#calf milk replacer

[divya1234]

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For more information visit us:

[thewitchsgirl]

I'm HIGHLY allergic to something in the calf formula. Anyone have any ideas?

[barnacles34]

Bells and Whistles (Professional Hazard pt.2)

Karina x Male Reader

18+

It's three days after that beautiful night. Still in Rome.

The voicemail plays in the quiet of her bedroom. First: silence. Then a sharp intake of breath that makes your pulse jump. 

Your thumb hovers over the phone as her voice breaks into those familiar wet sounds that have been haunting you all afternoon.

'If you play that one more time—'

'Shh. This is art.'

She's burrowed in her fortress of quilts, only eyes visible over the edge. A paperback lies abandoned by her hip.

'Delete it.' But her voice has gone soft around the edges.

'Not a chance.' You take your time with your shoes. Let her watch the deliberate movements. 'This is better than your debut song—and you know how much I love that song.’'

'You're awful.' The quilt slips as she shifts. 'I was desperate.'

'Were you?' You tap the phone, find that specific moment where her voice catches. 'Tell me about desperate.'

Her sock-covered foot sneaks out, hooks behind your knee. Tugs. 'Twenty minutes for milk. Who takes twenty minutes for milk?'

'Someone wearing very expensive, very tight jeans.'

'Someone being cruel.'

You catch her ankle mid-retreat. The quilt falls away, reveals cotton shorts still damp from earlier. Your thumb finds the arch of her foot, presses. She makes that sound again—the one from the voicemail.

'Cruel?' Your fingers trace higher. 'I'm not the one sending pornographic voicemails in the middle of the day.'

'I didn't—' She breaks off as your hand slides up her calf.

'No?' You hit play again. Her recorded gasp fills the room. 'What would you call this then?'

She bites her knuckle. You replace it with your thumb, let her teeth graze the pad.

'That noise you made,' you murmur. 'Right at the end. Makes me feel invincible.'

'Yeah?' Her tongue darts out, tastes salt.

'Like I could do anything. Find Atlantis. Solve world peace.' You brush her temple with your lips. 'Handle two of you.'

She snorts, shoves at your chest. 'You can barely handle one.'

'Want to test that theory?'

The laughter dies in her throat as your palm finds her inner thigh. Heat blooms under cotton.

'Stay.' Her fingers twist in your shirt like anchors. 'I'll send more. A dozen. Two dozen.'

'Greedy girl.'

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. 'Your fault.'

When you kiss her, she melts like she's been waiting all day.

Her tongue maps the ridges of your teeth, memorizing territory she already knows by heart.

‘Cheater,’ she gasps when you pinch the clasp of her bra.

‘Architect.’

Her shorts fall. The quilt tangles around her hips. She arches when your mouth finds her neck. Whimpers when your teeth follow.

‘Still deleting it.’ She breathes.

‘Try.’

You hit playback again. Her moan swells—raw, unfiltered—as your fingers slide into her.

‘Fuck.’ Her head thrashes. ‘That’s—’

‘—Proof.’ You curl your fingers. ‘You’re my religion.’

She chokes on a laugh. A sob. Her hips stutter. You drink the sounds from her lips. Let her nails carve half-moons into your shoulders.

Later, when she’s boneless and blinking up at you, she traces your collarbone.

‘Twelve voicemails,’ she yawns.

‘Thirteen.’

‘Why thirteen?’

You press her palm to your chest. Let her feel the gallop. ‘One for every time I died at this very second.’

She stills.

Her teeth flash. Dangerous. Devoted. ‘Gladly.’

Your fingers move lazy. Slow. Dragging out every twitch, every choked gasp. She arches into your hand, sweat gluing her bangs to her temples.

‘Still… deleting it.’ She pants, hips circling.

‘Try harder.’ You crook your fingers. Watch her back bow.

Her moan syncs with the recording still playing softly nearby—a stereo echo of need. You drink the sound. Memorize the way her throat flutters.

It’s pulsing, it’s so wet and hot. Sucking in your fingers like quicksand.

‘You’re mean.’ She whines.

‘Mean?’ Your thumb swipes. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

The voicemail crackles: “—can’t sleep, can’t think, just… please—”

You smirk. Kiss her inner thigh. Salt and jasmine. Her hips jerk.

‘No—wait—’ Her hand fists your hair. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t pull. Trembles.

You nuzzle the damp cotton. ‘Scared?’

‘Never.’

Her shorts peel away. You linger—inhale her, lips hovering. She whimpers.

You chuckle. ‘Even your pussy smells like jasmine.’

‘Please.’

The first lick is a tease. A glancing blow. She curses. The second? A vow.

You map her with your tongue—slow, reverent. Learn the rhythm that makes her thighs clamp your ears. The angle that steals her words. She’s wildfire in your mouth.

‘There—oh god, there—’

You double down. Fingers curl inside her. Thumb presses just so.

Her scream is raw. Beautiful. The quilt soaks. You don’t let up—suck gently as she shakes, drag your tongue through every pulse until she’s clawing the sheets.

Her juices quicken, a pungent musk of sex that’s just pure fucking sin—and you’re sucking it up like a thirsty dog.

Your tongue drags a slow circle around her clit—not touching it. Just tracing the swollen bud through her folds. She whines, thighs tensing.

‘Tease.’

‘Worshipper.’ you correct.

Her hips lift. You press her back down with a palm to her stomach. Feel the muscles flutter, feel the soft cream-like softness of her beautiful midriff.

First contact: a glancing lick. Just the tip of your tongue skating over her clit. She gasps. You catalog the sound—high, sharp, yours.

‘Again.’ She breathes.

You oblige. Slower this time. Let your tongue flatten, drag wet heat across her, bury your nose into her pelvis. Her fingers knot in the sheets.

‘Good?’

‘More.’

You hum. Vibration ripples through her. She jerks.

‘Easy,’ you murmur against her. ‘Let me learn you.’

Your thumbs part her folds. Expose her fully—glistening, flushed, pulse visible in the throb of her clit. You blow gently. Watch her clench, flesh constricting.

‘Cruel—’ A high moan escapes her.

‘Thorough.’

The first proper lick steals her voice. You start slow. Broad strokes from entrance to clit, savoring her tang. Her thighs quiver.

‘There,’ she hisses when your tongue flicks her clit. ‘God, there—’

You zero in. Flick. Flick. Steady rhythm. Her breath hitches.

‘Don’t stop—don’t—’

You switch tactics—suck gently. Her back arches.

‘Yes—like—ah—’

Her clit hardens under your tongue. You trace circles around it, avoiding direct contact. She sobs.

‘Please—’

You reward her: firm pressure, rapid flicks. Her hips stutter. You pin her down, red blooming around the hold you have over her stomach—relentless.

‘Close—I’m close—’

You slide two fingers inside. Curl. Her walls clamp.

‘Fuck—fuck—’

Her clit pulses under your tongue. You suck harder.

She shatters.

A broken scream. Hips grinding against your face. You ride her through it—tongue gentling, fingers stilling.

‘Too much—’

You kiss her inner thigh. Two more kisses along the outer lips. Taste salt. ‘Beautiful.’

She trembles. ‘Again.’

Her thighs tremble as she nudges you onto your back. The mattress dips under her weight. You reach to touch her face—always reaching—but she catches your wrist. Presses it to the pillow. 

Her grip isn’t firm. A request, not a demand.

‘Let me,’ she murmurs.

You nod.

Her lips start at your collarbone—a closed-mouth kiss that lingers. She exhales warm breath against the hollow of your throat. You swallow. She smiles against your skin.

Another kiss. Lower. The swell of your pectoral. The scar from that cat. Her tongue traces the jagged edge. You hiss.

The way her thick hair travels along your chest tickles. The soothing aroma of her shampoo almost paralyzing you.

Her teeth graze your nipple. Bite down just enough to make your hips jerk. The denim of your jeans rasps against her bare thighs.

‘Off,’ she says.

‘What’s the magic word?’

Her eyes flick up. Dark. Glossy with submission. ‘Please.’

You sit up to shuck your jeans. She pushes you back down. ‘Let me.’

Her fingers fumble with your belt. The leather slips. She growls—a sound you’ve only heard when she lost at Mario Kart the day before. You bite your cheek. Laughter threatens release.

‘Shut up.’

‘Didn’t say anything.’

The belt clatters to the floor. Your boxers follow. Cool air hits your cock. Her breath follows—warm, uneven.

‘Look at me,’ you say.

She does. Pupils blown. Lips parted. A string of saliva connects her tongue to her lower lip.

‘Beautiful,’ you murmur.

She flushes. Looks away.

Your thumb hooks her chin. ‘Eyes here, sweetheart.’

A whimper escapes her. She obeys.

The first lick is tentative. A kitten testing cream. Her tongue swipes the underside of your cock. Your abs clench in response.

‘Jimin—’

‘Shh.’

Her lips wrap the head. Suck gently. Your groan claws its way out. She moans in response—vibration traveling straight to your spine.

Fuck.

Her hand wraps your shaft. Strokes in time with her mouth. Too dry. Too rough. Perfection.

‘Condom?’ she mumbles around you, the slightest gap allowed for conversation.

‘Later.’

She hums. The sound liquefies your bones.

