#and some acclimation to her harness

[redbone-hellhound]

Stinky baby had to have a bath cuz she was digging in fire pit ashes and stepping in poop (while trying to eat it)

[peariote]

AFTER MIDNIGHT ꩜ .ᐟ quinn fabray x reader

character study (partially.) loved writing this. butch!reader implied, i hope my love for butches comes through. 1.75k words exactly.

Her momma always said that bad girls were the ones who ended up in nightclubs, indulging in alcohol and not God's teachings. The girls like that never found good husbands and never formed the families they were meant to. That's what she always said.

It was frequently hissed in her ear, the unfamiliar curl of the word "heretics" confusing her yet nestling unpleasantly in her mind.

Her momma made her promise she'd never become one of those girls. Would be pious, follow the Gospel, and find a God-fearing husband.

So, little Lucy Quinn Fabray, all of seven and sat on her momma's knee, did the only obvious thing when confronted with her seemingly imminent future.

She murmured a soft "yes, momma," and clutched tighter at her momma's modest yellow cardigan.

She was immediately chastised for that. There wasn't much she wasn't reprimanded for.

"Don't call me 'momma'." Her momma mother had huffed, pretty face tightening with annoyance and the hypocritical smell of alcohol on her breath. The line of her mouth thins contemplatively. "You make me feel old enough already. And don't wrinkle my clothes. I'll have to steam this. Again."

Now, some sixteen years later, here she was—going against the words she'd held as gospel for so long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She nervously smooths down her too-short dress, trying to tug it past her upper thigh. She's not very successful. The amount of sequins sewn onto the garment would make her father red-faced and Kurt proud. She'd know—he picked it out for her.

"Please, Quinn. You have to get this one! It'd look so good on you." Is all she remembered before having the pink silk thrown at her. She had squawked indignantly at the impact, the hanger hitting her temple and catching in her hair.

Despite her (and Santana's) protests—"Oh, you are not letting Jesus Girl wear my nice dress from Sacs!"—she ended up in the form-fitting fabric regardless.

They hadn't even bothered to accompany her, leaving her to traverse her first club alone.

Sure. She was Quinn Fabray. HBIC, Head Cheerio, ex-Skank and a generally competent person. But she was competent in Nowhere, Ohio. Or in the friendly town of college students and old people that was New Haven. Sure, it was the third biggest city in Connecticut, but it was Connecticut.

This was New York City. This was shady alleys, dark, dank corners and the widest variety of people she'd ever seen.

The people in front of her in line were two obviously gay and already intoxicated men. At eleven at night.

The person behind her? A woman so tall and in heels so high she's sure if she turned around she'd make eye contact with her stomach.

She's not used to these types of people. This type of place.

The bouncer is burlier than ninety-nine percent of guys she sees at Yale—nice Polos and slim, toned arms replaced by a regular black tee, a... leather harness and arms like boulders. He scowls where they smile, but his hands are gentler when he takes her ID than they'd been with her. Hm.

She's visually assaulted by bright lights of every color. They flash against the wall and in her eyes, periodically illuminating the people around her.

Some taller than her, some shorter. Some slim like a willow with curling limbs, others sturdy with strong hands and a solid stance. Men, women, people who's gender she can't discern, with long hair, cropped cuts or anything in between in any color she could imagine.

She doesn’t have long to take in any of this. There’s a swell of people at her back and a melting pot at her front. She’s been here before, knows the rules—acclimate or die. Same as high school.

She’s seen the movies. She knows what’s supposed to happen. She’ll walk up to the bar, order a drink, and a handsome, tall man will hop out of nowhere and pay for it. A couple months of nondescript dating, they’ll be married.

Not exactly how her mother hoped it’d happen, but she won’t be too disappointed. She’ll just be glad Quinn is married and she can finally talk about her in church without the pitying coos of other moms.

All she can think is "yeah, scratch that." when the person who saddles up next to her is not a charming, dark-haired man with dimples and is, instead, the most handsome woman she's ever seen grinning at the bartender over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Mike. She's on my tab. Thanks, man." A regular, clearly. And... not the man she expected. Not a man at all.

She'd always thought wry smiles and crooked grins were inherently smug. They'd always been on the faces of boys trying to trick their way into her skirt, thinking themselves clever.

But this grin, the one you direct at her? She likes it more than she should.

"I haven't seen you around here before." Your voice is loud, elevated over the pulsing music. You'd turned to face her, elbow on the bar and strong-looking hand under your chin.

"You're either new to the city or new to the queer scene."

...they sent her to a gay bar. She's going to wring Kurt's neck. And then apologize so he lets her stay in his apartment while she nurses this humiliation.

Is that why the bouncer was in leather?

"...yeah. I'm new to both. I'm here visiting friends." She's not used to raising her voice—it's unladylike, her mother would say. Women were to be seen, not heard. Her volume is low, too low to be heard over the deafening music.

You have to lean closer, shift and tilt your head so she can repeat herself straight into your ear. The music booms, but she swears she can hear you inhale when her hot breath brushes the cartilage. Or when she cups a bare bicep, leaning into the warmed skin.

She had to catch herself, she justifies. She definitely lost her balance.

Except for the fact that she can dance in six-inch platforms and these are only four. There's no way she'd be tripping into you, especially only one drink deep.

Speaking of dancing.

It might be the shot (or three) she'd downed while you two were conversing and laughing and flirting but she wanted to dance. She'd missed it. There isn't many places to go dancing in New Haven, and not many people she'd go with.

So she tugs your elbow, says something that's not much more than an enthusiastic, unintelligible giggle and tears off towards the floor. You stubble behind her, chuckling under your breath when she bumps into some guy. Evidently, you're better at holding your alcohol.

She knows the lessons from bible camp. She'd gone there seven years—they're practically ingrained in her psyche. The most important one, plastered on posters and said by any adult in hearing range at the Summer's End Dance?

Leave room for Jesus.

But alcohol's a funny thing. And her head's all wrong—she feels mushy.

She likes your biceps. And your hair. The ease at which she wraps in your arms, her own fingers curling around the back of your neck, is atypical of her.

And there's definitely no room for Jesus when the sturdy line of you presses right up against her.

She'd like to say it was the press of people keeping you together, but even through the intoxication she knows she's lying to herself. She likes you. It's weird. Even among cheerleaders, with teasing skirts and flouncy hair, she'd never felt... this.

The short crop of your hair is increasingly more appealing. The strength in your muscles, and the charming black slacks that hug you nicely draw her more than long, batting lashes.

There weren't people like you in Lima. A voice in her mind traitorously murmurs, sounding too much like Santana. Maybe that's why this took you so long, Q.

The beat's fast, but you're both too drunk to articulate anything more than a stationary sway.

That's fine with her. She gets to feel your arms around her waist and rest her head on your homely shoulder. The swaying motions keep her steady, stop the stumbling she's bound to do once she's out of your grip.

As songs go by, she starts to go down, down, down. Sobering up, yes, but not expecting the wave of drowsiness that comes with it. She clings to you ever tighter.

"I think I need to go home..." Is mumbled into your ear, her lilting, quiet tone laced with breathiness. It makes you shiver, and she bites back a grin. Your body shifts, supporting more of her weight to help her out of the club—hand splaying over her lower back. So she did find a gentleman tonight.

Once you both slip out of the club—though a backdoor you were totally allowed to use, ignoring the Employees Only sign—she smiles. The city air is cool, brushing over her skin and making her sigh. As you release her, she looses her footing, but is able to recover with a (still slightly tipsy) laugh.

"Get home safe, Quinn." She hears you murmur. A pleased sigh escapes her at the kiss you press to her cheek. Naturally leaning into the touch, she almost misses how you grasp her forearm—deftly scrawling a phone number in Sharpie, big enough to span the whole area.

"Call me." And then you're off. The bouncer gives you a wave as you stroll past, shooting you a grin once he catches sight of her.

Whew.

...should she call a taxi?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She stumbles up to Kurt's apartment door, firmly feeling the effects of the alcohol. Bracing against the doorframe, she can't help but huff as she drunkenly fumbles with the key. Not quite sober yet.

Opening the door causes her friends to freeze—Santana and Kurt being in the middle of putting up a... rainbow balloon arch?

"Oh, there's no way I was wrong. You weren't supposed to be here before morning! Why aren't you with a lady friend, Q?" Santana says, eyes narrowing with discontent at her arrival (typical) and at her... lack of a lady friend.

Santana sent her out to hookup with someone. With a woman. She tried to orchestrate her gay awakening.

She's too drunk to think about that. Or the fact that she did, in fact, have a gay awakening. She doesn't even say anything. She doesn't need to.

She just raises her forearm—dark with the digits of your phone number—and grins at the cheers she gets in response.

[witchofthesouls]

Look at these three:

It's from that TFP barbarians/city-dwellers twist on a really out there verse where Others from Earth managed to make Cybertron a home AU I was talking about.

D-16 here is doing his best to get these two acclimated to Neocybex, both the Common and Ilmentite (a dialect that's utilized by deep underground miners). He has treats hidden in his hands if they can get specific glyphs right. Scraplet/Orion is very much motivated by food. Juno is highly motivated to get the language down so she can wholly curse the mecha that stole her away and be understood by everyone.

Because D-16 no longer has companions his age, he latched onto the two little 'newcomers.' as they're the only ones that can venture out and do their part to help the cohort. He's happily 'mentoring' as he mimicking what the adults do for the fresh newbuilds. The adults around him think it's both cute and disheartening as no one has the spark to tell D-16 that there's a really high probability that those two won't make it (Spoilers: they do.) as sparklings that get sold to the mines typically have issues that surface-dwellers refuse to take.

Although Orion is the oldest of the three, D-16 had more consistent meals and the protection of an adult cohort to ensure he was able to develop normally. While Orion is shorter and less ornate due to delays, he has a far greater tolerance for different fuels, denta capable of crushing rocks, talons on agile hands, and very advanced sensory systems. Hence why his audials and antenna are detailed. Right now, he's pinging and listening around them in case anything (or one) tries to sneak behind them. That box is his best friend as Orion can't believe these mecha just try to throw away decent food! (It's a disposal crate meant that's currently meant for minerals. And yes, Orion sleeps curled up to it.)

