aphyray

[aphyray]

A Better Bull - 2 of 4

hey I'm still unwell and losing sleep about Ty treating cow-girl Abbi so nice. surely writing a depraved fic about it will get the worms out. in case you missed it, this is all in response to @fawnduu's AU fanart of her own sapphic western romance Big Cats which is already so damn good

Warming Up (AO3)

The oil was real plain that Ty was used to using to keep the cattle’s skin soft, pretty, and smooth as silk. Unscented, and cheap by the gallon at the farm store, but good quality. Got every girl through even the driest month of winter without a single blemish on their skin. Kept their nipples from chaffing real well too, even at the peak of their production.

The oil she was presently massaging into Miss Abigail’s thighs cost more than a few good buckets of her milk at the market just for a little tin of it. Vanilla and cinnamon. Worth every penny for how well it warmed up any woman she got her hands on the shoulders of. Practically undid bodices and slipped skirts up all on its own.

Ty’d heard moaning out of Abbi before, but never the sounds she was making while Ty’s hands worked the muscles beneath the soft, pillowy rolls of her back and hind like dough. Sounded like she was finally laying herself out after a three-day hike.

And whenever Ty teased her, spreading her ass a bit for a peek, she made a delightful giggly coo and rolled her hips a little in anticipation.

That body of hers was enough to drive any horny kid to stupidity, but those sounds. Those sounds would echo in Ty’s dreams.

Now seeing as Abbi wanted everything Ty gave that farmer’s poor neglected wife, that included this – the Premium Adulterer’s Package. Massage, flirty compliments, teasing caresses – though normally her ‘clients’ weren’t bare naked at this point in the massage. Abbi was eager. Ty found her lounging like this in her breeding bed when she snuck into the barn, after the sun dipped low enough below the horizon to hide the blue of the sky.

The secretive lantern light was making a sultry mood of the barn. Abbi had been splayed out like a princess on luxurious sheets and surrounded by so many pillows you could get lost for weeks in a pile of ’em. Half of those pillows were propping up Abbi at so delightful an angle when Ty came in, giving her the look of some pretty woman in some old painting Ty saw hanging on the bedroom of a wealthy wife she’d been servicing a year back.

She’d done just as Ty asked when she came in and rolled over for her for the massage, still propped up on pillows to get comfy. The new pose put her ass up just right, and practically put Ty in a rut just thinking about burying herself in the shadows there.

“You have such pretty skin,” Ty said while her fingers were deeply meshed with the luxurious fat sitting so nice around Abbi’s waist.

“Because of you,” Abbi said softly.

“Oh I think you can probably thank your dam for that one, Miss Abigail. She must’ve been awful special to make a girl like you.”

“My dam never took care of me. You do.”

Abbi rolled over, interrupting the massage, in a way that put a knee pointing to the loft, while her other leg curled around Ty where she was kneeling on the bed. Even over the seductive scent of the massage oil, the heady fragrance of the wetness between Abbi’s thighs was overpowering when she presented herself like that for Ty. She tried, but it was impossible to stop her eyes from wandering down to Abbi’s glistening, rosy treasure. She was already so excited about all this and Ty had barely started. Ty could barely pry her eyes away to continue on with her massage – and even then, only because she promised herself she’d have the whole night down between Miss Abigail’s heavenly thighs to make up for it.

And damn Abbi’s treasure for stealing Ty’s attention, because that pretty cow’s dozy smile was even more intoxicating than the scent of her heat. Ty’d never been looked at by a woman like that before. She was used to looks of ‘fuck me now’ and ‘thank God in heaven for your tongue’ and ‘you better not tell a damn soul’.

Abbi’s eyes said words Ty didn’t like even thinking. Soft words. Forever words. Felt like a damn trap, but Ty was already snared in steel jaws here.

“What you looking so soft at me for?” Ty teased her with a grin.

Abbi’s smile got so big it crinkled her eyes with joy, but she didn’t answer any more than to shake her head and blush and reach out to beckon for Ty’s hands to continue touching her.

Ty glided her fingertips over Miss Abigail’s breasts. She was so swollen with milk. It’d been days. Even without any work from Ty, a little milk was spilling out of her now with every few breaths she took. The sheets under her had little wet spots forming from where her breasts hung while she’d been turned around for that massage.

Abbi shivered at Ty’s touch, and looked at her with whimpering pleading eyes.

Ty smirked. “Well that’s not how the deal was supposed to go, was it? I thought we said a good tending to and then a good milking. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Abbi bit her lip while her sharp pupils darted about between Ty’s eyes and lips and hands, and her own achy breasts.

She conceded and told Ty that she could milk her a little: “If you drink every drop,” she said, with an air of finality that made it clear it wasn’t up for debate.

“Shame to waste all that,” Ty said shaking her head slightly.

“You don’t like it?”

“Now I never said that.”

“How’s it a waste then?”

“Could be selling it, is all.”

Abbi gave Ty an earnest look and a solemn request: “I want you to have it all tonight, Ty. Please.”

Ty grinned again and told Abbi it’d be tough to swallow every drop of all that was in her after days holding out, “But just for you, princess, I’ll give it a shot.”

Ty crawled up on Miss Abigail until her own hips were pressing firm enough into the soft, warm, welcoming hug of her thighs to part them slightly. She teased the poor cow’s aching, desperate heat by nudging the soft mound of her pussy with her own pelvic bone through her jeans. Then, leaving Abbi hopelessly curling her hips up to chase after Ty’s retreating presence, Ty dipped her lips to one of Abbi’s nipples and tugged at it with a gentle kiss.

Even that was enough to get her flowing.

Abbi’s breasts were big enough to take with two hands, but Ty figured she’d start with one. The angle was awkward this time. Easier milking her from behind, leaning her over her bucket at the milking station. Ty had finished Abbi off from the front, almost every day, but never in all the time she’d been taking care of Abbi had she started her from the front. So it was a hell of a shock, when she gave Miss Abigail’s breast a little coaxing squeeze, to find a sudden eruption of hot milk all over her face and neck. She barely closed her eyes in time.

With a grin, Ty teased her: “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. So full of milk you’re making a mess of your handler like this.” While she spoke, she collected the thick white drops off her cheeks with her fingers, then punctuated that teasing little jab by licking Abbi’s sweetness off her knuckles. She kept Abbi’s gaze in hers the whole time, getting a blushy bashful smile for it.

Abbi didn’t offer any kind of apology for the mess. And Ty didn’t want one anyways. Something fluttered in her innards to feel the heat of Abbi’s milk on her skin, dripping stupidly as it was off her brow and chin and the tip of her nose until she wiped it all off.

Abbi’s hands reached out uncertainly for Ty’s face. She knew better than to touch, but she still beckoned Ty to return to her work with needy curling fingers that just barely missed Ty’s cheeks.

With one hand, Ty coaxed the bounty out of Abbi’s heavy breasts in turns, drawing out and swallowing hot mouthfuls of her at a time. The other hand, she set about exploring after the other bounty in Abbi – those ample soft curves that decorated every inch of Abbi’s beautiful body – curves that Ty was aching to touch and squeeze so nice as she deserved.

