#spud squirms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

risfics · 3 years

Text

title: you're the only one who knows

rating: explicit, 18+

genre: smut

characters: Hange Zoe

pairing: Hange Zoe x Female!Reader

word count: 5.3K

summary: Hange is your romantic partner and you decide to confess a deep, sexual desire to them that they make com true.

tags: consensual non-consent, gunplay, predator/prey, dacryphilia, breeding kink, Dom/Sub, Dom!Hange, Sub!Reader, Female!Reader, strap, strapping, strap-ons, they/them pronouns for Hange, Hange is coded as a transmasc non-binary person, face fucking, blowjob, cunnilingus, face sitting, slight petplay elements, fluff and smut, aftercare, lesbian sex

"I have this thing that I’m...somewhat ashamed of.” Your soft voice spoke. Your partner watched you with high interest, their one good eye looking into yours. The brunette’s gloved hand reached towards your cheek, stroking it gently.

“I told you already that anything is fair game for me.” Hange’s sultry voice spoke, and you felt like your cheeks were about to melt off. They laughed, noticing your widened eyes.

“Well, I have…a thing for non-con.” You said, moving your gaze to the floor. Hange hummed, nodding.

“I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. It’s a very common fantasy, actually.” They answered matter-of-factly. They pulled your face to meet theirs. “We can do that if it’s what you want.” You watched them, nodding slowly.

“I just found it embarrassing considering the things that I’ve been through. Isn’t that somewhat messed up?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Hange leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Baby, what you want is to be in a controlled environment where you know you’re safe from actual harm. That’s what boundaries, rules and safe words are for. It’s not messed up at all.” Both their hands reached for your face now, as they leaned down slowly, rubbing their nose against yours.

Both of you spoke over the boundaries you were comfortable with and agreed on ‘spud’ as your safe word.

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

You shifted eagerly in your schoolgirl costume as you stood outside in the dark of your backyard. You opened the sliding door leading into your kitchen, placing your bag on the kitchen counter.

“I’m home!” You yelled out to your make-pretend mother, trying not to chuckle, knowing nobody would answer back. The kitchen was dark, all the curtains drawn to block out moonlight. You walked forward, trusting your instincts to lead you to your room-when suddenly a hand from behind you pulled your hair harshly. You yelped at the sudden contact.

The perpetrator pulled you flush against their body, and your breath quickened. Their face met your neck, breathing hard against it. They took a deep breath, taking in your scent, closing their eyes and letting out a moan. You squirmed against them, but they held you tightly. The hand left your hair to touch over your breasts, as you felt your heartbeat quicken. You elbowed them and they scoffed in surprise-you took this as an opportunity to make a run for it. The person let out a loud cackle as they followed close behind.

From the kitchen, you emerged into the living room, tripping over some shoes that weren’t there before you left for the day. You tried standing up as quickly as possible, but it was too late. Hange descended on you, grabbing you by your foot, and pulling you back as you tried to crawl away. You let out a sharp cry as you tried to fight them off. Your heart was beating loudly against your chest, real panic jolting you to escape, yet your cunt was running-feeling slick with wetness inside your underwear. Your eyes began to water-a physical reaction more than an emotional one-causing your vision to blur.

Hange had a relaxed smile on their face as they pulled you towards their body; they placed themselves on top of you, pinning your legs to the floor with their knees; one of their hands pinned one of your wrists against the floor, while their other hand reached for their backside, bringing forward a gun. Your eyes widened at the sight of the weapon.

“Stay still.” Hange’s voice was soft; sweet in the way an assassin would be before stabbing you. You nodded your head, letting out a sob. Despite your adrenaline of panic, your cunt throbbed, flexing and stretching around nothing; something about this feeling so wrong, but so right. Hange’s hand momentarily left your wrist to cock back the gun, and you tried your best to stay still, albeit for the slight trembling that had overtaken your body. Mascara was running down the side of your eyes now, ruining your makeup this early into the game. Your partner placed the gun against your head, pressing it there. They leaned forward, their lips brushing against your ear. Hange’s tongue stuck out licking your ear, and you squirmed at the feeling; their teeth caught your lobe between them, nibbling and biting it softly. Your eyes looked at the ceiling, your fight response subsiding slowly, still sniffling.