Juno (a June Darby that descended from a Cybertron/Earth hybrid) is fretted upon by the adult miners around her. Because of her heritage, her armature is relatively weak, and those 'thin' robes are a part of it. Unlike a usual Cybertronian sparkling that can not remove their armature until a later stage in adolescence, her kind can due to their extended duration of frame development and constant manipulation due to a cross of Earth shapeshifters/humans and Cybertronians over the generations. (Their communities developed a strange relationship between wearable clothes and their natural-born armature.) The mask is part of her tribe's way of life. Less about hiding identity and more to help the young tap into latent abilities by drawing on the blank slate to invoke simple spells or transformations. That blank mask with those empty and dark optic holes creeped out many until she took it off. Nor does she have a 'proper' helm as she has an exposed mess of thin cabling that she can control. She has them tucked away in low buns whenever she needs to follow D-16 or his parent's cohort out of the Den. D-16 likes poking them since he never seen anything like that in his life. Despite her small stature and dainty appearance, she's a little menace that's currently full of rage and would absolutely bite the throats out of the mecha that stole her.

The harness she has isn't from her tribe but from the Snatchers. It's actually a specialized inhibitor and a tracker. The raiding caravan was hoping for the nearby Wilders to launch a rescue so they could track exactly where the main of the communities since young creatures, practitioners, and Seekerkin would fetch the highest credits and prizes from high rollers and the elite. Since her robes have sigils and runes carved inside to hide her and she lacks a T-cog, she was sold to the Tarn's mines as she seemingly had none of the 'exotic' and powerful abilities of the Wilders.

Some little extra details:

The boys are far more dirty since Juno has some sigils to keep herself clean for longer periods of time

D-16 is playing 'I spy'

Those blocky thick stripes on D-16 are harzard stripes and doubles as a unique identifier to his creators' cohort in case anything happens since D-16 doesn't count as a full person yet

The miners are trying to figure out how to keep it on Juno

Orion has it on his back

The box in Orion's hands has two Cybertronian scripts. The top is Common Neocybex (TFOne glyphs), which reads DISPO. Shorthand for disposal. It reads left to right. The other is the written version of Ilmentite (glyphs from Gen 1 comic and Transformers video games). It actually skips vowels and reads top-down. It's cut off, but it says MINERALS.

Orion's antenna and audials make subtly clicks and can move independently.

[werepunkk]

So some drama happened and long story short my neighbor decided he can't take care of his dog anymore and gave her to my boyfriend.

Long vent about this under the cut

She's a pitb*ll (name censored to keep it out of the main tag) and she's extremely sweet and loving with people.

But. She has already shown signs of being reactive to other dogs and having a high prey drive, and she is a very powerful dog.

She would be a great dog for experienced dog owners with no small animals. But we are not that. We are 3 dudes who haven't had dogs since we were kids, and we have two cats, one of which has already shown she has more courage than brains when it comes to dogs.

We let her see the braver cat, while she was on a harness of course, and the results were not encouraging.

My boyfriend wants to continue to try to acclimate the dog to the cats, but it seems very obvious to me that this dog is not a good fit for our home and we should start looking for somewhere better for her.

My boyfriend has said "just say the word and we'll stop trying and work on re-homing her" but I can't help but feel it's unfair to put me in that position. I don't want to be the bad guy making their boyfriend get rid of his dog

He buys into the nanny dog myth, so I think he's viewing everything she does through rose colored glasses. When we let them see each other, she actively tried to lunge at my cat and it was only the harness that stopped her. But he insisted it went well and we should keep going despite the huge red flags.

I'm so frustrated that this guy, who usually acts like he's the smartest, most rational person in the room, can't see all the signs that this situation is untenable.

l have been in a constant state of anxiety since this dog got here. I have had multiple panic attacks, can't sleep, and have frequent intrusive and graphic mental images of what could happen to my cats if this goes wrong. I have communicated all this to him, and while he does comfort me, he doesn't want to do the only thing that would make this anxiety stop.

Because I will never be fully comfortable with this dog around my cats, not ever. Not after seeing her snarling and lunging at one of them. And I think he knows that deep down, but he wants to keep this dog so much that he's willing to downplay how badly it's affecting me.

My roommate also really likes the dog. And I like her too, and I'll be really sad to see her go.

I feel incredibly guilty because I know that as a p*t bull her odds of finding a home are not good. My roommate does have a family member who loves dogs and hates cats and might be willing to take her-- but if that doesn't work out, she'll have to go to a rescue or shelter. And she's just being a dog, she doesn't deserve to be bounced around or to be euthanized because there's too many of her breed.

But my cats don't deserve to be killed or confined for life, and I don't deserve to feel constant anxiety for the next 10-15 years.

This whole experience has opened my eyes to how little the world actually cares about cats. The city shelter doesn't even accept cats, it's dogs only. And often when I mention my pets to new people, the first thing they tell me is how much they hate cats.

Even my boyfriend and roommate, the two people closest to me who I thought loved Max and Punzie, are so enamored with the dog that they're downplaying the risk she poses.

I feel like I'm the only one who cares about Max and Punzie, so I'm going to be the one who looks out for them. I'm going to put my foot down and get this dog to a new home even if it means I'm an asshole

[noicune]

In Loving Memory of Suzie Q

February 2011 – January 18, 2024

You were a year and two months old when we met in April 2012. The shelter was full of dogs of all sorts, and I had walked through the whole facility, hoping to find the right dog to call my own. But after looking for a while, it was time for me to leave empty-handed.

As I was making my way out—still near the kennels—I was stopped by one of the employees. He asked if I was looking for any particular breeds. I replied semi-jokingly: "Uh, a Border Collie?" I just finished checking out all of the dogs. Surely I didn't miss any? I figured you must have been out in the play yard.

I didn't have any breed in mind when looking for a dog, so I blurted out what first came to mind. I just thought Border Collies were neat.

"We indeed have a Border Collie mix. Would you like me to get her for you?" (Completely paraphrasing here. Can't remember his exact words.)

"Sure!" I said, thinking nothing would come of it.

I followed him to one of the kennels, and there you were. I had never seen a dog like you before. You were striking. He put on the slip lead, and you were instantly raring to go. You pulled him all the way to the visiting room, tail wagging like mad.

"This is Suzie Q," he said as we settled into the room. I don't know who named you, but I think they picked the perfect name. You really looked like a Suzie to me.

"Suzie Q!" I called to you repeatedly. You were so excited. You kept jumping up onto my lap, licking my face and hands. You had the prettiest amber puppy-dog eyes that just stole my soul. And it was there that I felt the connection. You were 'the one.'

Turns out, you were at the shelter for well over a month, so your adoption fee was only $50. I have no idea how you were passed over for so long. And if it wasn't for that employee, I don't know if I ever would have met you. Sometimes I wonder if it was meant to be. To this day, I wish I knew who that employee was so I could thank him for bringing you into my life.

I never knew what you were exactly mixed with. The shelter had you listed as Border Collie/Setter mix, though I thought you might have had some Cattle Dog. I wanted to get one of those dog DNA tests, but I unfortunately never got around to it, and I really regret it.

Starting the day I brought you home, you would always follow me all through the house right beside me. You were 'my shadow,' my father called you. We were nearly inseparable.

You were so smart, as expected. Training you took no effort. You always came when called and easily learned basic things like sit, spin, shake, and lie down. Your only problem was that you were a puller on walks! I had to get you one of those front-clipping harnesses, and it took a while, but you eventually learned to walk properly.

You were also very timid and skittish, especially in the beginning. Pretty much scared of everything. I still remember how I bought you a dog brush, and you were trying to scurry away from it the first time you saw it. I didn't even brush you with it yet! But I was patient and slowly introduced you to it. It was one of the many things I had to acclimate you to. The vacuum, on the other hand... you hated it your whole life.

Despite your timidness, you loved everyone. You were so sweet, so gentle. Never hurt a fly. Okay, sometimes you did try to catch flies mid-air... and succeeded. Kids loved to pet you, and you had no qualms. You loved the stray cats, even if they didn't quite love you back.

Your favorite human food was ice cream. I could grab anything out of the fridge and you wouldn't bat an eye, but the very second I lifted the carton of ice cream you knew. You could be anywhere in the house and you would come running. You would then sit and wait expectantly for a tiny bite, and of course I couldn't say no to that precious face.

Your favorite toys were anything stuffed, especially with a squeaker inside. Specifically the duck toys. You loved to rip them open and take out all of the stuffing like it was a challenge. Finding the squeaker was like digging for gold for you. You always made a huge mess but it didn't matter.

I miss how you would show your love by pressing your body into mine like your own version of a hug. How you would headbutt me and slide your body onto the floor, leaving your butt in the air begging for scratches.

I miss how you would whine and groan when I'd stop petting your rump. You sounded so annoyed. It was like you were saying: "How dare you stop petting me! I demand more!"

I miss how excited you got when it was time to go for a walk. How you would go run over to your harness, barking and wiggling with enthusiasm. Tippy taps included.

I miss how you hated to be outside alone. How impatient you would get; barking your little head off at the door the very second you finished your business, so I could hurry up and let you back inside.

I miss how I had to coax you to walk into the grass when it was damp or when it was raining. You hated getting your feet wet. You would practically tiptoe around the yard.

I miss how you would complain when your food bowl was 'empty.' You would bark like the world was ending and would want me to follow you to come check your bowl. When, in fact, you still had plenty of food left. You ate just enough to show the bottom of the bowl, so I always had to sift the food around to 'fix' it for you.

I miss how you were always there to comfort me. How you always seemed to know how I was feeling. I was never lacking in dog kisses.

I miss you. So, so much. I would give anything to have you back, happy and healthy.

You brought me nearly 12 years of joy. The best dog I could have asked for. My very best friend. Thank you for all of the love and memories that I will cherish forever.

I love you, my Suzie Q. My sweet girl. I will never forget you.