She started with Abbi’s cute belly that hung so nice from her frame whenever Ty got the pleasure of looking. A slip of her fingers and she was grasping Abbi’s hip, imagining how good she’d feel in both hands when she finally got her cock buried in Abbi’s heat like she was aching to do. At last, she curled her hand around Abbi’s back, to hold her in half an embrace while she worked her breasts.

Every time she sunk her palm and fingers into the cooing cow’s joyous fat, the pretty girl she was, she made such a pretty, satisfied little hum about it, and pressed herself into Ty.

Abbi was right. There wasn’t a bull on Earth that could do this for her. If this was the sort of treatment she needed to sort her heat out, no surprise she was making such a fuss of being neglected. And it sure seemed like neglect now, seeing it, for Ty to leave poor Miss Abigail to suffer in the frustration of her heat over and over like she had.

With a little glance at Abbi’s face for any sign of hesitation, Ty let her fingers delicately trace their way down Abbi’s belly, to pass over her pretty bush, and to pause just an inch shy of the wet heat she knew was waiting for her.

“Last chance to change your mind, Miss Abigail. You sure you don’t want a bull to finish you off?”

Abbi lowered her ears and scowled very stern and serious at Ty for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing. She answered with her body, raising her hips and shifting herself into Ty’s hand in a sudden rush that forced Ty’s fingers all the way to the very slick and very eager entrance to her heat.

Ty grinned and teased again: “Whoa there, girl. Slow down a minute. That ain’t how I treated that farmer’s wife, now is it?”

“Forget her,” Abbi said, aching. “I want you.”

“Well,” Ty said, “if you’re going to be so very polite about it.”

Then she sunk her forefinger into Abbi, which got a hell of a satisfied little moan out of her – a moan that sure felt a little too loud, considering the open window of the barn letting the breeze and starlight in from the night, and any little sound out into it. Never mind the other girls sleeping on the other side of the wall of the breeding enclosure.

“Abbi, could you hold your damn voice? Be a good girl for me, okay? We can’t have the whole farm talking about me fingering my favorite cow, or there’s gonna be trouble I can’t even imagine.”

Abbi brought a hand to her mouth and nodded. Then she quietly asked, “Favorite?”

Ty grinned and looked away with a bit of stupid heat in her cheeks, then did her best to distract Abbi from that unprofessional little slip of the truth by the clever working of her finger inside her.

Cows aren’t built quite like a woman inside. A bit deeper, which made enough sense considering how big those bulls got. And it took some searching to find the spot that made her grind and twist into Ty’s hand and gasp, “There,” so pretty for her, gentle enough that Ty could barely hear it over the frogs and crickets singing outside.

“You like that?” Ty asked, genuine, pressing a palm into the softness of Abbi’s pelvis while, inside her, she used the pad of her finger to circle what she was pretty sure was the right spot.

Abbi nodded eagerly.

“You want it hard or soft?”

“Gentle. I want you inside me so gentle.”

“Now see that’s exactly not how that farmer’s wife—”

Abbi cut off Ty’s teasing to remind her, “I told you. Forget her.”

Ty grinned at how forceful Abbi could be sometimes, even all vulnerable and begging as she was.

Ty slipped a second finger inside and found a good rhythm to coax out a steady wave of swelling curls of Abbi’s hips. Her thighs clenched and shook. Soft little not-quite-swears started popping out from between her lips. And her breath grew short and desperate.

After a good long while of Ty steadily milking her insides along, Abbi’s hands were grasping pathetically in Ty’s direction and at the ceiling and tangled in her own hair. And then, like a spring trap suddenly sprung, her hips bucked with a moan – stifled into her wrist, like a good girl. That wild buck was hard enough to send Ty tumbling backwards – which was damn lucky considering how tight Abbi’s thighs were clenching together. Hell of a bear trap. Hell, more of a guillotine if Ty got trapped in there.

Ty congratulated herself for a job well done, but she knew Abbi wasn’t satisfied with just that. Wasn’t big enough. Wasn’t even a fuck. And her heat demanded a fuck to settle her down.

So while Miss Abigail caught her breath, Ty made preparations for the next event.

[aphyray]

This is the artist who illustrated the art for an upcoming book that I have been aching to publish to show it off:

They were great to work with. The final product is stunning. And I very much recommend them.

It is my birthday. I made it to 40. Which is...so wild to me because I did not plan on it. Sorry to be grim, I am being honest. I'm very taken back by it and admittedly have been in a funk. (If you have been reaching out to me and haven't heard anything, this is why. Sorry. I'll get back to you soon, y'all know who you are.)

Ultimately... I am happy to be here. I am happy to know the people in my life and remove the not so good ones, and still think fondly of the ones in social limbo, and I hope they know wherever they are that I miss them. I am happy to share my work and make my small mark, a single atom in a vast ocean, in this tiny window we get on earth's history. And I've made a whole lot of art. You can check my archive with work from 2011 to now, some of which I still enjoy. Some not so much. It's growth. Part of growing is fucking around, making mistakes (hopefully mostly harmless ones), and learning from it. That's what art making has taught me, anyway.

I am also very much looking for work. The times are bad, but hey if you have a project or want something cool to put in your home, reach out. My portfolio is here:

mxmorgan.com

Or if you're feeling generous and want to make the debt bills not sting so bad, you're welcome to drop some coin here: https://ko-fi.com/mxmorgan

Thanks for sharing this window of precious life with me and inviting my work into your lives.

[aphyray]

A Better Bull - 1 of 4

@fawnduu bless her heart has afflicted me with a madness with images such as these, and so we have another wildly perverted fic. if you are normal this little series is not for you

She Ain’t Like the Other Girls (AO3)

Ty was breathing heavy, staring at the blood staining the basin, still dripping off her arm even through the gauze and bandage.

A bite. Never in Ty’s whole god damned life had a cow had the wild idea to bite her.

But Miss Abigail was sure a hell of a special creature, wasn’t she? What the hell was wrong with that girl? How do you end up with such pretty eyes and fluffy ears and the softest damn tits Ty had ever got her hands on and also be so full of that damn mood of hers?

None of this would’ve happened if Abbi could just get on with that sterile bull Ty had been renting every cycle the last couple months – special order, just for her, seeing as a few cycles ago that fussy princess of a cow had got so moody during her heat that she started kicking over buckets and refusing to be touched no matter how much it made her tits ache, which only made her more upset. Ty figured repeating all that every few weeks forever was likely to get Abbi ejected from the farm even before her first dry season came, so she’d been trying to bring in a little outside assistance to get her through.

But she just wouldn’t let the damn boy mount her long enough and nothing he did was making her happy. Only made things worse it seemed, really – especially when Ty had the bright idea to try tying her to a post to keep her from running off on him like she was. Apparently that’s a good way to get bit. And thrown. And kicked some.

Ty had half a mind to return the damn troublemaker to the very same wild pasture she found her. Let whatever clever farmer had the sense to abandon her out there deal with it.

After getting her wound washed and dressed as best she could, Ty went back out to try and find Abbi.

