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boolger · 9 months ago

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work.

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had.

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road.

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate.

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive.

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion.

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left.

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look.

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

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It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another.

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything.

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction.

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John.

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

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They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

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kyxhiin · 7 months ago

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Shazam Family confusing the JL and immortal Billy combo post! (The Shazam fam will only include Freddy, Mary, and Billy. Sorry guys)

The Shazam Family confuses the JL by alot. And by alot it means "Cap' what the hell, what do you mean she's still alive??? HALF OF HER BODY IS GONE!" kind of way. For instance

The JL are on a mission, fighting some alien made robots that can "harm" the shazam fam so they had to be extra careful with this one. Mary Marvel was punching down these robots easily with Captain, until one of them got her from behind and.. BLASTED HER UPPER HALF OFF??? Marvel held her half limp lower half body, but despite all the blood was hollow?

Captain Marvel: Oh.. That can not be good. *In a super calm voice that can only be compared to adding too much water when cooking instant noodles.*

All the JL if not most stopped what they were doing and looked at cap and now the completely if not all with a solemn expression with a tinge of disgust. Flash approaching him first because, he's the fastest.

Flash: Hey man.. Are you alright? *He said, knowing no medical care could save her. CAUSE HER UPPER HALF IS GONE!*

Captain Marvel getting up, throwing Mary Marvel on his shoulder his smile returning but not as big as before: Upsy daisy! Sorry flash didn't meant to worry you all, let me just get her fixed up and she'll be ready to go. I'll be taking the rest of the day off.

And just like that he speeds off into the distance, holding the body parts of what once was Mary Marvel. Everybody's expressing their condolences from the day before for Captain Marvel, all dressed in black (except batman, he's always dressed in black.) with condolences gifts like letters, money (wait does he even need money?), food, flowers, and other sorry gifts.

...

Wait.. Is that Cap? AND IS THAT MISS MARVEL???? WHAT THE #!$!#!@#!?

They all aprouch Cap and Mary and start talking. Why aren't they mentioning the day before? Why are they both acting like everything's okay! And just like that nobody talks about it ever again.

(Does this count as immortal Billy? Lol, if not I'll re-do it. But now to the Freddy part.)

Captain and Jr have been arguing, arguing alot because SOMEBODY ate somebody else's banana bread muffins. And here's a thing, Cap's nice and happy go lucky to everybody, literally everybody including the villains all the time except for.. his children (That's what the JL assumes, lmao.)

Captain with his hands doing the sock puppet thing while Jr was talking to him: Nananana, that's what you sound like right now. Just admit you ate my muffins!

Green Lantern approaching Captain cause he overheard some of the stuff they were saying to eachother. Nudging Marvel to get his attention: Dude, hey. I don't think you can say that to your son-

Jr immediately cutting in cause he heard what Hal said cause he refuses to be called in any shape or form being younger than Marvel (it's the only thing he has against that tractor of a man when he's in his Marvel form, let him have this): Hey! I'm his OLDER brother thank you very much!

He said, loud enough so everybody can hear it. And the JL just stop their conversations and what they were doing, Just to look at Cap and Jr.

Hi hi, hope you enjoyed this even though this is not my regular posting schedule!!.

#dc universe #dc #dc comics #dcu #batman #billy batson #shazam #captain marvel #detective comics #green lantern #hal jordan #the flash #barry allen #mary marvel #mary batson #freddy freeman #captain marvel jr #fawcett comics #shazam family

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cryptotheism · 9 months ago

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How would, say, halo Spartan armor or fallout power armor compare to rigs?

By Amber Skies standards, the Mjolnir armor would be a lightweight old-world combat rig, the type of thing the average rifleman would wear. Amber Skies doesn't have Halo's energy shields, so if you want more defense, you need to strap more metal playing and hydraulics to yourself.

Fallouts power armor would be the equivalent of those late WWI tanks that are just some polish dudes tractor with sheet metal welded to it. That, but replace the engine with a modern advanced electric vehicle battery. They would find it really quaint that you can climb inside of them like a car. Like "awh it's a little mech you can drive without needing socket surgery or a spinal plug."