And she continues. Swollen lips wrapped around your length, tongue slightly pushing on the underside.

Her free hand drifts between her legs. You catch it.

‘Focus.’

‘Meanie.’

You guide her head back down. ‘Earn it.’

She takes you deeper. Smoldering eye contact as she inches closer to the hilt, whereupon her nose almost makes contact with your pelvic bone. Gags. Pulls off. Coughs.

Strings of thick spit follow her mouth as she wipes.

‘Okay?’

‘Perfect.’

She tries again. Slower. Breathing through her nose. Her throat opens. Takes you to the root this time. Tears spill.

You bite down on your lip.

Her nails dig into your thighs. Sting. Ground. 

She finds a rhythm—suck, release, swirl. Strings of spit travel down your length. Where her thumb massages your balls with the spit. Your vision blurs.

Amidst it all, she’s staring into you—daring you to force her down on your cock. Begging, even.

‘Close,’ you warn.

She pulls off. Strokes you fast. ‘Come.’

You arch. ‘Where?’

Her tongue darts out. Catches the first pearl of cum. ‘Everywhere.’

The orgasm rips through you. Strips you raw. You spill across her lips, her chin, the swell of her breasts. She licks her lips. Grins.

‘Good?’

‘Amazing.’

She crawls up your body. Fully swallowing the load, then pressing a light kiss on your cheek.

Her mouth lingers on your cheekbone—wet, warm. The kiss sticks when she pulls back. Milky streaks still glisten between her breasts. You thumb one. She shivers.

‘Messy,’ you murmur.

‘Yours.’

Her nipples graze your chest as she straddles you. Heat blooms where skin meets skin. You palm her ribs. Feel the rabbit-quick thrum beneath.

Her hips lift. Your cock nudges her entrance. Slick. Swollen. You hold still. Make her work for it.

‘Please.’ She breathes, sinking down.

Heat swallows you. Tight. Quivering. You bite your tongue. Blood blooms.

She moves like water—slow swirls, thighs trembling. Her breasts sway. You catch one. Lick the salt from its curve.

‘Look at me.’

She doesn’t. Eyes screwed shut. Hair plastered to her neck. Hot and heavy with arousal.

You pinch her nipple. Gentle. Cruel. ‘Look.’

She whimpers. Lashes lift. Pupils black as oil spills.

‘Good girl.’

She whimpers. Clenches. Your fingers dig into her hips.

‘Faster.’

‘Make me.’

You buck up. She gasps. Nails score your chest.

‘Cheat—’

Her rhythm fractures. Hips stuttering. You let her chase it—the sweet friction, the burn. Her moans pitch higher.

‘Close—I’m close—,’ she whimpers.

You still her hips. ‘Wait.’

She sobs. ‘Please—’

‘Say it.’

Your thumb finds her clit. Circles.

She breaks. ‘Yours. Always yours.’

You release her. Let her slam down. Take what she needs.

Her orgasm rips through both of you—convulsions, bitten-off cries. Her rhythmic roll of hips turns frenzied. You let her ride it. Milk every pulse. 

After all, you’re obsessed—crazy about her.

When she collapses, you roll her over. Press into the sweat-slick hollow of her back.

‘Again.’

She shakes her head. Weak.

You bite her shoulder. ‘Again.’

Her body opens. Always opens. You grip your cock along her swollen slit, the sticky wetness almost  drives you mad. Regardless, you fuck her slow this time. 

Deep. Dragging each thrust. Feeling how her pussy drags on your cock, slick wet sounds singing into your ears.

‘Feel it?’

She nods. Pillow muffling her whines.

Your hand slides under. Cups her breast. Squeezes.

You curl over her. Chest to heaving back. Lips to her ear.

​​Her lips linger at your ear—sticky with confession. You taste salt when she pulls away. The room smells of sex and the spilt vanilla candle she lit hours ago, wax pooling like liquid amber.

She softly guides your hand to her throat. Your thumb finds the pulse. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. A trapped bird.

"Harder," she whispers.

You tighten. Feel her swallow.

Her breasts press against your chest as she arches, nipples pebbling against your scars. The heat between her legs slicks your thigh.

"Inside.’

You flip her. Sheets snag her knees. She whines. You bite the sound from her lips.

Her hands fist the headboard. You press into her slow. Molten velvet. Her moan fractures.

‘Eyes.’

She obeys. Always obeys.

You move. Deliberate. Each thrust a psalm. Her breasts sway—heavy, flushed. You palm one. Squeeze. Milk-white skin blooms red.

‘More—’

‘Quiet.’

She bites her wrist. You replace it with your fingers.

‘Sing for me.’

Her cry splinters the air. You swallow it. Fuck her deeper.

The headboard knocks the wall. Syncopated. Her ankles lock at your waist. Pull. Beg.

‘Who?’ you demand.

‘Yours.’

‘Louder.’

‘Yours~!’

The word still ringing when you slam into her. No finesse. Piston hips. Her breasts slap your chest—heat and sweat and jasmine.

She chokes. Nails rake your back. ‘Too—’

‘Take it.’

Her legs lock. Ankles digging into your behind. You fuck her like proving a point. Jackhammer rhythm. Headboard cracks plaster.

Dust rains down as you drag her hips back, slam into her harder. No rhythm now—just ruin.

She chokes on a scream, face mashed into the quilt, ass raised like an offering.

Your grip bruises her waist, fingers denting flesh as you split her open again. Again. Again and again. 

You can feel your balls hit the wetness of her pussy, smacking wet sounds onto her slit.

‘Take it.’ You grind deeper, pelvis punishing her clit with each thrust. Her thighs quiver, slick with sweat and your earlier release. ‘Wanted me rough? Here.’

She sobs into the mattress, voice shredded. ‘T-too—’

‘You don’t get to.’ You fist her hair, yank her head back. Her spine bows, throat exposed. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

A nod. A whimper.

You snarl, slamming home. The wet slap of skin-on-skin drowns her cries. Her nails claw the sheets, nearly ripping threads. You lean over her, teeth scoring her shoulder. 

Her scream cracks as you pin her wrists, pound into her like you’re exorcising ghosts.

The bed groans. Her breasts sway, nipples raw from your mouth. She’s so tight, clenching around your cock like she’s trying to keep you trapped inside.

‘Gonna break you,’ you rasp, thumb digging into her asshole.

She shrieks, back arching. ‘P-please—’

‘Please what?’

‘Ruin me—’

You do. Hips pistoning, sweat stinging the bite marks on her neck. You don’t stop—can’t stop—driving into her convulsions until your vision whites out.

She sobs. High. Broken. ‘There there there~!’

Your thumb finds her clit. Grind. Her scream lodges in your teeth.

‘Come.’

‘Can’t—can’t—’

You bite her shoulder. ‘Come.’

She shatters. Walls milking. Clenching. Begging without words.

You drill deeper. Tip hitting that spongy ache. Her eyes roll back.

‘Gonna fill you,’ you snarl.

‘Please please—’

One last thrust. Hilt-deep.

You rupture.

Whiteout. Earthquake hips. Flood her until your knees buckle.

She collapses into the fault line you’ve carved. Whimpers when you pull out. Spend drips down her thigh.

Her finger swipes it—all that cumulative spend coupled along her swollen cunt. Lets the slurry couple along her tongue.

‘I love how you taste.’

‘God. You’re too fucking perfect.’ You drop down onto her. Cuddling.

Moonlight spills through the curtains. She's tucked against you, all soft edges now.

'You okay?' Your fingers ghost over her shoulder.

'Mm.' A pause. 'Was it too much?'

'Never.'

'But I was...' She shifts slightly. 'I got carried away.'

'Hey.' You tilt her chin up. 'That's what I love about you.'

'What? Being a mess?'

'Being real.'

She burrows closer. 'Still. Sorry if I—'

'Don't you dare apologize.'

'But—'

'Want some water?'

'If you move, I'll write a very detailed exposé about you.'

'About what? My green tea addiction?'

'Chapter One: The Man Who Chose Hydration Over Cuddles.'

'Riveting.'

'Mm. I'll even include citations.'

Your fingers trace idle patterns on her arm. 'What's Chapter Two?'

'Our future kids being haunted by your tea collection.'

'Kids, huh?'

'Tiny humans who'll only drink iced americanos.'

'In winter? That's grounds for custody battle.'

She pinches your side. 'They'll be perfect.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Little artists with their mom's smile and their dad's terrible sense of humor.'

'My humor is exquisite.'

'You'll teach them to be insufferable.'

'And you'll teach them to be beautiful.'

She props herself up. Hair mussed, eyes soft. 'Where should we live?'

'Somewhere quiet. With big windows.'

'And a garden?'

'For your flowers and my tea herbs.'

'Domestic.' She wrinkles her nose. 'I like it.'

You pull her closer. 'We'll need a library.'

'For bedtime stories?'

'And quiet mornings.'

'With a reading nook?'

'Big enough for three.'

'Four,' she corrects. 'Maybe five.'

'Ambitious.'

She kisses your jaw. 'Thought you could handle anything.'

'Try me.'

'Five kids. All girls. All with my stubbornness.'

'Terrifying.'

'But worth it.'

You thread fingers through her hair. 'Worth everything.'