Looked like she’d made her way out to the pasture.

She was agitated. Avoiding the other girls. Idly plucking grass out of the ground and tossing it away instead of eating it like she was supposed to be doing.

Ty figured it weren’t right leaving things so bitter, so she hopped the fence to approach and try to make amends.

“Miss Abigail. You still in a mood?”

She didn’t respond.

Ty crouched down to try to get in her eyeline to make an honest case: “Miss Abigail, you need to play nice with that bull—”

“I ain’t playing nice with no boy.”

“This keeps going, the farm’s gonna start charging me for every drop of milk you won’t let me take out of you.”

She didn’t respond any kinder than to snort and turn her head away, jingling that sweet indignant collar bell of hers.

“Just give him one try—” Ty started before she was cut off by a curt:

“No.”

“They don’t make a bull that’s ever done me right,” she said defiantly. She took a little fistful of grass in both hands, but she didn’t rip it out this time, just gripped it hard and tugged until the soil and roots started to show. “I want someone gentler,” she said quietly, staring at the ground, her ears sunken low.

“Abbi. You gotta make peace with this. Less than two seasons now before you need to calf up again for me, and if you ain’t friendly with the bulls by then, you’re gonna have to get real friendly with a cold steel pistolet. None of the girls prefer that insemination gun, you can ask ’em. Come on, now, you ain’t had your heat sorted out properly in a whole season. I’d go crazy too with a dry spell like that.”

“Well I told you Emery there’s the gentlest—”

“I saw you,” she said, low, kind of menacing, too. “With her.”

“What?”

“That farmer’s woman? When he brings that worthless pushy boy of a bull. His woman always comes too, right?”

Ty gave Miss Abigail an uneasy grin. “Now how did you notice something like that? You’re more clever than you let on, aren’tcha?”

Miss Abigail glanced over at Ty for a moment before looking away. Then she shook the hesitation out of her head and stared Ty right in the eye to blurt it out: “You touch her so nice every time. Over there in the shadow of the house,” she said, nodding towards the farmhouse, “while that bull tries and shoves himself uselessly around in me. —I don’t want a bull, Ty. I want you.”

Ty’s mind ground to a halt trying to figure through that. That little affair with the bull owner’s wife had been going on for months already – ever since the day Ty picked that boy out special for Miss Abigail at that farmer’s ranch down the way. And Ty’d been fucking that beautiful farmer’s wife in the shadow of the house since the very first time that bull came by and failed to finish Miss Abigail off properly.

And now it was clear as glass why he failed. All because Miss Abigail wouldn’t stand still enough for him – though she’d clearly done just fine with that on her own last time she’d got calved up, hadn’t she?

She’d been making such a fuss because she was jealous?

The thought put a wild rush of heat and a swell of excitement in Ty’s nethers. She’d heard about it: horny teenage first timers losing their wits and going too far with one of these girls. These pretty cows had the treacherous look of a woman. It was impossible to ignore it, but you had to anyways. Part of the job.

Ty’d thought about it too, though, every time she handled Miss Abigail’s breasts. Especially hers. There was something special about her that Ty couldn’t shake. None of the other girls leaned and nuzzled into her the way she did while they were milking. None of the other girls moaned for her either or blushed so. And none of the other girls seemed quite so eager to offer their chests up to Ty as Miss Abigail did after every session, begging to be cleaned with the same attention a hungry calf would give.

It was a guilty pleasure. Ty couldn’t resist after the tenth time on offer, during a little dry spell of her own with the ladyfolk in town. It had been a secret ever since, to sneak a little lick of the milk off Miss Abigail’s pretty skin every time, to her giggling delight.

But every handler did that. She was sure of it. Waste of milk, otherwise, wasn’t it? It was one of those ‘known secrets’.

Ty eyed up Abbi’s chest. Even through her shirt it was obvious her breasts were swollen with milk from days of shoving Ty away every time she tried to relieve her.

Why? Because she was jealous?

Miss Abigail wanted a gentler touch, and that bull couldn’t deliver.

Maybe Ty could.

It wouldn’t mean anything, anyways. Just upkeep. Same as brushing Abbi’s pretty hair and tail didn’t mean anything or rubbing soothing oil into her skin to keep her soft. Just the same as fucking that farmer’s wife didn’t mean anything. Just making a woman coo and whine. Just licking the salt and sweetness off her body. Just a game.

She could make a game of fucking Abbi.

She shuffled a little closer to Miss Abigail and put a gentle hand on her head to scruffle her bangs a bit and tease her ears. Despite her mood, Miss Abigail grinned a little at the touch and hummed cheerfully about it.

Ty leaned in and whispered in Miss Abigail’s ear: “Tonight. If you promise to let me milk you properly without a word of fuss after, I’ll give you just what I gave that farmer’s wife,” Ty said, with a nod houseward.

Miss Abigail’s head turned to Ty, her ears all perked up and pretty blue eyes aglow. She had such a stupid grin on that Ty couldn’t help grinning all stupid right back.

She nodded eagerly, and bumped her forehead into Ty’s, and lingered there just a little too long for Ty to pretend she couldn’t feel the heat of Miss Abigail’s breath on her lips.

Ty pulled away in a hot rush and stood up in a huff.

“Tonight,” Ty said again, a promise. “When the sun’s down proper. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Miss Abigail nodded again.

Then Ty went on her way to put together a little bag of fun for the evening’s game.

[aphyray]

I got my hands on the hard proof for The Shepherd's Sword Volume 1 !!! And it looks GOOD. You are gonna want to put this on your bookshelf :) preorders for this first edition printing are open now and will be shipping next month!

The Shepherd's Sword is a werewolf lesbian adventure webcomic for the lonely and mean and anxious with something to prove and something to run from. This book is the first five chapters of the series, and it includes bonus art from some incredibly talented artists.

Get ur copy, do not delay!

[aphyray]

I figure if someone gives you a few gallons of cherries that make you insane you should probably make them some pie right? May we never be cured of the malady of Ty servicing Abbi's sweet cow tits and discreetly sampling the merchandise 🥂

Ty milking cows-- IN MINECRAFT

[aphyray]

So how's that sequel coming, Aphy? Lot of fanfiction lately—

It's coming okay. It's coming. I promise. 🙏

[aphyray]

hi so this put brain worms in me and my hand slipped and I wrote a perverted little fic about it. affectionately, thanks for the kink, you monster

Loyalty to the Brand (AO3)

“You can’t unbrand a cow,” Ty grumbled. Then she swore it. Then shouted it and punctuated it with fists on tables and walls and doorframes.

The matter was on contest for a whole week, and Ty put up a damn good fight. Damn good. Strong points on both sides, though, over every breakfast lunch and dinner. Toughest point for Ty to take to heart was the simplest one: A few days of bad milk from the stress of it was a hell of a lot less to mourn than the whole cow if some thief ran off with Miss Abigail in the night and swapped out her ear tag like nothing.

You can’t unbrand a cow. Plain and simple. And that was that.