To an amber skies rig engineer, fallout power armor is like a killdozer was made from a steam tractor. It would almost be cute.

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bloomeng · 8 months ago

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These are some of my favorite batkids tropes in superbat fics:

Damian hating Clark fairly unprovoked (bonus if he’s friends with Jon to really rub it in)

I know it’s canon that Dick really looks up to Clark but I love when Dick makes this super obvious to Bruce and either accidentally or purposely makes Bruce jealous and Clark is like “wait isn’t this a good thing tho that your son likes me???”

Clark not knowing what to make of Tim and trying and failing to relate to him it’s awkward but it’s endearing (bonus if there’s drama surrounding Clark’s relationship to Kon and Clark is trying to win back Tim’s respect)

These aren’t tropes these are more my own headcanons that I think are cute:

Jason’s fav league member being Diana and Clark laughing at Bruce for being annoyed

To try and win over Jason Clark would help him work on his motorcycle using what he remembers from working on tractors and cars on the farm (it works but Jason mostly uses him for his strength and a chance to annoy Bruce by “stealing” Clark’s attention it backfires ofc bc Bruce is just thrilled that Jason is visiting more and hanging out with the family)

Clark meeting Duke for the first time and thinking like ‘wow the first well adjusted kid’ only to realize later that no he’s just his own brand of quirky

Clark used to being able to read other people’s vitals via superhearing realizing for the first time that Cass can read him without powers and being a little unnerved

Alfred playing obvious favorites between Clark and Bruce teasing Bruce by doing that thing parents do where they compare you to your peers in an attempt to motivate you:

“Clark probably respects Mrs. Kent’s wishes when she asks him to do something.”

“Alfred we’re grown men.”

“You��re right she probably doesn’t need to ask.”

#dc #txt #dc headcanon #batman #batfam #batfamily #superbat #superman #batkids #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #cassandra cain #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #clark kent #bruce wayne

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tractorforeveryone · 1 month ago

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When choosing the right tractor for your farming or industrial needs, one of the key specifications to consider is the tractor engine cc. Engine "cc" stands for cubic centimeters and refers to the total volume of all the cylinders in a tractor’s engine. It directly influences the power, torque, and efficiency of the machine.

In tractors, engine capacity typically ranges from 1,000 cc to over 6,000 cc, depending on the size and purpose of the tractor. Smaller tractors with lower engine cc (around 1,000–2,000 cc) are ideal for light-duty tasks such as gardening, mowing, or operating in tight spaces. Medium-sized tractors (2,500–4,000 cc) are more suited for general farming, while high-capacity tractors (4,000+ cc) are designed for heavy-duty applications like plowing large fields or pulling heavy equipment.

A higher tractor engine cc generally means more horsepower and torque, allowing the tractor to handle tougher jobs and operate attachments more efficiently. However, it's important to balance power with fuel efficiency, especially for daily or long-hour usage.

Top tractor brands like John Deere, Mahindra, and New Holland offer a variety of models with different engine cc ratings to match specific needs. Always review the engine specifications and consult with experts before making a purchase. Understanding tractor engine cc helps you select a model that delivers the right balance of power, performance, and efficiency for your agricultural or industrial requirements.

#tractor engine #comparetractorinindia #compare tractor #new tractor #tractor information #agriculture #agriculture tractors #agriculture tractor #new tractors in india

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octuscle · 4 months ago

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City Slicker to Country Boy.

Peter stood in the middle of nowhere. Out of nowhere, something had hit his windshield. Some kind of animal. Whatever it was, the glass had shattered into a million tiny pieces. And the overly sensitive airbags of his BMW had deployed in all their glory.

Goddamn it!

According to his GPS, the nearest authorized repair shop was 200 miles away. And with no signal, neither his cell phone nor his emergency system worked. He was stuck in a cornfield with nothing to do. And for a workaholic like him, idleness and helplessness were far worse than the prospect of an expensive repair. If he could ever get the car repaired at all. Right now, he’d be happy just to see any sign of intelligent life out here. The only sounds were some birds chirping and the occasional cricket.