'Even giving up your tea collection?'

'Now you're pushing it.'

She laughs, soft and real. 'I'll let you keep the fancy cups.'

'Generous.'

'I know.' She yawns. 'I'm a catch.'

'The biggest.'

Her fingers trail your chest. 'Hey.'

'Mm?'

'Think our kids will be tall?'

'With your genes? Doubtful.'

She bites your shoulder. 'I'm average height.'

'For a garden gnome.'

'For a normal person.’ She groans.

‘—Who has been crushed ever so slightly by a hydraulic press.’

‘Ugh.’ She falls back into the bed.

‘We need a shower.’

She huffs. ‘No, I need a shower.’

‘Hm?’

‘I know what you’re gonna do: act like it’s a shower then nail me for the next half-hour in there.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t oh me. My legs are still sore from the cumulative effects of the past 3 days’

'Fine.' You pull her closer. 'Five more minutes.'

'Five turns into fifty with you.'

'Can you blame me?'

She traces patterns on your chest. 'I have to be at the airport by six.'

'Skip it.'

'Right. I'll just tell my company I found something better to do.'

'Like?'

'Like getting ravished by a journalist with no self-control.'

'Sounds reasonable to me.'

Her laugh is soft. Sad. 'I can’t let go of this.'

'This?'

'You.' She props herself up. 'Your stupid jokes. Your hands. The way you look at me like I'm...'

Your fingers find her hair. 'How long?'

'A week. Maybe two.'

'I'll die.'

'Drama queen.'

'No, actually die. Waste away. They'll write articles: Local Writer Perishes From Karina Deficiency.'

She smacks your chest. 'Stop.'

'My last words will be "if only she'd stayed one more day."'

'I hate you.'

'You love me.'

'Yeah.' She kisses your jaw. 'That's the problem.'

She sits up suddenly. 'Wait. What if—'

'What if?'

'My apartment in Seoul has a separate entrance. Service elevator.' The words tumble out. 'Nobody uses it except staff. And I have this office, connected to my room—'

'Jimin.'

'—could set up a desk there. Get you one of those fancy writing chairs. And there's this cafe nearby, really private, the owner's super discrete—'

You prop yourself up. Watch her plan your smuggling with bright eyes.

'The security team changes rotation at 2AM.' She's drawing invisible blueprints on your chest. 'That's when we could—'

'Breathe, baby.'

'I'm serious.' Her fingers curl against your skin. 'I've thought about this. A lot. Like, embarrassingly a lot.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' She ducks her head. 'Have the whole thing mapped out in my head. When to sneak you in. Which staff to trust. Where to hide your toothbrush.'

'My toothbrush gets its own strategic planning?'

'Everything gets strategic planning.' She looks up. 'I'd make it work. I'd make it perfect.'

'Jimin.'

'I know it's crazy.' Her voice cracks. 'But I can't—the thought of not—'

You pull her down. Kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. 'Tell me more about this secret entrance.'

She breathes against your neck. 'Really?'

'Really. Though I should warn you—'

'What?'

'My toothbrush is high-maintenance. Needs its own security detail.'

She laughs, wet and relieved. 'I'm being pathetic.'

'You're being perfect.' Your thumb catches a tear. 'And I'm taking notes.'

'Yeah?'

'Mm yeah. Finally found my title: "How to Smuggle a Writer: A Professional Hazard."'

Jimin nuzzles into you further. Purring at this moment of peace.

2 Weeks Later

Dawn creeps through her expensive curtains. She's wrapped around you like a koala, skin on skin, taking up more space than her tiny frame should allow.

You try to slip away. Her arms tighten.

'No,' she mumbles against your chest.

'Tea.'

'Lies.'

'Green tea.'

'Worse lies.'

But she lets you go, rolling into the warm spot you leave behind. You pause at the door—she's barely covered by the sheet, hair a mess across your pillow. Perfect.

The kitchen gleams in morning light. That copper kettle she insisted on buying catches the sun—"Because proper tea needs proper tools," she'd declared, like your entire existence before her was barbaric.

She pads in almost-naked just as the water's heating, with your discarded shirt from yesterday.

'Cold?'

'Miss you already.'

'I'm right here.'

'Too far.' She hooks her chin over your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist. 'What blend?'

'The one you say you hate.'

'Mm. The grassy one?'

'Getting better at this.'

She hums against your skin. Already reaching for her cup—the blue ceramic one that somehow migrated from the hotel to her apartment.

First sip. Her eyes close.

'Well?'

'It’s okay.' She takes another sip. 'Bland. I guess.'

She grins wide as you turn around. Getting closer to you, inhaling the smell of your fresh t-shirt. 

'Noted.' You kiss her temple. 'Want the rest of mine too?'

'Yes.' A sleepy smile. 'But only because I love you.'

'Of course.' Your greatest triumph: her, here, stealing your tea and your heart. 'Only because of that.'

'Want breakfast?' She's already moving to the fridge.

'You're cooking?'

'Don't sound so scared.' She pulls out eggs, something that looks suspiciously gourmet. 'I've been practicing. Besides, I’m tired of eating the coal you call food, and the bacteria colony I call food.'

'Since when?'

'Since I decided to be domestic.' She hip-checks you away from the counter. 'Go sit. Let me work.'

You watch her move around the kitchen. Something's different. A nervousness in her hands, a flutter in her movements.

'Stop staring.'

She’s revelling in it, how she gets you dumb-struck every time you get a glance of her.

Too cute.

'Can't help it.'

She sets a plate in front of you. Simple breakfast. Eggs. Toast. But arranged with careful precision. Something white peeking out from under the toast.

'Fancy.' You reach for your fork.

'Wait.' Her fingers twist in your shirt. 'Look under.'

'Under the toast?'

She nods. Not breathing.

You lift the bread. There's a small note. Written as small as her hands would allow. 

‘Pregnant.’

The world stops.

'Jimin.'

'I know it's fast.' The words rush out. 'I know we just—but I've been feeling strange and the test was just sitting there in my bathroom for days and I finally—this morning while you were sleeping—'

You pull her into your lap.

'Say something.'

'When?'

'2 weeks, maybe? Remember that night after the bar?'

You remember. Of course you remember. A beautiful night.

'Are you...' Her voice small. 'Are you happy?'

You kiss her. Taste salt. Someone's crying. Maybe both of you.

'Ecstatic.' Your hand finds her stomach. Still flat. But now. But soon. 'Terrified.'

'Yeah?' She laughs through tears.

'Yeah.' You kiss her again. 'Best breakfast ever.'

'Even better than your tea?'

Instead of answering, you kiss her again.

What's tea anyway?

Fin

A/N: Goodness! They make a great couple. Hope you enjoyed!

[babygirl-riley]

Small Traditions

Simon starts to notice the small signs that his mother would do when he was young to what he now does with his girls

A/N: GUYS naturally I had to use @ave661 art cause listen ovaries HURT anytime she posts the dad!simon series 😭

“That she's gettin' older and I wish that you'd met her. The things that she'll learn from me, I got them all from you.”

Warnings: angst, fluff, dad!simon, mentions of childhood trauma, missing mom hours, swearing

Taglist

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

Simon was finally able to actually spend time with his baby girl. He was gone for a while, 3 months to be exact. Which made his baby 6 months old, he missed out on appointments and her first roll over on her tummy. So when he came home, he made it a mission to spend anytime and every time with her.

When she woke up early in the morning he turned to you, feeling you getting up. “No love stay asleep, ‘ll get the little one.” He mumbled, waking up a bit.

You hummed and laid back down immediately passing back out. Simon put on a black shirt as he adjusted his sweats as well. He made his way to his babygirl’s room. She was standing up holding onto the rail of her crib. Her smile beaming as she giggled, jumping up and down.

“Ah isn’t the little rascal,” Simon smiled chuckling lightly. She reached up for him as he picked her up. She placed his head on his shoulder and gripped his shirt. “I’m happy to see ya too princess.”

Simon changed her diaper and started to make his way into the kitchen. His daughter cooed as he held her close. She would play with his shirt or put it in her mouth. “See ya starting’ to teethin’.” He said softly, letting her suck the shirt.

After making the bottle he went into the living room to put on the tv. He set her on the couch with him on the edge, she was old enough to hold the bottle herself so he just watched. Her hands gripping her bottle as she chugged the milk down.

Simon chuckled now sitting on his calfs. “Damn little one, ya that hungry?”

He never knew if she was listening or even understanding by how her eyes would just stare blankly. As he stared at her, he noticed the small things. The features that would bring his heart to swell but also break a bit. The dimples that she had were in the same spot that his mother had.

Simon picked her little feet up and played with them as he thought. His mother would be proud of where he is at. The family he created after all the pain he went through. Never would have thought to be a father, after what he saw with his father. He was afraid to become him. To be him. Yet here he was, with a baby girl.

“Grandma would have loved ya,” He mumbled kissing her little socked feet. She sighed as she fought back a laugh, she was very ticklish on her feet. Just like Tommy, as kids Simon used to piss him off by tickling his feet. Simon inhaled deeply before shaking his head. He didn’t need to get emotional, there was no need. However just the way his daughter had some of the features conjured them. “Would love the way you look so much like me, have some similarities from her, hell Uncle Tommy would make fun of actually settling down.” He chuckled to himself.

