wouldn’t have shot them, Ony.” 

You can feel his eyes narrow at that. 

“They was’ on our property, girl. You thought I wasn’t gon’ shoot on sight if I seen’ them?”

You sigh, “Baby—“

“‘Baby,’ nothin’,” he rubs at his face, “Why you actin’ like you okay wit’ some niggas jumpin’ our property like somebody else out here? Where’ you think we at, girl? California?—ain’t no law out here unless it’s me.” 

You could see the anger in his eyes, the way his jaw flexes as he stares down at you.

“I don’t wanna talk about this.” 

“Aight, well I do.”  

“Onyankopon.” 

“I ain’t askin’ you to be wit’ me ‘on what I said, but I am askin’ you to understand. ‘Can’t be tellin’ me not to do what needa’ be done when it’s for us. For you.” 

“Baby, it’s nearly four in the morning,” you reminded, “You’re making yourself upset—can you come lay down? Please?” 

He stares at you for a moment, his lips tight before he inhales, jaw working as he nods. 

“Aight,” he exhales, looking up to the ceiling, “Aight, baby. You’ right.” 

He slowly eased himself into bed, his arms immediately holding your figure. You can feel the heat of his chest—the thump of his heart. He was worked up. 

So here you were now the next morning—Onyankopon was still on ten, and he wasn’t the best at hiding it. You were back outside feeding the pigs, your eyes narrowing beneath the sun as the gallop of his horse rumbled the ground, his deep voice commanding the cows to move in the direction he needed them to.

“Move,” he shouts, clicking at his horse as he rounds them all up, “Y’all know where yo’ asses s’pose to be! Ain’t no apples today!” 

Even hours later, he was no better. Agitation was the only word you could think of as you stood in the kitchen, eyes squinted as you watched him from the front door— his large body leaned into the hood of his truck, attempting to fix whatever was wrong with it. He’d just bought the vehicle a couple of months ago, and when a gas station worker made the stupid mistake of pumping it with diesel, it’d been acting strange ever since.

And while you know he’s upset, his irritation is something that he keeps in, something that he tries to hide from your eye with a silence, or a short conversation— but you two had been together five years now, and you knew him inside and out. 

“I thought you were gonna’ take it to the shop?” you questioned from inside, raising your voice a bit for him to hear. 

“Nah,” he grunts back, “Ain’t about to spend another eight hours at that place bein’ told the same thing I ‘been hearin’ for a week—Nigga said he fixed the leak in the lining and I’m still hearin’ it. Swear to god if I need a new muhfuckin’ truck imma’ kill that nigga.” 

Okay—there was something you wanted to admit to yourself, although you shouldn’t have. 

Seeing him like this made you kind of—warm?

Okay, fine. It made you hot. Something about the way his muscles flexed to fix the truck—eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his arms—it wasn’t the fact that he was angry—not even that, but instead the deep scowl on his face, grills shining at the flash of his teeth, hefty belt buckle and boots rumbling the ground as he shifted under the hood. 

“Don’t overheat yourself out there, baby!”

His shirt comes off his body, and you can see it tossed aside on the ground by his truck, his pants hanging low along his waist from the heat of the day. 

“Heard you.” 

He doesn’t really bother with looking your way, but he does hear you.

It made you more soft at your core as his tone is gentle. There was no denying the attraction you held for the man—he was your husband after all, and he knew to never focus his energy onto you, especially if he was upset. 

A couple of hours had gone by—you now stood within the doorframe, his deep voice calling from within the hood, “You need somethin’, girl?” 

You slowly make your way closer, the soft click, clack of your brown boots tapping against the driveway until you finally stand next to him, “I just came out here to check on you.”

Your glasses perch at your nose, curls coiled around the flush of your cheeks as the air of outside brushes against your clothing—the white material only clasped shut by thin strings at the dip of your breasts, able to see the curve of your stomach, matching shorts clinging to the poke of your ass.