You felt the gun travel from your head to beneath your chin, the cold metal making the hairs on your skin stand on their ends and hardening your nipples. Hange pressed the gun underneath your chin, making you look at their eyes directly. Your lover watched you in your fragile state, they loved seeing you like this-some primitive part of them adoring the defenselessness in your eyes, the feeling of them controlling you-it drove them to a mental edge they couldn’t explain.

They leaned in to kiss you slowly, but you kept your lips closed, denying them entry. Hange’s hand slid the gun down your chest, until it reached between your thighs. They pressed it against your clothed clit, rubbing slowly. You gasped at the contact, letting their tongue slide through your lips. You cried in frustration as you allowed your lover to invade your mouth, unable to stop the urge from kissing back. The slow friction of the gun against your clit was driving you insane.

“That’s right, babe, just ease into it…Let it happen.” Hange spoke into the kiss. You whimpered, pushing them away, breaking off the kiss. Their hand threw the gun to the side, roughly placing it around your neck and holding you down. You hit them with your free hands to no avail.

“Stop!” You cried. Hange hesitated for a second; despite knowing the scenario playing out, and that they had your full consent, hearing ‘stop’ was not something they were used to hearing from you-it felt a little jarring to hear it for the first time. The words aroused their primal urges, though, something in Hange’s mind wanted to take you whole like a wolf devouring a rabbit; the struggle to dominate you had them dripping. You decided to push Hange off you with all the strength you had, knocking them over; their glasses clattering against the floor-they gasped, as you stood up, running away again. There was a sick smile on Hange’s face this time. They didn’t stand up to run after you, though, giving you time to get far away from them.

You went upstairs, looking for a hiding place. You stood in front of Hange’s office, deciding it wasn’t an ideal spot-when you heard their heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. You went inside, breath becoming shaky, you saw the tiny closet beside the desk, opening it as quietly as you could and stepping inside, closing the door after. You sat there, covering your mouth while you attempted to still your heavy breathing. Their steps were purposely loud.

“Little bunny!” Hange called out in a singsong voice. “Come out, I just want to play with you!” They finished that statement with laughter. Their footsteps became distant, and you felt your muscles relax slightly. “Are you here?” Their voice asked, in a different room.

Your cunt was pulsating, wanting to be played with; deciding to touch yourself through your panties, your free hand traveled down past your skirt. You felt a warm, wet spot on your underwear, whimpering softly into the hand that covered your mouth. You played with yourself while you heard Hange open closet doors, shower curtains, check under beds. You rubbed agonizingly slow circles on your clit that made you shiver, gaining mewls from your mouth. You were too wrapped up in your moment, that you failed to notice how Hange’s steps were no longer audible.

“Found you.” Was all you heard before the closet door opened and their hand pulled your hair, lunging you forward on your knees. You let out a scream as they dragged you out of the closet, bringing you towards a sofa in the office. Hange sat on the sofa, while you stayed on your knees. They pulled your head up by your hair, placing the gun against your lips. You watched your partner in awe and terror; something about being at their mercy rendered you stupid, like some deer entranced by headlights.

“Suck on it.” They commanded, pushing the gun to your lips. You conceded, no longer sure you had the fight in you. The steel weapon entered your mouth as you noticed their finger on the trigger, making your stomach quiver; you opened your mouth slowly, licking the barrel, feeling the coldness of it against your tongue. You began to take long drags, in and out, salivating the entire thing to the point where you had shiny strings of saliva dribbling from you chin. Hange watched you work on the gun in fascination, their breath becoming slightly labored from excitement. Slowly, they took the gun away and stared at your submissive figure.

“Come here.” They beckoned, tapping their lap. You sat on Hange’s thighs obediently, waiting for more commands. Hange stared into your eyes, slowly dragging their gaze from your face to your body. Their hands wandered around your back, coming forward, feeling your abdominal area. Hange’s fingers tore apart your button shirt, causing you to recoil. Their hands traveled towards your breasts, feeling them through your bra. You shut your eyes, taking shaky breaths.

