#large family farm

[villainsidestep]

fawniel thoughts hour….

[fushiguho]

For eons, I’ve been thinking about sweet, well-mannered, farmhand!Gojo ☀️ who fucks the literal breath out of you and you guys WILL hear me out, okay?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

As your father’s one and only employee, Satoru is held to incredibly high standards, which essentially boil down to two, very simple rules; never show up to the farm late and never, he means never pursue his daughter romantically. Seems easy enough, right?

Or so Satoru thought.

“Miss,” a thick, meridional voice utters from far behind, “miss, pardon my frankness, but I believe you just might be the prettiest woman I have ever seen.” Satoru admits candidly, briskly jogging to match your fast-paced gait as you trudge up the hill, toward the farmhouse over yonder.

“Oh, don’t be silly now,” you dismiss, waving a banishing hand, suppressing the ever-growing giddiness that threatens to invalidate your dismissal, “my father wouldn’t like that one bit, you know that. He’ll kill you ten times over, Satoru.” Surely he’s kidding, right? Surely he would never disobey your father’s wishes… right?

Now trudging beside you, Satoru nods slowly, adjusting the rusted buckles of his muddy, denim overalls. A dispirited sigh drags from his pretty, pink lips. Of course he knows. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you plod toward the house, his lingering gaze as subtle as a sledgehammer, but when is it not?

“I’ve been made well aware,” he finally mutters under his breath as if coming to the unfortunate realization all over again, “but you don’t make it particularly easy for me, miss… you must know that.” His voice is a deep, southern drawl—beautifully elongated vowels like silken honey, the perfect melody for battered souls.

“How do you mean?” Your hand is coming up to your face, shielding your eyes from the sun so that you can peer up at the ivory-haired man beside you. “And you don’t have to call me that y’know.”

“What? Miss?” His incredulous tone forces a giggle past your lips. “Just a token of respect is all, blame my momma,” he smiles, cheeks glowing a beautiful crimson from the parching heat, “and it’s fitting… a pretty name for a pretty lady, hm?” He’s nudging you in the shoulder teasingly.

See? Satoru is sweet. So why on this godforsaken planet does he have you painfully spread apart on your family’s dining room table? Why are his large hands pinning your thighs to the stained wood so that he can watch as your desperate, drooling pussy swallows his cock whole? Why is he leaning down to whisper debauched words of praise directly into your ear?

“Look at this wet, little pussy, goddd… you take me sooo fuckin’ well—fuuuuuck, miss,” he’s deliriously tossing his head back to dangle between his shoulder blades, subconsciously yanking you closer to the edge of the rustic table, desperate to feel more of you, “like it was made for me, heh. Was this pretty pussy made for me, miss? Is this my pussy?”

It’s like switch has been flipped, like he’s possessed beyond saving and is now only a shell of his former self. Has he always been this way? Has he always had this filthy of a mouth? You’re not sure, not really. The only thing you’re sure of is the repetitive, obscene strike of his swollen balls against the fat of your ass. It’s the only thing you can hear, feel, think.

“C’monnn now… asked you a question, miss,” he’s leaning closer, mockingly cupping a hand over his ear to observe the way he fucks the breath out of you, “talk to meee, pretty, I wanna hear you. This pussy too loud, huh? Is she too wet for you to hear me?”

“It’s yours! Your p-pussy—mhmm,” you cry, nodding frantically in immense rapture, “fuuuck, you fuck me sooo good… s’good!”

“Yeah, sweet girl? You like how I fuck you?” The dark, breathy chuckle that drags from the depths of his chest sends yours mind blank as you nod dumbly. “You like how I give you everything? All of my cock?” A big, greedy hand is slipping beneath the small of your back, pulling you upright and impossibly closer. “Yeaaaah, you like my cock, look at you…” his hungry gaze is scanning over your stupid expression, “eyes rollin’ to the back of your head like that. Can’t even hear me anymore, can you?”

A pool of light washed denim surrounds Satoru’s feet, the hem of his white t-shirt tucked between his teeth, baring the sweat-ridden skin of his chest and abdomen. The bruising buck of his hips as he fucks himself deeper is only scooting the large table further and further across the hardwood floor. Even his deep, guttural moans are like kindle to an ever growing flame.

It’s always the ones you least expect.

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[froody]

Women throughout (American and English) history worked. The idea that in the past the sole responsibility of women was domestic labor and childrearing is largely inaccurate for the majority of women in these societies. Women were expected to do domestic labor like cooking and cleaning and raising children AND work to bring income to their family, this was true for the average woman, excluding the upper middle class/wealthy. If a woman’s husband owned a tavern or restaurant, she also cooked and kept bar and did the duties associated with the business. If a woman’s husband was a (small scale/subsistence/tenant) farmer, the woman did farm labor. Often a woman was expected to do labor related to her husband’s job.

Women also had vocations and forms of income unrelated to their husband. The nature of these jobs changed over time but many women did things like weaving, embroidery, crafting, beer brewing, chicken tending and laundress work to bring income. Women with skills were seen as better marriage candidates because they’d make money for their husband.

My great-great-great-great grandmother told fortunes and did farm labor, my great-great-great grandmother was a midwife, my great-great grandmother worked in a textile factory for most of her adult life and my great grandmother was a school lunch lady.

This is why it makes me irate when women on the right say things like “feminism forced me to get a job instead of being allowed to stay home with my children” before feminism you would have had to tend house, raise your children and bring income to your husband. Now, at the very least, the money is hopefully your own. Women were always in the workforce, their work was not recognized.

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your everything, best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby

[evilminji]

I woke up to this thought? And it made me smile~

Wrong way Au?

It's EASY to fly from point A to point B. Linear. Just on long, no traffic, straight line. And if you get lost? Go higher! There you are! But "normal" reporter families with Totally Human genetics can't exactly DO that.

Plus? It's part of the whole Americana thing!

Childhood.

Gotta do a road trip, see weird road side attractions, camp and hike a bit. Go somewhere other then the farm for once. Soooo~ everyone into the car! Yes, you too, Kon.

And don't look at Lois, kids. She hates this idea as much as you do. But it's for Dad. So we're doing it. Get in the car. Some times loving people means "suuuure, honey! I TOTALLY want to sit in an uncomfortable car for hours for your nostalgic dream trip!", so get comfy.

Problem is? He either can't navigate for SHIT (unlikely) or this patch of nowhere? Possibly haunted? Cursed? Fuckey. Very, very Reality Fuckey. Far more likely, honestly. They THINK that was the a same barn the passed four times now... but it looks... wrong? Off. Worse each time, in ways that are hard to place.

Where the FUCK are they Clark?

According to the GPS?

Here.

(You are Here. You are Here. You are He-)

Oh, THAT'S not cursed! She fucking KNEW they shouldn't have left the city. FUCK the countryside. She likes ONE(1) small town and it's where her in-laws live, THANK YOU VERY MUCH! If they die, she swear to GOD-!!!

Then Jon points to colorful tents up the road. A mix of the kind you buy at big box stores and Ren fairs. Balloons. What the fuuuuuck? "Fenton Family Reunion"?

Was... was that THERE a second ago?

Clark's very deliberate Not Too Tight Grip Of Panic ™ on the steering wheel? Confirms that No Honey, it was not. Kon points out? That eventually they ARE going to run out of gas. They should stop.

Words can not express how little the Kents want to do that. They have KIDS to protect. This feels "magical fuckery" to them. AKA? One of the few things Kryptonians very much CAN NOT handle.

And luck getting ahold of anybody back there kids? No? Emergency lines too?

Fuck ™.

Okay! Guess we're stopping! Stay behind us.

They park.

There are campers and trucks, modified tanks and trackers. A few horses grazing side by side with an honest to God moose and two mules. A Llama. Someone's anchored a dirigible. A boat with spindly chicken footed legs, like it's the house of baba yaga's sea faring love child. The name Fenton is slapped on everything. Peoples faces.

Grinning.

Everything grinning.

As they get closer, the racket gets louder. Crashes and smashes. Roaring laughter. Explosions. The screech of metal failing and the whine of energy overclocked. Fatty meats cooking. Spices from around the globe. Radios and instruments, at least one of which violently cuts off in a smash.

They pass an almost violently balloon choked arch, into chaos.

Grinning giants, everywhere. Every color, every shade, every race imaginable. The spectrum of humanity laid bare. Made large. Grinning, Grinning, Grinning. Crashing into each other, against, through. Smashing and laughing, as everything breaks around them. Titans.

Darting underfoot, children. Fast with wild eyes. Mad grins and fae laughs. Wives and husband's, partners and friends, dancing in and out of the chaos. Just as destructive. Perhaps MORE so. Grabbing meals from grills, laughing and joking, tossing children into the fray, all as they effortless hold conversations of their own.