Miss Abigail practically jogged up to Ty in the morning, when she got the barn door closed, ears perked, eyes bright, tail whipping playfully about. She was wearing that pretty grin of hers, bouncing her heavy tits the whole way too, stirring up Ty’s stomach and making her shorts feel awful tight – far too tight for the grim work ahead.

Ty’d never worked with such a doting girl before she found Miss Abigail. Something went all right with Abbi’s breeding – and that was another one of those strong points at every meal: You don’t keep something so valuable and desirable hidden away as quiet as a humble unmarred dairy cow in a barn. She needed to be shown off if Ty wanted to make any use of her fine pedigree. The world had to know Miss Abigail was perfect. The world had to know Miss Abigail was genuine. And the world had to know that no one in the world could touch Miss Abigail without going through Ty.

The plan was to turn her to the wall and get it over with while she was distracted licking salt. One quick jab. She’d yelp and skitter and whine about it, but it’d be over quick.

That was the plan.

But Abbi’s bright smile twisted subtly into a look of want and need when she got close. She eyed Ty’s calloused hands the way she did whenever Ty took too long to get started in the morning. She even had the audacity to step right up on Ty and drape her soft arms over Ty’s hard shoulders and whisper in her ear how heavy her breasts were, waiting all night for Ty to come back.

One quick little session? Just to get it out of the way. It’d put Abbi more at ease, really, to not be achy and sore from the heft of her milk after the branding. No need to add that to all the pain she’d be stuck with while pacing and whimpering about her burn. Last thing Ty wanted was to see her suffer any more than she needed.

She discreetly set the brand to lean harmlessly against the door while Abbi led the way to her station.

The other girls didn’t make sounds milking the way Miss Abigail did. Took months of training to get her to quiet down during her sessions. Used to be loud enough to make visitors to the farm ask questions about the ethical treatment of the cattle. Now they were just whispers. Little whimpers. Breaths of moans without a voice. She bit her lip to hold herself back and it was good she did.

But today was special, Ty figured. She deserved a treat. Ty told her she could let her voice out if she wanted, like she used to, before Ty broke her spirit with the crack of a whip on her ass and silenced her to make it easier to get her job done.

Abbi didn’t make a single sound today, though. Ty was halfway done taking the milk out of her, with her most professional grip, before Abbi spoke softly to tell Ty she could go a little harder.

“I’ll go as hard as I want Miss Abigail, thank you.”

Abbi watched miserably while Ty stuck to the steady pressure and rhythm that she used on every other girl she’d ever worked.

Then Abbi asked if she’d done something wrong.

Ty faltered for a breath when she did, but she didn’t answer. Just lowered her brow until her eyes were out of Miss Abigail’s sight and kept right on with her work.

“Ty? What’s wrong? You’re not having fun today.”

“This is work, Abbi. I’m working. Working’s not supposed to be fun.”

“It can be.”

“Not today it can’t.”

Ty was startled to feel Abbi’s fingers touch her cheek. Startled enough to draw back a bit.

“That’s too close,” she said, warning, uneasy, half a lie in the words. On instinct, her hand was raised to strike, a whole lie in the gesture.

Miss Abigail was too damn close. Cows aren’t supposed to be that close to their handlers.

But she drew closer still, stepping away from her station to follow Ty with every step of retreat, until her rope tugged tight at the mount and jerked her to a stop by the neck. Her fingers were outstretched at Ty and pleading for her to come back. Pleading for her to have fun.

The sight of her like that shook Ty, so earnest and yearning and sweet as she was. Her thick milk was still fresh on her nipples, leaking out uselessly to be wasted coloring her pretty skin even whiter, unless someone took it on themself clean her off properly – which was something Ty took a special delight in at the end of every session most days. Miss Abigail was bred special.

But Ty couldn’t have fun with her today. Not today. Something was all wrong about it. Cattle’s meant to be used, but something about doing that today felt like more than using. Felt a lot closer to abusing than she was comfy letting her heart get to.

She was still wrestling with it when she stepped back up to Miss Abigail and took that outstretched hand in hers to gently push it back.

“Back in your seat, Miss Abigail. I won’t say it twice.”

Abbi’s face scrunched up in a scowl at being commanded around so. She gave Ty a shove that sent her stumbling back a couple steps, to remind Ty exactly who was a whole hundred pounds more than who in this barn. But Abbi knew the sting of the whip on her ass, and she went back to her seat as she was told without making Ty say it a second time.

She was awful grumpy while Ty finished her off. Good harvest today. She really must’ve been aching overnight. No wonder she was so eager. Ty eyed up the lingering streams of white that had painted Miss Abigail’s pretty skin.

Cattle’s to be used.

Cattle’s to be used, damn it.

Ty tipped her hat back, then pressed her palm into Miss Abigail’s sternum to lean her back against the post behind her, and dipped down to do what ought to be a milk rag’s job on any other girl.

Abbi’s fingers wrapped with a terrifying strength around the back of Ty’s head when Ty’s tongue touched the sweet, tender skin of her nipple. Ty had learned not to pull away until Abbi was satisfied, because pulling away before Abbi was satisfied was a good way to get thrown across the room hard enough to limp around for a week or two.

Miss Abigail was bred special.

It tickled Ty’s mind a moment to imagine it: Some thief stealing Abbi? The fool would be dead before they even got her past the barn door.

But some thieves carry guns. Heavy guns. Guns heavy enough to put Abbi on the ground. And if she had the thought to throw a thief through the door, there was a pretty good chance that thief would have a vengeful thought to put Abbi on the ground forever with a few hunks of hot lead.

But, as was so insistently contested at every meal for a whole damn week, no thief would be stupid enough to steal a branded cow – especially one as notorious as Abbi was going to be when Ty started showing her off for breeding.

Turned out Ty’s unenthusiastic milking today had left a few good mouthfuls of milk in each of Miss Abigail’s tits. Ty savored the cooing moans and the steady streams of heat every pinch and draw drew out of her – savored the warmth and sweetness of it trickling down her throat – savored the rush of stealing the product, a thief of a kind, drawing from her own damn pocket, though.

It was always worth every lost dollar and cent.

But today, she tried to make work of it – of being Abbi’s milk rag – of cleaning up her mess – of licking her skin clean – of sucking every stubborn drop out of her – of satisfying her until her achy tits were full of the heavenly relief she craved.

She even tried to make work out of her usual wandering hand. She was just testing the girl’s heat today. That was all. Work. Clinical. It wasn’t to feel the slickness between Abbi’s joyfully parting thighs. It wasn’t to slip fingers inside to feel her eagerly clench down in a rhythm that matched all her pretty little moans. It wasn’t to press her thumb into Miss Abigail’s stiff clit to give it the same relief as she was giving those delicious pink nipples of hers.

It was work today.

Every other day it could be fun, but today it had to be work – putting her at ease, getting Miss Abigail ready to take her brand like a good girl.

The new plan was put Miss Abigail in a state, dazed and dozy on the rush of cumming for Ty’s touch, and then before she had a chance to scurry around the barn or fight – just as quick as Ty could get that brand up to red hot – she’d get it over with. And tomorrow it could go back to being fun again.