“Do you like this?” Hange’s raspy voice asked. You shook your head in response, an obvious lie. “Too fucking bad.” They pushed your bra upwards, exposing your breasts; their mouth crashed against one of your nipples, tugging at it with their teeth, wetting it, and then doing the same to the other one. Your mind mixed shame with pleasure, creating a rocky state of thinking. You placed your hands on Hange’s shoulders, your face becoming flush, and your mouth slightly agape at the feeling of their tongue playing with your breasts. Hange began moving underneath you, purposely creating friction between your clit and their thigh. You wrapped your arms around their neck as you let out a small moan, bringing them closer to your chest while they played with your nipples. Hange looked up to see your fucked-out expression.

You began to move by yourself, rubbing yourself against your lover’s thigh, losing yourself in the ecstasy. Hange’s mouth left your breast with a pop, and they leaned backwards on to the sofa to watch your little performance-they moved their thigh, deepening the friction you were already experiencing. Their hands went to your lower back, holding you from possibly falling too far back. You moved fervently in front of them, your breasts bouncing; you rested your head against their shoulder, trying your best to contain your moans, failing miserably as they came out breathy and slightly high pitched. Your legs began to shake, a sign that you were close to climaxing, coaxing you to slow down. Hange ran her hand behind your back in a soothing manner, whispering into your ear.

“You can cum.” Their voice spoke in a low and reassuring tone. You nodded, picking up your pace again in a sloppy manner, feeling yourself being driven over the edge. Hange brought their face towards your neck, grazing their teeth against it, before biting down on it softly. You let out a groan and began to feel that familiar coil in your belly tightening; your tone began to rise.

“Ah-” Was all that came from your lips before you felt yourself release. You let out high cries, your legs shaking; Hange hugged your body tightly against their own as you rode out your orgasm. They left a trail of wet kisses from your neck to your cheek, something they always did whenever you came. They wiped the tears from your face, watching you with love as you caught your breath. The duality of your lover always amazed you-how they could tether the line between sadistic and caring was beyond you, but you were thankful for it. You looked into Hange’s eyes and gave them an aloof smile, like you were disconnected from reality; they kissed you, catching your bottom lip between their teeth, and letting go. You kissed back sloppily.

“See? Now that wasn’t so bad.” They asked mid kiss. You nodded eagerly, obliging to everything they said. You wanted to adore them, make them feel like they were the only person in this universe that could make you feel and act like this. You slowly stopped the kiss, placing one of your hands on Hange’s cheek. Hange’s eye opened, looking deeply into your own.

“I want to worship you.” You stated in a lowered voice. Hange smiled, gripping your bottom tightly and standing up from the sofa. They carried you into your shared bedroom, throwing you on the bed; you yelped and laughed as you fell on to the plush matress. Hange had a genuine smile on their face, nothing but thoughts of how much they adored you and should be worshipping you filled their mind instead.

They crawled on to the bed seductively, slowly getting on top of you, and kissing you once your faces met. You took off your shirt and bra, bearing yourself in front of them, as they placed random kisses all over your chest; their mouth kept traveling to lower parts of your body, but you pushed them off you-gently this time-making sure they were sitting instead. You smiled at them, caressing their face; you traced their nose, placing a peck on it. You kissed them slow and languidly, while your hands traveled to the hem of their black shirt; your hands went underneath it, tracing their abs, feeling their skin. You lifted their shirt in a leisured manner, placing little kisses on random scars and beauty marks that you saw; when you reached their chest, you stared at the scars underneath their breasts. You traced them lovingly, and placed two quick kisses on them, making sure not to linger on that area for too long because you knew it made them uncomfortable.

You placed sweet, small kisses along their neck. Your hands went towards Hange’s pants, unbuckling their belt; you followed the happy trail of hair that led to their folds. Hange sighed at the feeling of your fingers brushing against their engorged clit; you smiled at how wet they were. Hange caught your lips between theirs, kissing you hungrily.

“Let me ride your face.” They groaned, seemingly desperate. You nodded profusely, taking away your hand. You crawled towards the headboard of the bed, laying down on top of huge, soft pillows. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch your partner take off their pants; once they were off, they came over to you, positioning themselves on top of your face, their back against the headboard.

You gripped their thighs, staring at their glistening cunt; your mouth salivated at the thought of their taste, the way you wanted to savor it. Hange brought themself down on you, and you opened your mouth, licking a stripe between their folds; they winced at the contact, shutting their eyes tightly. Your mouth traveled to their engorged clitoris, which peeked out like a tiny head; your lips wrapped around it, suckling it, and engulfing it in warmth-which made Hange gasp. They moved slowly against your mouth, up and downward motions, feeling themselves against your tongue. You watched their figure above you as they moved, their arms gripping the headboard behind them. You sucked on their clit, humming lightly, as Hange grunted.