Farewell. ❤️🐾🌈

[birbycakes]

The Lore for my draconic sorcerer BG3 MC under the cut

My high half-elf draconic sorcerer was born to a wealthy merchant family. Her dragon ancestry came as a huge surprise. Her dragon ancestor was pretty much forgotten in her family line. He was once a beloved hero, but he was removed from history due to being a red dragon. "Lest people begin to trust those who should never be trusted, it is unsafe to sing this beast's praises." (A quote from whom??? we may never know...) Anyways, she was doted on by her family and praised for her abilities. One thing she loved more than all the gold and jewels in the world, is being praised and loved for her good deeds. Not that she NEEDED praise to do good things, but they certainly helped motivate her. She often did charity work, in particular held free tutoring classes to impoverished children in Baldur's Gate to teach them how to read and write. The children adore her and she adores them. While some may raise an eyebrow at her red dragon ancestry, she's quick to prove them of her strong will to do good in the world.

She's a little feisty and sassy, and can be vain and egotistical at times, but she's also gentle, patient, and understanding, as well as kind to a fault. She will sometimes praise herself in a teasing way (like, if someone asks her how she handles teaching a large class of misbehaving street urchins, she says "Well, it's easy when you're as perfect as me~"), but not everyone understands her humor and she can come off as being more full of herself than she really is. She's actually quite shy and insecure, worried she's not living up to her parents lofty expectations. She feels as though she's destined for greatness, a pressure they put on her thanks to her powers. And the better her reputation, the better her parents business does, which only adds to it. She wants to make a name for herself as a hero of legend and make her family proud.

She is completely clueless when it comes to romantic love, as she doesn't spend a lot of time- or ANY time- dating. She'll claim she just doesn't have the time for it, but in truth she's just scared to put herself out here and be vulnerable. She's absolutely terrified of getting her heart broken. She does however read a LOT of romance novels and daydreams for hours on end of her perfect lover and all the cute little dragon-sorcerer babies they'll have. This doesn't mean she thinks herself lonely though, as she finds plenty of happiness in her friendships. She greatly cherishes her friends and she will do anything for them. As long as she has her friends, she'll be happy even if she never finds a romantic partner.

And about her red dragon ancestor! As a baby, his mother died in a battle with another female dragon over her horde. The two fought till they both perished, leaving him all alone. Eventually, he became so starving he flew to the ground to hunt. A group of elves travelling back home to their village came across the baby dragon, and taking pity on him, fed him and nursed him back to health. At first the rest of the village was extremely apprehensive about keeping the dragon around- sure it's a fairly harmless baby now, but when it grows up, surely it's evil nature will take over and it will raze the village down. Many wanted to put him down, but the one who become his adopted mother fought hard for him. He acclimated to the community surprisingly well, and as he grew older and stronger become the guardian of the village. While he was vain and egotistical, he had a good heart at his core and would do anything to protect his village and his family.

His childhood friend and eventual wife was an elven girl who was a powerful wild magic sorcerer, but was very shy and insecure about her abilities. After causing a horrible rainstorm that led to the death of some livestock, she tried to bottle up her powers. With his help, she learned how to control and harness her powers better and become more confident in herself. In turn, she helped keep him in check and humble, so his cocky nature wouldn't get the best of him. They were considered to be the perfect match, who halves of a whole. The two would go on many adventures in their adulthood, and had become legendary heroes- or at least, they would have been, had they not been erased from history.

Many many years later, a half-elf, half-human girl was born, a spark of her ancestor's powerful draconic magic radiating from within her- as well as showing quite plainly with the shimmering pinkish-red dragon scales dotted all over her body. And her birth marked the rise of her ancestor's legacy once more...

[deathinfeathers-a]

"Uh-huh? That's your pussy-pounding-privileges revoked for the next week."

Day old tuna? Like some common sapien snatch? The nerve! If she wasn't busy prying his ass open with the bulbous business end of the definitely-not-novice-sized prostate prodder she would whip it right out of it's harness and smack him across his relentlessly smug face with it. If he's got any measure of verve left in him once she has thoroughly dissaranged his innards he can mewl his apologies into the seafood buffet later; until he has developed a proper appreciation for the unfiltered ambrosia that is her always freshly squeezed cunt juice.

"The point is to lay this debate to rest for good and all."

If she wanted to watch him squeeze one out she'd tuck herself away under his desk during the tail-end of their lunchbreak. No, no, if any nut will be achieved tonight it will be through the raw power of spine-speckled, double-knotted dragon dick—In which she has so much faith she'd been a little bit tempted to take it for a test run herself. Of course this time of year has her jonesing something fierce for anything that looks like it could reliably plug a leaky hole. Such is the burden of birdhood. But he's done a solid enough job of keeping her adequately loaded on distractions, so to speak. Call this returning the favor.

"Oh yeah? Are you going to take it like a man when I do? Cause you've been doing an awful lot of whining up to this point."

Once again her talons find themselves embracing the circumference of his throat but this time there is pointed intent behind the action. Namely to make it substantially harder for him to keep spouting his nonsense like a faulty faucet. She makes a mental note to invest in a proper gag the next time she goes on the prowl for a quirky device to pick at his ego with.

"Let's see if you moan like a girl too."

For now, she trust that a sharp snap of her hips will do the trick just fine. Like she means it. But if he isn't convinced she makes sure to follow it up, seamlessly, with another backwards-and-then-forwards stroke, one which successfully slots the smaller of two globular bulges neatly inside of him. Granting him very little in terms of operatunity to acclimate to these new sensations, she establishes a pace which is just as quick as it is brutal—all the while she hovers above him, eyes riveted to his gilded hues, studying, scrutinizing, like a scientist observing an interesting strain of bacteria in a petri dish.

@deathinfeathers xxx

"Uh-huh? When I fall the fuck to sleep, you mean~? But sure, take your sweet ass time." A condescending click of his teeth is the balm for the ego she's prodding. "You're doing great, sweetie." And a swath of sarcasm- don't forget the sarcasm.

Of course he recognizes that psychotic glint in her gaze; how often has he seen it surface when she's merrily stuffing the mangled bodies of dead critters to display around her room like collectible figurines?

Granted, he doesn't exactly want to envision that process with her knuckle deep, but it's not like she's very generous with giving his mind somewhere else to wander what with her not even taking off her shirt and of course some of the aforementioned figurines perched on the headboard like imp shaped gargoyles watching the show taking place on her mattress with glass eyes matching the muddied shade of his pupils the more he attempts to lose focus on the activity of her talons only to find it's arguably more tolerable than considering the last thoughts of her looming taxidermy victims.

"Y'know..." He keeps up the endurance of half-minded musings with a surprising show of poise, one arm moving to prop under his neck between nape and pillowcase to at least angle his squinted gaze away from the devotedly dead audience in favor of trailing along the meager curve of her chest and the loose strap of a black bandeau with the ever charming message of 'SPREAD'EM, SLUT' in white, bolded impact letters. "I'm sensing a lil hostility here. You're not all bent out of shape because your made in house slosh for the slip and slide has that day old tuna smell, riiiight?" If there were directions on how to not invoke the pressures of a well directed finger pounding, he clearly hadn't read them- but such was the nature of mankind. Maps were merely suggestions and instructions were part of the packaging - to be tossed in the bin with the rest of the plastic and cardboard.

"Ow- BABE! I'm just saying. Somebody's gonna walk in thinking there's s'mores up in here." And with that uncomfortable thought, he wriggled in protest as her talons pinned his hips from their mission to get a little fun of the exchange. Son of a slut- "...you locked the fucking door...right?" The hint of a whine in his restless agitation is entirely rooted in his need to rut against her hip, or at least that's what he's convinced himself of even with the sudden barrage of her fingertips bullying the coiled pressure made tighter by the tensing of his stomach.

"-that's the whole fucking point, though?!" Getting excited, anyways. Or at least turned on enough to thoughtlessly grind on anything remotely reasonable in arm's length - and at the over teased points she often drove him to on a regular basis, he'd heavily consider the company of a cactus if it meant getting off this 'work' sooner.

"...the hell I am." He grumbles at the disgusting degree of coddling in her pecky praises, though the biting edge of the remark did little to lessen the heady glow seeping out of the ethereal freckles between his eyes and staining the rest of his face with golden heat. With the slotted hope that watching her trying to mimic his clearly mastered art of mindless thrusting might get him started on a path to rubbing one out in her pillow later out of petty spite, he shifts with the sudden flinch realization that she wasn't fucking around when she cocked the crook of his leg onto her hip and leaned in to slide her tongue along the twitch of his lips. Though the depth she's afforded opens with the dropped guard of parted teeth once the force of her sliding in to her mounting mission makes it clear that she's going to take all the lessons he'd given her prior and use them to fuck him over.

The tiniest tremble of a bottom lip tucked under a canine tip that he used to pin the low groan of disappointment threatening to escape behind as she withdrew from her preparations. Though it's a short lived reprieve that doesn't give him the chance to ignore her suggestion to give the swell of discomfort lying forgotten on his gut a couple of strokes considering the sudden squeeze of her talons in their task of raking him over top her toy like the devil might adjust souls over a bed of hot coals. Black-painted nails wrenched into the pillow behind him, flexing uncertain as his gaze wandered and failed to find the progress of a manufactured hard on...that she didn't even have to do the work for! And for that size? The fucking nerve of it-

"Augh~ha-?! Fuckin'...really? Just the tip, huh?" He husked after the initial yelp and tightening of his leg around her waist. "Might as well fuck me like you mean it-"

[creekfiend]

So the shirt is just for fun. I've only ever owned cats and they would HATE that; I've only seen shirt-wearing cats if they've had surgery and need to cover stitches or something like that. It's neat that dogs don't mind.

Oh it depends a lot on the dog! Like Ella doesn't mind wearing clothes but some dogs hate it. Lambchop wasn't a big fan. Flares breeder acclimated Flare and her sibs to wearing clothes and different harnesses as baby puppies just so they would be used to wearing a variety of things to discourage gear shyness

[mandana-the-service-pup]

First freeze of the season.