Your voice is soft, “Baby?”

“Wassup’, Mama?”

 When he replies, his eyes briefly glance at you—then, he’s back into the car, “You lookin’ pretty.” 

“Thank you, baby—um, you wanna come inside for a little?” You suggest, “I made lemonade for you.”

Onyankopon sighs—his palm runs along the back of his neck, muscles flexing, sweat cascading down his body. 

“Lemme just—finish this first, aight? Imma’ keep fixatin’ on it if I don’t.”

“Hey. You can fixate on it later, yeah?” 

Your voice is gentle, hands reaching out and pulling him out of the open hood—his chest is warm. 

“You’re just as hot as the sun right now. Come with me, please? Just come sit by the fan in the living room for a couple minutes while I make you a glass?”

He’s silent—but he listens. When you pull him by his wrist, he follows with no fight. His footsteps are heavy, his frame tall— You knew that he wanted to keep going—but he also knew not to disagree when you asked something of him. 

Onyankopon now sits in the living room, body leaned back into the sofa, eyes closed while air blows through his face and against his chest. The cartoons you had on play a comforting tune next to the box fan blowing from across the room, instantly beginning to cool his body.

“‘Think you should just take another try at takin’ it down to the shop in Tupelo,” you hum, standing on your toes as you reach for a tall glass, moving around the kitchen to grab your heart shaped ice cubes.

He grunts, arm crossing over his face as he exhales,“I might have to, or imma’ head back in Jackson—Just gotta wait it out, see what the rest of the week lookin’ like.” 

You make his glass, the condensation sticking to your fingers—your eyes look towards him now and then as you do so, taking note of how his head leans back along the cushion, eyes closed and mind elsewhere. You can tell that he’s trying to relax, but it’s a hard feat to accomplish after the events of last night. 

“You know,” you gently place the lemonade on the table besides the sofa—you then lightly plop down onto his lap, the scent of you instantly hitting his nose as you wrap your body into him, “We had a lil’ scare last night—but you did a good job of takin’ care of me, baby.”

His eyes open the moment he feels your body press into him, his arms instantly beginning to wrap around your figure. 

“I had to do sum’,” he grunts, “I ain’t mean’ to make you scared—You know I’d never let anything happen to you, right?” 

His palm slides beneath your shorts, holding the flesh of your ass in his hands.

“I know.”

Your voice is even softer than before, body shifting upon his lap as the warmth of your skin pressed further into his. Your fingers slide along his beard, caressing his jaw before you finally leaned forward—your lips suck at his, a giggle masking your whimper as you feel yourself grind along his lap.

Onyankopon’s jaw works, his hand gently gripping at your cheek to hold your face to his—your whimper makes his lips drop open in another grunt—his tongue moving into your mouth, along your teeth, deeper.

“Been missin’ you, Ony. ‘Been so distant,” you tug at the weight of his belt, leaning forward as you suck at his lips again.

“I ‘been thinkin’ ‘bout you too, girl. Don’t get it twisted, aight?” His voice is a husky rasp, breath heavy. 

“I know you were still frustrated from last night,” you remind, “But so was I—Could’ve kept you in bed with me, you know? You were so busy bein’ be tough—my tough man. My protector.” 

His eyes follow your form as you lower down onto your knees, “Yeah?” 

He’s gripping at your neck, his thumb rubbing circles on your jaw at your soft voice—you knew exactly what you were doing. 

“This what you wanted?” 

His nose practically brushes along yours as you nod—your eyes lower as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth again, dragging it against your teeth, all while your hands slide up the material of his jeans, reaching your hand under the band. 

“Look at you,” he rasps, “Already on yo’ fuckin’ knees.”

His fingers are tight under the thick curls of your hair, and it’s as if each tug pulls at your senses. You’re parting your mouth onto his, lightly dragging it against his tongue, the feeling making your thighs clench. You breathily pant.