Unfortunately for Ty, today was going to be one of those days that Abbi made her work for it. She released Ty’s head just long enough to grab the back of her shirt and drew her head up until their eyes were locked. With a playful little bump to the forehead that hurt a lot more than Ty should be letting a cow hurt her, Abbi told Ty that she had a little extra work to do:

“Fuck me.”

“Miss Abigail, we do not do that in the morning, and you know that.”

“Please. I need it. I waited all night for you, Ty.”

“No – and do not make me say it—”

Again Miss Abigail’s hand curled fiercely around the back of Ty’s skull and brought their foreheads together so hard it made a cracking sound that put a little ache right through to the other side of Ty’s head for it.

Abbi repeated herself firmly, “I need it. Fuck me now or I’m not letting you near me tonight.”

Ty squirmed away and scoffed at Abbi’s ridiculous threat: “You’ll be awful sore in the morning, Miss Abigail, if you think you can go a whole day without me touching you.”

“Just once.”

“There’s people on the farm in the morning. You know that. They walk in here and catch me with my cock buried up to the hilt in my own cattle, you know how that looks?”

Abbi crossed her arms and dropped the tips of her ears in a scowl that sent a little shiver up Ty’s spine. That look and that impatient flicking tuft of her tail normally came right before a hell of a kick. Ty took a big step back for safety – and wiped Abbi’s juices off her fingers on her shirt while she was at it to make a show of putting a stop to all this.

The plan wasn’t going to work. It was time to improvise.

But maybe she could work with all this need in Miss Abigail. Negotiate with the stubborn cow.

She backed away with a hand up to tell Abbi to stay exactly where she was, and told her there was a way she could get what she wanted. “Tell you what, Miss Abigail, tell you what: I’ll clear everyone off the farm today and fuck you stupid sunrise to sunset if you do me one little favor.”

Abbi’s scowl broke with a curious raise of her eyebrows and a little interested flick of her ears. Tail still looked ready to whip a flame off a candle though.

Ty managed to get back to the brand and hefted it up to show it off to explain: “Farm’s worried you’re gonna get stolen. Since you’re so pretty. Now I told them anyone who tried to steal you would be stupid, but they told me anyone who would try to steal you would also have to be pretty good at stealing. I don’t have much of an argument against that.”

Abbi tilted her head to the side trying to make sense of Ty’s rambling. She was eyeing up the iron in Ty’s hands uneasily. She’d never seen any of her kin branded before, apparently. There wasn’t any fear in her, just wonder.

Ty continued, “Best way we have of stopping thieves is making it clear who you belong to.”

Abbi asked how anyone could think she belonged to anyone but Ty. “I’ll tell them,” she insisted.

Ty shook her head, “They cut out tongues when they don’t like a cow speaking, Miss Abigail. They do worse. You don’t want to be taken from here, I promise. I promise. This has to be done. It’s for your own good.”

Something in Ty’s voice put a fleck of fear in Abbi’s eyes and straightened her spine out. She shook her head slightly when she asked what ‘this’ was.

“Just… It’s just like those vaccines. And I know you hate them, but you always take those needles so good for me, don’t you? Because it’s for your good. It keeps you safe. Remember? Just a little pain for a minute and then you’re safe forever, right? So just… Just be a good girl for me. Stay still for a minute. It’ll be over quick. I promise.”

Abbi did not stay still. Not for a minute. Not even for a second. As soon as Ty moved to put the brand to the flame of the lantern, Abbi was cowering and whining at the very furthest end of her rope she could get, and by the time Ty managed to get her cornered, the iron had got too cold to be any use at all.

The second attempt was worse than the first. Ty managed to slip while the iron was still hot, tripping over her own feet trying to get in front of Abbi. The hot end of the iron ended up jabbing into her own thigh and sending her tumbling to the ground with a shout of pain at the burn that had got all the way through her pants like nothing at all. She clutched at the burn and hissed in seething fury at the stupidity of it all.

That fleck of fear in Abbi’s eyes turned into a whole mess of panic after she saw what the iron could do. And panic was the last thing Ty needed right now. Panic meant Abbi was done running. Panic meant Abbi was charging.

Before Ty could even properly get to her feet, Abbi had already buried a foot in her ribs hard enough to launch her a few tumbling feet away. The iron brand was tossed right on after her and she barely dodged it by ducking before it clanged and clattered by the door. And if that wasn’t enough, Miss Abigail was already gearing up for another charge on Ty’s life.

It was all she could do to scramble away out of the barn.

The hands were looking.

Must’ve looked strange coming away from milking without any milk. And clutching at her bruised ribs as she was.

Ty told them to look elsewhere, then gathered herself for what she had to do next. Didn’t feel right. But it was for her own good.

She gathered rope up into a lasso and climbed up on the outside of the barn to the loft, creeping as best she could to watch Abbi below stewing and stomping and sulking.

It was over quick. Rope cinched tight around her arms and torso in a snap faster than she could shout about. A quick shift of her weight was enough to put her on the ground on her stomach, and Ty had her ankles trapped in a knot before she could even try to roll over.

While she caught her breath, she told her, as kindly as she could, “Now Miss Abigail, I’m sorry to have to make you still for me, but I promise you this will be fast and it will be over and if you damn well have to hate me for it then that’s how it is. But I am keeping you safe and that’s that.”

Abbi’s eyes were full of rage while she wriggled around trying to get free, until Ty added a few more turns and knots to her bindings to keep her perfectly still, pretty ass up in the air ready to take Ty’s iron. Damn waste of a good view. And a damn damn shame to put a mark forever on that beautiful skin, but it had to be done. It had to.

The rage turned into whimpering fear when Ty approached with the iron glowing red.

“It’s going to be okay. It’s fine. I promise. Take this like a good girl for me, okay? Like you always do.”

Ty expected Abbi to close her eyes or turn away, but she didn’t. She watched. She watch Ty press the iron into her sizzling skin. She screamed in pain for it. She swore like her sweet voice was never made to do. And when the screaming and the sizzling and the whimpering was done, she was silent and still like she never was.

Ty put some salve on the burn like she knew to do, which got another twitch out of Miss Abigail, but not another sound. And when Ty finally untied her and let her loose in the barn, she didn’t charge, or scowl, or say a word of thanks or fury. She just silently, coldly, wandered off to her corner of the barn to sulk.

No matter how much Ty tried to coddle her or say anything sweet or sultry, she just kept on with the cold and quiet treatment.

Even when Ty returned at the setting of the sun, Abbi stayed in her corner, refusing to move no matter how furiously Ty tugged at her collar.

Ty didn’t sleep that night. She’d branded cows before but never one so pretty. Never one so sweet tasting. Never one she wanted so very much to keep for herself forever like no handler should.

Groggy and miserable in the morning, Ty returned to the barn expecting to wrestle with Abbi to get her over to her station. She didn’t expect Abbi to already be waiting there. When Ty closed the barn door, Abbi didn’t jog over with a smile, but she did look up to meet Ty’s eyes for a moment before looking away.

Then Ty got to work.