Dogs that spend most of their time indoors are not able to acclimate to changes in weather. Mandana could probably tolerate some cold but I would prefer that she’s comfortable and keeping muscles & joints warm during activity can help prevent injury. I’m glad to finally have a jacket that covers her lower back and hips. No more layering her sweater, harness and raincoat on cold days and with its adjustable neck and belly this jacket will be great for playing in the snow.

[snowwpines]

MoM being Sora is the most funniest theory ever and I don't believe it but...GOD, IT’S SO FUN TO THINK ABOUT HAHA!

i’m moreso on the side of believing it tbh. nomura really is the type of person to just go. know this guy? well this weird alternate version of him is ACTUALLY like the big bad guy for the upcoming arc. whenever ppl ask me about it i’m like steam coming out of my nose giddy pumping my fists and stuff. like RGGHHH i love speaking abt it so much because evidence compilation is probably one of my favourite things to do genuinely!! it’s really fun. with the whole “where did MoM get the x-blade” is like a new thing that cropped up in my mind, alongside him having been a young boy during the keyblade war with keyblade wielders all around him, who eventually fell to darkness. it’s definitely really fun to talk about and it’s generally a really fun idea just. wholly. a sora who goes down a dark path? please!!! i have a few too many aus about that happening, you can change one part of sora’s story and the domino effect starts coming down. i guess how id explain my version of MoM = sora theory is MoM being an outright older replica of sora, replicated from the future (giving him the ability to harness the x-blade, much like xion and her keyblade usage) alongside the whole white cloak thing that happened for awhile or just generally being a “wrong” version of sora. weird timey wimey warp. so in reality they aren’t “sora” but like a completely different version. he isn’t OUR sora if that makes any sense? just a sora i guess. whenever i write him in gag concept i write him with stark similarities to sora but change around the way his words are pointed, change the weapon, change the attack all that kind of thing. MoM sora took over my entire brain when i heard of it and it shook me to my core cause i was like.. oh my god.. wait….. why does this kind of make sense. IM PROBABLY TALKING WAY TOOOOO MUCH but like it’s so fun to talk about argghh!! and i don’t think the whole “the truth is what you see, not what you hear” only applies to the whole flash of light we see appear when he says his name (which, in my mind atleast, could point toward xehanort’s mind being wiped of that name belonging to MoM), but it applies to basically everything the MoM has done. how he’s acted. what we’ve seen him do… i think it’s a better way to analyse his character than to simply listen to his words, although his words definitely do lend a bit of evidence too! i dunno if i’m bias toward the theory and i know there’s some stuff against it but in opposition to other potentials, sora, or atleast, a version (like stated above) is highly likely to me. sora is basically the pseudo protector of kingdom hearts having some ASSUMED dominion over the x blade and thus, kingdom hearts and it really does beg the question “where DOES the x-blade come from that MoM studied?” because i don’t know how else he could’ve gotten his hands on the blade. also the whole “he knows sora’s story despite not having gazed upon it until later down the line” while i myself have some doubts in that (it’s just lines on a page with some vague imagery) but ALL THE SAME i do believe could possibly lend a hand in the theory IF we get more proof on it. because we know sora can time travel, however roundabout it was, so who’s to say MoM couldn’t do so by similar means to sora or Young Master Xehanort did? But i digress. This could be one huge Samsara that our sora breaks, mayhaps, making him, and his story, special to himself anf not just “unimportant because it’s in a loop, the protagonists efforts are for naught” because honestly.. hate that kind of time loop stuff where nothing gets fixed throughout all the loops. i dunno. i just think they’re neat!! this was like a REALLY MESSY acclimation of a few of my thoughts abt MoM sora. i feel like it could be pulled off really well, and admittedly nomura plans out a story a bit too similarly to myself, so i feel like i can like. somewhat read his storytelling steps. hell, when i went in blind to kh2 and kh1 i ended up guessing w lot of the story beats, so i dunno. there’s that whole thing with “sora green eyes” but,

admittedly, i don’t know enough about texture mapping for that. haha. though it really does quirk my brow when i see him with green eyes, esp the first time i saw him with them cause i was like, hey, didn’t he have blue eyes ?? i just find it really neat i guess. the similar mannerisms are also really intruiging (similar, yet different, because MoM has different movement patterns and moves with the same exaggeration, but with what we know about him, it feels a ton more threatening, if that makes sense?) and the way they move is similar, so i can atleast say that. they’re like.. kind of two sides of the same coin i guess. same base build for his development and stuff, but both developed into different characters, or something? yeah. yeah. i’m done i’m not saying more jesus chriiiist

[novelconcepts]

fic: (your gift to me is just to be) bracing for the winds i always summon

She can’t always explain it.

There isn’t always a reason.

In fact, more often than not—these days, the days where time feels too fast for fairness, an unjust plodding onward that makes her feel as though her skin is stitched together all wrong—there is no reason at all for how she feels. No reason at all for how the world seems to press in tight around her, the sun too hot, the air too cold.

She can feel this kind of day coming like a storm--a sizzle on the air that builds over time, days piling up with progressively more aggression along the ridges of her spine, the pads of her fingers, the tension lining her jaw. When it all started, she would warn Jamie: I feel wrong. I feel like...like I can see her, out of the corner of my eye. Like she can see me, no matter where I hide. 

S’all right, Jamie always said, with that stable, easy method of taking Dani’s hand and leading her out of the shadows. It’ll pass, Poppins.

And for a while, she was right. Pass it did--often with the rising of the sun, or the arrival of some new distraction on the calendar. It would pass, and Dani would breathe freely again for a while. 

Except time plods on. Time stacks up. Time dissolves from the abstract into days, weeks, years, and suddenly, things aren’t quite so quiet inside her head anymore. Things aren’t it’ll pass, Poppins so much as we’ll face the next one together. Ride it out. One day at at time.

She’s truly not sure how she’d be handling it, without Jamie. She thinks sometimes of who that woman might be, what she might look like: at home with no home at all, bolting out of each town as soon as she finds a new one to take her in, weaving and dodging through the trees in an effort to find invisibility. Never letting anything land. Never letting anything in. What a life that would be, empty and hollow and terror-struck. 

Life with Jamie is none of those things. Life with Jamie is, she thinks, a kind of saving grace she never would have wished for. Never would have thought to expect, an unearned gift that sets tears in her eyes and strength in her breast. Life with Jamie is singular, because Jamie isn’t looking forward. Jamie is only looking at her. 

Give it to me, she urges. Give as much to me as you can. I can carry it for us both. 

Pretty words. Romantic ideals. Jamie, a quiet hero in dented armor, trying her best. Dani won’t ask that of her, not ever, can’t imagine a world where she would give Jamie even half of what she’s carrying. The very act of asking is enough to ensure that much. The very act of Jamie taking her hands, offering herself up, is enough to solidify the one oath Dani has been making at the start of every day for years. Jamie has taken more than enough. Jamie has carried things she can’t fathom. This? This thing she walked into herself, without asking Jamie’s opinion on the matter? This is Dani’s alone. 

She can’t give it up. No matter how tightly Jamie holds her, whispers against her hair that she doesn’t have to go it alone, she can’t. Some brands are meant only for her skin. Some ghosts are meant only for her bones. 

She can’t give it all to Jamie.

But some nights--storm nights, nights where her skin is too tight and the air is electric with the sense of a spiral she can’t stop--she can do something else. Jamie offers. Jamie offers with a smile, with a kiss, with soft hands and endless trust.

On these nights, the nights she can’t breathe for the binds around her wrists, her heart, her throat, Jamie offers a kind of return to balance. 

Dani can accept that much.

***

She doesn’t remember finding their way onto the floor. Most nights, moving with Jamie this way is an art--each step seamless, blended from one to the next as soft kisses become touches become undressing become rhythm. Most nights, they could pause anywhere in the process, and she’d know exactly how they got here. 

These nights, these specific nights, it’s like one great leap into whipping winds. One swift choice to close her eyes and let pure instinct take over. 

She’s asked Jamie, time and again, if she’s different--if Jamie can read it in her kiss, in her hands, in the desperate push-pull of her body--on these nights. Jamie, leaning back against the pillows with a cigarette between her fingers, looks her over, answers carefully. It’s like she can tell what Dani is deliberately not asking, what Dani is terrified to find out: that, one of these days, Jamie is going to look up at her and find a stranger grinning back. That, one of these days, the woman coaxing Jamie towards the edge will be someone else entirely. 

No, she says on these days. No, it’s not different. It’s just...more. 

But you know, Dani pushes. You know when it’s coming. When I'm going to have one of those...one of those nights where I--

Where you need a little extra? A smile. A gentle hand on her cheek, a thumb brushing her skin with such care, she has to close her eyes. Dani, I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. It’s right, no matter what kind of night we’re having. 

There’s more she doesn’t say, more she doesn’t need to put into words. That these nights are the ones where she feels Dani is the closest to letting her all the way in. That these are the ones where Dani edges up to the line. Almost, almost brings her beyond the border, into the trees, into the thicket where the eyes watching are hungriest. 

Dani won’t take her all the way. Dani won’t turn her deliberately toward the mirror, risking the wrath of whatever lays behind the glass. She won’t, not now, not even if it gets worse than she can imagine. 

But this--these nights--these days where the electricity builds and the thunder roars and she finds herself on the floor with Jamie writhing beneath her--these nights, she grants herself the space. These nights, wearing straps Jamie’s more comfortable getting into, sweat running down her back, hands clawing for Jamie’s hips. These nights are as close as it gets. 

Jamie is soft, her arms around Dani’s shoulders, her hands digging in as she muffles sounds of desperation into Dani’s neck. Jamie is soft, her throat bared for Dani’s mark, her eyes fluttering as Dani matches each hard swipe of tongue and sharp graze of teeth with a pump of her hips. Jamie is soft, and she is raw, and she is real, legs tight around Dani, pulling her deeper. She groans as Dani works a raised bruise into her shoulder, her hands gripping Dani’s hair, her voice a steady drum alongside Dani’s need. 