He’d never seen you like this—so needy, it couldn’t have been from watching him all day, could it? 

It’s as if his cologne tickles your stomach, you’re breathless as you give a horny sigh, pulling your mouth back a bit as you whimper in a repeat of, “Missed you, Ony.”

“My baby just wanted this dick, huh?”  

He’s nasty.

Onyankopon’s voice is full of grit as his palm slowly slides down your face, his thumb caressing at the soft of your bottom lip. He watches you—a brief flash passes through his eyes of love before they turn hungry, “Show a nigga how much you missed him. Need you throatin’ my shit.” 

The sight of him—the gold of his grills melting within your eyes, attractive features and jaw clenching at you from below—you’re tugging his dick from his jeans, tip fat as you wrap your lips around him, flattening your tongue along the flesh as you moan. 

“You’re so pretty, Papa.”

He tilts his chin a bit, eyes narrowing. 

“You callin’ me Papa now? Huh?” His voice was thick, pulling your hair back even more, “That’s how bad you miss me?”

Your cat eyes taunt him, nodding as you beg, “Spit on it,” lolling your tongue out your mouth, waiting for him. 

And he does—he tilts your head back more, dropping saliva into your mouth, groaning at the pure arousal along your face. You spit back onto his tip, wrapping your fingers along the base as you slide him to the back of your throat—when you pull back, a string of saliva connects your lips back to his dick, your tongue sticking out as you giggle at the sight.  

Onyankopon glares, his fingers finding your curls as he snatches your head back—his palm slaps your face, “Why you so fuckin’ nasty, girl?” 

He’s holding your cheeks with both palms, fucking your mouth, the schluck, schluck of your throat echoing into the ceiling—the whites of your eyes are shown as they rolled back with each movement, enjoying the groans he gave you in return. 

You climb back onto his lap more impatiently this time, latching your lips onto the skin of his neck and jaw—your hand is guiding his palm to your shorts as you whimper,  “Pull,” still kissing feveredly at his throat.  

Onyankopon’s fingers slide along the back of your thigh as he finds a hold of your shorts, pulling, pulling the material to one side of your ass, your glistening folds exposed to the cool air—your body tenses the moment he’s slapping his dick against your pussy, allowing your arousal to coat his tip. 

It’s hot—the weight of his tip is being engulfed by your folds all at once—you’re sinking down, back arching as you breathily moan against his face, “You’ need me?” 

 There’s a growl that leaves his throat, “Fuck. You know I do.”

Your curls drape in front of your face as your vision locks below, rotating your hips down, too distracted by your own actions—your moans are more soft and whiny this time, face slowly turning to a deep pout as your palms reach at the top of the sofa. 

“Lift up,”  he grunts hoarsely, “Lift up, babydoll.”

You lift up, dropping back down, the feeling making you gasp. Your thighs tremble as you slow down—you take one of Onyankopon’s hands, placing it along the side of your neck, swaying your hips, hair cascading all around your body in a circular flow of curls. 

“Look at you,” He grunts, squeezing your throat, “Already goin’ crazy.”

Your face flushes as you can imagine how you look—feet planted along each side of him, dragging yourself up and down—You’re needy.

You move his palm along your breasts as you plead, “Touch me.” 

He does as told, moving the other along your waist, along your hips. It was like he was worshipping you, hands wandering along your soft curves, squeezing your hips, back, stomach, ass, thighs, everywhere. 

”Pretty ass lil’ bitch.”

It’s like your mouth won't shut. Your aroused haze has you swirling your hips above him, nearly hyperventilating in a high pitched whine, “You feel so good, Ony.”

“You’ so fuckin’ sloppy with this shit,” He grunts through gritted teeth, clutching your throat even tighter, making you look at him, “You’ gettin’ drunk off me, ain’t you?”