And working wasn’t supposed to be fun.

By the time Ty was in her rhythm, Abbi’s face was getting flushed like it always did when she got worked up. She whimpered something in the silence that made Ty freeze. A couple of tears were staining Abbi's cheeks when she glanced up at her.

“It hurts,” she cried, like Ty could do something about it.

Ty glared at her own hands wrapped callously around Abbi’s breasts, stained in her milk, using her for what she was damn well bred so perfectly well to be used for. Bred so damn well that she needed a brand put on her to keep her safe.

She wiped her hands on a rag and told Abbi to turn over so she could take a look at it.

She did. She watched with hopeful eyes while Ty inspected the burn for anything wrong. It was clean, though. No infection. No blisters. The skin on her hind had cooked and cauterized all perfect and shapely like it was supposed to, showing off to the world how so very valuable Abbi was to breed, and how so very much no one else could ever use her for that without Ty watching.

She glanced at Abbi’s face. The mournful look. Pleading eyes. Ears low. She wanted Ty to fix this. She needed Ty to fix this.

With a little huff of a sigh, Ty asked her what she wanted: “You want me to kiss your ass? That make it better? Lick the wound for you? It’ll stop hurting in a few days. Just give it time.”

Abbi’s gaze lingered on Ty’s for a couple breaths before she lowered her head and returned to her cold silence.

Ty couldn’t stand it being like this. She looked over her shoulder at the barn door to make sure it was closed tight, then she turned back to dear Miss Abigail and lowered herself to plant a gentle kiss on her hind, near the brand, being very careful not to make it sting any more than it already did – as Ty was very aware it did from the ache of the clumsy burn on her own thigh.

Abbi was looking at her again when she raised her eyes. Her ears were perked up a little like Ty had done something right for once all day. Ty grinned at her and teased her, “What, you liked that?”

Abbi nodded.

So Ty spoiled her with another kiss. And another. Circling but never touching the burn. God but no handler in the world should be planting their damn lips on a cow like this, but if that’s what it took to get Abbi to stop sulking, she’d plant her lips anywhere on Abbi’s pretty body she asked.

And she asked. With a little playful point, she poked her hip to direct Ty’s next kiss. Then another poke on her belly. And another on a milk-stained nipple. Ty lingered there like she always did. She never usually got a chance to drink from Abbi when she was this full. Always the dregs. Cleaning up. Like a rag. It was a heavenly bounty that flowed like a fresh mountain spring over her tongue. Miss Abigail cooed for her and let her drink and drink until she poked Ty in the forehead to get her eyes open to see the next spot.

Her neck.

Ty hesitated, and Abbi glowered at her and pointed again impatiently.

So of course Ty kissed her neck. Like no handler ever should do to her cow but Abbi was bred damn special.

Abbi whispered, “You can go a little harder.”

And she did, leaving a different kind of brand there on Abbi’s neck. And another. And one more for fun. Not as clear who owned her as the fancy logo on her hind made it, but it was just as clear a message to stay away.

Then Abbi put a finger under Ty’s chin and tilted her eyes up to see the other finger that was gently touching her own lips.

Ty shook her head slightly. That was too far. That had to be. That had to be too damn far didn’t it? She could plant her lips on any part of Miss Abigail’s pretty body and it would be no different than licking a slab of meat. She could shove her fingers and her cock in any part of that cow and it would be practically clinical. Servicing her. But that? That was different. That was something lovers do. That was something only lovers do.

“Miss Abigail I swear I’ve healed you as much as I’m able with what I’ve got here.”

She tried to break from Abbi’s gaze, but there was something in her eyes that said if she walked away now, she’d never get to look Abbi in the eye again, never get to taste her, never even get to touch her. Miss Abigail could throw Ty across a room. But she had to ask for a kiss.

Well, what’s the damn point branding her if she couldn’t have her?

Abbi was practically squealing with joy while the two of them traded spit and danced their tongues together, like lovers do in the dark. The poor girl couldn’t find a spot for her hands. Pawing slightly at Ty’s chest knowing damn well she wasn’t allowed to touch, curling her fingers around the back of Ty’s head like she knew she was barely allowed to do even when Ty was feeling generous enough to let her.

Ty wasn’t sure what a cow’s kiss was supposed to be like, but she sure figured it shouldn’t taste this good or leave her wanting more the moment it stopped.

Out of breath from it, she asked Abbi if that was good enough. “Feeling better?”

Abbi nodded again. Then she caught herself and put on a fake scowl and shook her head. “You promised you’d fuck me all day if I was a good girl.”

“You were not a good girl! You kicked me across the room!”

“Well, I’m being a good girl now, aren’t I?”

Ty looked her over. She looked at the barn door. She looked at the quarter-full bucket of Abbi’s milk. Then with a little sigh, she told Abbi to wait right there like she had any choice in it.

After shouting at all the farm hands to take the day off and putting up a closed sign by the road, she returned and locked and barricaded the damn door, then told Abbi to be a good girl and bend over for the best all-day fucking she ever had.

Ty milking cows-- IN MINECRAFT

[aphyray]

Now available on AO3

The Shepherd's Sword - Counting Sheep

A little fanfic for @renstrapp's @theshepherdssword. Feeling inspired seeing all the fanart for the upcoming book release. Can't draw for my life so I must ply my only craft. This would take place somewhere in Chapter 5, if they didn't quite make it through the woods before nightfall, and if Shep were really bad at being a shepherd.

-

“Twelve,” Shep said. A hard answer to a hard question from a soft kid. A shepherd’s burden.

Wayne laughed. The way she does. The way she shouldn’t. But you probably can’t even beat that kind of behavior out of a hound like her.

“That many?” Wayne teased Shep. “In two years? You sure you’re cut out for this? Maybe you’d be better tending trees. They don’t wander off as much.”

That grin. Arrogance dripping. Irredeemable wretch.

Robin kept on asking hard questions, soft-eyed: “You remember them all?”

Shep nodded, then nodded again at the shaft of her staff. Twelve notches. She offered it up for Robin to count.

She tried, a little too hard, but even tracing her fingertips carefully over the scars, she couldn’t count more than eight that hadn’t been worn away with time.

Shep took the staff back and showed her every one, naming every ewe and lamb she’d lost.

“You can’t protect them all,” Shep said, glancing at Jo when she did, but Jo wasn’t really paying much attention. Shep’s finger lingered over one notch. She dug her nail into the groove to keep it fresh.

Wayne couldn’t help herself from pouncing on an opportunity to brag in front of eternally star-struck Jo: “Maybe you can’t. I’ve never lost anything.”

Shep just closed her eyes and shook the annoyance out of her head. The fire needed more wood if the four of them had any hope of keeping the beasts at bay tonight. The forest seemed more uneasy these nights than it had ever been, and she wasn’t planning to add any more notches to her staff during this little detour of an errand.

When she got back, Jo and Robin were asleep, cuddled into each other sweetly. Wayne lingered. Like an ivy rash lingers.

Shep insisted she should go to bed too: “You get the second shift.”