Dani doesn’t have space in her head for the demons, with Jamie under her like this. With Jamie looking at her as she did tonight, Jamie opening the box under the bed, saying softly, “D’you want me to--” She’d let the question linger on the air, both of them knowing Dani’s been flinching from reflections all week, both of them knowing Dani has spent days watching herself unravel as if from a great distance. Both knowing Dani, on nights like these, can’t lay back and let herself exhale.

Most times, the position is reversed: Jamie sliding into this harness, Jamie sliding between the sheets, Jamie positioning herself carefully and waiting for the signs that Dani is ready and willing and eager. Jamie, who is gentle, even when she’s not; Jamie, who is sweet, even when she’s hungry. 

Jamie, who does not require the same sweetness in return. Not on this sort of night.

They’d started on the couch, and she’d felt...tense. Tense, and a little nervous, in that way she gets whenever the storm boils over. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to-- She never says what she means, but she knows Jamie can hear it on her voice, anyway. The reticence to give her ghosts a shape. To give them any power at all. 

“It isn’t her,” Jamie assures her. Jamie, moving slowly on her lap, kissing her with such gentle patience. Jamie letting her head fall back with a sigh as she shifts and rolls her hips, hand wrapped around silicone, fingers wrapped around Dani’s. Together, she says with the pressure of her hand around Dani’s grip, gently guiding Dani in. “It’s only you. It’s only ever you.”

Dani wants to believe that. Wants to believe it so hard, she’s not sure there’s room in her for anything else. Jamie’s hands in her hair, cupping the back of her head, tipping her back until Jamie can meet her eyes, are certain. 

“Only you,” she repeats, with such calm, even as her knees are pushing against the couch cushions, her voice sharpening as she allows Dani to rub against her. She is warm and wet, open and inviting, and even as she’s spreading for Dani--even as she’s arching her back--even as she’s pressing herself down, her breath hitching as her body acclimates, she’s saying, “It’s all right. I promise, it’s all--”

It’s permission, and it’s desire, and it’s the moment Dani needs each time. No matter how bad it gets, no matter how hard the lightning strikes, she needs this from Jamie before she can really let herself sink. Before she can let her hands grip hard enough to bruise, her nails scratching sharp heat down Jamie’s back, dragging across her clavicle, digging into her hips until Jamie cries out. First, the permission. First, Jamie granting whatever she might need in the form of a long, deep kiss, the press of a palm against her racing heart.

And now, somehow, this: not fully conscious of how she’d wrapped an arm around Jamie’s waist, Jamie rocking slowly against her on the couch, and pushed them both down to the rug. Not fully conscious of how she’d leaned back, watched Jamie watch her with dark eyes, watched Jamie reach to guide her inside again. Not fully conscious of anything except how Jamie had felt, how Jamie had wrapped a hand around the slick addition between her own legs and pressed it into herself with a low sound of such want, Dani had felt her whole body shudder. 

Slow, she’d told herself, somewhere beneath the need, and she’d intended to follow through with Jamie’s usual brand of sweet care. There had been an image in her mind of skin on skin, of Jamie accepting this addition as though it were Dani herself, of the minutes melting away as they moved together. She’d intended--but Jamie had dug insistent fingers into her neck, Jamie saying her name like a plea, and she’d given over to the storm. Had given in to pushing deep into Jamie, to hard, rough thrusts that made Jamie repeat her name again, again, her voice rising.

She is all need now, wholly desperate to taste the salt of Jamie’s skin, to drive Jamie toward making those noises no one else hears. She is solid so long as she is here, painting stripes of heat along Jamie’s shoulder, her neck, her breasts with hard, sharp bites. She is solid so long as she is here, each thrust of her hips calling forth a cry. She is solid so long as she is here, filling Jamie, pushing Jamie higher, dragging from Jamie raw sounds of absolute pleasure even as she grasps Jamie at the small of her back and drags her close.

“There,” she hears Jamie pant, “there, don’t--don’t--”

She slows, deliberately easing back, deliberately meeting Jamie’s eyes. Jamie, whose breath is ragged, whose hair is disheveled, whose expression is glazed as she cranes her neck and bites her lip. 

“I--don’t stop--”

She presses a hand down on Jamie’s chest, grips tight to Jamie’s hip, holds her to the floor. She can feel Jamie pushing at her in return, tiny jerks as she strives for Dani to pick up the pace again. This is the hardest part. The part where she wrests control back, not from Jamie, but from herself. The part where, sliding almost entirely free, she leans back and just looks at her. 

Jamie, chest heaving against her hand. Jamie, thighs slick, body flushed, hands reaching. Jamie, who looks at her with arousal, with understanding, with love.

“It’s you,” Jamie breathes through hitching gasps. “Just you. I promise.”

Dani nods. Dani nods, presses a finger to the glistening mark just beneath the silver of Jamie’s chain, and reminds herself, I did that. I left that. She gripped at my hair and pulled until I bit harder, and she said my name, and it was me. 

“You,” Jamie repeats, reaching to cup her face. “Just you.”

Me, Dani thinks with dim certainty, and then she isn’t thinking anymore. Is only feeling the eagerness with which Jamie accepts her in, the desperate grip of Jamie’s hand clenching at the back of her neck as she stretches out atop her, as she rocks between her thighs with increasingly frantic force. She’s never felt particularly graceful, particularly one with her body, but with Jamie arching under her, Jamie urging her deeper with one leg wound tight around her hips, there is a steadiness she can rely upon. This part belongs not to the beast, not to the storm, but to her alone--to the woman who has been hanging on for dear life. 

She bows her head against Jamie’s shoulder, buries her face in Jamie’s neck, allowing herself to vanish inside the starburst shatter of Jamie’s pulse under her lips, the clench of Jamie around her, the insistent reminder of Jamie’s nails scratching down her own back. Jamie, shifting restlessly, letting Dani rock her entire body with the weight of each thrust. Jamie, heedless of her own volume, her desire as wordless as it is unapologetic. Jamie, giving herself over as Dani pushes her to the edge with relentless momentum.

“It’s you,” Jamie repeats, almost whimpering, her eyes rolling back. “It’s you, it’s always you.”

Dani wants to believe. Needs to know it’s the truth. Needs to trust that every time the storm breaks, every time she spreads Jamie beneath her like this on the floor, pushes her up against the wall, grinds against her in bed, that it is only her. Only her, and nothing else, nothing made of rage and fear and such a terrible loneliness, she can’t breathe around its grip. 

She reaches down, slides herself free, feels Jamie shudder and groan as she rolls aside. 

“Okay?” she asks when Jamie has been silent a long while, her breath evening, her hand groping for Dani’s. Jamie, eyes closed, makes a low sound in her throat. 

“Very.”

Dani turns her head, looks at her, liking the spill of her across the floor this way: naked and spent, sweat running down her neck, her expression blissful. “I got, uh...”

“What you needed,” Jamie finishes, and though those weren’t the words Dani had been looking for--carried away, had been her intent--she isn’t wrong. She smiles, aware of her own blush, aware of her own sheepishness creeping in as the storm abates at last. 

“I did. Yeah. Can you, uh, help me out of this thing?”

Jamie does, gladly, and Jamie kisses her, and Dani feels the world return to its natural state. Jamie, tossing toy and harness aside, bowing between spread legs to kiss her with slow, open strokes until her eyes close and her breath quickens. Jamie, letting a hand tease up her stomach, reaching for the fingers Dani offers. Jamie, licking her slowly clean, drawing forth hitching cries, rocking hips, a slow build to a different sort of release. 

They fall asleep on the floor, Jamie pulling a blanket over them both, and in the morning, Dani feels solid. There is a comfortable ache in her muscles, a less comfortable stiffness to her back. Jamie, shifting on top of her, lets out a low groan. 

“Getting too old for sleepovers on the goddamn floor.”

There is a comfortable silence to go with the comfortable ease of morning routine: Jamie brewing tea with a blanket draped around her shoulders, Dani taking a shower in peace. Her mind is quiet, save for the memory of Jamie grasping around her shoulders for purchase, Jamie groaning for more, Jamie’s back skidding hard against the living room rug. 

She’s going to feel that today, she thinks with idle amusement, and sure enough, Jamie’s shower is christened with a hiss of pain, hot water dragging hard across her back. 

“All right?” she calls through the curtain as she eases a brush through her hair. Jamie laughs. 

“Excellent. Never felt so alive.”

Alive is certainly the word for it--and if Jamie feels invigorated by the memory of last night, by the scorch of rugburn up her back and the throb of marks left on neck and chest and thigh, she isn’t alone. There’s something Dani can’t quite describe about watching Jamie shift into a shirt, breath easing past clenched teeth as the material drags across raw skin. Something about knowing every stain on Jamie’s skin was the result of the storm in Dani, and of Jamie urging her on, Jamie begging her to transfer some of that energy to her own body.

The world is on an even keel now, the air the right amount of warm, her skin fitting properly over her bones--and Jamie looks at her with surreptitious desire. Jamie, who leans back and stretches her arms above her head at the shop, catching Dani’s eye with an expression that says she likes the way the cloth pulls against reddened skin. Jamie, whose collar slips aside just enough to reveal a dark imprint of Dani’s teeth, who reaches up to brush a finger almost absently against that spot with her gaze heady on Dani’s face. 

Give it to me, Jamie always says. Give as much to me as you can. I’ll carry it. Dani can’t. Dani won’t give her what she’s asking for. Some kinds of sacrifice are nontransferable. 

But Dani gives her this. Dani gives her the fallout of each storm, and Dani watches the pleasure in Jamie’s smile the day after. Watches her close her eyes and sigh when Dani lays a hand at the small of her back and forces her shirt to rub against the memory of skin on rug, bumping hard against solid floor. Watches her groan softly when Dani locates the spot just above her waistband where she’d dug in her nails particularly hard, leaving behind small half-moon indentations. Watches her shift her eyes to Dani’s mouth when Dani smiles, both of them too aware of how Dani had bitten down as she’d rocked relentlessly deep, rough enough to make them both cry out. 