Maybe you were—and you loved every second of it. You wanted to blow your curls out your face, but you’re too gone, nearly hitting a sense of delirium. You’re bouncing on his dick, lightly squealing as the skin to skin resounds in claps. 

Your eyes roll back as you groan, “Ughn, Yeah…” 

It gets worse, your mouth trembling out a prolonged moan of, “Onyyy…” 

His head knocks back as he digs his nails into your skin, each sloppy slap of your ass connecting with his abdomen making his jaw clench, feeling the secretion of your folds smearing his thighs. 

“Look at them’ muhfuckin’ eyes,” he mutters, squeezing your waist, “You feel that good, huh?”

You’re frowning that it feels so good. You feel his hand slide back to the nape of your neck, leaning your body a bit closer to his, your forehead’s connected as you whimper, “Ohmygodbaby.” 

“You gone,” he grunts, “Ain’t even hearin’ me.”

You hear him, but your brain is muffled.

His eyes roam the way sweat glistens along the soft mounds of your chest, how the vein along your throat pulsates a little bit quicker, and the way your walls clenched him for dear life. You looked like you craved him, and only him.

His hand tugs more at your neck, tilting you down to his face. 

“You think you miss me?”

“Miss you now,” you whimper in reply, placing your arms behind your back as you beg, “Hold them.”

His fingers are rough, the tips of them digging into your skin as he holds your arms—the veins on his hand are a dark blue, a mixture of his blood pumping with the tattoo of your first initials along his pinkie, symbolizing how much you meant to him, even in these moments. 

Onyankopon’s grunt is muffled by the way his hand smacks your ass, the leverage of your arms allowing him to hold you in place—your thighs are plop, plop, continuously plopping onto his abdomen.

Your mouth is directly leaned into his ear as you shake, “S’good, baby—“ but it’s until you can really hear your skin echoing against his, that your eyes roll as you groan.

“You think ion’ miss you too?” He snarls, “I’ll kill a muhfucka’ behind yo’ pussy.” 

You don’t do a good job at all in responding—you’re loud. His hold on you is tight, moving you up and down in a rough motion, “Oh my goddd, Ony—fuck,” it’s as if you’re irritated with him, your voice had you practically singing.

Your scent is so feminine that he can almost taste it—brown sugar, amber—the way your pussy squelches,  you were the personification of a drug, and he was your junkie. 

His voice is deeper, lower, meaner, “C’mere,” he spanks your ass, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he grunts, “Goddamn, baby. She talkin’ right now.”

You were just lucky that all the land around the two of you was your own property—the cows, chicken, farm—and the door was wide open. He slapped your ass even rougher, your whimper muffling his own grunts of, “You got a nigga lost in this shit.”

“Ony—oohshittt, baby.”

You’re both a mess—your curls are a bit wild, your mouth swollen and wet, the softness of your skin against his hands, his neck, lips.

“You gon’ cum on it?” 

He’s asking a question, but you can’t necessarily answer—cause you are—you’re painting his dick with coats of cream, the sop of it traveling back to his ears. Onyankopon chuckles arrogantly the moment you sniffle through your pouts, trembling whiny cries as you squirt so messily, so prettily. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “That’s my muhfuckin’ baby. You gon’ gimme another one?”

Your little sob is enough to answer—you’re drenching his balls, body shaking atop of his as he’s continuously bouncing you onto his dick that’s still hard as before—it’s when you press your together that he groans, holding you close as a warmth fills your walls, his moan dragging a bit to meet the sounds of yours.

Your face buries into the crook of his neck, your lower body spasming a bit to ground yourself. But that’s when you stop—your eyes flicker to the side of the table, your palm coming along your flushed face as you whimper, “Your lemonade, Ony…”  

He’s snorting.

“I was busy,”  he jokes, kissing at the edge of your shoulder blade, “I’m sorry, aight? Imma’ go grab me another glass.”

When he goes to move, you don’t. 

“You gon’ let me go, or you gon’ hold a nigga hostage?”