Like a Dionysian revelry, all madness and joy.

Then they are noticed.

"Cousin!"

One of them booms. Locking eyes on Clark. He doesn't even have time to move, doesn't realize until too late, in all the chaos, that the man meant HIM. A running start is followed by a brutal, full body, flying tackle. Clark is taken skidding to the ground and into a headlock.

"LETS WRASTLE~!!"

He watches in helpless confusion as, with high-pitched war cries, a pair of twins jump Jon. They are wearing war paint. Krypto already taken out by a glowing green dog, now confused and wrestling off to the side. Lois has whipped out her tazer. Kon between her and who ever comes next.

By the time he wrestle his "cousin" off of him, he's lost sight of them both.

Dives into the fray.

Magic be damned, that's his FAMILY!

It... It's the most fun he's had in years. That any of them have. He finds Lois in a breathless, screaming, debate/fistfight with her new best friend. Samantha "call me Sam Or ELSE" Manson-Fouley-Fenton. Kon is in the mud pit, wrestling other teenagers in some sort of battle Royale. Jon? Has become king of the ferals. The other parents are impressed.

His years of Damian wrangling finally paying dividends, apparently.

By the time Clark FINALLY tracks down Krypto, there is already crowd and it apparently six heel turns deep into the WWE Grand Saga of the Fenton Pet's League. Krypto, what the hell. No. No you may NOT "form one last alliance against my sworn wrestling enemy, to prove the true meaning of Christmas!" It's the middle of SUMMER!

Clark... Clark is so tired.

He's also a Fenton now. Yes, he KNOWS that's not how anything works. YOU try explaining that! He's on the call list and card list. It's like the Addams family out here! They just... just DECIDED him and his family were related! They've apparently DONE THAT BEFORE!

They leave with directions, fudge, more leftovers then anyone could possibly eat, and a massive new extended family. One that honestly? The Justice League SHOULD have known about. The sheer destructive chaos they get up too? EVERYONE should be aware of them. It seems impossible NOT to be! But? According to THEM, it's a "family thing". Reality tries to ignore them for "it's own sanity"? What???

So yeah.... no more road trips.

How was YOUR weekend?

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @lolottes @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A decorative orange ceramic plate with a pyramid of green herbs and sesame seeds, topped with deep red sumac and more sesame seeds. End ID]

زعتر فلسطيني / Za'tar falastinia (Palestinian spice blend)

Za'tar (زَعْتَر; also transliterated "za'atar," "zaatar" and "zatar") is the name of a family of culinary herbs; it is also the name of a group of spice blends made by mixing these herbs with varying amounts of olive oil, sumac, salt, roasted sesame seeds, and other spices. Palestinian versions of za'tar often include caraway, aniseed, and roasted wheat alongside generous portions of sumac and sesame seeds. The resulting blend is bold, zesty, and aromatic, with a hint of floral sourness from the sumac, and notes of licorice and anise.

Za'tar is considered by Palestinians to have particular national, political, and personal importance, and exists as a symbol of both Israeli oppression and Palestinian home-making and resistance. Its major components, olive oil and wild thyme, are targeted by the settler state in large part due to their importance to ecology, identity, and trade in Palestine—settlers burn and raze Palestinian farmers' olive trees by the thousands each year. A 1977 Israeli law forbade the harvesting of wild herbs within its claimed borders, with violators of the law risking fines and confiscation, injury, and even death from shootings or land mines; in 2006, za'tar was further restricted, such that even its possession in the West Bank was met with confiscation and fines.

Despite the blanket ban on harvesting wild herbs (none of which are endangered), Arabs are the only ones to be charged and fined for the crime. Samir Naamnih calls the ban an attempt to "starve us out," given that foraging is a major source of food for many Palestinians, and that picking and selling herbs is often the sole form of income for impoverished families. Meanwhile, Israeli farmers have domesticated and farmed za'tar on expropriated Palestinian land, selling it (both the herb and the spice mixture) back to Palestinians, and later marketing it abroad as an "Israeli" blend; they thus profit from the ban on wild harvesting of the herb. This farming model, as well as the double standard regarding harvesting, refer back to an idea that Arabs are a primitive people unfit to own the land, because they did not cultivate or develop it as the settlers did (i.e., did not attempt to recreate a European landscape or European models of agriculture); colonizing and settling the land are cast as justified, and even righteous.

The importance of the ban on foraging goes beyond the economic. Raya Ziada, founder of an acroecology nonprofit based in Ramallah, noted in 2019 that "taking away access to [wild herbs] doesn't just debilitate our economy and compromise what we eat. It's symbolic." Za'tar serves variously as a symbol of Palestinians' connection to the land and to nature; of Israeli colonial dispossession and theft; of the Palestinian home ("It’s a sign of a Palestinian home that has za’tar in it"); and of resistance to the colonial regime, as many Palestinians have continued to forage herbs such as za'tar and akkoub in the decades since the 1977 ban. Resistance to oppression will continue as long as there is oppression.

Palestine Action has called for bail fund donations to aid in their storming, occupying, shutting down, and dismantling of factories and offices owned by Israeli arms manufacturer Elbit Systems. Also contact your representatives in the USA, UK, and Canada.

Ingredients:

Za'tar (Origanum syriacum), 250g once dried (about 4 cups packed)

250g (1 2/3 cup) sesame seeds

170g (3/4 cup) Levantine sumac berries, or ground sumac (Rhus coriaria)

100g (1/2 cup) wheat berries (optional)

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp aniseed (optional)

1/2 Tbsp caraway seeds (optional)

Levantine wild thyme (also known as Bible hyssop, Syrian oregano, and Lebanese oregano) may be purchased dried online. You may also be able to find some dried at a halal grocery store, where it will be labelled "زعتر" (za'tar) and "thym," "thyme," or "oregano." Check to make sure that what you're buying is just the herb and not the prepared mixture, which is also called "زعتر." Also ensure that what you're buying is not a product of Israel.

If you don't have access to Levantine thyme, Greek or Turkish oregano are good substitutes.

Wheat berries are the wheat kernel that is ground to produce flour. They may be available sold as "wheat berries" at a speciality health foods store. They may be omitted, or replaced with pre-ground whole wheat flour.

Instructions:

1. Harvest wild thyme and remove the stems from the leaves. Wash the leaves in a large bowl of water and pat dry; leave in a single layer in the sun for four days or so, until brittle. Skip this step if using pre-dried herbs.

2. Crumble leaves by rubbing them between the palms of your hands until they are very fine. Pass through a sieve or flour sifter into a large bowl, re-crumbling any leaves that are too coarse to get through.

Crumbling between the hands is an older method. You may also use a blender or food processor to grind the leaves.

3. Mix the sifted thyme with a drizzle of olive oil and work it between your hands until incorporated.

4. Briefly toast sumac berries, caraway seeds, and aniseed in a dry skillet over medium heat, then grind them to a fine powder in a mortar and pestle or a spice mill.

5. Toast sesame seeds in a dry skillet over medium heat, stirring constantly, until deeply golden brown.

6. (Optional) In a dry skillet on medium-low, toast wheat berries, stirring constantly, until they are deeply golden brown. Grind to a fine powder in a spice mill. If using ground flour, toast on low, stirring constantly, until browned.

Some people in the Levant bring their wheat to a local mill to be ground after toasting, as it produces a finer and more consistent texture.

7. Mix all ingredients together and work between your hands to incorporate.

Store za'tar in an airtight jar at room temperature. Mix with olive oil and use as a dipping sauce with bread.

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! Had a tasty thought, imagine Ranchero Miguel and the Pastor's Daughter 😳

You are supposed be a sweet little cherry and you are, but behind barn doors you're getting bred by Miguel. You truly love each other, and you're ashamed of your lust, but he assures you that he's going to marry you. It's no lie. He's just going to pump a baby into you first ❤️

Jeeeesshhh. 🤤

VERY NSFW under the cut

More Ranchero Miguel here

----

When Miguel had arrived to your family's farm as a recommendation by a close friend of your dad, you couldn't believe how... easy it was to sin.

Your mother would often swat your head and reprimand you whenever your stare, lingered too much on him. Saying "No daughter of mine will be mingling with that boy." But you didn't care.

Not when he had popped your cherry in the barn. Strong and calloused hands had held you in place as his fat cock slid into you, condom wrapped a bit too tight around him. Riding you gently as he mumbled the sweetest things into your ear. He made sure to make it special.

Sometimes he'd tease you by working shirtless in the barn, he'd ride Agustín, A pure bred horse, hat snug on his head. Your friends would unabashedly stare at him.

"Señoritas" (Ladies)

He tipped his hat but you knew that smile on his face belonged to you only, your friends giggling and gushing over the fact you had such fine man, under your care.

You felt shame washing over you at the breathless petitions you made him.