After what felt like an eternity of hoping for a miracle and some phone reception, he heard a noise. A noise that grew louder. An engine.

Peter stepped onto the road, took off his blazer, and waved it in the air. “How ridiculous,” he thought. “I look like a shipwrecked idiot stranded on a deserted island.” Then again, his situation wasn’t all that different.

The pickup truck that pulled up next to him was a giant compared to his elegant station wagon.

“Howdy, name’s Ace. What kinda trouble ya in?”

“Peter, nice to meet you,” Peter replied, pointing at the windshield. Ace responded by spitting on the ground and mumbling, “Well, damn.”

“Tell ya what, buddy. I can take ya back to the farm. We’ll call up them Krauts, see if they can fix up yer ride. Don’t reckon I got the right parts lyin’ ‘round.” He laughed like he’d just cracked the best joke in the world.

Peter forced a smile and said that would be very kind of him.

“Quit talkin’ all fancy, man, and hop in. Need anything from yer car, throw it in the back.”

The truck was big and dirty. It took Peter a moment to bring himself to place his weekender bag and laptop case on the dusty truck bed. But what choice did he have? He sighed, hoping he wouldn’t get too dirty in the passenger seat, and climbed in.

Ace wasn’t much of a talker. But Peter was actually grateful for that. He kept staring at his phone display.

“Ain’t no use, man,” Ace said. “Tornado came through last week, took out some towers. Ain’t gonna get a signal ‘til we’re a few dozen miles down the road.”

Peter closed his eyes and leaned back. Just his goddamn luck. The truck rumbled steadily down the endless straight road. Ace was humming along to some slow country tune. Peter dozed off.

“Wake up, buddy, we’re here.”

Peter jerked awake. They were in a barn. Tractors and other farm equipment stood around. Ace jumped out of the truck and walked toward a small kitchenette nestled between tool cabinets. Peter got out and followed.

Ace poured himself a cup of coffee from an old pot, unzipped his coveralls, and took a sip. Peter couldn’t help but stare at Ace’s hairy, wiry, muscular torso. Peter swam twice a week, but he couldn’t compare to that build.

“Like what ya see?” Ace smirked.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock. Had he been staring?

“I mean—ya want some coffee?” Ace clarified, still grinning.

Peter nodded. Ace poured a cup and handed it to him. Normally, Peter took his coffee with oat milk and sweetener. But asking for that now felt ridiculous. He took a sip. Damn, it was hot and strong.

Ace asked if Peter could give him a hand. He needed to load up some vegetables and take them to the grocery store. Peter nodded, took off his blazer, and draped it over a chair. Ace climbed onto the truck bed, tossed Peter his duffel bag and laptop case, and told him to start handing up crates. Together, they got the job done quickly.

Peter asked if he should come along to help unload.

“Nah,” Ace said. “Ya know how to cook?”

Peter nodded. Not a lie—he enjoyed cooking in his free time.

“Well, stay here and fix up some dinner then. Be back in ‘bout an hour.”

Peter asked where the kitchen was.

“Over in the house, where else? Door’s open. You’ll figure it out.” And with that, Ace drove off.

Peter threw on his denim jacket, slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, picked up his laptop case, and walked to the house. Two big dogs greeted him enthusiastically at the door. Normally, Peter wasn’t much of a dog person, but these two? He liked them. Strong, solid animals. Perfect for hunting. Shit, why was he even thinking that?

Somehow, and he couldn’t explain why, everything here felt oddly familiar. Ace looked like the kind of guy who’d appreciate a good chili. Peter grabbed the necessary ingredients from the pantry and fridge and got to work. Beau and Bailey never left his side. They knew Peter always tossed them scraps while cooking. They didn’t beg. They were well-trained. But Peter knew how to keep them happy.

Ace returned about two hours later. The chili was simmering, the table was set, and Peter was lounging on the couch, watching TV, Beau and Bailey at his feet.