He chuckles this time, placing his hands along your sides as he pats you, “Lemme’ up, girl. Can’t even move.” 

“No,” you huff, “I don’t wanna let go.” 

“Aight— lemme’ hold you for a lil’, let you get yo’ mind right before you make dinner.”

Your eyes peek open, “Did I say I was makin’ dinner, or you tryna’ gaslight me into saying that’s what you want?”

“Chill,” He grins, “Lemme’ get another chance—Baby, you gon’ make dinner for me?”

“You knew the answer already,” you kissed his bicep, “You never had to ask.” 

“‘Cause you love me?”

“I always love you.”

“How much?”

You giggle, “More than a country boy loves his farm.”

He’s grinning. His hand is at the soft of your stomach, pulling you against him as his lips find your ears, murmuring, “I can do you better than that,” His nose is now against your skin, “More than a fat kid loves cake.”  

“You’re so lame.”  

“Huh? You ain’t like that?”

“…Maybe.” 

“That’s what I thought.”

[the-flaneur]

matchmaker pets (aa23) | pt4

pairing: alex albon x fem!reader

summary: in a world where one's furry best friend is secretly their cupid, the drivers' love lives are sure to be entertaining for everyone (written from the pov of the pets!)

warnings: none (i think)

wc: 1360

a/n: WE ARE BACK YA'LL -> there are just too many albon pets to specifically name, so they will be collectively known as the zoo + mentions of galex (george x alex)

[prev] [masterlist] [requests]

chaotic!zoo who alex slowly adopts over the years, eventually culminating in him and his siblings owning a multitude of pets, splitting their time between them all and travelling the world.

young chaotic!zoo who are also adopted by another honorary albon…

you :)

you’ve been the albon family neighbour since they moved into the neighbourhood when you were three (not that you remember it - only from your parent’s stories and usually tall tales). and being the same age as alex, means that you’ve also grown up alongside him

including the adoption of every member of the chaotic!zoo

young chaotic!zoo who all love you in their own fond way. like tinky, alex’s horse who you see when your two family has an overnight trip to the farm where she lives. you are the only kid she lets feed her, apart from chloe, and is a docile mare whom you love. like moomoo who purposely seeks you out to give him his treats because all the siblings refuse to do so, lest he get fat, but he still is looking very handsome after years of treats, so you must be doing something right…right?

young chaotic!zoo loves you, and you love them all to bits and pieces

young chaotic!zoo who also accompanies you in your childhood, seeing all of your biggest moments: your first day at primary school, then secondary school, birthdays, parties, friendships…

and most excitedly your first kiss; which was of course with alex

young chaotic!zoo who think it’s the cutest thing that you've been so smitten with alex since childhood, connecting over your shared love for them - you’re already one big happy family at the ripe old age of 15.

young chaotic!zoo who eventually see you and alex drift apart. it’s inevitable that the two of you would: alex’s pursuing his lifelong dream of becoming an f1 river like his idol michael schumacher and you’re slowly making your way through secondary school and uni to achieve your dream of becoming a vet

young chaotic!zoo who still hope that you and alex will eventually be reunited one day

older but chaotic!zoo who haven’t seen you in about 10 years. after alex moved away for f1, you also moved, heading to the big city to pursue a more “proper” career away from veterinary science at the behest of your parents. 

your love for animals and alex has never faded, but it’s hard to keep up with them, when life just wants to throw whatever else at you. but you’re still so proud of alex, he’s finally made his way to the top, competing in f1 like he always wanted to.

older but chaotic!zoo who upon all returning to the albon family home for this christmas are finally reunited with siblings and family for the first time in like forever. no one has pressing and emergency obligations, silly season in f1 is over (alex is solidly in williams), everyone can relax…

nosy older but chaotic!zoo who eventually finds out from alex’s parents, who found out from the mailman, who found out from the grocer, who found out from the hairdresser, who found out from the construction guys, who found out from your parents…that you would be finally coming home for christmas. 