Wayne didn’t respond to that. She was trying to make a show of staring at the fire, but her gaze kept flickering to Shep’s staff.

To the notches.

“You missed one,” she said at last. All that boastful pride was gone. Just a show for the kids, apparently.

Shep repeated herself: “I’ve lost twelve sheep.”

“There’s thirteen cuts in the wood. Thought you were smart, Shep. How do you keep track of that flock of theirs if you can’t count?”

Shep wrinkled her nose and looked away bitterly before she told Wayne it was time for her to be a good hound and go to sleep.

Wayne grumbled about it, but she did concede to lie down in her bed. Like a good hound.

Not like a good hound, she decided to bark out an arrogant last little bit of advice: “It doesn’t make you better. Remembering.”

“Good night, Wayne.”

While the fire crackled and Shep’s trio of unwarranted wards slept safe and sound in her care, she spent the time scoring the notches with her nail.

Even someone like Robin should be able to see each and every one of them.

Shep glanced at the kid, whose face seemed troubled by something in her sleep – even in Jo’s guardian embrace.

…Especially someone like Robin.

Wayne tagged in when the moon was high.

Shep’s sleep was uneasy. Visions of eyes in the shadows beyond the fire. Violence. Blood.

When she woke, she found Wayne cleaning her sword next to some messily butchered beast. She’d done a poor job wiping the blood of it off her cheeks. Recklessly hunting in the night again? Leaving the camp unguarded? Of course she would. Even with kids to take care of, of course she was going to be so careless and arrogant and—

Before Shep could build up the pyre of her scorn to the pines, a sudden splash of realization dowsed the flame in her. That was no deer. No deer had fur that thick.

She wrinkled her nose at it, standing silently behind Wayne, ready to beat her stupid and sorry, but she needed an answer before she did:

“What happened?”

“Cougar.”

“…Another one?”

“Think so. Smelled different. Hard to tell in the dark, though. Maybe it was the same. Hell of a thing if it was, though, after that fight.”

“…It smelled different?”

Wayne held up her sword to admire the sheen, then slipped it back in its scabbard with a satisfying snap of the clasp. “It smelled different,” she repeated.

“You killed it by yourself?”

She looked over her shoulder with a grin that said it all: Of course she did. Jo and Robin were still asleep. Who else was there?

“Figured I’d spare you vandalizing your stupid little stick there again.”

“Just wake me up next time.”

“And let you take the credit?”

“Who are you showing off for? You’d put their lives at risk for your ego? For points?”

“I could handle it.”

“This time.”

Wayne stood and turned to get up in Shep’s face before she jabbed at her: “Every. Time. I told you, Shep. I’ve never lost anything.” She stepped back and added with a disarming little shrug and a grin, “Be pretty stupid of me to start now.”

Shep glared into Wayne’s stupid grinning eyes with a bitter grimace for a few heavy breaths, before her frown cracked. There was something in Wayne’s eyes. A waver. A glance. A lie. A weight.

The shepherd’s burden.

Even a hound feels it, then.

It had been a long time since Shep had enough softness in her eyes to ask such a hard question, so instead she just left Wayne alone to deal with what was left of her kill.

While Shep set about packing up her gear, she wondered if there were any notches hidden on the hilt of Wayne’s sword, or if it really did make her better to forget.

Watching Wayne brag about her triumphant kill to Jo, Shep thought better of it – because if that was what better looked like, she’d rather be worse.

[aphyray]

The Shepherd's Sword - Counting Sheep

A little fanfic for @renstrapp's @theshepherdssword. Feeling inspired seeing all the fanart for the upcoming book release. Can't draw for my life so I must ply my only craft. This would take place somewhere in Chapter 5, if they didn't quite make it through the woods before nightfall, and if Shep were really bad at being a shepherd.

-

“Twelve,” Shep said. A hard answer to a hard question from a soft kid. A shepherd’s burden.

Wayne laughed. The way she does. The way she shouldn’t. But you probably can’t even beat that kind of behavior out of a hound like her.

“That many?” Wayne teased Shep. “In two years? You sure you’re cut out for this? Maybe you’d be better tending trees. They don’t wander off as much.”

That grin. Arrogance dripping. Irredeemable wretch.

Robin kept on asking hard questions, soft-eyed: “You remember them all?”

Shep nodded, then nodded again at the shaft of her staff. Twelve notches. She offered it up for Robin to count.

She tried, a little too hard, but even tracing her fingertips carefully over the scars, she couldn’t count more than eight that hadn’t been worn away with time.

Shep took the staff back and showed her every one, naming every ewe and lamb she’d lost.

“You can’t protect them all,” Shep said, glancing at Jo when she did, but Jo wasn’t really paying much attention. Shep’s finger lingered over one notch. She dug her nail into the groove to keep it fresh.

Wayne couldn’t help herself from pouncing on an opportunity to brag in front of eternally star-struck Jo: “Maybe you can’t. I’ve never lost anything.”

Shep just closed her eyes and shook the annoyance out of her head. The fire needed more wood if the four of them had any hope of keeping the beasts at bay tonight. The forest seemed more uneasy these nights than it had ever been, and she wasn’t planning to add any more notches to her staff during this little detour of an errand.

When she got back, Jo and Robin were asleep, cuddled into each other sweetly. Wayne lingered. Like an ivy rash lingers.

Shep insisted she should go to bed too: “You get the second shift.”

Wayne didn’t respond to that. She was trying to make a show of staring at the fire, but her gaze kept flickering to Shep’s staff.

To the notches.

“You missed one,” she said at last. All that boastful pride was gone. Just a show for the kids, apparently.

Shep repeated herself: “I’ve lost twelve sheep.”

“There’s thirteen cuts in the wood. Thought you were smart, Shep. How do you keep track of that flock of theirs if you can’t count?”

Shep wrinkled her nose and looked away bitterly before she told Wayne it was time for her to be a good hound and go to sleep.

Wayne grumbled about it, but she did concede to lie down in her bed. Like a good hound.

Not like a good hound, she decided to bark out an arrogant last little bit of advice: “It doesn’t make you better. Remembering.”

“Good night, Wayne.”

While the fire crackled and Shep’s trio of unwarranted wards slept safe and sound in her care, she spent the time scoring the notches with her nail.

Even someone like Robin should be able to see each and every one of them.

Shep glanced at the kid, whose face seemed troubled by something in her sleep – even in Jo’s guardian embrace.

…Especially someone like Robin.

Wayne tagged in when the moon was high.

Shep’s sleep was uneasy. Visions of eyes in the shadows beyond the fire. Violence. Blood.

When she woke, she found Wayne cleaning her sword next to some messily butchered beast. She’d done a poor job wiping the blood of it off her cheeks. Recklessly hunting in the night again? Leaving the camp unguarded? Of course she would. Even with kids to take care of, of course she was going to be so careless and arrogant and—

Before Shep could build up the pyre of her scorn to the pines, a sudden splash of realization dowsed the flame in her. That was no deer. No deer had fur that thick.

She wrinkled her nose at it, standing silently behind Wayne, ready to beat her stupid and sorry, but she needed an answer before she did:

“What happened?”