"Use the rope!" He would. He would tie your hands above you in one of the posts as his girth rammed viciously into your tight and soaking pussy, only to leave it swollen, full of him and flushed by the constant slapping of his toned hips.

"Choke me" He'd squeeze his large hand that easily wrapped on your neck, cutting the air enough to pump his load inside a couple of times inside your greedy cunt.

"Dios mío, preciosa" He growled as you milked and squeezed him. He could feel every pulsation of your insides embracing him, trapping him.

But this time he was being particularly rough on you. The frustration of you not being swollen with his baby at this point made him to rile your legs up to his shoulders, spreading you, as his fat, cum leaking, thick cock sheathed on your pussy-sleeve

He covered your mouth as your hands fisted in tight balls on his chest, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

"No hagas mucho..." He growled as his hips smacked yours with such force it sent you bouncing underneath him, "Ruido" (Don't make too much noise)

Your mewls and grunts died on your mouth as he fucked you thoroughly.

"Te vas a ver tan chula con esta pancita redonda" (You'll look gorgeous with this round belly)

God, the thrill to have him all to yourself doing as you asked, only to be pampered later with such delicacy made your stomach flutter. Your mother would surely die out of a heart attack if she knew you were letting the farmboy she disliked so much, fill your little tight hole to the brim as many times as he saw fit. And your father, would surely want to shoot him for corrupting you.

"Ya quiero casarme contigo, chaparrita" (I already wanna marry you, baby)

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he didn't show any signs of stopping, at least not anytime soon. Pleasure borderline biting and overwhelming. In reality was, That Miguel only obliged at your wishes just to see your pretty, dolled up eyes rolling to the back for him and he alone.

"Pa' llenarte de hijos preciosos. Sólo mírate" (T'fill you with pretty children. Just look at you)

"So pretty and good f'me, yeah?" you nodded and your spine arched.

He was definitely fucking a baby into you tonight.

[timmydraker]

Tim begins to distance himself from his family after Damian becomes Robin.

It was obvious in the way he ran off to rescue Bruce, but that was more of a physical thing at the end of the day. He was desperate and had lost any kind of safety net and support he had after Dick threatened Arkham and how badly he hurt Alfred with his instance that Bruce was alive.

Either way he was going to get Bruce back, if not because he felt like he was an aimless, nothing human being without Batman then there was that he wanted to be believed.

Then Dick handed over Robin to Damian who at that point genuinely despised Tim, though there was also a level of jealously in the young Wayne’s mind at the intelligence and analytical Tim.

It was then that Tim decided he would bring Bruce back and then do his own thing, outside of Robin and outside of Batman.

He clearly had done his job hadn’t he? Sure Bruce was dead, but Dick was acting as Batman and that Batman had a Robin, so his reasoning for being Robin was extinguished.

Tim brings Bruce back and the older man praises and thanks him for several days and then, like everything else, the attention moves away. It goes to him connecting with Damian on a vigilante level and catching up on the last several months of him being ‘dead’. It goes to Jason who, now that he’s lost his foster father has decided that maybe he could try a little harder after all.

It goes to everyone and anyone other than Tim and this time? That’s actually the plan.

Tim isn’t as good of a hacker as Barbara, but she’s basically a god at it so compared to others he might as well be master level, just not against her. This he uses to shift around peoples schedules so Alfred has no choice but to let him go to school on his own (Tim may have also invented an early morning ‘club’ that was totally legit and not at all a fabrication). He makes it so when Dick is over or Jason takes the rare opportunity to visit he had to work at WE or DI, something important he can’t neglect.

He never has to walk Ace or Titus because he’s busy with his team mates.

Team mates who think he’s busy helping out Batman.

Tim still does work as a hero, but it’s entirely through his businesses after a while. A few times he has no choice but to go out in a boring black suit with a full face mask and hoodie. It’s got nothing on it, no symbols or gadgets. Nothing to connect him to anyone.

He starts with the homeless, dishing out vaccines like candy without even doing a campaign to showcase it.

Then he changes Bruce’s rather naive approach to orphanages and makes it so every single child who is put through is given a small amount of funding. He makes it so kids have more chance to stay with siblings, makes sure everyone who even so much as enters the ground of a orphanage have a real background check and sure the adoption rate drops, but so does the missing kids and DV cases.

Tim steals over fifty million from people like Luther and Penguin and all kinds of corrupt rich assholes for the majority of the funding and not even a cent of it is traced back to Wayne or Drake businesses. Whiles he’s digging into Lex be manages to get enough evidence to put a sizeable dent in his reputation, even if Lex manages to smooch a fair bit of it back.

He’s manages to take out a large sized trafficking ring and helps get the victims into a real recovery home that he hand picks out security for.

Later, as in a few days afterward, he discovers a dog meat farm and everyone medical veterinary student suddenly finds themself free of student loans and debt and with multiple work opportunities available and volunteer work being down right pleased for.

Tim knows he’s being noticed but given that he basically lives in his office in the heart of the city, he isn’t there to hear his old teammates and ‘family’ talk about the mysterious Dread.

Dread who was named that after a report came out about a theory of an unknown hacker or ‘cyber vigilante’ who was stealing money and information from rich folk and giving it to the poor, giving all of the 1% dread that he would hit them next.

The exact quote was ‘Those with money deeper than their pockets dread the hackers next moves. And they should feel that dread as a warning for this Robin Hood like legend seems to be getting braver.’

Dick was sure the hacker would have been called Robin if he hadn’t chosen that name already, to which Barbara responded with grumbles and growl because she couldn’t find anything other than holes and traps left by the hacker. It was like they knew her every move before she even made it!

Tim, obvious to his growing reputation until it fully took off, hadn’t even considered that his actions would be framed a threat by Batman. He would say it was because he didn’t think Bruce would ever really target him like that, but in actuality it’s because he knew Bruce was one of the few good rich folk. Surely he would be on the side of a secret vigilante hacker trying to use horrible people to do good? He embraced Dread quickly and was happy he make the rich squirm and brought a sense of hope to people, it was just like Robin but instead of them being safe and given light they were given a peace of mind in a mix of revenge and justice.

What Tim doesn’t know is that Bruce is still too far into his whole image of black and white, good and evil, that he tends to forget there’s grey areas.

At least Jason is on the side of Dread, even if he still thinks the myth of a story is just that, a myth.

It’s when Tim blows up a bank when everyone has gone home for the night just so people will find the underground money ring that and he visits the manner to get a few things that he hears them talking about it.

By that point it’s been around two years since he dropped Robin and as usual Dick always greets him with a look of a desperate puppy, “Tim! Hi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in months, how have you been?”

Tim smiles at Dick even if he hasn’t gotten over his anger at his oldest brother and moves to sit at the breakfast table with everyone (Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian).

“Good. Busy, we’ve had a lot of donations lately.”

Jason snorts, “No shit. Isn’t Wayne Enterprise one of the few ones not hit by Dread?”

Bruce grumbles and shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. They’ve managed to get into our system and completely changed the Jason Project.”

Jason grins and laughs happily, “you mean improved! Crime Ally is doing great now. Not the best, but still a fuck of a lot better.”

Smiling at the man who once beat him to an inch of his life, Tim takes a sip of his tea and casually says, “You’re welcome.”

The whole table goes quiet as Tim continues to casually sip his tea.

The silence carries for a total minute before Bruce puts down his cup and leans forward with a slight growl in his voice, “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

Bruce stands over his son even from halfway down the table and very obviously tries to calm himself with a deep breath, “What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

Tim makes an ‘oh’ expression before cocking his head to the side in confusion, “I was the one who fixed the Jason Project? Wait, did you guys not realise I’m Dread?”

Damian shouts out a ‘what?!’ That makes Titus jump and Tim laughs under his breath, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Running the business! Not stealing from people and black mailing politicians!”

It’s Tim’s turn to growl now and he stands up himself with a glare at Bruce that is as close as any of them have gotten to the famed Bat-Glare, “Are you fucking kidding me? Like are you a Tully kidding me with that horse shit?”

Bruce looks stunned and Alfred doesn’t even tell him not to swear.

Tim slams his chair into the table.

“What the fuck else would I be doing, Bruce? I’m not Robin, that was taken from me, so what else was I gonna do? I finished my job, not only keeping you from killing anyone but bringing you back, so I had do pick something else. I’m not stealing from the rich, I’m stealing from selfish cunts who ruin peoples lives for no reason and giving it to people like Jason. So, don’t you fucking yell at me and don’t try to make me feel bad for this, not when I’ve done more in two years than you ever have and- don’t you fucking speak Dick, not when you were the one who took my place here away from me! Now, I have a trafficking ring I need to expose so good. Fucking. Day.”

Jason is the only one who follows him.