older but chaotic!zoo who hear the doorbell ring - but everyone’s already inside?

older but chaotic!zoo who start moving, barking and meowing and clambering loudly when they see you, all bundled up for a british christmas, standing at the door.

excited and lovable!zoo who immediately pounce onto you, making you almost drop the gifts and sugar cookies you had brought over. however, as always, alex is right there by your side, and catches them all

excited and lovable!zoo who swoons at finally seeing you and alex back together after ten years, and definitely making “those” eyes at each other

excited and lovable!zoo whom you greet each and every one of them (they are practically your children), before you greet the rest of the albon family, who are equally delighted at your presence. they watch the rest of the albon siblings nudge and tease alex as you converse with his parents

sneaky sneaky!zoo who end up blocking out the other seats by not so subtly sitting in them, making you sit in the spot next to alex’s usual spot at the dinner table

sneaky sneaky!zoo who instead of retiring to the kitchen for their own dinners made specifically by mama albon, drag their bowls under the dining table and between feet, just to see and hear the conversation between you and alex.

which is definitely heading in the right direction…or so they think

sneaky sneaky!zoo who later that evening hears alex ramble on about his best friend, georgie aka george russell, in his childhood bedroom, you lounging in a beanbag and alex in his bed.

you’ve never heard alex talk about this “georgie”, so when he says his name for the first time, you mistakenly hear “georgina” - and are consequently disappointed to hear how close alex and this “woman” have gotten 

confused!zoo who makes their way into the room, only to see your face fall more and more as alex continues to lavish with great detail about the many late night dinners, paddle games and constant presence at the f1 paddock this “woman” has. 

are they dating or not?

confused!zoo who watches you grumpily dismiss alex in the middle of explaining his and “georgina’s” two week holiday to paris, to stiffly go back downstairs and say your goodbyes to the rest of the albon family, lest you stay for another three hours to hear about this “woman”

pouting!zoo who also watches alex’s face fall…do you not care about him anymore?

impertinent!zoo who refuses to let you leave without saying goodbye to alex, once you’ve laughed and smiled your way through goodbyes to the albon siblings, parents and all the pets, before going home

impertinent!zoo who take to blocking the doorway and barking, meowing and trying to trip your feet up

impertinent!zoo who gets both of your shoes into their mouths and start running off upstairs back to alex’s room with them

impertinent!zoo who take you all the way back to alex’s room, where he’s now on a call with the “woman”, hearing a georgie slip out of his mouth in a muffled groan

impertinent!zoo who pushes on the door, making you fall into the room mid-conversation, only to see a man’s face staring back at you from alex’s phone as he quickly tries to pull you back onto your feet

“is…that…georgina?” you ask confusedly, squinting as you look at alex’s phone to see a tall, lanky man squinting back

“georgina? what shit have you been saying about me alex?” george huffs, trying to introduce himself to you.

“wait? did you think george was a woman?” alex raises an eyebrow, turning back to you, and placing a hand on your shoulder before he started keening over in laughter.

giggling!zoo who watches you and alex start giggling, as george’s face turns into a sarcastic frown at your laughter, before he sighs and leaves with one last snark at his best mate

“just don’t mess it up this time albon,” he sighs and ends the facetime.

giggling!zoo who watches alex sheepishly scratch his neck before hesitantly grabbing your hand

“...well i don’t know if you heard it before you fell into the room, but…” alex starts, staring nervously into your eyes. you just smile softly, nodding at him to continue

“reallymissedyouandiwaswonderingifyouwantedtogooutfordinnertomorrow,” he shifts back awkwardly, squeezing his eyes shut before he can see your reaction.

giggling!zoo who sighs that luckily for alex, you return the favour, with a kiss on his nose, before scooping up otti and making him lick alex’s cheek

“ugh! y/nnie…” he sighs before wrapping you in his arms, and returning the kiss on your own nose

“i guess it’s a christmas miracle this year,” you laugh as the rest of the pets barrel in, leaving you and alex with your little family again.