You loved this feeling, lived for it-knowing you held some power over your partner and how they came undone on top of you-it overwhelmed you with joy. You moved your head up and down, opening your mouth, and moving your tongue side to side.

“Stay like that, leave your mouth open like that,” They said, exasperated. Hange positioned themself on top of you, letting out a soft chuckle; one of their hands traveled to your head, gripping your hair tightly. You laid still with your tongue lolling out, and they began to move, rutting against your tongue. You watched as they wiped their face, their body becoming sticky from the humidity being created in the room. Your tongue moved, forwards, backwards, side-to-side as they moved quicker. You tried your best to catch your breath between their slowdowns. After a while, Hange’s voice became softer, shorter, huffs and puffs were the only thing slipping through their lips. You hummed as they rode your tongue, moaning in desperation.

“Fuck-” Their voice became strained, and they let out a loud whimper; their body shook as you held them in place. Creamy fluid spurted out, dripping everywhere; you tried catching most of it in your mouth, drinking it, and licking their cunt clean; you placed stray kisses on their folds.

Hange let out a sigh as they plopped down beside you, catching their breath; their arm covered their eyes. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at them, deciding to cuddle up next to them. When you lied down beside them, you placed your hand on their stomach as they took deep breaths; your hand ruminated that area, rubbing it gently. They smiled, turning their face to look at you and laugh.

“You’re such a good bunny.” Their voice was breathy as they spoke. “I love you.” They whispered. You smiled, placing a hand on their chest. They leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead and nuzzling your noses together. They took your lips between theirs, kissing you lovingly. When the kiss broke, they spoke, “I’ll be back in a second, okay?” You nodded your head and watched as they walked away. You stared at the ceiling, laughing to yourself, and feeling like the luckiest person in the world for having such an amazing partner by your side. You decided to stretch, arching your back, and moving your wrists around.

“Round three?” Their voice asked from behind. You turned to look at them, noticing the strap on their hips. You smiled, crawling towards the end of the bed where they stood. You knew the strap caused Hange a euphoria unlike any other, which meant you wouldn’t be able to walk properly for some time after this.

You kneeled, staring up at your partner, waiting for a command. One of their hands came towards your face, gently caressing you, their thumb idly circled your lips, before entering your mouth; you sucked on it obediently, staring up at your lover, and noticing a smirk on their face. Their thumb left your mouth, but their other fingers remained on your chin, dragging you slowly towards the tip of the dildo. You looked at them, and they moved their head in encouragement. Your lips parted, as your tongue slipped out and drew idle circles around the head; suddenly you went a little deeper, engulfing the tip of the toy with your mouth.

Hange placed a hand on your head, guiding you deeper, and your palms decided to grip the side of their thighs for support. You inhaled deeply through your nose as you took their length fully, hitting the back of your throat, and purposely making yourself gag; your body’s hair stood up, goosebumps rising all over at the sensation of choking which also caused your nipples hardened. Hange pulled you back by your hair, and strings of saliva connected and disconnected from your lips to their dick.

“Face fuck me.” Your voice spoke, a fire of desperation coming from it. Hange raised an eyebrow and laughed.

“Are you sure?” They ask, leaning down, and placing a kiss on your lips. You nodded impatiently in response and that was all they needed. Hange gripped your hair, roughly bringing you back to their cock. “Suck on this like a good fucking pet.” They slid past your lips, filling your mouth to the brim with the size of their strap; you moved your head at first, creating a rhythm for yourself and Hange allowed it, knowing you needed those little moments before being thrown into the real thing.

After a few minutes, they gripped your head, bringing you forward harshly. You felt yourself gag, letting out a loud whimper, and shutting your eyes tightly closed. Tears threatened to fall again, but you loved this-you adored the shame your partner placed on you, how they made you feel like a sacred figure revered by all one moment, and a worthless whore the next. They thrusted into your mouth, pushing in and out at a leisured pace; you made obscene noises, gargling on your own saliva and their length. They palmed the side of your cheek, a familiar sting you adored.