“Cougar.”

“…Another one?”

“Think so. Smelled different. Hard to tell in the dark, though. Maybe it was the same. Hell of a thing if it was, though, after that fight.”

“…It smelled different?”

Wayne held up her sword to admire the sheen, then slipped it back in its scabbard with a satisfying snap of the clasp. “It smelled different,” she repeated.

“You killed it by yourself?”

She looked over her shoulder with a grin that said it all: Of course she did. Jo and Robin were still asleep. Who else was there?

“Figured I’d spare you vandalizing your stupid little stick there again.”

“Just wake me up next time.”

“And let you take the credit?”

“Who are you showing off for? You’d put their lives at risk for your ego? For points?”

“I could handle it.”

“This time.”

Wayne stood and turned to get up in Shep’s face before she jabbed at her: “Every. Time. I told you, Shep. I’ve never lost anything.” She stepped back and added with a disarming little shrug and a grin, “Be pretty stupid of me to start now.”

Shep glared into Wayne’s stupid grinning eyes with a bitter grimace for a few heavy breaths, before her frown cracked. There was something in Wayne’s eyes. A waver. A glance. A lie. A weight.

The shepherd’s burden.

Even a hound feels it, then.

It had been a long time since Shep had enough softness in her eyes to ask such a hard question, so instead she just left Wayne alone to deal with what was left of her kill.

While Shep set about packing up her gear, she wondered if there were any notches hidden on the hilt of Wayne’s sword, or if it really did make her better to forget.

Watching Wayne brag about her triumphant kill to Jo, Shep thought better of it – because if that was what better looked like, she’d rather be worse.

[aphyray]

[aphyray]

IT FUCKIN YURI DAAAAAAAAAAAY

[aphyray]

Oh I was talking about this just today. Healing. Growing. Regressing.

I don't like writing characters who change fundamentally, so I have a rule that I will never, ever ‘cure’ a character of their flaws or scars or impediments.

By the end of my stories, I aim for my characters to generally be the same but more experienced. They know how to handle situations more effectively. Which is what therapy is about, I figure. You don't get fixed, you get tools. And sometimes, in the absence of therapy, you make your own tools and they suck real bad and make everything much, much worse.

When asked, “Would you do it again today?” the answer should be, “Yeah man I did it because that's who I am and I'd rather live with the consequences of being who I am than lose myself.” If you dropped my characters in the exact situation that started the story, their goals and motivations would be exactly the same, but they might use what they've learned to reach those goals more easily and temper those motivations from becoming delusions – might.

Using the metaphor of one's inner fire, it would be cherishing that flame but learning that it's probably a good idea to avoid pools of gasoline and dry underbrush, or at least carry an extinguisher.

There is a standard media depiction of a "healed" person. Someone who has Gone To Therapy. I've noticed this in a few works recently. We often see them at the end of a story, maybe in a "ten years later" epilogue. They speak in a soft, serene voice. They have Accepted what they cannot change. They have let go of a lot, including most of what we see them actually care about in the story itself. They are Happy, At Peace, in some non-descript way. They bare little resemble to the person we were actually shown. They bare little resemblance to any person. We were shown, as we usually are in stories, an agent, a desirer, someone becoming. Now they have Become. And they look back on all that silly becoming as something childish that they have moved past. Fire, you know, fire is for children who don't know any better. To be Healed is to have your fire rightly extinguished; to not even miss it.

[aphyray]

I did it. I read the entirety of Saffron and Honey on the radio. 📻 I can finally rest.

[aphyray]

Oh I never told you guys. Haha oh man. I'm the worst at promoting stuff.

Hi! Hello!

I put this up on itch.io for however many dollars you want.

I did this months ago and told exactly one person.

This includes a high res copy of the cover art for you to print out and eat as well. Please enjoy.

Happy Pride 🌈

Huh what's this.

Is it possibly more sick cover art by @renstrapp?

For a little chapbook of a smutty secretary roleplay chapter pulled from Saffron and Honey?

That you can only get by showing up to the Erotic Arts and Crafts Fair in Toronto on February 8th?

Weird. Cool and weird.

[aphyray]

damn that’s wild. Maybe the solution is gay sex

[aphyray]

Just got back from attending TCAF in Toronto. Got to meet a bunch of the sapphic artists I love. Gonna plug everyone I got art and zines and books from.

renstrapp

Super emotive art. Butches that don't hold their punches – in Butch4Butch stories. Ren's characters tend to be terrible people in a realistic way – and that's the appeal. Ongoing comic Shepherd's Sword features a very complex relationship between the two butch leads. Amira the Van Life Cunt is easily the most fun I've had reading smut in my life. The recently published How Could You is a very attractive graphic novel about lesbians making terrible decisions in a spring semester at college. Also makes very cool riso prints. Also did the art for the cover of my book and is working on a bunch of illustrations for me. A delight to work with.

fawnduu

Well-paced intimate narratives with clean art that has a distinctive style. Every character in every story is super lovable. Cute and well-loved transbians – in supporting and lead roles. A master of making girlcock look fun and natural in a way that often seems to trigger some intense gender euphoria for readers. Beyond compare. Butch cowgirls in Big Cats. Dragon girlfriends and cat witches and shy vampires and bratty butch werewolves in My Dragon Girlfriend. Watch Dog features a half-competent stoner girl who decides to work a fire watch gig over the summer and oops there's some werewolf stuff going down.

gipki

Has an ongoing pirate lesbian comic Boon of the Beacon Maker which is just getting to some peak drama. I'm pumped for more. Also has some lovely Arcane fanart starring Cait and Vi. Good taste.

catskullery

Doing a sapphic, monster hunting, fantasy comic Blind Wolf Bleeding Lamb. Just learned about this today. A buff butch bodyguard working with a clever femme who's a solid twelve inches shorter – you know, for that good, good height difference moe I keep hearing about. Also has Cait/Vi fanart. Yet more good taste. 🙏

enaloi

It is hard to describe what ends up on this Tumblr blog but I love it so much. A lot of emotionally impactful vignettes primarily starring a pair of grown ass women who are both human trainwrecks – from the ongoing band comic Take Five. These two are either the only thing holding each other together or the horrible thing ripping open metaphorical scars and stitches to look at the wounds. It's complicated and messy and real in a way that hurts. Also made a cool sci-fi zine I really like called Rewired about the things we may sacrifice in the future to steal the affection of the ones we love.

haaaaaarper

It's Harper! I love Harper's work. A lot of clueless lesbian types. Some extremely fun and charming autobio comics. I'm a huge fan of the ongoing Hopper series. Full of messy pining and jealousy.

Hey Aphy come on that's it? You only visited six artists?

Listen I'm not good at cons okay. I went in with laser focus and got out. I did a great job really. The table numbering system was utterly inscrutable. I was lost for five minutes between each table I visited. I was lucky the first four artists were all together or I'd still be wandering those aisles in search of a 34 next to a 52.

[aphyray]

A curious reader asks:

Is Felicity a protagonist or an antagonist?

Felicity is a menace, reader.

Thank you for asking. 🙏