He never thought even before the tragedy of his family that he would settle down. Family was plagued by his father. His childhood made Simon not want to give his own children one solely on fear of course. Yet here he is. Half of him and half of you. He would never trade it for the world.

Simon has even noticed the things he would do that his mother would do before his father was shunned away from the family. The way she would hum particular child songs to calm both him and his brother down. How when dad wasn’t home, she would whip up a random treat, particularly peanut butter bars. In which, your child has become addicted to them. Or when putting him to bed she would say ‘never forget, you’re smart, you’re handsome, and you’re loved.’ Instead his babygirl would be replacing handsome with beautiful.

Simon would only do it when you weren’t around, whispering it softly. Even though he doesn’t know you usually are around the corner, listening to him, with tears. Simon noticed these things as time grew on with his daughter. It didn’t hit him until now. Thinking of all the things that his mom would do with her grand baby. The family dinners. The babysitting. The holidays. All of it.

Simon noticed that tears were at the edge of his eyes. He shook his head and coughed then grabbed her little feet and softly ran his thumb from her heel to her tiny toes. “Ya made me soft ya brat.” He tickled her foot as she let out a laugh kicking his hands away.

Years gone past and now he has three of them. He stood in the kitchen as he placed lunches in certain boxes. You needed help as you did hair and gathered their school things. Simon never could do hair hell not even his youngest’s hair and she was 1. “Dad! I can’t find my shoes!” Millie yelled as she ran down the stairs.

Simon sighed and smirked. “Well since you didn’ put them away, I threw them in the trash.”

Millie stopped in her tracks and had the same smirk that was on his face on hers. “Uh huh, really though please.”

Simon smiled and nodded. “‘ight ‘light, they’re in the closet with the coats,” She shook her head and went towards the door. Simon placed the last thing in the last box. “Start puttin’ them in ya room yeah?”

Millie nodded and looked at him. “Aye,” She walked up to him and lifted her finger. “Love ya see you after?”

Simon looked down at her finger, his mom would tap his finger, going once up and they would switch sides and tap again. It was their way of saying bye and love you when dad had his beer and game review on. Simon smiled and tapped her finger as they flipped them over to do it again. “I’ll be pickin’ ya both up.”

“Daddy! Daddy,” His head snapped up to see his second daughter soaring down the stairs. “Look what mum did!” Her hair was in to braids that linked into one large one. A smile beaming on her face. Showing one of the dimples his mother once had.

Simon chuckled grabbing a small piece of it before placing his thumb on her cheek. “Looks beautiful Alli,” He said softly then kissed her on her forehead. Simon looked up the stairs and saw you smiling down, holding the newborn. “Ya takin’ them?”

You nodded as you walked down the stairs. “Yes I have to grab more things from the store.”

Simon and you already talked about the store and her taking Millie and Allison to school. Simon pushed and pushed to only get pushed back, eventually compromises came and he staying to give you a break from the 2 month old. Then he could pick up the girls after school. You handed Tessa over to Simon. “Already changed just needs to be held. Needy this morning.” You whispered kissing Simon softly on the lips.

“Roger,” He mumbled as he kissed her one more time hearing Allison fake gag. Simon chuckled as he turned handing you the boxes. “Packed and ready.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, grabbing them, and ushering the older two out the door. “I’ll be back!”

“Bye dad!” Millie yelled walking out first.

“Bye daddy!” Allison followed suite turning to sign ‘I love you’ with one hand.

Simon did it back cradling Tessa between his chest and bicep. You smiled at him, kiss towards him. He smiled as the door shut. Tessa wiggled and started to whine. “Shh shh,” He whispered looking down at her. “It’s ‘light we can go down stairs and watch somethin’ yeah?”

Later that day Millie and Allison opened their lunch boxes that day and found a small sugary snack with a note attached reading; ‘what do you call an angry carrot… A steamed veggie.’ They always loved it, having notes from dad that had terrible jokes even if Millie would roll her eyes and smirk. She loves them.

You didn’t know about it until the next day. You were check boxing everything that was needed to grab as Simon helped with Tessa. When you opened it you saw the note, chuckling to yourself. Millie stood next to you and looked at you. “Dad says that Grandma Riley would leave jokes for him and Tommy.”

You looked over at her and up to the stairs, making sure he wasn’t coming yet. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Millie smiled. “I always read ‘em to my friends. Just don’t tell him. His head will inflate more.” She joked grabbing her box.

You smiled as you watched Simon come down the stairs in his uniform. “I shouldn’ be long,” he mumbled having his balaclava in his pocket. Millie frowned as did Allison. “I told Uncle Price I’ll be late to take you two.” He smiled at them as their faces calmed into a soft content expression.

Simon handed Tessa to you and kissed your cheek. “I’ll be home no later than 8.” You nodded and watched them go out the door.

Simon opened the door for both Millie and Allison to get in as they went down the street. “Was Grandma Riley fun?” Millie asked nonchalantly as she looked out the window.

Simon could feel his throat hitch from the sudden question. “Yes.”

“Do you do things like she did to us?”

Simon looked in the rear view mirror for a brief moment. Only if she knew, all the things his mother taught him has been passed down to his girls. After his father was kicked out for good his mother was more open about good parenting, she always was of course. However there wasn’t any hidden signs or anything of the sort. Even when he was older, when confrontation came around, she was kind and gentle. Since both him and his brother didn’t know how to handle or deal with situations as so. 

Simon taught his girls to be polite and kind to everyone. Just like his mother was. Everything she did that he remembered he wanted to pass along. Simon inhaled for a moment. “Ya know the finger taps,” Both her and Allison nodded their heads. “That came from grandma. It was our sign to say love you and bye.”

Allison smiled. “Did she do the night routine?”

Simon smiled. “Yes.”

It was silent again before Millie shifted a bit. “Grandma Riley sounded cool.”

Simon smiled again and nodded. “She would have loved all of ya.”

It was good silent as he stopped in front of the school, as kids packed to go inside. Allison opened the door and turned with her finger out. Simon and her did the signature finger taps as she hopped out. He waited until she caught up with friends that were right outside the car. Then he went to Millie’s school.

“What happened to them?” Millie asked, Simon knew that eventually the girls would put two and two. Uncle Tommy and Grandma Riley not around, yet dad talks highly of them? It would make a tween curious.

Simon took a second to think of the answer. He never told you until 3 years of your guys’ relationship. Millie was too young to know but he couldn’t lie to her either. “Someday I will tell you.” Was all he could say to it.

Millie nodded and chuckled. “Was she terrible at the jokes like you?”

Simon laughed a bit. “Terrible? My jokes are amazin’!”

Millie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yeah yeah.” Simon pulled up in front of the school and he turned to her. She unbuckled and lifted her finger, smiling. “Glad you keeping’ traditions dad. Grandma would be happy.”

Simon felt his chest tighten as he smiled it off. Doing the taps. “She would be happy indeed,” He nodded his head to the school. “Get goin’ ya love the joke today by the way.”

Millie laughed as she opened the door and shook her head once more. “Yeah maybe.”

Simon watched until she got into the school and drove to the base. “You would have loved ‘em mum.” He mumbled to himself as he kept the tears at bay.

Even through all the hardships, he will be forever grateful for his mother and her teachings. He hopes that one day that she will meet his family, the family that he knows she would have loved. To see how much as changed in Simon that he thought that could never happen. So she could see that not only her that showed him unconditional love even through the darkest parts but how his girls have showed him as well.

Simon sighed as he relaxed. Yeah, she would have loved them all.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

Apologies for the ones here for TexAid or even the mechs but it's Combaticon background time again~! Contains thinly veilled Onslaught/Blast Off I'm SO weak for them.

Oh how unkind the narrative is to them (it's me. I did this.)

Edit: completely realised I forgot: TW for thinly veiled homophobia

Brawl found a kitten once.

The thing was tiny, dwarfed by his massive hands. Its eyes were barely open, its fur matted with dirt and mud. They were pretty sure it was going to die. Its pitiful meows were more raspy whispers.

But Brawl still decided to look after it. His hands were suited for destruction, skilled at breaking and crushing. The kitten looked so fragile nestled up against the scars and callouses.

Vortex had said that he could wring its neck and kill it before it knew his hands were there - he’d had to do it before to orphaned kittens with frostbite in his home town when he was younger. He was practiced at it, a natural – the old women had said so themselves as they helped him bury their little bodies in the frozen ground. Brawl was venomously opposed to the idea. He fed it warm milk through a syringe, used a damp cloth to work the worst of the filth from its fur, and revealed the tabby cat coat pattern hidden underneath. Blast Off had remarked that they looked like a mackerel fish, and Brawl had decided that the cat was to be christened Mackerel.

Its life would be so short it didn’t matter what they called it, he’d argued. It’s not like they’d ever grow to care. It’s not as if they’d be mincing around with a cat mascot called Mackerel.

Except Brawl was very attached to Mackerel.

The kitten spent its naps tucked away in a pocket on his chest, replacing ammo and explosives. When awake, he watched him like a hawk. He procured him blankets, soft and fresh, warm and clean. He sat in his lap when they were in their vehicle, he held him close when bullets were flying, and shared pieces of his meals with him when he was old enough for solids.