As usual, Ace stripped down to his underwear as soon as he walked in.

“Had a beer with Clyde and Gator,” he said, heading to the fridge. “Want one?”

“Dumb question,” Peter replied.

Ace came back with two bottles, sat next to Peter, and asked why he hadn’t changed yet. Then, he reached into his worn-out briefs and fondled his thick cock.

“Was just outside with the boys,” Peter said, clinking bottles with Ace, taking a swig, and burping as he got up to grab the chili. He unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his belt on the way to the kitchen.

They ate in silence. One of the perks of living without women—you didn’t have to talk so much.

“Wanna go get yer car tonight? Filled up the spare gas can,” Ace said, spilling a bit of chili on the table.

“Nah,” Peter replied, scratching his balls with one hand and shoveling more chili into his mouth with the other. “Let’s fuck first. Deal with it in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” Ace said, licking his spoon while stroking his cock at the same time.

Including Beau and Bailey, they made a solid four-guy household. Farm work was tough. Having to deal with love and all that bullshit on top of it? Pure hell. Work, eat, fuck, watch football, sleep. The routine was simple. But neither Peter nor Ace were exactly intellectuals.

The sun wasn’t even up when Peter woke. Ace was already brewing coffee. When Pete put on his camo hunting gear, Beau and Bailey tensed up. They knew what was coming. But they waited until their master gave the signal. Then, like lightning, they dashed to the barn and leaped onto the truck bed.

Pete greeted Ace with a deep kiss, grabbing his morning wood. “Quick fuck first?” Ace asked.

“After the hunt,” Pete replied, taking his coffee.

Damn, running out of gas in the cornfield yesterday had been a pain in the ass. Now Ace had to drive him out with the spare can and the dogs. But Pete would make up for it by restocking the freezer. Today, he’d bag that deer. Ace could bet on it.

And hell, if he didn’t bring back fresh meat, well—then he’d just have to be the one getting fucked tonight. Not much of a sacrifice.

Ace looked at his man and grinned. It sure was easy turnin’ a city slicker into a real country boy.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #ai image #redneck tf

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self-made-purgatories · 5 months ago

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Feeling trapped, crisis of the self, and the hidden meaning of Spock's two steepled fingers: Thinking once again about this particular hand posture of Spock's and what it means in the kolinahr scene specifically (Part 3 of my thoughts about TMP, this time connected to themes in Plato's Stepchildren).

The first time I noticed Spock using this hand posture was in Plato's Stepchildren, and I wrote previously about how this seemed to me like a very specific self-soothing gesture for Autistic!Spock.

In this instance in Plato's Stepchildren, he is in deep distress over the events of the previous scene, and while, as always, he is doing a fairly good job of maintaining his outward composure, he is completely spiraling internally here, as evidence by the way his very next action is to stand up and crush a cup in his bare hand out of rage and overwhelm.

The way he is holding his hands, each with two fingers extended, reminds me so much of the way his parents hold hands with two fingers extended, and to me it looks like a form of comfort stimming that probably feels very soothing to him, like holding his own hand.

Now, fast forward to TMP, and this is the first glance we have of Spock as he is about to undertake kolinahr and completely purge himself of any remaining emotion or connection. Notice that the hand posture is the same.

My theory is this: in this key moment, just as in Plato's Stepchildren, Spock is distressed. He is overwhelmed. He is spiraling internally. He feels he has something to prove and he is desperately trying to want this, to need this. He is trying so hard to get "a good grade in Vulcan-ness, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve!" But it's not actually what he needs or wants. It's not actually where he belongs. And, deep down, he knows it. So he holds his own hand for comfort through those feelings.

Let's contrast that hand posture with something similar that we see later in the same movie, after Spock has returned to the Enterprise, but is still acting very cold and distant.