[teaboot]

How do Canadian schools teach about indigenous Canadian history and culture? -a curious USAmerican

In my experience we learned about colonization at the same time as we learned about the formation of Canada. At first it was "European settlers came and pushed out the indigenous population", then in the higher grades we learned more about the how and the why.

For example, how carts full of men with rifles would ride around shooting Buffalo, then leaving the meat on the ground to rot, because "a dead Buffalo is a dead indian", which was so fanatical it almost wiped out wild Buffalo entirely

Also how Canadian settlers were lured in with beautiful hand-painted advertisements for cheap, beautiful, fertile land that was unpopulated and perfect, if only you'd sail over with your entire family and a pocket full of seeds- only to be met with scared, confused, and angry lawful inhabitants already run out of ten other places, and frigid winters, and rocky, forested, undeveloped dirt.

also, smallpox blankets, where "gifts" of blankets infected with smallpox were intentionally given out

And treaty violations- Either ignoring written agreements entirely, or buying them out at insanely low prices and lying about the value, or trading for farming equipment that they couldn't use because they weren't farmers.

Then in the first world war, where they told indigenous peoples here that they'd be granted Canadian citizenship if they enlisted

To Residential schools, which was straight up stealing kids for slavery, indoctrination, and medical experiments

But we also covered the building of the Canadian Railway in which Chinese immigrants were lowered into ravines with dynamite to blow out paths through the mountain for pennies on the dollar

And the Alberta Sterilization Act, where it was lawful and routine procedure to sterilize women of colour and neurodivergent people without their awareness or consent after giving birth or undergoing unrelated surgeries

But I'm rambling.

We kind of learned Aboriginal history at the same time as everything else? Like. This is when Canada was made, and this is how it was done. Now we'll read a book about someone who lived through it, and we'll write a book report. And now a documentary, and now a paper about the documentary. Onto the next unit.

And starting I think in grade 10 our English track was split between English and Aboriginals English, where you could choose to do the standard curriculum or do the same basic knowledge stuff with a focus on Aboriginal perspectives and literature. (I did that one, we read Three Day's Road and Diary Of A Part-Time Indian, and a few other titles I don't remember.)

There was also a lunch room for the Aboriginal Culture Studies where Aboriginal kids could hang out at lunch time if they wanted, full of art and projects and stuff. They'd play music or videos sometimes, that was cool

And one elective I took (not mandatory cirriculum) was a Kwakiutl course for basic Kwakwakaʼwakw language. Greetings, counting to a hundred, learning the modified alphabet, animals, etc. Still comes in handy sometimes at large gatherings cause they usually start with a land recognition thanking whoever's land we're on, with a few thanks and welcomes in their language.

And like- when I was in the US it was so weird, cause here we have Totem poles and longhouses and murals all over and yall... don't? Like there is a very distinct lack of Aboriginal art in your public spaces, at least in the areas I've been

My ex-stepfather, who was American, brought his son out once, and he was so excited to "see real indians" and was legitimately shocked to learn that there weren't many teepees to be found on the northwest coast, and was even *more* shocked when we told him that you have Aboriginal people back home too, bud. Your Aboriginal people are also named "Mike" snd "Vicky" and work as assistant manager at best buy.

If you'd ask me, I'd say that the primary difference is that USAmerica (from what I've seen, and ALSO in entirely too much of Canada) treats our European and Aboriginal conflicts as history, something that's tragic but over, like the extinction of the mammoths, instead of like. An ongoing thing involving people who are alive and numerous and right fucking here

But at the end of the day, I'm white, and there are plenty of actual Aboriginal people who are speaking out and saying much more meaningful things than I can

So I'm just gonna pass on a quote from my Stepmum, who's Cree, that's stuck with me since she said it:

"You see how they treat Mexicans in America? That's how they treat us here. Indians are the Mexicans of Canada."

[serendipitylily]

Screwin’ Around

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Summary:: Daryl finally gets tired of your teasing (inspired by my favorite season 3 carol/daryl moment)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v, no use of y/n, not proofread

word count: 2.1k

The group had been running all of the harsh winter after a herd of walkers had come and destroyed the Greene’s family farm in a fiery horror. Weeks of running and hiding, trying their best to survive. Everyone was exhausted and scared, running on fumes. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping them going. Everyone except for Daryl Dixon. He seemed to be in his element out here, as if he was born to be surviving like this. 

Daryl usually scouted ahead on his motorcycle, checking for any trouble they might run into. He would return to the group with food for the night, and you quickly became accustomed to the chalky taste of fire charred armadillo. 

You noticed how well Daryl seemed to thrive, and decided to stick close to him. He seemed indifferent about you, not taking the time to spare you a look while you followed him around.

The days went on as you shadowed his every move, learning about how he could survive so well. Daryl slowly became accustomed to your presence, despite how annoying he found you. He started to teach you some skills like how to track and skin animals. “If you spent as much time cleaning yourself like you do that crossbow you might smell better” You had teased him one evening. Just like every other time you said something to him, he would simply scowl and grumble. 

The two of you continued to stick together, or as Daryl would say you were “following him like a lost puppy.” That was until the group had stumbled upon their salvation, a prison. Of course, it was overrun by the undead. You all worked together to clear it, finally having a safe place for the first time in weeks. 

The group was celebrating, all gathered around a large fire pit and chatting. You decided to sleep in one of the guard offices, wanting a roof over your head. Feeling generous, you invited Daryl to join you, “Come on Dixon, even you could use a break. I’ve got an extra sleeping bag with your name on it.” Daryl looked at you with annoyance before he begrudgingly accepted. 

You creaked open the door and walked into the small guard room. The place hadn’t been touched in months and it was a shocking difference from the places you had slept before. You laid out the tattered bedrolls on the ground, making sure to leave ample space between the two. 

Daryl threw his bag and crossbow down in the corner of the room, you watched how his muscles flexed as he did so. You settled down into your sleeping bag, and kicked your muddy boots off to the side. 

The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light a faint flickering in through the window from the distant campfire. The silence was heavy, except the soft rustle of your movement as you settled in. 

Your body had given in to the exhaustion as your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing slowed. It didn’t last long however, you found yourself struggling to stay asleep. 

It was the middle of the night by now, frustrated from your inability to fall asleep you sit up with your back against the cold wall. Your gaze turns to the side as you hear Daryl stirring. The fire outside was burning low now, and you could just barely make out his silhouette as he sat up as well. 

“Can’t sleep?” You questioned, your voice low and soft. He nods and grunts, his eyes glancing over at you. “Me either. It’s too quiet” you admitted to him. “Feels too… normal.” 

“Normal” Daryl scoffed at the word. “Ain’t nothin’ normal ‘bout the world anymore.” You nodded in agreement, nothing could ever truly make you feel normal or safe again. 

As the two of you sat in silence, you couldn’t help but study the man you had grown close to over the past weeks. He could feel your eyes burning into his skin as you stared at the imprint of his muscles under his sleeve. 

“Pretty romantic don’t you think?” You said to him, leaning forward slightly. “Wanna screw around?” A small smirk on your lips as you teased him. You knew that he would probably just brush you off or tell you to shut up. 

To your shock, he answered; “Oh yeah?” His voice was low and husky. You could feel your face heat up at his remark, not prepared for him to actually reply. 

“Uh well-“ you tried to respond, but your brain had stopped functioning. Daryl moved over to where you sat and leaned in close to you. His eyes locked onto yours, his presence becoming overwhelming. 

His lips moved down next to your face, “What, lost your nerve girl?” He murmured into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Your lips parted as you attempted to say something, anything. The only sound that managed to leave your lips was a small whimper. 

“I seen the way you been lookin’ at me,” Daryl moved his large and calloused hand to cradle the side of your neck while his thumb stroked your cheek. You closed your eyes tightly, wondering if this was really happening. 

His voice was a low grumble, “You ain’t gotta say nothin’” you could feel your heart pounding as he spoke. “No point in pretendin’ anymore.” You swallowed hard, your throat dry. The way he was looking down on you made you shrink under his gaze. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, gently bringing you back to the reality of his touch against your skin. “You sure you want this?” He whispered against your skin. 

“Yes,” you said back, you could feel your face growing red with anticipation. Daryl pulled back, a small smirk on his lips as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He tugged it up and over your head in a swift movement. He paused for a moment as his eyes moved to study your exposed skin with a hunger that made you shiver. 

Daryl moved down quickly, capturing your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut and both of your bodies pressed together, you slung your arms around his neck to pull him in. You could hear ringing in your ears as his tongue slipped against your bottom lip, you parted them slightly to allow him access. His large hands roamed your body, stroking and grabbing at your flesh. You inhaled his scent, the mix of musk, leather and smoke mingling in your nostrils. 