The thing was too stupid to die.

Mackerel loved Brawl. He’d just need to see him to start purring. And, in turn, Brawl loved Mackerel.

It broke Brawls heart to leave him behind. His sister had promised to look after him, to make sure he was clean and fed and healthy, and once Brawl could come back, he’d be sure to remember him and would happily purr for him again. They all pretended they didn’t see the tears in his eyes as he said goodbye, that they didn’t hear the way his voice shuddered and broke as he stroked him one last time.

He didn’t know that it was the last time he ever would at the time, but something in him must have told him it would be.

It was all a bit unfair, really.

--------------------------------

“Oh my god. He’s wearing the fucking trousers again.” Blast Off groaned.

Onslaught whipped around. “For fucks sake.” He slapped that mornings newspaper down onto the makeshift table and stood up, gesturing for Swindle to turn around. “No, no, absolutely not. Go get changed.”

“What’s wrong?” Swindle asked innocently. “I didn’t think we had any dirty jobs today.” The trousers were gaudy and glittery and godawful. How he liked them god only knew – he had locked eyes with them in the shop and that had been it. Instant infatuation. He was obsessed. Brawl saw him sneak back to the shop to buy more when his first pair mysteriously gained a rip across the groin. He seemed to always have a set at the ready.

“We’re meeting with potential clients, Swindle, you can’t come looking like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how I look!”

“You have two choices.” Two fingers were presented to him. “You take them off yourself,” a finger curled to his palm, “Or I take them off for you.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Alright, fine. I’ll need you to undo them for me though, my fingers are too stiff.” Swindle winked at Blast Off. Blast Off pursed his lips.

Blast Off took a knife from the sheath on his calf and calmly handed it to Onslaught. Onslaught took it without looking, and beckoned Swindle forwards.

“We’ll cut you out, then.”

“On second thought, I think I’ve got it!” Swindle squeaked, disappearing off back to his room. Onslaught tutted and passed Blast Off back his knife.

“Cheeky git.”

Blast Off hummed, carefully sliding it back into its sheath. “I was looking forwards to seeing them destroyed again.”

“He’s got three pairs.” Onslaught looked at him, expression very grim indeed. “I’ve seen them.”

“I can leak our location to get them destroyed?”

“There’s probably a stash of them somewhere in secure storage too. We’d never find them all.”

“Worth a shot…” He muttered. He stubbed out his cigarette on an ash tray balanced on the arm of his chair before placing it neatly onto the table and standing, brushing off imagined dust. “How long do we give him before we leave?”

“Two more minutes.” Onslaught checked his watch. “Is the car good to go?”

“It starts. Has Megatron still not responded?”

Onslaught pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. Blast Off scoffed.

“Bastard.” He dramatically threw his hands up. “What does he expect to happen? Christ. He’s fucking useless.”

“Would you rather deal with Starscream again?”

“I’d rather be dead.”

“And we will be if we don’t get going!” Swindle announced as he walked in, clapping his hands. “Come on, to the car!”

“You act as though you weren’t the one keeping us waiting with your ridiculous wardrobe.” Blast Off chided as he grabbed the keys. “I didn’t expect much from the English, but Jesus Christ. Are you all blind?”

“Shut it, you damn frog.”

“That’s enough.” Onslaught firmly warned. They both immediately straightened, jaws snapping shut.

Swindle stuck his tongue out at Blast Off. Blast off flipped him off.

“I’m setting fire to those damn trousers.” Blast Off threatened as they got into the car. Onslaught got into the passenger seat, rolling his eyes at them. Swindle scoffed.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

--------------------------------

“For goodness sake! Sit down right now!”

The fabric of his shirt ripped with ease and quickly turned red with blood, seeping between his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound.

“What did you even do?!” Blast Off demanded. “All that bravado about getting back in one piece! Look at you! Your lip will need stitches! Your eye is black! Why?!”

“They were going to find you.” Onslaught was pressing a wad of tissues to his lip, obscuring his voice. “I did my job.”

“If they’re going to find me then tell me so I can flee my nest, not… not whatever this is! Oscar!” He was desperately pulling at tissues to help stem the flow of the wound in his arm. “It wasn’t that important! Look; we haven’t got Swindles credit card, so you’re just going to have to suffer through whatever I can Frankenstein together. Hold this tightly - think I saw some superglue? They used to use that for wounds, right..?”

“Probably not in its current form.” He obediently replaced his hands over Blast Off’s, his hand pressing against a blood-soaked one. “Shit. Where’s Swindle when you need him?”

“Did you at least win?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I did. One’s tied up at the bottom of the stairs. The other’s dead.”

“Two?”

“One each.” He raised two fingers. “One meant to keep me busy, one off to go get you.”

“As if I wouldn’t make their head a red mist.” He tutted. “Let me look for that glue.”

He carefully pulled his hand out from under Onslaughts, the air ice cold against it. He felt like he had been stripped bare where his skin had been pressed against his own, whittled down to the bone.

The glue was sat on top of a first aid kit. He brought both back to him, popping it open to take a look.

It wasn’t great, but it would do.

The arm was first. The bleeding was manageable, but they’d need to get an actual professional to look at it - Blast Off barely remembered his training. It had been a single day in a scorching hot tent filled with sand, the air thick and heavy like a blanket, and his head had thumped and ached the whole way through. He’d only received the pass mark because he had given the instructor a cigarette.

“Jean.”

Blast Off’s eyes snapped to his. Onslaught only ever used his name when they were alone - especially the short version. And likewise - he only ever called Onslaught Oscar if no one was around to hear it. Suddenly, he was aware that he was knelt on the seat Onslaught had taken, his knees either side of his thick thigh, their bodies inches away - he could feel the heat rolling off of him and suddenly his mind was racing away in another direction, one that had his hands hands raking down his commanders back and lips at his throat-

“When we’re done here, we move to the backup.”

“Yessir.” Quit it.

He did his best for his arm. It was shallower than it looked, thank fuck - thick bundles of gauze and a well wrapped bandage kept the pressure required on. His sleeve wouldn’t go back over it, but he would be okay - it was still baking hot outside, the heat rolling off the ground in thick waves.

“Hold still - let me put your lip back together.”

“Ow!” Onslaught hissed and pulled away at the sting of the alcohol Blast Off had dripped onto the open wound.

“Be quiet, I’ll kiss it better, how about that?”

Onslaught snorted, and obediently remained still as Blast Off applied the suture strips to his lip, carefully pulling the flesh back together. It would scar horribly, but it would just join the other one. Maybe he’d end up matching with Brawl? That would be fun.

“There, done.” Blast Off leaned back to appraise his work. He grimaced. “It will do.” He stepped back and reached for his gun, fully intending on getting right back to it and finishing the job when Onslaught cleared his throat expectantly.

“My kiss?”

Blast Off rolled his eyes. “You really try your luck, you know that? Fine. Here.” He leaned forwards, the corner of his lip brushing against the stubble that wrapped around the corner of Onslaughts.

“Mwah! Happy?”

Onslaught looked at him with wide eyes, the tips of his ears burning pink. He had a look in his eye that had Blast Off’s insides turning, blood rushing down and making him feel dizzy. There was hunger in them, a look only a starving man had.

“… Happy.” He finally replied.

They’d had to drag the survivor by his feet. They’d repurposed some curtains to wrap around him to make him easier to move - he cursed and swore and spat venom the whole way. Onslaught ignored him. Blast Off did his best to.

“Where did he even learn to speak like that?” He asked, utterly aghast.

“Same place I did, most likely.”

“He’s going to alert everyone to our location. We should have left him.”

“Vortex needs him.”

“Damn it, he can come get him himself then!”

They ended up stuffing his mouth with a sock. Blast Off made himself comfortable in his new spot, settling in for the long game - the sun was starting to get low in the sky. Time was running out.

Time was running out, and he couldn’t quite push Onslaught out of his mind.

He had two targets left out of the four. Small game, but tricky - they were meant to be leaving the facility they were watching, but so far there hadn’t been any sign of them. He was starting to feel twitchy.

A man walked over to a window, and he felt his heart stop. Target spotted. He held his breath, waiting for them to step into just the right position-

The glass splintered and red sprayed up in a mist. He swiftly reloaded, ducking down to hide himself.

Oh, I am so pleased he finally showed his face.

The sun sunk lower, and Blast Off finally moved.

“When does Brawl get here?” He asked.

“Five minutes.” Onslaught glanced at him and offered him an open carton of cigarettes, one sticking out. “Smoke?”

“Not yet.” Blast Off shook his head. “When we’re back.”

“Ever the professional. I’ll look bad if I have one, now.”

“Can I have one?” Their captive asked, voice muffled.

“Not yet.” They replied in unison.

Five minutes later, Brawl arrived. He was alone - Swindle was still with Lockdown negotiating a deal (Blast Off wasn’t so sure that’s what he was doing now, but if he stuck his nose into his business Swindle would scrutinise his, so he kept out of it and looked the other way) and Vortex was preparing for his new guest. Apparently he’d made quite a mess earlier and had lots to sanitise.