[next]

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon @nina-or-anna-or-nora

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[xmrnothingx]

Hex Maniac from Pokémon

What was originally just drawing Hex Maniac with a side-ponytail somehow became Hex Maniac Farmer. I figured since that one Hex Maniac was selling Moomoo milk in XY that her family might have a farm back home.

[sweet-hearts-and-destiny-knots]

Considering his upbringing, it's safe to assume N initially holds several misconceptions regarding certain species of Pokémon.

Ghetsis all too likely told him things such as the shearing of Wooloo leaves them shivering at night, Combee are exploited for their honey, Casteliacones are made from Vanillite - the list of lies goes on and on.

When he sets out into the world, N's travels eventually take him to Johto's Route 39, where his path crosses with Kotone's.

She immediately believes with all her heart and soul he understands the speech of Pokémon and doesn't find him possessing this ability strange in the slightest - which is not remotely the response N is accustomed to.

N: ...Are you not going to demand proof what I say is true? Kotone: You don't have to give me proof. This world is filled with countless wonders, so why wouldn't there be someone who can hear the voices of Pokémon? N: But doesn't it seem peculiar? Perhaps unnatural? Kotone: If you mean in a negative way, then no. It's a precious gift, or that's how I think of it personally. N: ... ... ...

He returns to eyeing the Miltank of Moomoo Farm, and after a few seconds of hesitance, asks if the process of extracting Moomoo Milk from them is harmful.

Although at first somewhat taken aback, she answers that no, it's not, and as a matter of fact it becomes uncomfortable for a Miltank if she doesn't share her milk.

Silence ensues, then N replies he expected as much.

To thank Kotone for taking the time to speak with him and remaining open minded throughout the conversation, N gifts her a Shiny Stone, which allows her Togetic companion to evolve.

The realization he was wrong about the relationship between humans and Pokémon all along is frightening at the beginning of his journey. But soon, little makes him happier.

[k4ijynxx2]

Moomoomirukuic

Moo - moo - me - rew - kew - ick

A identity term relating to moomoo milk, pokémon, moomoo farms, miltank, vending machines, cafés, maids, and lotteries.

Tagging @radiomogai and @kaijynx-hoards-mogai for archival

Inspired by @mogai-daily-prompts “a term based on a drink you like.” I decided to do a drink from pokémon instead :3

[acutely-autistic]

Guys, send in your favorite video game cows. I’m gonna have @farm-paws rank them. So far I have Moomoos from Mario Kart, the cow and mooshroom from Minecraft, cow from Sims 3 and 4 (also the cow plant from Sims 4), cows from My Sims Kingdom, cow from Stardew Valley and cow from Fae Farm

[gianttol]

how big of a farm does Beth has?

Howdy :3

I'm verrrry bad at distances and measurements, but I'm a visual person. So I drew up a ROUGH size and layout for Beths farm.

Dark green - trees Light green - grass Pink - buildings (Beths house is the very bottom) Blue - lake She also has access to the fields off the right of this doodle, that's where Moomoo runs off to when she can. And the road at the bottom leads to the highway where she met Cherry.

[lorekeeperdigo]

Farming Valley, Ecruteak-Olivine Routes

During the King’s Rock Festival, Morty suggested that I visit the Farming Valley. West to Ecruteak City there is a long countryside road that takes to Olivine City. The area is a famous tourist destination: the sun on the hills, the light breeze and the calm sounds are the protagonists of those idyllic routes. He told me about three beloved stop-overs: the Sunflora Lodge, the Moomoo Farm and the Wool House.