His mouth moved down to your jawline, peppering hot kisses against your skin. You groaned loudly in response, your body arching and begging for more. Daryl’s hands moved lower to the hem of your jeans, sending electricity through your body. 

He pushed your back flush against the cold wall, the contrast between the chill and the heat of your bodies together heightened your senses. You felt his lips move down your throat, the stubble of his beard scratching against your skin as his mouth went to your navel. Daryl’s fingers moved to the button’s on your jeans and quickly undid them, promptly tugging your jeans off. 

The cold air hit your legs as Daryl tossed your jeans aside. He ran his hands up your thighs, his calloused and rough hands gliding over your skin. Your breaths were soft and ragged, you could see a hunger in Daryl’s eyes that made your core ache. 

His lips met yours again, kissing you rough and urgently. His large hands found your waist and pressed your harder against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer. Once again his lips traveled down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin while leaving marks you knew would last for days. 

“You still with me girl?” Daryl pulled back slightly, whispering into your skin. All you could manage was a nod, too overwhelmed to make a coherent sentence. He smirked at you, his hand snaking down to your cotton panties, teasing the edge of them with his fingers. He slipped his hand underneath the fabric, his finger’s finding your slick heat. You let out a guttural moan and felt your body tense as he explored your folds. “So wet for me” he said, a smirk on his lips. 

All you could do was nod frantically as he found your bundle of nerves. He set an excruciatingly slow pace, stroking and teasing you. Your hips bucked against his touch, begging for more. Daryl pressed two fingers firmly against your bud and began to circle it rhythmically, occasionally dipping back into your folds. You threw your head back and stabled yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

Daryl suddenly withdrew his hand, making your whimper in frustration. Before you could say anything, he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties and pulled them off in one fluid motion. “Ain’t done with you yet.” He growled. 

He pushed himself between your legs, you could feel his hard bulge through the rough material of his jeans as he grinded against your sensitive heat. Your hands moved to the button’s of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on yours. He helped you and shrugged the fabric off of him, exposing his hard muscles underneath. Your fingers traced his chest, feeling how his body tensed under your touch. 

Daryl undid his belt, looking down at you as it hit the floor with a clang. He pushed his jeans down, exposing his throbbing cock. You moaned as you saw his hand move to stroke the girthy length, the tip glistened with pre-cum. He moved to position himself between your legs and rubbed the tip along your wet folds with a groan. 

“This what you want?” He questioned, his eyes scanning yours. You nodded again, your body tensing with anticipation. 

“Use your words girl” Daryl commanded you, his voice hard. 

“Yes please” you whimpered, your voice heavy with need. That was all he needed before filling you up with a slow thrust of his hips.You could feel his body tensing with the effort it was taking him not to start fucking you wildly.

“Fuck” He hissed as he completely sheathed himself inside you. He began to move, rocking his hips back and forth. Your arms reached out to his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh, his cock stretching and filling you. Daryl’s hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he thrust into you. He starts slowly, allowing your walls to mold around the shape and size of his cock. 

His dark hair falls over his face as he towers over you, pinning your body with his muscular one. “Daryl-” you whimpered, barely able to form more than one word as he continued to thrust into you.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice a low growl in your ear.

“Daryl,” you gasped out, your voice breaking as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. He rewarded you quickly by driving himself even deeper into you. His cock easily slid in and out of your slick, leaving you gripping his shoulders for support, your nails biting into his skin.

Every thrust made your body shudder, the knot in your stomach tightening with each roll of his hips. "That's it," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he kept his relentless pace. "Just like that." He groaned your name as your hips bucked up to meet his movements, loving the friction between your bodies. 

"Daryl-" You whimpered once again, feeling the pleasure building up within you. He cursed, pounding into you with a newfound intensity. His rough, calloused hands rubbed against you as he fucked you up against the wall.

"Soon," Daryl warned you as he leaned in to nip at your neck. You could feel your release building, your core tightening painfully. 

You let out a deep moan, your body shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm waved over you. Your walls clenched and throbbed around his hard cock. Seeing you unravel underneath him sent a shock through him, his hips snapping hard against your skin. His cock twitched inside you as he reached his finish. Your hips bucked against his, his body shuddering as he came deep inside you. His hot seed spilled deep inside you. His body was trembling against yours, every muscle flexing as he came down from his orgasm. 

Daryl pulled out of you, his seed dripping from your folds onto the floor as he collapsed beside you, breathing heavily. You closed your eyes tightly, your breathing ragged as you tried to catch your breath. Neither of you spoke for a moment, both of your bodies relaxing from the intense coupling. 

Daryl moved to lay next to you, his calloused hand found yours, intertwining your fingers together with surprising gentleness. "Rest," he ordered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut, falling into a peaceful sleep with Daryl next to you.

[dcxdpdabbles]

So Danny is just a bunch of good that takes a humanoid shape, and we've seen him stretch and warp himself. What is sometimes he just leaves bits of himself behind. He has restoration so he can heal himself and others so when he realizes he left a foot behind he just grows a new one.

Batman: We've found more of the meta, 3 left feet all genetically identical, either were dealing with a cloning operation or someone using a regenerative meta as an organ farm. The most recent finds washed up between Gotham and metropolis.

Meanwhile Danny: I've gotta visit Dani more Madrid was beautiful can't wait to show Jazz the photos, tried to land and eats it, Damn it I though I fixed this!

Danny loves his new power- he likes to call it "Play-Boo" as a pun on playdough because it allows him to shift and change his body as he sees fit.

It was hard to mentally change his appearance as his core was tied to his idea of himself. Still, he can make his hair longer at will, shift to a younger or older version of himself, and even slightly change his coloration, though that takes a bit more concentration.

Danny is sadly unable to shape-shift into someone else. He thinks being able to regenerate is an okay trade-off. Especially when Danny accidentally leaves bits of himself behind with his new warping technique.

It's not the kind of warping he would like- seeing as he could only go a few yards from his original spot- but he hopes with time and practice, he will be able to fling himself from one side of the country to the other, much like opening portals.

But unlike the portals, he won't have to step into the ghost zone as a layaway.

One day, he'll be able to think, "Star City!" and bam will be there without having to destabilize his whole body or lose limbs. Or some internal organs. Like his left kidney.

Which was currently somewhere in Gotham as his warping has developed to the point that he can send himself to the area within eyesight, and he had traveled to metropolis in this method instead of flying to try to perfect it.

"Shoot," He grumbles, falling into a booth across from Dani. She had asked that he visit the big city with her, do a few sights, and then the two would fly downstate to check out some national parks.

"Lost something again?" She asks, sipping the soda she had ordered while waiting for him. Dani had been in the city for about three days and had fallen in love with the diner they were eating at.

She insisted they meet up there just so Danny could try some of their roast beef sandwiches. The favorite food of the two siblings.

"My left Kidney." He sighs, patting his side. Thank goodness his Play-Boo allowed him to not feel pain. He hated to have to feel every time he lost one of his body parts. "I need to eat my troubles away until a new one grows back."

"I'm not paying for your meal."

"But Dani! I'm down a kidney!"

She snorts. "It'll grow back by the time we leave, and you know it. But fine, you big baby, I'll pay for lunch. You have to cover the diner."

Satisfied, he lets her call over a waitress who quickly takes their orders and vanishes to the back, where the cook will likely make "the best damn roast beef" for him. He leans back, asking Dani about her travels.

She eagerly starts talking about the local art she has taken pictures of. At one point, her travels had turned into photo albums, documenting everything she saw and experienced.

She made some money this way, selling some of her photos, but mostly, Dani preferred to keep them for herself or the family.

As she talked about the light reflecting on some large News building- the daily planet- and the great lengths she had to go to get close enough to capture the sunlight, the door to the dinner chimed.

Two men in suits ushered in, one wearing a dark blue that seemed far cheaper than the deep black of his companion. Danny instinctively turned towards the sound, but he quickly looked away as the two men found a seat in a booth furthest away from him.

"I met this guy, Jimmy, who promised to have my photos submitted for a junior photographer contest. It's to help promote tourism, so it's based on the "Metropolis' beauty," but first place is five hundred!" Dani eagerly tells him, her eyes sparkling.

"I know you'll win. You'll make a name for yourself in no time as the best photographer of our era." Danny smiles at his little sister. He lowers his voice "Maybe with that money you win we won't have to sell my organs for a while."

She laughs, adding to the joke like it's second nature, "But you're so fun to harvest! Side's it's not like Vlad will allow you to walk away from the operation. He already has two more kidney orders from Gotham waiting for you."

Danny grimces. "I just lost one this morning. Why does he overbook me so much."

"I can do it if you-"

"Not on your life. I can regerate. You can only cry."

Dani kicks him hard in the shin. She waves her coffee spoon at him like a wizard banishing a wand. "Are you calling me a crybaby?"