Their special guest loaded, still wrapped in the curtain, Onslaught got into the front seat and Blast Off slipped in behind him. He quickly dug his binoculars out of his bag, checking them over - he’d knocked them quite hard when they were manhandling the curtain-bundle into the car - he absently brushed off the sand and prepared his rifle.

“You split your lip?” Brawl asked as they pulled away.

“Yeah. I’ll get stitches tomorrow.”

“That guy back there?” Brawl gestured with his head.

“Nah, the dead one.”

“Eye for an eye.” Brawl snickered. “And the black eye?”

“Now that was him.”

Blast Off peered out through the binoculars, scanning for his targets. He’d hit 3 out of the 4. Just one was eluding him. It wouldn’t do.

The tunnel that lead them towards the valley they had carved out a space of their own was rapidly approaching - time was running out. Finding him now would be pure luck - cutting it this fine-

There. There he was, on a water tower. Looking for something. Looking for them.

“Cover your ears!” Blast Off instructed, pushing ear protectors over the head of their captive. He took aim and fired, watching as a dark shape slumped and fell from a tower. Smirk tugging at his lips, he pushed his own off his ears before removing them from the strangers, smiling down wickedly at him. “See, we can’t have you not able to hear, so be good for us, okay? Vortex doesn’t like it when you can’t hear him.”

“Tuck in, Blast Off.” Brawl warned from the drivers seat. “Tunnel.”

The rifle was drawn back into the car.

“Are we at an understanding?”

They rapidly nodded.

“Good!”

“Vortex will be happy you’ve got a new toy for him.” Brawl commented, slowing as they entered the pitch black tunnel. “He was saying the other day how it had been a while.”

“I hope he’s not rusty. We’ll need everything this guy knows.” Onslaught said. Blast Off caught himself staring at him - the way the lights of the dash illuminated him, the way it caught his eyes and tangled in his hair, the smell of grease and blood and sweat. His

Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his brow creased with focus, eyes squinting into the darkness ahead.

If things were different, they’d have never met and he wouldn’t be tortured like this with things he could never have, things he’d be so close to but never be able to touch. If things were different, everything would be so much simpler. Onslaught looked back at him in the rear view mirror. Their eyes met, and Blast Off felt a tingle down his spine.

Yeah. He’d take this any day. The torture of knowing him would always feel better than the absence of the one who made him feel whole.

--------------------------------

The man wrapped in a curtain was roughly dumped on the floor of Vortex’s lab. They fell with a loud grunt, head bouncing off the floor. Brawl giggled, waving at them by wiggling his fingers before he left.

“Have fun, Tex, this one’s got a gob on him.”

“Oh, I do like it when they’re mouthy.” Vortex chirped back, rubbing his hands together.

“You’re all fucked up! Did you know that?!” The man hissed at them, wriggling desperately. “I don’t know anything!”

“That’s what they all say~” Vortex sung as he strode off to find a knife to cut him free. Blast off rolled his eyes at him.

“He’s right, you know. People like to crow about their innocence when they’re really just trying to keep the lid on the jar.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who needs a bodyguard.”

“And you’ve got a big mouth for someone who’s wrapped in an old ladies curtain, so I suppose that makes us even.”

“Fuck! You are so infuriating!”

“Yup.” Blast Off popped the p. He looked around for the sock – they’d taken it out on the basis of good behaviour, but apparently it needed to be crammed back in again.

“You like him.” The man said, eyes hard and voice cutting. “That big guy. Like a man likes a woman. Ha!” He laughed, spitting blood. “Forgive my wording - I wondered who was the tunnel and who was the train, he fought so valiantly to protect you-“

Vortex’s boot met his face with a crunch.

“Fuck me, shut up.” Vortex sighed, gesturing to his boot as they cried out and whimpered in agony, blood running down their face. “Look, now my boot’s all dirty! I just cleaned these!”

“Was that really necessary?” Blast Off asked.

“They were boring me.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Dinner’s at eight.”

“I’ll bring whiskey.”

The heavy door locked behind him, and he grimaced.

He still had Onslaughts blood dried onto his hands. A stupid, ravenous part of him wanted it to stain him, to never let it go. The sensible part of him strode off to the bathroom to set himself to rights.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Oolong

Look! Look! Art by @dredgenaves for my story!!!

It was early and many of the market vendors had not opened up their shops, carts, or stalls yet in the rubble of the last city where everyone routinely gathered for commerce. Eris wondered if the Drifter also preferred the lack of people or if his insistence that they come this early to ‘avoid the crowds’ was entirely for her benefit. Probably for her, she realized. A crowd, for him, would simply be a cloak of invisibility.

She reached out and touched a t-shirt, rubbing the cloth between her fingertips, smiling at the softness of it.

“That one? Really?” the Drifter asked her.

“The material feels nice.”

“You uh… don’t see colours the same way, do ya?”

“No. What colour is it?”

He waited a few moments, watching her fondle it, and then leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Bubblegum pink.”

Eris drew her hand away as though the shirt had bitten her.

He laughed, picked up the shirt, and held it up against her, eyeballing the fit.

Eris gave him a look that could curdle milk…or blood.

“I have limits, Rat, and that is well beyond them.”

He laughed again and turned to the merchant.

“Do you have this, but in black or maybe grey?”

The vendor pointed to a pile of clothing in a barrel on the other side of a table.

Eris heaved an audible sigh of relief.

The Drifter began picking through it. “This might do,” he pulled a couple of pieces into his hand. “We'll want to add in a layer or two.”

“We don't even know if they will fit.”

“Oh these'll fit.” He paid the merchant.

“How do you know?”

He gave her a sideways look with a half smile and licked his lips.

“Hmmm…”

“Oooo…” the Drifter stopped at a spice vendor they were walking past who was just opening up their stall.

Eris found the cacophony of scents overwhelming and wandered past the spices to an area filled with pottery. The elderly pottery vendor looked at her suspiciously. Eris found a selection of chunky looking mugs and began to pick up individual ones to sense their weight and feel how the handles felt against her hands.

“You should get two.” The Drifter’s voice was by her ear.

“I was thinking of it. What colours are these?”

“That one’s green and that one’s blue. Both dark and swirly. They don’t match but they also sorta go together. They look nice.”

“Very well.”

“Smell this.” He shoved a small bag in her face.

She sighed and inhaled. “Oh… that is nice… is it tea?”

“Yup. They said it’s oo-long, whatever the hell that is. Smells fancy.”

Eris smiled. “It is. I like oolong.”

“Well we got some now and if you get mugs we can put it in them and be fancy together.”

Eris took the mugs she’d selected to the nervous pottery vendor and attempted to be non-threatening. He took her glimmer with shaking hands.

“Now, let's find you some boots that don't look like they're for walking on the moon.” Drifter tugged at her elbow.

“Everything about me looks like it's for walking on the moon… Because I spend most of my time walking… on the moon.”

“Yeah well, we ain’t goin’ to the moon which is why we’re getting ya non-moon shit for those rare times when you ain’t on the moon.”

“Hmmm…”

“This place has a bench. Here.” He tossed her a pair of dark brown leather hiking boots. “Try those on.”

“The feet fit,” she said after a few minutes, “...but the calves and ankles are a bit too wide.”

“Really? Let me see.”

He knelt one knee on the ground in front of her and pulled her foot up onto his leg. His hands slid along her calf down next to her ankle. Eris would have sworn his hands were empty, especially since she had felt all his fingers caress her gently, but there was a sudden weight and she felt an object pressed against her ankle. Something several inches long in a leather sheath.

He tightened the boot laces and tied them off with a bow.

“Nah I think that's perfect.”

He pulled her pant leg down to cover the knife.

“Let me see the other one,” he grinned.

“Hmmm…”

She replaced her left foot with her right as he repeated what he had done.

“You just ain't tyin’ it right, Moondust.” He looked up at her with mischievous eyes. “Try that. Walk around a bit. Make sure it feels good.”

He stayed on one knee as she stood and walked from one side of him around to the other. She reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips against the side of his beard. He leaned into her hand like a cat and looked up at her with affection.

“I think you might like being on your knees in front of me,” she said quietly enough so that only he could hear.

He blinked rapidly, looked away from her, and gave a nervous laugh. “Now that’s a dangerous observation for you to make.”

“Hmmm…”

“Boots good, though?” He stood.

“Yes. The additions are… comforting.”

“Ain’t never met a hunter… current… or former… who thought there was such a thing as too many knives.” He winked at her.

The Drifter spent some time talking with the leather worker while he was paying for the boots. They conversed in a language Eris did not understand. The Drifter seemed to be asking for something beyond the boots and the vendor asked a few more questions before they came to an agreement and glimmer exchanged hands.

Eris looked around at the market. More people were arriving now. More vendors were opening up their shops in the rubble. A small child stared at her over a barrel of apples. Eris stared pointedly back. An adult behind the child called it away. A few moments later it returned to stare at her over the apples again. She couldn’t see the face, only dark hair and eyes wide with fascination. No fear. Only inquisitiveness. Eris stared back, one side of her lip quirked up in a small smile.

“You frightening children?” The Drifter teased her, pulled gently at her elbow.

“No. They are not afraid.” Eris turned to follow him. “I appreciate naked curiosity. It is so much more refreshing than fear.”