This is a tense moment, in which the ship (and the crew) have purposely breached the cloud surrounding V'ger. One of their crew has just been forcefully abducted by V'ger, from the bridge, mere feet away, and the ship is now being pulled in further, against their will, by V'ger's tractor beam. Decker suggests they attempt to break free, and Spock responds: "Break free to where, Commander? (folds his hands) Any show of resistance would be futile, Captain."

In this case, when he folds his hands together, he only extends one finger of each hand, steepling his forefingers. His other fingers twitch nervously for several seconds, but he never steeples his middle fingers too.

In comparing and contrasting these three hand posture moments, there is a key similarity and a key difference that we should notice.

First, to compare. In all three of these moments, Spock feels trapped. The first and last are obvious: in the first, he is literally trapped by the telekinetics in Plato's Stepchildren, unable to leave, recovering from being forced to act in an embarrassing and potentially violent way in the prior scene, and facing the fear of being forced into that situation again. In the third, he is trapped with the crew by V'ger and suddenly realizing that there is no means of escape.

But, in the second one, the kolinahr one, it's not so obvious. My theory is that Spock feels equally trapped in this situation. Trapped by the unattainable expectations of his culture as a mixed-race person attempting to assimilate. Trapped by his own decision to run away from his love for Kirk, to reject the love of his friends, and to abandon not just his life in Starfleet, but his life as an individual capable of love and connection. Now he is moments away from achieving kolinahr and instead of feeling relieved or accomplished or inspired, he is feeling trapped. So he holds his own hand to comfort himself.

But what about the differences? What is common between the first two that is not in the third? What earns that second finger? Spock's crisis of the self.

In Plato's Stepchildren, Spock is grappling with seeing himself as violent for the first time. He has spent his whole life attempting to purge emotion from himself, specifically in the name of purging the violence of his ancestors, but the telekinetic Platonians came very close to forcing him to hurt Kirk, the man he loves. He is now feeling rage and hatred towards them for making him act that way, and this uncharacteristic rage is not just contributing to that trapped feeling, it is also giving him a further crisis of the self.

Someone (@mama-mia-its-mia) brought up Plato's Stepchildren in the notes on one of my previous posts on the Spirk breakup arc, which got me thinking more about that episode and what it means for Spirk's fight and Spock's internal crisis in the later episodes of Season 3. I do think that the most irreversible damage to Spirk's relationship happens in Requiem for Methuselah. But he faces a related crisis of the self in Plato's Stepchildren, a few episodes prior. Could this crisis ("My love for Kirk has awakened violent feelings in me") be the first crack in the glass for Spock? Is that crisis the very first stumble on the slippery slope into later trying to force himself into kolinahr? And could those feelings somehow be related to the song he sings later in that episode about how dangerous it is to love a man? (A song which he sings while staring at Kirk the whole time, mind you.)

He sings to the women of how the man you love "leaves with your treasure." At first blush, it's a sexual reference. But what if Spock's treasure is his composure, his nonviolence, but he is realizing that his love for Kirk is upsetting that fragile balance within himself?

The third instance, however, with only one pair of steepled fingers, is not a crisis of the self. It is merely that trapped feeling. Distress, yes. But not a crisis of identity. So the middle fingers stay down.

Which brings us back to the second time, moments before kolinahr. Spock is not only feeling trapped, he is again asking the question he once asked when forced to face a rising feeling of violence and hatred in himself: Is this really what I am?

That will still be the same question he is asking later, when he extends his mind to meet V'ger's and finally learns the answer he has been looking for his whole life.

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addysadness · 3 months ago

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The thing that frustrates me so much about the whole “Lando has had multiple seasons in F1” using that to imply that his performance/results are not worthy. I think what most of these people tend to forget is yes he has had a seat in F1 since 2019 (aged 19 may I add) but Mclaren until recently so for the majority of his F1 career, has struggled; until late 2023 they were a consistent midfield team - even backmarkers at times. Fighting for points and possibly podiums is different than fighting in the front and although this experienced has enabled Lando to be very good at carving through the field (see Mexico 2023, Baku 2024, COTA 2022) it means that 2024 was the first season he was actually consistently fighting at the front (and not out of place pe say).