"Well, I'm not calling you a cry-lady." He laughs as she scoffs. She opens her mouth to say something when her eyes lock with something over his shoulder. Her face closes down at once, hardening into someone who has traveled through the roughest parts of cities and towns.

Danny used to be worried that her instance of traveling alone at such a young age would ruin her childlike wonder and innocence, but he knew it would be worse to keep her at home.

Even with Vlad finally getting the much-needed help, the fact that Dani has existed for two years now didn't mean she was comfortable with being tied down.

Twisting around, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. The two men are casually eating their meals by the far window- too far for them to hear, the waitress is sitting behind the counter flipping through a magazine, and the chef can be seen through a little window making something at his gril.

What had alarmed Dani so much?

"We have to go," She hisses in ghost speech, eyes never leaving the man in the blue suit. Was it him? He seems to unthreatening with his big bulky glasses and easy smile. "I don't know why, but I don't like that guy's vibe."

Well, he won't argue with her about her gut feelings. Those were never important to ignore. "Let's take the rest of this to go."

She raises her hand, calling over the waitress, flipping open her wallet to leave enough to cover their bill and leave a generous tip. Danny quickly gathers their food in take-home boxes, keeping his body in front of Dani to block the men's view of her.

He's grateful that he had pulled on his hood, as his ears had gotten cold from the warping. With the fact he never turned around once since they walked in and his trusty hood, his face has been kept hidden from the men.

A small victory.

Hopefully, he won't see them again after this.

"Come on." He tells Dani, as she quickly gathers her stuff. "Vlad is going to have my arms and legs if we late meet him. I don't want to be just a torso again."

"I mean, it's your fault for trying to run away." She sighs. "You know how he gets. At least you didn't have to entertain his guests."

"Yeah laying in a dark room hoping to regrow my limbs is much better than letting those freaks touch me." Danny agrees thinking back to the big gala Vlad had invited them to.

To show goodwill and try to move past their hostility, the Fentons' children- Jazz, Dan, Danny, and Dani- had all agreed to go with him, under the condition that they be on their best behavior.

Danny had been running late due to a ghost attack and had chosen to use his wrapping far past the agreed limitation his parents, and Vlad had set for him.

He got to Vlad's castle but none of his limbs had followed him. Mom had been so outraged by his reckless behavior he's been grounded staying in one of the guest rooms without tv to "think about what could have happened!"

Dad and Vlad had merely nodded to their wife's punishment for their child. (And he was still getting used to the idea of Vlad being married to his parents.)

Jazz, Dan, and Dani were left to the gala, where Jazz had intellectual conversations with college professors Vlad was funding or where Dan was talking up some pretty men and women with a drink in hand, Dani as the youngest was left to affluent old ladies pinching her cheeks and giving her backhand compliments on being a "lady."

The Dannies hated being touched by strangers, and those higher-class old ladies had no concept of personal space.

"Don't worry, I'm almost too old soon." Dani chirps, holding the door open for him. "Soon Vlad will have to find other kids to flaunt in front of rich people."

"That would be the day." The two exit the dinner, switching the conversation to the idea of dessert- deciding to search on their phones a local frozen yogurt place.

Neither notice the two men- one whose fork has crumbled in his grip and another who is clicking away on his phone with a look of outer disgust on his face

"Bruce?"

"I'm already messaging Babs. She's following them with the city cameras as we speak. Don't worry, Clark, this "Vlad" isn't going to get away with it."

[reasonsforhope]

"Despite the Central Appalachia ecosystem being historically famous as coal country, under this diverse broadleaf canopy lies a rich, biodiverse world of native plants helping to fill North America’s medicinal herb cabinet.

And it turns out that the very communities once reliant on the coalfields are now bringing this botanical diversity to the country.

“Many different Appalachian people, stretching from pre-colonization to today, have tended, harvested, sold, and used a vast number of forest botanicals like American ginseng, ramps, black cohosh, and goldenseal,” said Shannon Bell, Virginia Tech professor in the Dept. of Sociology. “These plants have long been integral to many Appalachians’ livelihoods and traditions.”

50% of the medicinal herbs, roots, and barks in the North American herbal supply chain are native to the Appalachian Mountains, and the bulk of these species are harvested or grown in Central Appalachia, which includes southern West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, far-southwest Virginia, and east Tennessee.

The United Plant Savers, a nonprofit with a focus on native medicinal plants and their habitats, has identified many of the most popular forest medicinals as species of concern due to their declining populations.

Along with the herbal supply chain being largely native to Appalachia, the herb gatherers themselves are also native [to Appalachia, not Native American specifically], but because processing into medicine and seasonings takes place outside the region, the majority of the profits from the industry do too.

In a press release on Bell’s superb research and advocacy work within Appalachia’s botanical communities, she refers back to the moment that her interest in the industry and the region sprouted; when like many of us, she was out in a nearby woods waiting out the pandemic.

“My family and I spent a lot of time in the woods behind our house during quarantine,” Bell said. “We observed the emergence of all the spring ephemerals in the forest understory – hepatica, spring beauty, bloodroot, trillium, mayapple. I came to appreciate the importance of the region’s botanical biodiversity more than ever, and realized I wanted to incorporate this new part of my life into my research.”

With co-investigator, John Munsell at VA Tech’s College of Natural Resources and Environment, Bell’s project sought to identify ways that Central Appalachian communities could retain more of the profits from the herbal industry while simultaneously ensuring that populations of at-risk forest botanicals not only survive, but thrive and expand in the region.

Bell conducted participant observation and interviews with wild harvesters and is currently working on a mail survey with local herb buyers. She also piloted a ginseng seed distribution program, and helped a wild harvester write a grant proposal to start a forest farm.

“Economic development in post-coal communities often focuses on other types of energy development, like fracking and natural gas pipelines, or on building prisons and landfills. Central Appalachia is one of the most biodiverse places on the planet. I think that placing a greater value on this biodiversity is key to promoting a more sustainable future for the region,” Bell told VA Tech press.

Armed with a planning grant of nearly half a million dollars, Bell and collaborators are specifically targeting forest farming as a way to achieve that sustainable future.

Finally, enlisting support from the nonprofit organization Appalachian Sustainable Development, Virginia Tech, the City of Norton, a sculpture artist team, and various forest botanicals practitioners in her rolodex, Bell organized the creation of a ‘living monument’ along Flag Rock Recreation Area in Norton, Virginia.

An interpretive trail, the monument tells the story of the historic uses that these wild botanicals had for the various societies that have inhabited Appalachia, and the contemporary value they still hold for people today."

-via Good News Network, September 12, 2024

[bovineblogger]

Just wanted to pitch my two cents in response to the previous anon! Hi friend, I know for a lot of us who get our food shrink wrapped and packaged at the grocery store it’s mind boggling to even imagine there’s a healthy way of animal husbandry.

I grew up in The Big City™️ but was raised by my grandparents. They grew up farming (just crops, their families were too poor to own livestock or purchase meat/milk/eggs) and taught me to have an incredible respect for where food comes from. We grew our own crops in the tiny backyard, composted, and did aquaculture even before I knew what it was. We bought our smaller meat from the local butcher minimally processed. You had to debone and process the whole chicken, fish, rabbit, frogs, etc. Grandpa traded his veggies for different fruits with the other oldies. Grandma made her own wine and yogurt. And I’ve worked and volunteered at animal shelters and wildlife rescue/rehab centers growing up. I still compost nearly all of my food waste. Even then, I didn’t truly understand the extent to which a properly cared for animal farm could be healthy and ethical.

Until I met one of my previous partners that is. They grew up in an incredibly rural area on a family farm that had animals, including a herd of cows for meat. They hunted, but always to protect the livestock and made use of the animals they killed/sold them to others in town who would. It seemed so counterintuitive to my sensibilities and raised my hackles at first. How could you say you love animals and do that? But I began asking questions…for hours and hours because it was nothing I’d been exposed to.

The way they and their family cared for/revered their animals seemed almost religious to me when I first encountered it. From the time they were kids, it was always the animals’ chores first. You woke up but fed and milked the cows before you made yourself breakfast. They made blankets for the animals and read to them. You gave the herd everything they needed and then some. If something in the barn needed fixing, that would happen first before new windows for the house. The animals had their own things and toys and treats. It was love! There were never cattle prods or whips or any of the machinery you associate with industrial farming. The animals would greet them happily every morning. They loved and trusted their people back enough to be naughty a way a pampered cat is. It really sunk in when I stood next to a cow for the first time — there’s nothing that would stop that animal from harming you, especially if you were a kid, unless it respected you and loved you back.

(They once told me the story of how some large predator like a bear or wolf tried to sneak into the pasture at night. The family woke up there next morning to a furry pancake that had been utterly stomped into the ground by the herd.)