“Look at me when you’re sucking my cock, you fucking whore.” Their voice came low, raspy. You let out a high pitched ‘Hm?’ opening your eyes to look directly at them as they fucked your tiny mouth. They thrusted deeply this time, gagging you, and then pulled back, fully. A thick strip of white viscosity coated their dildo as well as dripped from your mouth. You took in deep breaths, your lips slightly ajar, and your eyes still locked on theirs. Hange gripped the back of your head, shoving you in front of the dildo again, and tapping your lips and cheek with it.

“You like this, don’t you?” They asked, as smirk on spread across their face. You shook your head, wanting to defy them a little. They bit their lips at your response. The gripped their cock, prodding your lips with it. “Open your mouth.” You shook your head, and their grip on your hair tightened, pulling it. “Open it!” They raised their voice, and you let out a small cry, before opening your mouth only a little, but this was all it took for them to shove their cock deep into again. They thrusted.

“Say you love my dick in your mouth!” They half shouted. You whimpered, barely able to speak through the movements. As much as you acted like you hated it, or didn’t want it, this kind of play drove you insane. Your cunt throbbed under you, your wetness staining the sheets.

“I love-” Your voice was barely audible through the thrusting and from their dick stuffing in your mouth, you let out a high-pitched cry, feeling your eyes begin to let tears out.

“You love what!?” They thrusted again, and you gargled, making awful noises. You remembered to breathe through your nose, in order to keep calm.

“I love your,” You began, but they thrusted again. “your dick in my mouth!” You tried your best to finish.

“Good girl.” They smiled, thrusting hastily. Hange pushed in harshly a last time, causing you to choke, and they quickly pulled back, causing your mouth to make a ‘pop’ sound. You coughed, your eyes letting tears flow freely as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Hange bent down to your level, eyes full of concern. Their hands reached for the side of your face, but you shook your head, wanting to deal with this by yourself. You coughed and coughed, eventually able to breathe properly, as your coughs slowly turned into laughs. Hange covered their face behind their hands, embarrassed to have been so careless with you.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I should have held back.” They spoke. You laughed, waving them off.

“Things like this happen all the time, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” You coughed again. Hange shook their head, gently grabbing your face between their palms, and wiping away your tears. They peppered sweet kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, and lips. “Hange, I’m genuinely okay, I promise.” You assured them. You caught their lips between yours.

“I love you and I know you would never hurt me, okay?” You said, after pulling away from the kiss. They nodded and let out a sigh after hearing your words. You kissed them again, wrapping your arms around their neck, and slowly falling backwards, so that they were on top of you. Their tongue idly played with yours as they caressed your head; they slowly left hot kisses from your neck to your collarbones. Hange stopped, their eyes meeting yours again.

“Do you still…” They gripped the toy strapped to their leg and you nodded eagerly once again. You spread your legs, shamelessly exposing yourself to your partner, and they took an experimental finger towards your cunt; their fingers rubbed your clit tentatively, before moving towards your entrance to make sure you were still wet enough. They bent down, deciding to lick a few stripes between your folds. You yelped when you felt their mouth close in on your clitoris, feeling them suck on it slowly. Your hands gripped their hair, as they swirled their tongue around, causing mewls to escape your lips.

After a few more minutes, they pulled back, staring at your glimmering hole; you let out a frustrated whimper at the lack of contact. They gripped their toy, bringing their hips flush against yours, and rubbing their dick up and down, slowly, between your folds. You keened underneath them, bucking your hips slightly, wanting them inside you. You needed them right now. They gripped your legs, wrapping them around their waist. They positioned the toy at your entrance, wanting to watch as the toy disappeared into your folds.

You felt the tip of the toy at your entrance, prodding it, and you let out a sigh of desperation. The tip broke through, and you bit your lips as Hange’s member slowly inched deeper, spreading your walls. You let out a sigh, as you felt their entire length inside you. You put your arms up, beckoning them to lay on top of you. They brought themselves down, propping themselves up on their elbows. You wrapped your arms around their back; Hange’s breath was on your cheek, as they moved slowly inside of you, doing gentle in and out strokes.

“You’re so fucking big.” You let out, your breath hitching in your throat. There was a faint sting as they shifted in and out, gentle still. You were used to the strap by now, but it had been a few weeks since both of you decided to use it. Hange bit their lip and sighed.

