#and a local farm

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[ireton]

The 4 Big Meat Packers In America Are Making A Move To Bankrupt Small Farms In America Starting In August

“This is a way that they're gonna be trying to force us out”

“The big 4 packers are killing the American cattle industry right now. Projected by August, each cattle rancher that is selling their animal is gonna be making $30 less per 100 pounds on that market ready animal.

- The American cattle rancher makes about 30% of every dollar earned on that animal - With this gonna be set in place, this is gonna take us down into the twenties.

This is gonna be a real scary place for the American cattle rancher. ‌ ‌If they can't make a profit or make a living off of what they're selling, their ranches are gonna be put up for sale.

This is a way that they're gonna be trying to force us out.

- And not only that, the corrupt thing is they're gonna be marking everything up $30 to every 100 pounds that they're making in return.

So with that being said, guys, we need to get back to buying local, supporting our local people. And as always, buy American and buy local.”

[political-us]

[bonefall]

Clan Culture expansion for WindClan on dealing with cows when???/jk though throwing out to the crowd that WindClan's moorland territory usually borders multiple farms (and the forest territories have every Clan pass through them to get to the Moonstone) there is So Much Potential for rumor, legend, and WILD misinterpretation for the cats wondering what cows are. Perhaps linked with the Rouge of Rot story, the touch of Twoleg taint makes the black-and-white ones forever starving, rotting inside..

ADMITTEDLY, I haven't put nearly as much thought into having cows present in either the Lake or Forest territories as you'd have expected. This is because I am actually not super familiar with conservation grazing revolving around cattle yet.

Re: Moorland is a managed biome which requires burns and/or grazing to maintain.

In my research, I found that specific animals are deployed to accomplish certain tasks. Cows and pigs are considered more "intense" than sheep, and risk turning the moor into grassland. So, I backed off and focused more on sheep.

That said...

I visited Elan Valley recently, and they are actually beginning a conservation grazing program using highland cattle. In the three hours I spent eith an expert asking questions, I barely scratched the surface of learning about all the different ways that livestock animals impact the environment.

I walked away from that realizing that I need to get more educated on what ALL the livestock animals contribute to British ecosystems. For example-- logging using horses leaves scores in the ground that mining bees use for habitat. Cattle are more effective browsers than sheep, so they're probably more suited to sparse woodland grazing.

SO, livestock in BB are under active construction right now. I have a lot to learn.

[miss-what-a-d0ll]

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[drmelking]

Thoughts on Whitaker being a Theology major? They just sprinkled that in there with no follow up

I think it’s an interesting tidbit of information for the writers to sprinkle in, and really makes me wonder what his personal relationship with religion looks like. He quotes the bible at Robby but immediately explains it with “I studied theology in college,” NOT “I’m Christian” or something along those lines. It comes across to me like he’s someone who grew up in a pretty religious family but may himself have a complicated relationship to it—kind of similar to Robby

[roughhardwoman]

In the back of my mind they live in a farm house in the middle of nowhere with a random stray dog.

[ahedderick]

This apple tree was sold to me in 1999 as a semi-dwarf Stayman Winesap. It is not semi-dwarf; it is in fact gigantic by apple tree standards. It isn't Stayman Winesap, or even red at all. Because I planted it in the correct spacing for smaller trees, it has almost completely overshadowed its nearest neighbor, a rather nice Golden Delicious. It responds to pruning by aggressively getting Much Larger. The apples are divine. I love her; I'm vexed by her; I hope she lives forever. I'm deeply curious about what I'd get if I planted some of her seeds.

Strawberries, rhubarb, two small blueberry bushes, and Nanking cherry bushes that did, even though their blooming time was cold, set fruit. I will continue to try to acidify the blueberries; maybe add some acid once a week until the soil tests around 5 pH.

[pyjamacryptid]

little girl, a patient: can I have a lollipop

doctor merlin in the 21st century: can you have— I have created butterflies from nothing and horses from smoke. I have seen empires rise, fall, crumble, and start from nothing but a fish in a poor man’s hand. I’ve fought witches and failed them too. I’ve laid waste to armies and blessed nations of people with health that will never make up for it. I have pantsed Kings and kissed Queens. I have stood upon the precipice of this world and called forth the ocean only for time to swallow me whole and spit me back out. And I would do it all again if I could grant you, dear Matilda, a lollipop.

little girl: strawberry?

merlin: say no more, Tilda, this should clear up the taste of that cold medicine right away

[ireton]

Eva Vlaardingerbroek - Agenda 2030

[seagull-scribbles]

Happy valentines! what says ‘love’ like two smelly, unwashed teen boys?

Drew this after a lovely convo with @less-depresso-more-espresso, who also gave me this song to listen to 💕 so this one’s for you bestie aha

[mcromwell]

toikeys

[annapolisrose]

[nordfjording]

there's a new carbon footprint calculator out adjusted for the nordics and its great and all (lists me as about half of the average norwegian) but it also pinpoints how hard it is to make these accurate because the "best tips for how YOU can improve!" are very much along the lines of "take the train!" no trains in my region. "stay at your vacation destinations longer and fly less!" i don't go on vacations. "eat less meat!" i buy 1 pack of salami per month. "buy fewer eggs!" i haven't bought an egg in several years. "take the bus to activities!" i don't have regular activities.

[analog-autistic]

describing all my fave analog horrors but really badly

this is my special interest therefore you are legally obliged to listen to me

Gemini Home Entertainment - that planet is alive and so are the fucking trees

Mandela Catalogue - religious trauma: the series

Vita Carnis - WE HAVE THE MEATS.

Greylock - your thoughts can kill you

Tangi Virus - icky water. Also the government sucks

Monument Mythos - the moon is angry and our monuments are alive. Also the government sucks

The Sinkhole - evil sinkhole cult. Also money as a form of manipulation

Local58 - moon will kill you. Also don’t watch the news

White Stag Education - therians if they were evil

Happy Meat Farms - animal testing but worse somehow

Smile Tapes - don’t do drugs kids

The Man In The Suit - radioactive fursuit

[ahedderick]

Summer begins

I'm delighted that my daughter is home. The semester ended unusually early, and she happened to have all her finals the first three days of finals week.

We walked the creek bottom, looking for morels. She found all of these, I found none. >: (

Hero, Patches-the-pony, Nutmeg (hidden behind Hero), and Nutmeg's apprentices.

The damned tree that fell on the fence. My husband was able to cut the tree up sufficiently to get the fence restored, so hopefully Patches will be leading no more Great Escapes. Once was enough.

We also went and cut some cattail shoots from the pond, which I will steam and serve with melted butter this evening. Dinner; morels, cattails, and bear. Her summer classes are online, and hopefully she'll be able to cope with them and still have plenty of time for farming and fun.