A whole lifetime later, they can still remember the names, personalities, and stories of all the animals they raised. I would get bored and try to list off random names as a game to see if they ever had an animal called that, actually. But the thing that initially shocked (and stuck with me the most) was that when they’d take an older cow to the butcher, they would get packages of meat back labeled with that animal’s name. But it wasn’t ever scary or traumatizing for the kids. They always knew where food was from. Sometimes they were even there helping when that animal was born in the barn. What that did was give them an incredible sense of care, respect, and duty for those animals. When they had dinner that night, they would say grace and mean it in a way you only could if you viewed that animal as an equal family member. I was raised religious, but had never heard grace said like that, with that amount of genuine intent until I ate dinner with them. It used to be just something I did, just going through the motions.

That being said, yes it would probably be the most bio energy efficient/less emissions heavy if the whole world shifted away from a meat-based diet. But ideal isn’t always realistic/something we can achieve overnight. Meat alternatives are often expensive or time consuming to prepare (like beans/legumes). The way I see it, this blog is part of a harm reduction approach in facilitating an appreciation/love/education for livestock and then encouraging people to seek out more mindful sources of meat, like some local farms. We’ve seen time and time again, shame/blame are far less effective in getting people to re-examine their worldviews than education and love.

thank you so much for this ask, this is so so so so so lovely!!! i feel like a lot of people that arent farmers or dont have farmers in their family dont really understand just how much love is there.

[the-californicationist]

The Window (6 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06 // Ch 07

AO3 Link

TW: lactation kink

The house is lonely without your boys, especially when your breasts are so full and achy. If only there was someone home to help you…

You settled into the house almost too quickly. You each had your own space, but the main bedroom was where you all spent most of your time. The bedroom was huge — one of the reasons John had picked this house — and the en suite bathroom could more than accommodate all five of you, if need be. But, when the boys were away, the sprawling, expansive house was… lonely. 

They tried to leave you in shifts, but it wasn’t like they were logging hours at a normal job; it was war. War didn’t have a schedule. So, you padded around the house, trying to play some music or keep the television on, but it wasn’t the same. It was just you and… who? 

You’d asked the doctor not to tell you the sex of your baby at your ultrasound appointment, and none of the potential fathers had been around to go with you. So, you were in the dark. You’d thought about names, and Johnny had offered a good many family names to keep you busy for a while. But, even though you had plenty to think about and plenty to do – you were still working remote on recon and data tracking – it was just an empty sort of existence. 

To make matters worse, you’d hit a bit of a snare. Right at the sixteen week mark, you’d started leaking more than just a little milk. You’d woken up to a wet, messy situation, and you quickly scheduled an appointment. The doctor had taken some time to assure you all was well, but then, not even a week later, you had swollen, painful blockages and you were back in his office, waiting for more news. 

“Looks like you just have tiny ducts,” he shrugged, looking at your scans. His hands were dry but chilly as he peeked under your hospital robe to examine your sore nipples, “You may need to express them. I know it may put you at risk of an early labor, but we can monitor you in the meantime. Try to only pump when absolutely necessary.”

So, you’d followed his orders. Once every few days, you pumped out the heavy, engorged globes that used to be B-cups, watching as your nipples filled jar after jar. There was no use in freezing it this early, so down the drain it went. 

Now, at week twenty something, you were a walking milk nightmare. You’d never done so many loads of laundry in your life. The embarrassing thing about it though was that you liked it. Just the thought of attaching the plastic suction cup onto your breast was enough to make you slick between your legs, and the act itself was frequently pleasurable enough to send you over a climactic edge. To say that your nipples were sensitive was an understatement. But still, you tried to only do it when need be. You didn’t want to make a mistake. 

When the boys came home, you filled them in on all the updates. Johnny was a little sad he’d missed the ultrasound, but it just added fuel to his fire of picking out names. He seemed even more interested in the pain-relieving, pleasure-inducing qualities of your breast pump, though. At dinner, you caught him staring down your shirt more than once when you tried to speak with him, and when you lay together on the couch, his hand was always massaging your swollen flesh, all under the guise of keeping you from getting another painful duct. 

But, you knew the truth. His cock had never been so hard as when you started to leak through your top and had to go change, rushing to wash and find your nipple pads. Johnny stalked you into the large bedroom, thumb crooked in the waistband of his pants, 

“You alright, bonnie? Need me to help you?”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… dealing with the dairy farm over here,” you said, exasperated. 

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, watching you pull out the tubes and machine with all of its parts and cords. His hand fell to your thigh, squeezing you gently,

“Think I could do it instead?”

“You…” You turned to face him, hands still tangled in the pump, making sure you heard him correctly, “You want to try it?”

Johnny adjusted himself in his jeans, his eyes pinned to your cleavage, unable to look away even for decorum’s sake, 

“Aye, lass. More than anythin’.”

“Um, sure. I think it’s fine. It all gets thrown out anyway. I’ll get you a towel,” you moved to get up, your belly now at a round enough size to be a hindrance, but he stopped you, pulling you back down roughly. 

“Hey —” You protested, but he interrupted you.

“Sit down,” his voice was gravelly and heavily accented, almost like when he was drunk, “Let me…” 

“Johnny, wait,” you tried to twist away from his grip, but he was too strong, “It’ll be such a mess. They’re so full right now. Just wait for me to—”

His eyes shot up to yours, pinning you in place, his full lips set in a hungry snarl, 

“I dinnae need a towel, bonnie. I’m gonna taste you, messy or not.”

He let his vow sink in, and you could feel yourself melting, literally and figuratively, at his words. You didn’t fight him as he began to kiss you, smearing his mouth all over you, doing his best to shove down your tank top, stuffing the neckline under your tits, fumbling around the back to unhook the clasp of your bra. 

“Johnny,” you breathed, your voice giving away the wet rush that was flooding straight to your core, “The laundry…”

“Fuck the laundry. I need to drain you fuckin’ dry. Right now.”  

Your whole body responded to that comment. Your skin flushed hot and your sore nipples hardened, eager to experience the way his mouth would feel as he drank from you. You weren’t even sure if he’d know how to draw out your milk. 

All of your concerns were cast aside as he settled you in his lap, pulling off your clothes like a much-desired present, tossing your clothes aside like wrapping paper to get to the good part. He fumbled with his jeans, freeing his thick, curved cock from his pants, pumping it roughly to spread his precome over the heavy head. 

You helped him, angling your body over his dick and lowering yourself down onto him, as carefully as you could, spearing your pussy with his rod, inch by trembling inch, listening to him try to catch his breath. Once you reached the middle, at the deepest part of his curve, you struggled to fit him the rest of the way in, grinding forward and back, looking for that sweet spot. 

Then, impatient and hungry, he finished the job, pulling you down by your hips and forcing himself the rest of the way. It made you cry out from the shock of it. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but his roughness was a stark change from how he had been treating you. When he knew about the baby, he spent a lot of time preparing you, using his mouth to lap at your pussy and prying you apart with his fingers. Always gentle and mindful of your comfort. But, not now. Now, he had his sights set on devouring you in the literal sense of the word.

“Johnny…” You gasped, rocking against his shape tentatively.

“C’mere, lass,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice sharp and commanding. 

His eyes were fixated on your dark, round nipples, and as you rode him, grinding yourself down onto his lap, he latched onto your left breast, taking the meat of your peak all the way into his mouth. Then, he began to suck. 

You thought it would be gentle and sensual, expecting it to be largely for his pleasure and not effective enough to get the thick, creamy milk out of your poor swollen ducts, but you were wrong. Johnny began to suck and swallow, suck and swallow, suck and swallow; a terrifying, rhythmic feeding, drinking from you like his life depended on it. You peered down at him as he delivered this unknown pleasure to you. 

Johnny’s eyes were fluttering closed, the whites of them rolling back into his head, and he began to let out these long, deep, guttural moans. You could feel the relief in your breast the moment he began, and with each suck, you could tell that his mouth was filling with squirt after squirt of warm, sweet milk. 

Your hips humped against him involuntarily at this point, too horny to think straight, and you realized that your right nipple had begun to let down, full as it was. You tried to catch it from dripping onto him, swiping away the white rivulets with your palm, but he caught you, realizing you were trying to take what was his. 

He moved his mouth from your left nipple to your right, letting his score drip down his chin and neck, caring nothing for the mess. Then, he latched onto your right nipple just as he had the left, sucking and swallowing until his cock throbbed inside of you. 

You cradled his head as he drank from you, using his neck and shoulders to keep you steady as you rode him, feeling him suckle against you over and over, your hot milk filling his belly. 

“Havin’ fun without us, Johnny?” Price’s voice rumbled from the doorway, startling you. You tried to turn around, but Johnny had you in a vice grip, and all you could do was ride and whimper from his fucking and his feeding. 