“I want you to have my kids so bad.” They whispered, their voice sounding slightly frustrated. One of your hands traveled from their back to their face, slowly caressing it. Something deep within Hange was frustrated at the aspect of not being able to impregnate you; as much as the strap made them euphoric, it could sometimes trigger their dysphoria. You kissed their cheek.

“I guess you’ll just have to fuck me so good that the universe grants us a miracle and we have a baby.” You told them. Hange scoffed and laughed loudly at your response; they shook their head, kissing you.

“Tell me how good I feel inside you.” They whispered against your ear. You nodded, giving them a loving smile. Hange began moving slightly faster now, and your cunt flexed and stretched around their cock.

“You feel so warm inside me.” You breathed out. Hange separated from you, gripping your hips, and snapping forward. You whimpered, hearing the slap of their skin against yours. They buried themself inside you.

“Your pussy was made for me to breed, wasn’t it?” They practically growled. A cry escaped from your throat, nodding your head fervently.

“Yes, yes!” You let out. The rutted against you, keeping a steady pace, watching how you took them in. Your gummy walls squelched, making loud, slushing noises and the sheets under you became wet with every thrust. Hange watched you in awe as your tits bounced while they moved inside of you. Your hand reached for your clitoris, but Hange moved your hand away, shaking their head. They gripped your legs, pushing them against your stomach; they put you in a mating press, and you felt their cock hitting that sensitive spot that drove you insane.

“Holy fuck!” You screamed out in pleasure, as your eyes watered, and your mouth was left slightly agape, with saliva dripping from it; Hange was salivating as well, and they leaned down to take your mouth into hers. You were barely able to kiss back, as you exchanged spit between moving tongues, and sloppy kissing.

“Hange,” You exasperated through broken moans. Indecipherable noises and words left your mouth, as it clashed against theirs. “Your dick is breaking me open,” You cried. “It’s tearing me apart.” You took in shaky breaths.

“Oh, baby, but you can take me, can’t you?” They asked, thrusting once. You nodded, whimpering at their timed thrusts. Hange kissed you again, as you wrapped your arms around their neck, holding them flush against you. They quickened their pace, and you felt your abdomen tighten, a sure sign that you were close to finishing.

“I’m so close, but you feel so good.” You managed to speak. You shook your head. “I don’t want to finish; I want you inside me forever.” You slurred.

“Don’t hold back, baby, don’t.” They encouraged you. Sweat dripped from their forehead and yours, your bodies sticky now, and the glasses in the room fogged up. Your voice began to rise in pitch, until you came crashing down, your body convulsing and your cunt squeezing around your partner’s dildo. You cried out in ecstasy, as you felt liquid drip down your cunt. Hange gradually slowed down, until they stopped, pulling out completely. They pulled away to look at your used pussy, it was puffy, and shiny with your slick. They leaned over you, placing soft kisses on your face as you caught your breath. When they pulled back from you, they wiped the sweat from their forehead, catching their own breath as well; their body slightly ached from all the work they did today, and still, they stood up from the bed after a few minutes.

Aftercare…

“I’ll be right back, alright?” They spoke, as they walked into the bathroom. You nodded and watched as they left. You placed your arm over your head, breathing heavily. You heard Hange leave the room after using the bathroom, and after a few minutes, you felt the end of the bed dip.

“Can you spread your legs open for me, babe?” They spoke softly, their voice coming across with a loving tone. You did as they asked, lifting your arm to look. They’d brought an assortment of things, like ibuprofen, water, snacks. Their hands came towards your lower region, using a warm towel to gently clean your folds and that general area. “Everything I did and said today isn’t a reflection of how I actually feel for you.” They spoke. Once they felt satisfied with how that area was cleansed, they kissed your thighs and knees.

“I love you, and I would never actually harm you.” They said this while looking into your eyes. You nodded, a small smile taking up your face. They dropped the towel on the floor, grabbing the pills and extending one to you with a water bottle. “Here, drink this. I can already see some bruises from when you fell.” You drank the painkillers, standing up.

“I’m not scared of you, Hange.” You spoke, your voice slightly hoarse. You laughed at how your voice sounded, and Hange let out a laugh too. “You did a great job at grounding me constantly, and even during the most intense moments, I could tell you knew how to hold yourself back.” Your hand reached out to caress their cheek. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, and I promise that I’m okay.” You kissed them gently.