My first stop was the Sunflora Lodge, on Route 38. The farm was built by a couple of lovers that had the cutest tradition: every year, the day of their anniversary, they gathered all the Sunflora they could find to take a celebratory photo. Today the Sunflora Lodge is managed by their daughter. The walls are covered by the gigantic photos of her lovely parents, surrounded by “oceans” of yellow flowers. In the middle of the spacious rooms there are interesting (and sometimes a bit scary) statues made by the contemporary Paldean artist Brassius, the famous Artazon gym leader. The owner of the lodge told me that he comes often during the summer to re-energize his “art” battery. I couldn’t not stop at the gift shop, I took myself a bottle of Sunflora virgin oil, perfect to boost Pokémon’s food: it could help develop Roselia’s melanin (that’s what this oil is mostly used for) and my Pokémon spends entire days soaking the sunlight, at least she will be protected!

The morning after I left for the world famous Moomoo Farm, on Route 39. When I arrived I saw the big white sign at the entrance, Enjoy Our Fresh and Tasty Milk, just like in the photos! I’m actually having the time of my life here in Johto, I feel like I’m home, in places that I’ve never been before. The old farmer gave me a tour of the farm: Miltank were roaming free as far as the eye could see, truly majestic. He gave me a glass of moomoo milk, with his characteristic pale baby pink colour, it was delicious. Roselia got scared when we came back to the paddock closest to the farm: two strong Tauros were fighting, maybe over a lucky Miltank? The farmer told me that it wasn’t the case… the two Tauros are Whitney’s, Goldenrod gym leader, and they are just training.

Our last stop was the Wool House, closer to Olivine City. The big white ranch is built close to a gorge. At the limits, you can see the beautiful panorama: the ocean, Olivine City and its famous lighthouse. The Wool House is also a bed and breakfast, where I booked the night. The main hall’s walls were decorated with beautiful graffiti showing the cultural heritage of Olivine City. The matron of the Wool House told me it was a gift by Jasmine, the Olivine gym leader. She comes often with her Amphy, she loves to run away from her busy schedules in the city and peacefully rest (that’s what the lady said… but I can’t confirm). At the end of the day I watched the sunset surrounded by tired Mareep and Fluffy, so relaxing. The morning after the matron gave me the cutest souvenir: she noticed how Roselia spent the evening playing with Muffy, one of her Mareep. She took a bit of wool and knitted a cute yellow bow. Roselia took it and put it on the back of her neck. She danced for us showing off her new gift, what a cute little surprise!

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, the weekend was over, and we had to go back to Golderod City. My luggage was so much heavier than the day I left for Ecruteak City! I’m happy about my little trip in North West Johto, I met so many people and I feel energized. I can’t wait to be home to plan my next destination: I want to have more adventures, I want to visit more places, I want to see more Pokémon with my own eyes. Let’s see what the future holds… only Dialga will tell.

[elieliart]

MooMoo Farm hehe

[diamondnokouzai]

would you eat any grass type pokemon or just the ones who are pure plants (like oddish or smoliv). also since youre vegetarian and not vegan would you eat milcery/alcremie

id eat ethically farmed alcremie line but i imagine that would be an artisan product opposed to moomoo milk. if the pokemon's body is plantlike i would eat it, so bulbasaur yes meowscarada no. chikorita also yes.

[pokemonranch]

Howdy again!

I’m in sinnoh for a few days and I was wondering if I could bring the boys by for that Tauros meeting and potential adoption? Also, I just think it’d be cool to get to meet another rancher!

There aren’t too many of us in northwestern Jhoto, aside from the huge Moomoo farm.

Sure! I'm sure some of the 'mons here would love to see some new faces! And I feel the same about meeting other ranchers. Most of the ones I know live near Solaceon Town here in Sinnoh; Canalave doesn't have what you would call, a rich farm life. Mostly fishermen and Professors using the local library.

So, if any other ranchers/farmers are on rotomblr, feel free to reblog this so we can unite and maybe... have Farming-Con or something