In Addition, he lost a lot of valued time and experience coming out of his rookie season because of COVID, most drivers value their second season so much for experience but Lando barely had that, only 17 races were held in the 2020 season - despite this he achieved his first F1 podium at the first race back after lockdown at Austria 2020. Furthermore, season lengths have changed in the last 5 years so his 2 seasons of experience are less than Oscar Piastri for example.

A lot of people compare Oscar and Lando’s experience - but never their HvH? Often using Oscar's relative freshness into the sport and his successes to try and downplay and undermine Lando’s. This not only isn’t fair but it's a biased comparison. Lando struggled with the team coming out of the Honda power unit disaster time, through COVID where financial issues were rife and he agreed to a salary cut to support Mclaren employees and just having a midfield car (a tractor at times). He carried the team 2021/2022 when Daniel was his teammate as Daniel couldn’t provide them with much, consistently dragging a shitbox into the points and even podiums - way outperforming the car. In 2022, he was the only non Red bull, Mercedes or Ferrari driver to get a podium (Imola) and particularly dragged Mclaren in the constructors even racing whilst very unwell with Tonsillitis (Spain,Monaco) Food Poisoning(Brazil) and with bad headaches (COTA). Not even mentioning Oscar’s prior experience at driving many tracks with Alpine.

I also think that in the recent decades we have seen some of the most successful drivers hit the ground running or start off with capable cars, in the first few seasons of their career, this also means recency bias can play a part. This is why it's very inaccurate to compare drivers because they have all been in different situations with different cars with different capacities and using factors like that out of context can continue to contribute to the horrible hate Lando gets.

Overall, yes Lando is no rookie anymore but he is in a new experience of fighting at the front and like any humans makes mistakes but the most important thing; a thing that he has said himself is that he will try to learn from them. And he does (see qualifying in 2023-2024). Fighting at the front is a very different experience to what he has been used to but he has already shown (Zandvoort, Abu Dhabi) how he can dominate and win. I really hope that the Mclaren this year is a championship capable car and that the Mclaren Pit wall and Management don’t continue to make strategy errors and unfair bias allowing Lando to show his amazing talent.

#lando norris #formula 1

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vind3miat0r · 6 months ago

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project meridian loop theory

oohhh boy, we're back with me putting on a tinfoil hat and yapping about theories again

this is, of course, about the newest Project Meridian audio, so spoilers for that!!

(putting everything under the cut because theres a LOT)

JESUS CHRIST. okay. thats a lot. lots to unpack here mhm yep.

okay guys hear me out: Asset is stuck in a time or a simulation loop

bear with me im about to get REALLY nerdy with this BUT

Star Trek: The Next Generation, Season 5 Episode 18 — "Cause and Effect" is a time loop episode. the entire crew gets caught in a time loop for about 27 days (but they obviously dont realize this until theyre out of the loop) the loop always begins with Captain Picard's personal log, and always ends with the accidental destruction of the Enterprise brought on by their warp core exploding due to being damaged while attempting to get away from an incoming ship that lost control of its direction

throughout the episode, each time the loop resets, the crew experiences intense deja vu, brought on by the fact that theyre reliving the same day over and over. theyre able to predict small events that happen (what cards come next in a poker game, Beverly predicting Geordi coming into Sick Bay, etc)

AND in one iteration of the loop, the crew figures out that theyre IN a time loop, and devise a method to avoid getting hit by the previously mentioned ship, which would set off the chain reaction of the warp core exploding

they do this method by using big brain science time knowledge that im too tired to understand, but basically the motif of the number 3 starts showing up in the next loop reset, and when the Enterprise is once again faced with only two choices to get away from the incoming ship, Data realizes that the reoccurring 3s are connected to Commander Riker (who has three pips to signify his rank)

(for context, in every loop where the Enterprise gets destroyed, the Captain followed Data's plan of using the tractor beam to steer the incoming ship away from the Enterprise. Riker's plan was to depressurize the cargo bays) Data follows through with Riker's plan, and this time the Enterprise doesnt explode (yippee!!)