“Would you like a massage?” You asked.

“That would be wonderful.” They answered.

And so the night went on, you tried your best at relieving their body aches, and they whispered sweet nothings in your ears that meant a whole lot of something, until eventually both of you drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

#hange zoe #hange zoe x reader #hange x reader #attack on titan #smut #hange zoe smut #ri likes to write things

774 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 3 years

Text

Seasons Change (d.s.) - SEVEN

↳ A/N Sorry it's been so long since I updated this omg. I've had a few other projects on the go as well as school things and internship things but hopefully I should get back into this routine again! Anyway, here's seven!

↳ Summary: Everyone knows everything about everyone in this small rural town in east Connecticut and the handsome single father who owns the farm down the main street seems to always be the talk of the town. Balancing the care of his acreage, raising his school-age son, and coaching the local boys’ hockey team keeps Daniel busy; but his mind never strays far from the expansive and vibrant flower gardens planted outside his farmhouse.

↳ Word Count: 2621

↳ Warnings: This story touches on topics such as loss of loved ones and grief. Nothing too detailed but read at your own discretion x

Lennox turned eight on April 22nd. Marigold loved that her son was born on Earth Day since she had always been so connected with nature. He was her own little blossoming flower from the moment he was first laid in her arms. Marigold also took birthdays very seriously and after she passed, Daniel tried his very best to keep Lennox’s birthday celebrations as consistent as possible. It started even the night before when the little boy would be eating his bedtime snack and instead of a bedtime story book, he would be told the story of the day he was born. Daniel tried his best to remember all of the details with his son tucked up under his arm but honestly that long night full of excited nerves eight years earlier was a bit of a blur.

But Lennox listened contently, cuddled up against his father’s side, and tried to imagine it all himself. Daniel always made a point to mention how brave and strong and peaceful Marigold was through the whole process and Lennox beamed with pride at the thought of his darling mother being so excited to meet him.

Daniel tucked his son into bed that night with an extra hug and an extra kiss and wished him sweet dreams. It was hard to believe it had been eight entire years since Marigold came walking casually into the barn where he had been working with her hospital bag over her shoulder and said far to casually, “Ready to go? I’m in labour.” Daniel almost laughed at the memory now as he sat alone in bed that night and reminisced. The best gift Marigold ever gave him was their son. He only wished they had the opportunity and the privilege to have more together.

When Daniel went into Lennox’s room at precisely 6:30am the next morning, he lingered in the doorway a moment. There was nothing more warming than watching your child sleep so peacefully and often in the busyness that morning brought, he didn’t often take a second to truly be grateful for his blessing. Daniel knew better than anyone that time wasn’t often on your side and he basked in the present as much as he could.

After a few moments, when their schedule started to press that it was time to get on with their morning routines, Daniel pulled open the curtains to brighten the room and greeted his son with a smile as he blinked his eyes open.

“Good morning, birthday boy.” Daniel sang quietly.

Lennox grinned up at him and stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. Sidney jumped up onto his bed again and helped himself to a few licks to the boy’s cheek.

“Sleep well?” Daniel asked as he scooped up the dog.

“Yeah.” Lennox sighed, rolling over onto his side and tucked his hands under his head.

Daniel pet his hand through his hair and down his back in loving rubs before the boy started fading back to sleep again. Daniel nudged him awake, “Come on. Go collect the eggs so I can make you some birthday pancakes.”

Lennox smiled sleepily, “Dad, I wanna stay home with you today.”

“I wish, Spud. But you gotta go to school.” Daniel said as he headed around to the closet and pulled out Lennox’s favourite outfit with the hand that wasn’t holding the squirming pup. “Then when you get home we can celebrate properly.”

With the eggs collected and brought inside and Lennox washed up for the day, Daniel finished making the homemade pancakes and brought over the stack to the table with a little candle stuck on top. He sang a quiet happy birthday rendition on his own, bringing a beaming smile to his son’s face, and set the plate in front of him. The birthday boy blew out the single candle with a giggle and reached across the table for the maple syrup.

The boys ate together quietly, munching fruit and pancakes and sipping fresh milk, and soon it was time for school. Daniel held on a little longer when they shared their goodbye hug at the bus stop but Lennox didn’t mind. Daniel watched the bus leave and then hurried back up the driveway for his busy day ahead – he had given Blythe the day off. He had to finish a few things around the farm before driving farther into town for a few last minute birthday preparations.