Dani gives her the fallout, when she can give nothing else, and Jamie takes it gladly. Jamie, who is sweet even when she is not, who is gentle even if her body offers something fierce and fast. Jamie, whose love is steady, but not stationary--who seems to expand with her as mirrors grow dangerous, as the heavy drift of another creature’s fury blankets Dani’s good sense. 

A day goes by, normal as any other--there are customers and there are conversations, and every so often, there is Dani remembering how good it feels to breathe. How good it feels to stand near Jamie and inhale the same air, to idle a hand near Jamie’s hip and feel Jamie straighten. To lean around Jamie, chest pressing fleetingly to Jamie’s back, and feel her lean eagerly, instinctively backward.

How good it feels to be her--and only her, nothing else tapping at the window or fiddling with the lock. Only her, with the innate, simple power to make Jamie smile with little more than a look. Only her, with the innate, simple power to make Jamie sigh with the briefest kiss. 

Only her, who--even without the reckless sweep of a storm beneath her skin--can take Jamie by the collar in the back room. Can press a thumb to the bloom of bruise on Jamie’s chest, the one which suffers every thump of Jamie’s necklace as she walks about her day. Can watch Jamie’s eyes grow dark with a storm of her own as she presses harder, a reminder of teeth on skin, a reminder of hips pushing deep. 

Jamie, who leans into the touch, eyes flickering shut, tongue tracing her lips. Jamie, who reaches for her in kind and says, “Best be quiet, then.”

And here, a different kind of control: the mutual need cresting between them, coming up hard against the awareness of an unlocked door, a bell that might ring at any moment. The mutual desire to stay here, right here, in a moment that threatens as all moments do to skid away from their joined hands. The mutual desire to taste and tease and feel as alive as two people ever can, Dani pressing into a pre-existing bite with gentle teeth until Jamie whimpers and closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. 

Here, in the aftermath of a storm, she feels whole again. Feels herself again. Feels as though there is nothing carried, nothing burdened, nothing too real to resist shuffling along beneath her skin. It is only a life made well, a life built with careful hands, a life of Jamie’s smile, Jamie’s skin, Jamie’s steady hands on the wheel. Jamie, with a thigh between her own, angling for friction to make her groan. Jamie, with a kiss on her throat that feels too sweet to be allowed. 

She reigns in her voice, allowing herself only muffled gasps, and knows Jamie’s back against the door is aching. Knows Jamie’s hip under her hand is branded with the prints of her fingers. Knows Jamie carries these badges of honor, these reminders of how real Dani is, of how far Dani will let herself spiral out if it means Jamie’s hand will catch her at the end of that rope. 

Storms are unavoidable, she thinks--they grow stronger with each passing year, less predictable, less easy to navigate. Storms come on hard and fast, and they require of her a willingness to lose control before they will move on again. A willingness to to grant to Jamie--who will always give the same right back--something of herself to remind them both she is here. 

The storms, she thinks, are as good as they are daunting. The storms, she thinks, mean she is still present enough to matter. They will not fade over time; they will, instead, grow more, grow harsh and wild and fierce, and she can only hope they will not sweep her away when they do. Can only hope Jamie’s hands on her skin, Jamie’s forehead pressed to her own, Jamie’s heartbeat crashing under her kiss, will be enough solid ground for them both to stand upon.

Give it to me, Jamie seems to whisper, as Dani slides a hand between them and sends her head falling back against the door. Give me as much as you can. I’ll--I’ll--

It isn’t yours to carry, Dani thinks, huffing sharp, skidding breaths down Jamie’s open collar. It isn’t, and it can’t be, and I won’t let it. But this. I can give you this. 

Together, moving as one, soft cries sunk into soft skin, they will wait for it to pass.There is nothing else. Only one day at at time. Only Jamie’s trust that the woman behind her eyes will never falter. Only Dani’s need to be more substantial than she is haunted. 

Jamie fists a hand into her hair, presses hard into searching fingers, and Dani closes her eyes. Lets it all build. Lets it all crest. A return to balance, the only way either of them know how to craft it. 

It can be--must be--will be--enough.

[twilightprophet]

i need to get some thoughts out of my head (not much space in there)

i'm trying to consider every possible route for kitty misha concerning my upcoming move. lali and laila are def coming in cabin with me and my mom, they're used to being around ppl and can behave themselves & also they're under the weight limit -- misha is not. so i set those 2 aside

from a strategic standpoint, getting her abroad is def a challenge but not impossible. my 1st airline doesn't allow pets in cargo, but i can send her along with PetEmbark or whatever for that part & then pick her up during my (fairly long) first layover. my other airline allows pets in cargo so she could go on the same plane as me the rest of the time; i have a really long 2nd layover so i could pick her up there too and keep her w me for a bit before the final flight. i know plane cargos have to be climate controlled for animals and there won't be ppl down there to spook her, so i've been really hoping that this is an option for us. i will admit it'd be rather expensive

but more than that, she's such a nervous kitty. she got hella nervous when we visited the vet and it took her a v long to calm down. she gets anxious so easily around noises and ppl and commotion. I've thought about whether a Thundershirt would help during the travels, i know some kitties calm down a lot w them, but she's never let me harness her before so idek if i could get a thundershirt on her. it's a big what if on whether this is a solution

i also wonder how well she'd do w rehoming tho. for the past 2 yrs, i've been her only human. whenever ppl are over she hides - even when it's just my mom, who's over often - and she hisses whenever anyone else goes near her. she's harmless, but i also know at this point i'm the only one she trusts. i don't want to force her into a stressful journey, but i worry that rehoming her would be more stressful in the long run bc then she'd be losing me + the other 2 cats. idk how well she's gonna acclimate to a new home and human. and she doesn't deserve that!! she had such a horrible kittenhood in foster care, and now i'm just another human abandoning her! i hate that

atm i wonder if having her stay w my mom for a while would be best. she had to get used to my mom during the vet visit & plus then i could bring her over during a later visit home and she'd be the only one so i could focus on keeping her calm. i don't particularly care for my mom as a cat owner, she lets hers outside, but Misha is a good girl and would prob be fine there. my mom is coming over tomorrow, i'll ask her about her thoughts then

the last option is my friend, who is v nice but hasn't met Misha, so idk if she'd feel comfortable w him yet

i just, idk,, this is all v difficult and upsetting

[fractionallystruckout]

Stray

ChrisMiyu, future fic, established relationship

Also on AO3.

Chris liked to think that he understood Miyuki.

That didn't stop Miyuki from surprising him.

or

Chris and Miyuki get a cat.

—

Chris liked to think that he understood Miyuki.

It was a point of pride, if he was being honest. The confidence that came with figuring out an answer that no one else knew.

Miyuki presented himself to the world as an optical illusion, a calm, detached strategist when viewed from most angles, the human embodiment of a sharp tongue and quick wit whose only true interest was baseball.

Chris liked to think that he knew better.

He knew how to turn his head, how to shift his point of view to see Miyuki from an angle where the hard lines blended into something different, the true image hidden in the illusion. He knew Miyuki could be quick to anger or frustrate. He knew Miyuki took inventory of people's opinions even if he rarely took them to heart.

He knew Miyuki liked cooking competition shows where he rooted for the person with the best idea as opposed to the most talent or skill.

Chris liked to think that he understood Miyuki.

That didn't stop Miyuki from surprising him.

Chris stood next to the dining table, just in from his recent trip, looking down at Miyuki squatting in front of the couch.

Playing with a cat.

"Is that a cat?"

Miyuki looked up, his gaze cutting over his glasses. "Can't get anything past you."

Chris shook his head. "When did you get a cat?"

"We got a cat."

"Sorry. When did we get a cat?"

"This morning." Miyuki gestured to the new purchases lining the hallway. "I stopped at the cat cafe on the way back from my run. I wanted to see if they still had that big gray one that liked you."

Chris noted that the cat Miyuki was playing with was neither big nor gray.

"Had he been adopted?"

Miyuki nodded. "He was gone but she was there."

Chris focused on the cat rolling around on the floor between Miyuki's feet. It was all black with medium-length hair that puffed up along the length of its tail. It was hard to say whether that was natural or some side effect of its life prior to being rescued. The cat seemed comfortable, already acclimated to its new surroundings, engrossed in hunting down Miyuki's fingers as she chased his hands.

"What made you pick her?" he asked.

"She bit me."

Miyuki held up his left hand, keeping the other in play. Chris moved to inspect the bandage wrapped around his hand.

"I don't follow," he said when he was convinced the injury wasn't serious.

"She was resting in the cat tree by the front window next to a sign that said 'I hate the color red. If you're wearing red, I will bite you.'" Miyuki grinned and shrugged. "I was wearing one of the new shirts the team gave us for spring training."

"The red one?" Chris asked.

"The red one," Miyuki confirmed. Chris chuckled, returning Miyuki's hand to him. Miyuki tapped the cat with his left hand. "It was my fault," he said as the cat pounced on her new antagonist. "The sign was clear."

"You do hate it when people shake off your signs."

"Mine are just as clear," Miyuki argued.

Chris nodded, leaving Miyuki and the cat to their battle as he inspected the goods in the hallway.

Every need a cat might have seemed to be accounted for. There was a bag of cat food, a litter box, and a container of litter. There was a scratching board and a cat tree, the latter still in its box awaiting assembly. There was a cat cafe-branded tote bag filled to the brim with treats, canned food, fish-shaped bowls, and toys. Chris even saw a harness and a leash.

He looked back at Miyuki, now sitting with the cat in his lap, and smiled.

They had talked about getting a pet; it was something people did after moving in together. Chris liked dogs but they settled on a cat because it didn't seem fair to bring a dog into their home when one or both of them was regularly away. It was easier to board a cat, easier to leave a cat at home by itself and ask friends to check in on it while they were gone.

It was easier to brush off any hard feelings if a cat didn't take a liking to one of them.

That was clearly no longer a concern as Chris sat down with Miyuki and the cat. She had curled up against him, half in and half out of his jacket, purring softly as he pet her.