A lone Eliksni was setting up a stall slightly apart from the others, pulling out bolts of cloth and placing them on a table. The Drifter tugged Eris’ elbow again and walked over to converse with the cloth merchant in fluent Eliksni. Eris followed, impressed.

She was able to understand the essence of what they were saying but her Eliksni was mostly gathered from reading books with Eido and what she’d picked up fighting Fallen on the moon. The alien language flowed from the Drifter’s lips and hands as naturally as the unknown human language had before with the boot vendor. He asked specifically about colours first, and then softness, elasticity, flexibility, absorbency. The merchant’s bottom two hands pulled out a bolt of cloth while the top two gesticulated regarding the craftsmanship of the weaving and the materials used.

“Hey, Moondust, touch this one for me, will ya?”

She reached over and fondled the cloth. It felt soothing, light, yet strong. The texture was instantly pleasing to her. She gave the merchant a small smile.

“Yes,” she said quietly but firmly.

A portion of the cloth was cut and folded. Drifter asked about the price. The merchant pointed to Eris and asked a question she did not follow. The Drifter nodded. The merchant raised all four of its hands in refusal. The Drifter insisted and suggested a price. The merchant shook his head and protested. Drifter put a small bag of glimmer on the table. Nods of respect were exchanged. The Eliksni looked toward Eris, bowed deeply, and spoke much more slowly. “Thank you,” he said in his own language, and then he switched to theirs, “...thank you. Eido told us. It is… great honour… thank you…”

They both gave the merchant a small bow in respect before turning away.

“What has Eido been telling people?” Eris asked him quietly as they walked toward several stalls containing fresh vegetables.

“It seems the scribe of the House of Light may have informed them how one of their allies took the wind outta the sails of not one, but two hive gods, at great personal risk to herself, and lived.”

“Hmmm… The Eliksni material feels delightful. What is it for?”

“Your eyes. What you have now is all rough and scratchy. I seen where it chafes. This is light enough it can go underneath between what you have now and yer skin. Won’t look different at all, but it’ll be soothing on your face. Feel nice. I ain’t telling you to hide or not hide your eyes. That’s a you decision. Nor am I telling you what to wear, on your eyes or otherwise. But… you should get to feel nice… if and when you want to.”

She took his hand and squeezed it.

The sounds of the market were beginning to pick up, voices all around were increasing: negotiations, call-outs, the occasional shouting. Eris found it all very overwhelming. Outside of combat, she was never around this many people at once. Her pulse quickened. The Drifter was a central point of calm for her in the swirling noise, but the noise was increasing. She gripped his hand tighter. He looked over at her, concerned.

“It is loud,” she explained.

He nodded and pulled them into an alley and around a corner, which helped to cut the noise.

“Thank you.”

“I think we got everything we need at this point and the day has now fully started so it’s only going to get louder. Shall we bug outta here and go tell Sherlock Mamma-bear we’re running off so she does not hunt us down and nova bomb our camp out of concern for our wellbein’?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Back alleys and shortcuts will be quieter on our way back.” He took both her hands in his as he started walking backwards, slightly bouncing on his toes. “This is my bag, Moondust. Allow me give ya a quick tour of the sketchy side of town.”

His eyes sparkled in glee as she laughed and followed him down the alley.

This is the first in a series I wrote on Ao3 called Embers and Stars (aka Eris and the Drifter go camping and then there is violence). FYI a few of the later sections have some nsfw happyfunsexytimes but those sections are clearly marked with skip links for anyone who isn't into that but wants to still read the stories.

[devoted1989]

Male calves are often considered entirely disposable by the dairy industry, though some farms are equipped to exploit them for other purposes. Regardless, no male calf will live beyond the age of 2 years before being killed - and in some cases, the end can come within the first few hours of life.

Male dairy calves can be sold for beef production to eventually be turned into food like hamburgers. They're sent to feedlots, which are penned-in facilities that can hold up to 150,000 cattle, where they are confined and fed grain diets so that they gain weight and can be slaughtered as quickly as possible.

Calves are separated from their mothers, fed an artificial milk replacement, and prevented from fully socializing or even touching another animal until they are sent to the slaughterhouse, which occurs when calves are 8-16 weeks old.

In the United Kingdom, where veal crates have long been outlawed due to their overt cruelty, it's often cheapest to simply shoot male calves shortly after their birth. In the UK, close to 60,000 male calves are disposed of in this way every year. This practice is also disturbingly common in the United States, and in Australia, where one survey revealed that around 600,000 male calves were killed on dairy farms every year when they are just a week old.

Image with kind permission from The Ethic Whisper.

@theethicwhisper

[shadow-book-wren]

Yule Superstitions

Animals

Legend says animals can speak on Christmas Eve but not to listen for them because it is unlucky to hear them

Some cattle ranchers believe that if the first person to cross the threshold on Christmas eve is female, only heifers will be born on the ranch for the next year. however, if it is a male, many male calves will be born

Feeding a sprig of mistletoe to the first calf-bearing cow of the new year ensures future fertility for both

Some British believe that ivy leaves fed to each cow after milking and before noon on Christmas morning will force the devil away from the herd and keeper for the next 12 months

If the stars are bright on Christmas Eve, hens will lay well the next year

Monsters

In Sweden, its believed that trolls travel freely through countryside from dusk on Christmas eve to dawn on Christmas morning. its common practice to stay indoor during those hours, in Sweden.

Greece and Poland considers it unlucky to be born on Christmas eve and Christmas day because the roaming monsters - kallikantzaroi (Greece) and werewolves (Poland) can capture the newborn's spirit for their own devices

It is customary, in Greece, to burn all old shoes to ward off misfortune in the new year

Ghost refuse to come out of hiding on Christmas day, babies born then are said to be forever free of ghostly troubles

Food

Refusing mincemeat pie on Christmas brings bad luck in the next year

You will lose a friend before next Christmas, if you don't eat plum pudding during the holiday season

Eat an apple at midnight on Christmas Eve for ensuring good health

Leave a loaf of bread on the table, after Christmas Eve, to guarantee plenty of bread for the household in the coming year

Christmas cakes must remain uncut until December 24, and one piece left uneaten until after Christmas day to ensure good fortune

In Germany, it's customary to eat greasy pancakes on the winter solstice and leave some on the table to feed the winter hag so that she doesn't "hunt you down, slice open your belly, and take the cakes right out"

Gift Giving

When giving clothing for a gift, don't wash or iron or it will press in bad luck and wash away good

House

Make sure all fires in your home burn throughout Yuletide season in order to be free of evil spirits

Some Scandinavian families place all their shoes side by side on Christmas Eve to bring harmony in the home

If you have holes in your stocking, hanging them upside down on the hearth before bed on Christmas Eve is said to have them repaired by St. Nick

Place a cherry tree branch in water two weeks before Christmas. if the branch blossoms by Christmas Day you'll have good luck in the new year.

If you fix a hole in your roof between Christmas and New Year's Day it will reappear

You'll have bad luck if you bring holly into your home before Christmas Eve, and triple bad luck if it's removed before January 6th

Mistletoe has to stay hung in place for one year to ensure good luck and when replaced, the old one should be burned

Burn evergreen and decorations of evergreens to ensure good luck

There is an ancient German custom that states that things with wheels, especially spinning ones- may not be used from 5 days before the solstice until six days after it or else the sun causes all fleece and fiber to tangle beyond repair

Marriage Omens

In Germany, girls play a holiday game, seemingly similar to duck-duck-goose, where the first player to be touched by the blindfolded goose will be first to marry of the participants.

In England on Christmas Eve, its customary for unmarried girls to knock on the hen house door... if a rooster crows in response, she'll be married within 12 months

In Northern Europe, some girls arrange three buckets of water in their bedroom, pin three sprigs of holly to their nightgowns before sleeping and are awakened by three shouts and three chuckles. an apparition of their future husbands will appear and if the buckets are rearranged - the marriage proposal wont have any issues ; If they aren't - they may not be a willing partner

In Poland, it is believed that grinding poppy seed on Christmas Eve will ensure a quick marriage for unmarried women

Tossing twelve sage leaves on Christmas Eve winds will make the image of your future lover materialize

Weather

If the night sky on Christmas Eve is clear and starry, summer harvest will be abundant

The 12 days of Christmas tells the weather for each following months. ex: first day of Christmas = snowy ; January = snowy

Easter will be cold if it doesn't snow on Christmas

if Christmas Day is breezy there will be good luck for the new year

[vitalvibes21]

THE TIRUPATI LADDU CONTROVERSY: RELIGIOUS SENTIMENT, POLITICS, AND PUBLIC OUTCRY

The Tirupati Laddu, a globally renowned and sacred offering from the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD), is currently at the center of a heated controversy. Allegations that animal fat was found in the ghee used to prepare the laddus have stirred religious, political, and social unrest.

OVERVIEW OF THE TIRUPATI LADDU CONTROVERSY

What Happened?

In September 2024, reports emerged alleging that the ghee used in Tirupati laddus contained traces of animal fats, including beef tallow, lard (pig fat), and fish oil. A laboratory report from the Centre of Analysis and Learning in Livestock and Food (CALF) lab indicated adulteration of the ghee with these substances, triggering outrage among devotees and the public.