“John…” You moaned, and he stepped around to sit next to his sergeant on the bed, smiling at the two of you, admiring the mess you were making. 

“Can I try, love?” Price asked, leaning forward to drink from you without waiting for your permission. 

All you could do was moan, high and helpless, your pussy so wet that it was practically gushing over Johnny’s thick cock. As soon as you felt John’s mouth on you, suckling from you just as intently as Soap’s, you started to come. You felt yourself clenching around your hungry lover, flooding him with your orgasm, wrecked by their insistent mouths.

“Tha’s it, bonnie,” Johnny pulled away, white streams of cream falling from his lips, looking like he was drunk, “Come for me.”

Price was greedier than Soap, even though you weren’t sure how that could be possible, and he used his strong hand to knead and squeeze your tits, forcing your body to drop even more milk for him to drink. His mustache tickled your sensitive flesh, and you couldn’t see it but you could hear the twisting, slapping wetness of him jerking his fat cock as he drank from you. 

“Fuck, she tastes so good, hm?” Prince crooned. 

“Hngh, Johnny… I can’t…” You whined, feeling yourself start to become overstimulated, “I can’t…”

“You can, lass. And you fuckin’ will,” Johnny grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks, forcing you to kiss him. You could taste your own milk on his tongue. It was warm and a little sugary, like the dregs of a bowl of cereal, thick and creamy. 

He released your jaw and went back to work, suckling from you with a relentless vacuum, making your head spin. You didn’t know how you were able to make so much milk, but it seemed endless. You were hypnotized by the way his throat bulged as he swallowed gulp after gulp of your body’s gift, sucking you down. 

Price seemed just as hungry, and you saw how, from the corners of his mouth, tiny droplets of milk would escape and wet his beard, the white cream staining his dark hair. He teased you with his hand, leaving his cock to fend for itself as he smeared his precome all over your asshole. Then, as you rode Soap back and forth, thrusting against him with abandon, John put his finger against your puckered hole and let you push yourself onto it. As you canted your hips back, your hole would let your captain’s huge fingertip slide inside it. As you thrust forward, you would pull away, losing the feeling of fullness that he was giving you. 

It was agony. You wanted him to fuck you on his hand, or to take you with his cock — as painful as it may be without prep — anything to make you feel filled up. But he didn’t; he kept his finger right where he wanted it, letting you fuck yourself with just the tip until you felt stinging tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Please, John… please…” You barely had any words left, but he knew what you wanted. 

He met your eyes with his own as he took a particularly long suck from your sore breast, making you watch as he coaxed your nectar into his mouth. Then, he pulled away with a swift pop, licking across your swollen nipple to soothe the pain he had caused. He smiled at you, patronizingly, teasing you still with his finger,

“Does our girl need me to fuck her tight little arse?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open, overwhelmed by the pleasure, 

“Yes, please… I need it. Need to come again. Please…”

“Fuck, bonnie. If you come again, you’ll take me with you,” Soap murmured, unwilling to take his mouth away from your tits too far, talking with his mouth half-full.

Price bent his head, returning to his rough suckling, filling his cheeks with more of your milk. But, this time, as you thrust yourself against Johnny, you felt two, curled fingers shove themselves deep inside of your asshole. Your whole body convulsed, your pussy clenching and gushing with wetness, twisting its muscles around Soap’s dick, trying to get him to fill you with his load. Your legs shuddered, unable to keep from shaking as you rode him, feeling numb as the tantalizing sensation of your stretched holes washed over you. 

John fucked you without mercy, pulling his fingers all the way out and stuffing them all the way back into your ass everytime you thrust forward and back. You were screaming, and your poor, well-used cunt was pumping itself against Soap’s rod, making heinous slick noises as you rode him. Beyond any sort of politeness or gentility, your men were noisy in their feasting as well, slurping and sucking loudly, grunting every time you clenched yourself around them. 

When Price added a third finger, you came again, your pussy quickly running out of room to accommodate them both. Soap’s hot seed burst inside of you just as he’d promised, burning your core and painting your walls with his come. 

“Oh, fuck! Johnny, fill me up. Fill me…” You slurred, letting your head hang back limply, basking in the feeling of his orgasm. 

Price took the opportunity to haul you off of Johnny’s lap and onto his own, replacing the emptiness in your pussy with his fat cock, sliding through his sergeant’s come and keeping his fingers in your ass as you rode him. 

Even though he was spent, Johnny didn’t let up on his feeding. He’d ripped a page out of Price’s playbook and was massaging your breast with both hands, squeezing out every last drop from your body. When he finally stopped suckling from your bruised nipple, he licked you, over and over, running the warm flat of his tongue across your nipple to swipe up any stray drops, chasing your peaks as you bounced on your captain’s dick. 

Price squeezed your tits in his hands, letting the one that was still full squirt all over his mouth and nose, covering himself in your cream. When he noticed Soap’s desperation, he switched positions. The sergeant fell onto his back, resting against the mattress, and the captain threw you on all fours, letting your tits dangle over Johnny’s open mouth. Then, he climbed up behind you, feeding himself back into your pussy. 

As Price fucked himself into you, your breasts swayed back and forth, your nipples rubbing across Soap’s mouth as he moved from one to the other. You felt him latch onto the left one, drinking from you in thirsty slurping gulps, his puckered lips pressing onto your flesh with as much suction as he could muster. Meanwhile, your stretched cunt was being stuffed with Price’s shaft, his head invading your deepest parts, filling up your hole over and over and over. 

Finally, when you were out of milk and practically sobbing from the brain-breaking orgasms you’d been given, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back and laying you right beside Soap, aiming his load at your bruised tits. His teeth were clenched as he grunted out his climax, painting long, white ropes of come all over your nipples. 

You looked down, unable to tell what was his and what was yours, your breasts messy and covered in cream of all kinds. John’s hands came down and rubbed his spend all over your nipples, smearing it around them like a salve. Johnny leaned over you, licking up Price’s come just as greedily as he had your milk, latching and suckling from you over and over, even if you were empty, like a greedy puppy. 

Exhausted, and with a belly full of breast milk, Price crashed to the mattress beside you and Soap. 

Standing in the doorway, Gaz and Ghost looked down at you with smug, satisfied expressions, and Garrick chuckled, 

“Better recover quick, babes. Got me workin’ up an appetite.”

[frightwrite]

NSFW Dragon Drabble

Female Reader x Male Monster

CW: Mention of Pregnancy, Breeding, Mention of Oviposition

Your entire living situation was flipped the second you were offered up as a sacrifice to the great dragon. A way for your small farming village to hope for better crops to grow during that dry season. It was a desperate effort that resulted in you being chosen due to being one of the poorer individuals in the village. No direct family resided with you, you didn’t own any land to cultivate one and the only contribution you had to the village was the small bits of forage you tried selling for money to maintain your tiny homestead. You were easily offered up.

You honestly don’t regret the entire ordeal for a second. It earned you a dragon mate, one who treated you like his most prized treasure. He provides you with a life of luxury and his adoration, literally worshiping the ground you walk on. You are treated to gifts daily, and despite you constantly telling him he didn’t have to spoil you this much he does so anyways. He gifts you jewels or trinkets from his hoard that he thinks are flawless enough to present to you. He provides you with the delicious foods that are usually offerings to him. To the point where you’d beg him to stop giving you so much to eat before you burst from all the large meals he provided. He still made a point to keep doing it, wanting nothing more than to worship his mate.

No one in the land would come near you or harm you as long as your dragon husband was around. He was known for wiping villages off of the map and he wouldn’t hesitate to do so again if you were put into harm's way. Despite how intimidating he looked with his large stature, many scales, sharp claws, and teeth that could easily cut through flesh and bone, your mate was a very loving individual. He was gentle with you, making a point to bring up your size difference every now and then. Whether it be innocent or during your more intimate moments.

You struggled with your size difference, usually having sex with him in a medium sized form he was able to shapeshift into. He still managed to stuff you full of his cocks. He possessed a hemipenis that he would sometimes stuff both your holes with if he prepped you enough and you were feeling up for it. He is very attentive when he beds you. Spending a lot of his time using his forked tongue to lick at your clit and slurp at your needy pussy. 

He makes sure you’ve cum on his tongue at least once before he’s stuffing your cunt with one of his dicks. He would slowly fuck into you with one, before losing himself to the way your walls would tighten around him. He’d bully his second cock into you, filling you up and pounding into you with the need to breed you with his hatchlings. You could feel him pressing up into your cervix and he would beam with pride at the cock drunk expression on your face. His claws would grip you tightly, causing marks to be scratched onto your plump flesh.

By the time you both are finally sated, your hole would be oozing with his cum. Your womb full of his eggs that you were certain will hatch soon enough. Especially with the way he couldn’t keep his claws off of his pretty wife.  

[More Monsters]