Miyuki seemed just as content.

"What are we going to call her?" Chris asked, reaching out to let the cat sniff him.

"She already came with a name."

"Which is?"

"Miyuki."

Chris stared at Miyuki, waiting for the smirk or laugh that would indicate he was joking.

It never came.

"Really?" he asked. Miyuki pushed some papers towards him, the adoption forms from the cat cafe confirming their new cat's name. Chris couldn't help but laugh. "And we're going to keep that?"

A grin curled across Miyuki's face.

"We wouldn't want to change it and confuse her."

"Because cats are so famously concerned with what they're called."

Miyuki held his grin and his ground, refusing to give even an inch on the absurdity of the name. Miyuki the cat rolled over in his lap, looking up at Chris from an angle that seemed to reflect Miyuki's surety.

Chris conceded, gracefully in his opinion.

"Miyuki it is then," he said, pushing to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Miyuki asked, both human and cat peering around the couch as he walked away.

"To get rid of any of our clothes that are red," Chris answered.

He briefly saw Miyuki smile and gather the cat in his arms, drawing her close as she yawned.

He was nearly but not entirely out of earshot when Miyuki confided in his counterpart.

"See? I told you. Chris is great." There was a pause before Miyuki continued, his voice muted, muffled perhaps by black fur. "Now you won't be alone."

Chris paused when the conversation did, the final quiet sentiment barely reaching him at the threshold to the bedroom. He turned without entering and went back to the living room, announcing his presence with a light touch to Miyuki's shoulder.

"Maybe you should help me."

Miyuki looked up, genuine surprise softening his face for a moment, fragile and fleeting as it quickly gave way to the sharpness of his signature grin. He took Chris's offered hand and stood.

"You know," he said, helping Miyuki the cat climb onto his shoulders, "no red means no Cardinals merch."

Chris shook his head. "I'm beginning to see why you chose this cat."

Miyuki laughed as he led the way to their bedroom with Miyuki the cat stood high atop his shoulders. She watched Chris from her perch, ensuring that he followed them to the closet in the corner.

Miyuki opened Chris's side of the closet first, affecting the barest attempt at guilelessness as Chris moved to stand with him, close enough for Miyuki the cat to cross over onto his shoulders.

"I'm just looking out for you."

"I appreciate the concern."

[theramseyloft]

Available as of 11/3/20

Oh, hey, it’s Tuesday again!

You know what that means!

Yep!

Time to post about adult birds that are presently available, and peeps yet to be spoken for!

Mia 10/23/20 2 Years Old Old Dutch Capuchine x Old German Owl Sooty Ash Red T-Pattern Check bald head Cock Sired by Ferdi out of Astrid 10/23/18 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Vaccinated 7/29/20 for Paratyphoid/Salmonella Vaccinated 3/17/20 for PMV Retired $30

Mia has gotten to be a bit of a loft problem and has had to come into quarantine to prevent him from disrupting my breeding pairs.

He is, like most cocks raised in a flock, not a pet-me bird, but that doesn’t mean he dislikes people.

He needs to be an only cock, and go to a home where he will be strictly hatch controlled.

He may have a mate, ad he’d probably make a good foster day but any eggs he fills need to be swapped with fakes to prevent him hatching any more children.

His daughter died very young of Peritoneal Cancer, and I want to avoid that happening again.

Luxotica 7/14/20 July Update Racing Homer Blue Bar splash Sired by Nameless out of Unnamed 6/28/19 Bred by Don Sellers Accepted as a trade for David 9/20/19 Vaccinated 1/29/20 for Paratyphoid/Salmonella Vaccinated 3/17/20 for PMV Retired Loft/breeding bird. $40 Available for reservation. Will be able to travel either after he egg candles empty, or her peep weans.

Luxotica is extremely skittish and would be happiest as a loft bird.

Lilly 8/24/20 1 Year Old ODC-OGO-STRH x Racing Homer White Cock Sired by Wookie out of David 8/24/19 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Vaccinated 1/29/20 for Paratyphoid/Salmonella Vaccinated 3/17/20 for PMV Retired Companion $50 Available for reservation Will be able to travel either after his egg candles empty or his peep weans

Extremely human friendly.

(Fingers crossed, every one, Luxie and Lilly may have a home lined up together)

Ellie 9/3/20 1 Year Old Lahore/Modena x VSC/Frillback/OGO Dirty Ash Red bar hen Sired by Sissy out of Valentine 9/3/19 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Vaccinated 7/29/20 for Paratyphoid/Salmonella Vaccinated 3/17/20 for PMV Retired Companion $50

Ellie likes people, but prefers to visit on her on terms and is not so much a cuddler or a vibe-buddy as a “Heywhatchadoingthat’sneatIgotstufftodobye!” land on your shoulder, steal a kiss, and resume doing her own thing kind of bird.

She and Vynni have a vicious rivalry with Emillio and Tandy, that she has been too caught up in to attempt any more clutches.

Away from her rivals, she’s a devoted mother and could either be a pet or continue as a brood hen in another loft.

Cody 11/3/20 1 Year Old COF-Racing Homer x Frillback-Giant Homer Pied Almond Brown T-pattern het Grizzle, toy stencil and frill stencil cock Sired by Betty out of Hagrid 11/3/19 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Vaccinated 1/29/20 for Paratyphoid/Salmonella Vaccinated 3/17/20 for PMV Retired Companion/Breeder $50 His wife is on a fertile egg due on the 6th. He will be able to travel when the baby weans.

Cody is practically famous both for his bold friendliness and devotion to his wife and kids.

Now that Thistle has come of age, Cody is the only cock whose structure I dislike.

His muffs are just long enough to alter the way he walks and make him slightly uncomfortable, which makes them too long for my liking.

He is as friendly as he is gorgeous and would make a lovely house pet, though acclimating to an enclosure and being away from a flock may be a bit of a learning curve.

Paired with a clean legged, slipper muffed, or grouse muffed hen, he could continue to be a fantastic stud.

James 11/2/20 14 Weeks Old Eurasian Collared dove cock Surrendered 8/24/20 Attacked by an animal. (Most likely a puppy) Right wing severed at the wrist. James is very skittish, but partially free-roam trained in a safe room. He is now travel safe and available for adoption.

Lyndon 10/21/20 5 Months Old Feral Blue bar cock Arrived by mail 10/21/20 Initial PMV and Paratyphoid Vaccines administered 10/21/20

Quarantine ends 11/18/20

Lyndon is a GLPR pigeon whose adopter concluded that they were unable to care for him the way he needed.

GLPR had paused their shipping until after the election as a safety precaution in case the vast sea of expected mail in ballots had caused any delays that might effect livestock.

He has two weeks left in quarantine as of tomorrow, and will get his boosters next Wednesday.

We will be in touch with GLPR regarding who to contact about him until quarantine ends.

Frito 11/1/20 7 Weeks Old COF-RH-FB-GH x COF-RH Almond pied Ash Red check cock Sired by Cody out of Rigby 9/13/20 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Initial PMV and Paratyphoid vaccines administered 10/25/20 Companion Available for Reservation Ready 11/15/20

Frito will load up and tolerates a harness, but he doesn’t like being harnessed, and tries to avoid me if he thinks that’s what we’re doing.

If he’s sure it isn’t, though, he likes to get on my knee to loaf or one-foot.

Ethyl 10/31/20 5 Weeks Old COF-Racing Homer x Frillback-Giant Homer Brown Check hen Sired by Betty out of Hagrid 9/26/20 Bred by The Ramsey Loft Companion Available for Reservation Ready 11/28/20

Ethyl is tolerant of stepping up, but as her feet are very tender and she’s still a little clumsy, she doesn’t like it, which makes therapy training stressful.

She likes my lap when the adults don’t run her off, and while she’s a little more reserved than most of our recent hens have been, she’ll make some one either a very chill room mate or a lovely project bird.

Though we prefer local pick up, shipping is available anywhere with in the continental US. A new crate is $10. I will need your zip code to calculate postage.

Yes, I am aware of the delays to postal service and the losses of reptiles and hatchery chicks.

Livestock does not go through the sorting machines. They are moved by hand.

Reptiles are not usually shipped in boxes that look different from regular mail, so they can be easily lost by overwhelmed staff.

Hatchery chicks are shipped out before they have a first meal because it’s cheaper to replace them if they die than feed them for a week.

The crates made for pigeons and other legal poultry are designed around bird physiology and air thermodynamics, keeping the birds cool and asleep most of the trip. They are not shaped like the average box used for shipping inanimate objects, and they stand out like a sore thumb, making them harder to misplace or lose track of. Healthy Pigeons over 6 weeks old who start the journey well hydrated are comfortably travel safe up to 7 days.

For more information about our available birds or to be added to the waiting list for a future peep that may better fit your temperament and house hold environment, we can be contacted most easily by email at theramseyloft@gmail.com

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

i was looking for some dinkate i thought i had in my drafts and i found this instead, please enjoy some half-baked nsfw heimdall/kate from over a year ago under the cut

also, i haven’t gotten any better at writing smut, rip past me who thought this would help

anyway i want to write kate/heimdall stuff but it’s mostly smut ideas and i’m no good at writing smut but i DO want to get better, so i’m gonna...do some stuff...in BULLET POINT

because that’s easier

kk

so Heimdall gets kicked out of Asgard after Dark World and he’s just like. K BYE SUCKAAASSSS

and yeets himself to Earth, right outside the door to Kate’s apartment

in full Asgardian garb. this is important

because Kate is like !!!!!!! and then :(((((( because Heimdall is SEVEN FEET TALL and then an extra FOOT from his helm

and they’re both just like. shit. how is he going to get into the apartment. Heimdall winds up crouching while Kate yanks the points of his helmet through the door

he gets in and sighs because he can take his helmet off now

And Kate stares because fuck they’re stupid. he could have just taken it off in the hall???? maybe it’s some asgardian custom??? to not remove armor in hallways???

yep sure absolutely, says heimdall

Kate smells a lie but that is secondary to her SMOKING HOT BOYFRIEND STANDING IN HER ENTRYWAY

but also is boyfriend an appropriate term? Heimdall is asgardian which means his age works on a different timeline than hers and boyfriend seems a little...eh. not right

but heimdall is staring at her with a little half smile and suddenly kate isn’t so worried about labels

she is, however, worried about how well her bed is going to hold up

here is the thing. 

heimdall and kate aren’t stupid. he’s two feet taller than she is. there is a MAJOR SIZE DIFFERENCE HERE.and it’s probably going to manifest in more than just height, you know? YA KNOW????