you might be thinking, "Vinn, you just explained the entire episode to us. what does that have to do with project meridian??"

well, using instances from "Cause and Effect," we can compare them to some instances that just happened in "Something's Wrong"

— the second phone call could be an outside attempt to break Asset from the time/simulation loop

— Asset knowing who the Solitaires are despite not having access to information on them could be from another loop where James told them who the Solitaires are, and Asset remembering

— the phone at the end could signify the end/restart of the loop

— Asset's uneasiness about the Meridian in the beginning of the audio and their want to "seek approval" before entering it ( could be brought on by them somewhat remembering whats happened in previous loops)

— the first phone call (the one James picks up), theres some spooky ooky ambience in the background (could be that the phone is a conduit to the "real" timeline/world and only Asset is able to pick up on that??)

— when Asset and James leave the first room and enter a new area, someone on the PA makes an announcement for the Deltas. this announcement glitches, but James doesnt seem to notice, as he continues talking (i cant quite make it out, but it almost sounds like someone else is saying something?) (again, it could be interference from outside of the loop attempting to reach Asset)

— when stepping out of the elevator, someone brings James "the latest simulation report." again, outside interference/echoes from a previous loop perhaps trying to signal to Asset that theyre stuck in a simulation

— phone at the end also as someone saying "pick up" or "wake up," didnt realize until someone pointed it out. its very faint, but its there (again, could be someone attempting to break Asset out of the loop)

one thing that i find interesting (thats not related to the loop theory) is that James says the force in the Meridian "diverts demons away" and "breaks human minds" when usually demons are allowed through the Meridian and humans just. die. then again, we have no idea when PM takes place, so it could be normal if this is like,,, a good number of years in the future

uhh hashtag yeah. im perfectly sane guys :3

#if this turns out to be true i am going to lose it #GRAAAAAHHHHHHH #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted project meridian #redacted asset #redacted spoilers #redacted theories #vinn says fandom things #vinn yapping #vinn theorizes

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rookienando · 1 month ago

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max saying he's not in the championship fight scares me. you are currently third in the wdc standings with a crappy car, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT IN THE FIGHT??? yes, the rb car right now is crap compared to previous years, but max is such a goddamn amazing driver that he makes the car look decent and is still able to bring that tractor into the points AND win in suzuka while setting the record for fastest quali lap in the circuit.

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #mv33 #mv1 #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull formula 1

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boolger · 9 months ago

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A lapdog at a farm - snippet - COD

CHAPTER ONE IS OUT <3 TUMBLR OR AO3

This is a snip of the first chapter for my upcoming wip fic 🫡 yes I have 20+ other projects, no I will not stop myself. This is not really checked for mistakes and stuff will probably change in the actual first chapter of the fic. But here u go, a snack for my sinners.

Word count: 2.5k-ish words

Hybrid!Reader x Price, reader x kinda poly141 later in fic, more to come

Small summary: This is an AU with Price becoming a farmer, hybrid dog!reader as a spoiled pet who doesn’t want to live this country life and hybrid working dogs!Gaz, Simon and Soap, who gets bought by Price. Chaos and smut ensues. Anyways, there won’t be this much in this snip.

Minors do not interact. I will block you if I can’t see any kind of indication of age on your blog.

Cw: There is the whole aspect of holding hybrids as pets, there is violence and punishments in this snippet, being hit with a belt. there is smut at the end (not much). Reader has a pussy, she/her. Reader is chubby but I tried my best to keep other descriptions vague.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the lack of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was hard to describe.

Out here, at the new farm, the noise came from animals that lived in the stables and barn, the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind tickled the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

Here the stress wasn't like in the city. Sure, there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

He was happy, it was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - he had gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much happier.

It was like the farm had made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure, legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work.

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this!

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked around the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

You felt like you had tried. You really had.

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road.

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid. The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking Rudy and Ale.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate.

You fucking hated the crate.

But the dog crate? You hated that thing.

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left.

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look.

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction.

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