Key Findings from Lab Tests

According to reports, the ghee used was found to be highly adulterated with a concoction of both animal and vegetable fats. The lab results were alarming, with the ghee sample values being much lower than acceptable standards. Pure milk fat should have a reading between 95.68 and 104.32, but the samples tested only showed values around 20.

Political Fallout

The controversy quickly escalated into a political battle. Former Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu of the Telugu Desam Party (TDP) accused the current administration, led by YS Jagan Mohan Reddy, of negligence. Naidu’s son, Nara Lokesh, echoed these concerns, accusing the YSR Congress of disrespecting religious sentiments. In response, Jagan Mohan Reddy dismissed the allegations as politically motivated.

Impact on Devotees

The allegations of using animal fat in a sacred offering like the Tirupati laddu deeply hurt the religious sentiments of millions of devotees worldwide. For many, the laddu is not just food; it is "prasadam" – a holy offering blessed by Lord Venkateswara. Any adulteration of this sacred item is considered sacrilegious, adding to the severity of the situation.

Actions Taken by TTD

The TTD, which oversees the production of Tirupati laddus, responded quickly to the scandal. They blacklisted the suppliers involved and initiated legal action. Additionally, they formed an expert committee to set up an in-house laboratory to ensure better quality control in the future.

Political Context

Beyond religious and social implications, the Tirupati Laddu controversy has political undertones. The TDP has used this incident to attack the YSR Congress, accusing it of failing to protect religious sanctity. On the other hand, YS Jagan Mohan Reddy has dismissed these claims as "diversion politics," accusing Naidu of using faith for political gain.

Future Precautions

In response to this controversy, the TTD has vowed to improve its quality checks and ensure that only the highest quality ingredients are used for sacred offerings in the future. They have also replaced the current suppliers with more reliable ones to avoid such issues going forward.

------------

FAQs About the Tirupati Laddu Controversy

What is the Tirupati Laddu controversy?

The Tirupati Laddu controversy centers around allegations that the ghee used in the preparation of the laddus contained animal fats, including beef tallow, lard, and fish oil. This has triggered widespread outrage among devotees and led to political blame games between the TDP and the YSR Congress.

Why is the Tirupati Laddu sacred?

The Tirupati Laddu is considered sacred as it is an offering (prasadam) given to devotees of Lord Venkateswara at the Tirumala temple. Millions of devotees believe that consuming the laddu brings blessings from the deity.

What action has TTD taken?

The TTD has blacklisted the suppliers involved in providing the adulterated ghee and initiated legal action. They are also setting up an in-house laboratory to ensure better quality control of the ingredients used in temple offerings.

Is the controversy politically motivated?

The TDP has accused the YSR Congress of neglecting religious duties by allowing adulterated ghee in the laddus. However, Jagan Mohan Reddy has dismissed these claims as politically motivated, accusing his opponents of exploiting religious issues for political gain.

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Conclusion

The Tirupati Laddu controversy is more than just a food adulteration case; it has religious, social, and political implications. As both sides continue to debate, the TTD has taken immediate action to restore trust and ensure the sanctity of temple offerings. Moving forward, stringent quality checks will be essential to ensure the sanctity of temple offerings. Moving forward, stringent quality checks will be essential to prevent future scandals from damaging the reputation of one of India’s most revered temples.

[divya1234]

CALFVIN: The Next Generation Calf Milk Replacer for Optimal Juvenile Nutrition

As cattle farming evolves, providing optimal nutrition for calves in their early stages of life becomes increasingly critical for long-term herd productivity. CALFVIN, a cutting-edge milk replacer, is designed to address the specific nutritional needs of pre-ruminant calves in their juvenile state. This novel formula is gaining attention for its balanced approach to early calf nutrition, setting new standards for milk replacers.

What sets CALFVIN apart is its unique composition, formulated to deliver a precise balance of nutrients essential for early calf development. Unlike traditional milk replacers, CALFVIN contains the right mix of proteins, fats, vitamins, and minerals that mirror the nutritional content of natural cow’s milk. This ensures that calves get the necessary components for healthy growth and immune support during this crucial stage.

The juvenile stage is vital in a calf’s life because it sets the foundation for its future health and productivity. CALFVIN helps calves develop a strong immune system, build muscle mass, and support gut health, all of which are essential for a smooth transition to becoming fully ruminant. Proper nutrition during this stage also promotes better feed efficiency and reduces the risk of illness, which translates to healthier, more robust animals in the long term.

CALFVIN is a next-generation calf milk replacer that offers an innovative nutritional balance, providing calves with the critical nutrients they need for healthy development. Farmers looking for a comprehensive solution to calf nutrition will find CALFVIN a reliable and effective choice.

For more information visit us:

[queerpyracy]

we’ve got alice (annie’s calf) caught in a pen for the next few days until we can get her willing to drink milk replacer. she’s not happy but she isn’t panicky, at least. have to go to town to take care of some things but we’ll check on her afterward to see if she’s drunk any of the milk replacer

[wordsbymae]

Oh what about Farmer with a horse girl? Does he have horses. My dream is to basically be a hometeader so I keep wondering what his farm has.

Oh yeah, he has horses!! Ok, so this is how I view his farm. He has the homestead of cause, which is this pale yellow colour (for some reason? it's not even a colour I like, but it's what I imagined it as when I wrote the first one). It's two stories with a wrap-around porch and has big white shutters with those pretty shaped cut-outs.

Then the infamous barn is the stereotypical red and white barn. But it's seen better days. The red is more of a dull/brownish red and the white has chipped away and now it's more wood than paint.

I see him having a few fields of wheat/barley. This is more of a way to feed his animals rather than a profit. But if he has enough left over he will sell.

His main profit is his bulls. I don't see him being able to sell cattle for meat or anything too intensive. It's mostly just him and he only gets seasonal workers to help with the harvest or just when he needs them. So instead he runs a bull stud. Breeding the best bulls in the state. It's a small operation but he charges a hefty price for quality so it works. He has about 2 bulls he keeps for 4-5 years before replacing them, and about 30-50 cows/heifers depending on the season.

Then he has his pigs, thats how his father made his money breeding boars, but pigs are noisy as all hell, so the farmer has it more as a side project rather than the main source of income. He has a pair he keeps and he then sells the litter.

Then he has his chickens, a good 20 of them. One big red rooster and all the rest hens. He sells the eggs he doesn't want either as produce or as incubator eggs. He has this huge chicken coop he built himself.

Then he has one or two dairy cows. He breeds them with his bulls and shares the milk with the calf. Or sells the calf depending on if it's a bull calf. Doesn't sell the milk, but uses it for himself (after pasteurisation of course). He'll most likely sell the heifer calf later on.

Then there are the horses. He doesn't have many. Maybe one or two and they're used as transport mainly through his fields or to round up the cattle. They aren't anything special either just quarter horses, but they get the job done. I can see the horse girl reader just falling in love with them and getting mad when they find out he calls them Horse, and Also Horse. Reader will braid their hair and beg farmer to let them go for rides. He agrees as long as he's with them.

Then he's got a cat that just roams around. He doesn't even own it really. It just showed up and never left.

Then there are his working dogs. If I hadn't implied he was from the Us south/Texas, I would have given him kelpies. They are the best working dogs! At least in my biased australian opinion. I was thinking of giving him cattle dogs (blue/red heelers), cause they are recognised in the States but cause his cattle are breeding stock he won't want the dogs to be overly aggressive and bite their heels (they can be trained out of them but easier to get another breed).

Ok, I did some googling and cause I have three kelpies myself, I'm giving him some. I don't care if the us doesn't recognise the breed (rude) but it's not unheard of for them to be used in the States. So yay! Anyway, he only has two cause he has such a small herd. They aren't inside dogs cause they are primarily working dogs so they get this nice kennel outside. And cause I love country music and by extension, he does too, they are called Pancho and Lefty.

He also has a veggie garden and grows most of his own food. If you are a vego/vegan DO NOT go into the small shed out the back. That chicken he took in there does not come back out alive.

Anyway! Hope you liked it. I got a bit over the top

tag list: @floraroselaughter @psyche-entwined-in-love

[hipsofsteel]

personal, animal death warning for content below the read more

Annie, my ten year old cow (which is getting up there in age but not terribly old just yet) had a nasty fall on xmas eve, and got stuck and mired in mud. we got her out and treated her for cold and shock, but her body seemed fine and we thought she would stand up once she had strength, warmth, and had recovered from the shock (which she was in the process of doing when we finally left her alone on xmas eve)

xmas day, however, she was unable to get up on her back legs. we realized she'd sustained an injury to either her spine or pelvis. there's no coming back from that, especially since generally if something goes wrong there, internal organs have likely taken significant damage. we left her as comfortable as we could leave her, and decided to put her down on boxing day

which brings us to today, boxing day. we put down my annie cow, orphaning her four month old calf in the process. we're going to try to get Alice (her calf) on a diet of milk replacer and grain alongside hay and water today and tomorrow, to try to get her through the next few months without being stunted too badly. we're gonna do everything we can.

im sorry, Annie. after my Rosie cow, you were one of the best cows of all time. a sweet and gentle lady with a pretty face and good disposition. we'll look after your daughters Abilene and Alice as best we can.

here's to a good cow. one of the best i could ever hope to have

we miss you already, Annie girl