And Kate has been preparing for this for....a while. So she’s got lots of lube.

And heimdall hasn’t been preparing in the same way, but he HAS been thinking about this a lot. probably more than he should since his job is SECURITY GUARD OF AN ENTIRE REALM but whatever

like. he’s PLANNED this.

Kate has, too, but her brain just kinda....shorts out when he takes his shirt off. and honestly, her plan wasn’t really good. it was basically:

lube

????

sex

profit

and okay. Heimdall has been watching her. over her. her? not in a creepy way!! for. months. so he’s got a list of things he wants to see and do. now that he’s here he feels spoiled for choice, does he want her to sit on his face first??? does he just want to suck on her nipples for a while???

but kate is. major needy. so his plan solidifies pretty quickly

he spreads her out on the bed, hair fanned out behind her and she looks like a goddess, like she belongs on asgard

and fuck. fuck. he is so big, his hands spreading across her ribs sliding down to grip her hips

heimdall keeps checking in to make sure she’s okay which is really unfortunate because her brain is incapable of forming full sentences

she gets it together eventually and then she’s on top of heimdall, and hiemdall is a GIANT FUCKING MOUNTAIN, she’s literally, she’s literally going to have to climb him to get his dick in her

she needs a goddamn rock climbing harness or some shit, and she’s going to remember that thought and find it hilarious later but right now she going to fly out of her skin

but teamwork makes the dream work and they figure it out

god. god he’s so big. it feels like his cock is fucking pressing up against her lungs and she can’t breathe can’t think can’t, can’t anything except feel 

her hands braced against his broad chest and his gold eyes light on her. she thinks he might be smiling. smirking. can’t tell. as he waits for her to...to acclimate or say something or move or

she’s not sure.

breathing is a little much at the moment

his hands stroke up her thighs squeezing at her hips. 

“hawkeye?”

“i don’t--i don’t think i can fucking move, heimdall, you’re going to have to help me out here.”

she hopes he is impressed by her ability to string so many words together.  

he grins at her again, so maybe he is?

(he isn’t. he isn’t grinning, he’s grimacing, he’s trying very, very hard to stay very, very still)

and he’s thinking, more lube maybe? but he’s pretty sure if he moves enough to reach it he’s done for.

but then his ears finally inform his brain that kate said ‘move’

he doesn’t move much but kate makes this noise and she’s saying ‘okay’ over and over and over

which is what she does when her brain is completely offline

they do not last long

if one were the type to say such things, it might be considered ‘embarrassingly short’. Neither kate nor heimdall think this, 

in fact, “how fasst can we get each other off” will eventually become a fun little game they play

but that’s later. for now:

it’s like. detonation. like subatomic unraveling, every part of her coming loose at the seams

distantly, distantly, she can feel Heimdall’s grip on her hips tighten, and she might have bruises tomorrow but she can’t even care, not a little, as his hips rock up into her once, twice, three times before he’s going rigid, coming deep inside her, the way he groans out her name making her eyes roll back in her head

as the buzzing in her body subsides, moving to just her head, she realizes that. Heimdall might not be hard anymore, but she’s still so fucking full of him, she can barely tell the difference. fuck. she can’t stop the moan that rolls from her chest. 

“kate?” his voice is soft, his hand gentle as he tips her chin up. “how are you?”

“fuck,” she says. tries to gather her thoughts. “fuck, heimdall, that was--”

her brain stops giving her words

“that isn’t an answer,” he informs her, chiding but amused. his broad hands go under her thighs, flat under her ass, and he begins to lift her off of him

which is

like

the worst fucking thing in the world

it has kate scratching her nails down his chest, head frantically whipping from side to side as she begs him not to pull out and maybe she’d be ashamed if it weren’t this fucking primal deep seated need inside her to keep that delicious pressure inside her cunt

and it’s. obscene. the sound of heimdall pulling out of her, wet and sucking as her body tries to keep him locked in. 

and kate can’t look but her eyes are locked on his face and heimdall is staring as he pulls out, and she drips come all over him, her body still stretched open and inviting for him

and it’s. the worst fucking thing ever. her channel tries to hold him tight but he pulls and it’s uncomfortable and then she’s empty and Heimdall is cupping her cheeks and murmuring soft names to her, showering her with praises that don’t register but land solid in the back of her fuzzy brain, warming her

and he lifts them up, tips her back so she’s staring unseeing at the ceiling as he slides down her body, pressing gentle kisses to her still trembling stomach, moving lower, lower, until his head is between her legs and he loos up at her and grins

before lowering his head and licking, firm and hot, inside her.

and he moans. into her. against her clit and it’s too much and he doesn’t seem all that bothered by it as he licks deeper, and fuck he is licking his come out of her and that’s. fuck. 

kate cannot handle it, her body was not ready but heimdall is murmuring encouragement to her. she can come one more time for him. he knows she can. she came so pretty for him all the times he wasn’t even there, she can come for him now, can’t she?

and this. this is punishment. 

or maybe reward

for all those times she called to him and then fingered herself, two fingers and then three, begging him for more because she knew he was watching. 

and, well. fair is fair

[annamaskus]

New research: solution for the grazier’s personal climate crisis just a few genetically modified legumes away.

By Anna Maskus

South Korean and American researchers have teamed up to present a new study on forage legume genetics, with promising results for graziers struggling with the effects of climate change on their crops.

The study, published in Frontiers in Plant Science, is a combined effort between South Korea’s Kyungpook National University and National Institute of Crop Science, and the National Center for Soybean Biotechnology and Division of Plant Sciences, part of the University of Missouri in the United States.

Data from The Climate Council found that 90% of rural and regional Australians already feel the effects of climate change on their farms and in their communities3, so this research has come at a vital time.

Entitled “Harnessing the Potential of Forage Legumes, Alfalfa, Soybean, and Cowpea for Sustainable Agriculture and Global Food Security”, the report presents exciting developments in in genomic technologies which have potential to aid in the development of new legume cultivars. Said cultivars can be given the ability to adjust to the changing climate and remain a sustainable and profitable option for graziers.

Climate change already has been proven to have a negative effect on forage crops through a process known as downregulation. This describes a plant’s acclimation to increased carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere, which decreases yield and overall productivity1.

The authors delve into the genetic makeup of three common forage crops - alfalfa, soybean, and cowpea - to investigate molecular markers of resistance to these negative effects. Information from these molecular markers can be used to develop cultivars with traits that graziers value – like higher biomass yields, and larger protein, cellulose and lignin concentrations2.

The report also places a heavy emphasis on international food security for livestock and humans alike and emphasises that the demand for animal-based agricultural products is unlikely to decline as the world population approaches 9 billion. When combined with increasingly variable climatic events, striking a balance between land use for animal forage crops and those dedicated to human consumption is of the utmost importance2.

There is a growing sense of fear about what this will mean for graziers’ livelihoods – many Australia agricultural businesses have taken on debt or used financial reserves to cope with the consequences of extreme weather events like floods, droughts, and fires3.

Although it is easy to subscribe to what seems to be a dystopian itinerary, there are some who see it as a framework for action – like Lucinda Corrigan.  

“We know that climate change is caused by humans. We need to transition to more sustainable methods of farming – it’s really that simple. Keeping up with new research and technologies as they appear is essential. We actually have volunteered to have various research trials running on our property,” she said.

Lucinda is the Director of Rennylea Pastoral Company runs her multi-generation Angus stud on a property tucked away in the Wymah Valley, north of Albury in NSW. She is also the Chair of Farmers for Climate Action (FFCA), an independent organisation founded in 2016 representing 6,000 farmers and over 30,000 supporters.

She echoes the sentiments of the new study’s authors about the urgency of climate action in agricultural research and describes how climate change has already begun to affect her grazing enterprise in one of the most productive farming regions in the country.

“I started to notice changes in the weather, lower annual rainfall and the distribution across the year was much more variable, there were new weeds and pathogens causing disease in the cattle and crops coming through that we had never seen before. We started seeing unreliable autumn and spring conditions, shorter growing seasons. Anybody who has been on their land for a long time - you notice.” Lucinda stressed.

The results of the study are of serious concern to Lucinda and all graziers alike. The authors stress that forage specie cultivars which can endure climatic variability while also maintaining a high quality and nutrition standard are essential for the continued success of the Australian livestock industry.

Lucinda is hopeful for the future of Australian agriculture as the changing climate presents ever-increasing challenges in the future.

“The way forward isn’t clear, but with continued advances in technology and science like this we’re optimistic. We are definitely up for the challenge.”

“Harnessing the Potential of Forage Legumes, Alfalfa, Soybean, and Cowpea for Sustainable Agriculture and Global Food Security” is available to access for free online here.

References

My heartfelt thanks and appreciation go to Lucinda Corrigan for her time.

1: Austin, E. K., Rich, J. L., Kiem, A. S., Handley, T., Perkins, D., & Kelly, B. J. (2020). Concerns about climate change among rural residents in Australia. Journal of Rural Studies, 75, 98–109. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jrurstud.2020.01.010

2: Kulkarni, K. P., Tayade, R., Asekova, S., Song, J. T., Shannon, J. G., & Lee, J.-D. (2018). Harnessing the Potential of Forage Legumes, Alfalfa, Soybean, and Cowpea for Sustainable Agriculture and Global Food Security. Frontiers in Plant Science, 9; 1314. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpls.2018.01314

3:The Climate Council, (2017). ON THE FRONTLINE: CLIMATE CHANGE & RURAL COMMUNITIES REPORT. https://www.climatecouncil.org.au/resources/ruralreport/