“Morning, Daniel!” Corbyn greeted from behind the counter in the general store.

“Good morning.” Daniel answered gently as he approached.

“I have your order here. I think they sent out a few too many balloons.” Corbyn called over his shoulder as he stepped into the back of house to bring out the items.

“You can never have too many balloons.” Daniel said, admiring the few helium balloons in various shades of blue that Corbyn brought around from the back. The largest one in the center was in the shape of an ‘8’ and the smaller ones around it were in accenting colours and tied down to a weight with silver ribbon. “These look great.” Daniel complimented as he admired them. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” Corbyn set a large plastic bag on the counter between them. “Plus you’d know I’d do anything for the little man.”

Daniel cracked a small smile as he peeked in the bag to count the packages of streamers and 8-themed plates and napkins inside, “I know.”

“What did you get him?” Corbyn asked as he rung up the order.

“It’s a surprise. Are you coming to the party tonight?” Daniel took out his wallet and slid a few bills across the counter.

“At the restaurant?”

“Yeah. After practice…I scheduled it early so we’ll be done around 6 or so.”

“Sure. I’d love to come. As long as I get cake.”

“Jack and his wife got the cake covered.” Daniel assured him as he took his receipt.

Corbyn tisked kindly, “Don’t know how you do it.”

Daniel only smiled politely back as he gathered his purchases, “Me neither.”

Lincoln’s only restaurant was across the street and Daniel headed right over with the balloons and decorations. The Herron’s owned the place and even though there was always a bit of tension between them and the Seavey’s, they kept things professional when it came to their restaurant.

Katie Herron greeted Daniel with a giddy squeal when he stepped inside and she rushed over to pull him into a hug, “Oh gosh, so good to see you!”

“You knew I was coming.” Daniel reminded her politely as she pulled back from him and let her hands linger on his biceps that were more than apparent under his white tank top.

“I know. And Zach and I are always so pleased that you still come here to celebrate Lennox’s birthday.” Katie smiled, squeezing his arms gently.

Daniel chuckled nervously and slunk past her, “Yes, you guys are very gracious for allowing us to come every year.”

“Of course. Isn’t that right, dear?” Katie directed to her husband behind the bar as he was wiping down a few glasses and setting up for opening later. Zach eyed Daniel for a moment but they shared forced polite smiles and he nodded. Daniel missed when Marigold would handle all this nonsense but he would keep pushing through so long as Lennox expected it.

When the decorations were given to the restaurant for after hockey and everything was planned out with Jack and their delivery of the cake later, Daniel headed back home to wrap the present, oversee a few of the finances for the farm, and then get ready for the evening celebrations and hockey practice. 3:00 snuck up on him sooner than he thought and soon Lennox was barreling inside the front door.

“Daddy! I’m home!” he shouted at the top of his lungs as he slammed the door behind him.

“Up here, Spud!” Daniel called back from his room.

Lennox took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the master bedroom with Sidney at his heels. He was breathless and grinning – mostly because he did a perimeter search when he got home to thankfully find no random women weeding the garden – and rushed right up to Daniel to throw his arms around him.

“How was school?” Daniel chuckled, leaning down to kiss his son’s head as he hugged him back.

“Great!” Lennox smiled, climbing up onto the bed as Daniel finished buckling up his belt over his light blue jeans. “My class sang me happy birthday and I got to sit in the rocking chair during reading time because it was my birthday.”

“Wow. That’s great.” Daniel said as he picked up his blue button-up from where he had draped it over the end of the bed beside the sleeping cat. He pulled it on over his white tank top and left it open.

“What are we doing tonight?” Lennox asked eagerly.

“Well, I was thinking we would go out to eat and then have hockey a little early and then eat some cake at the restaurant with the team after. Sound good?” Daniel made sure his collar was sitting right in the mirror over the dresser.

“Yeah!” Lennox cheered and jumped off the bed to run to his own room to put his school things away.

When he was freshened up a little and the dog and cat were fed downstairs and the hockey bags were put in the bed of the truck along size a nice sized gift donned with a bow, it was time to leave. Daniel had prepared everything for the celebrations to be after hockey so it was just them and their usual table when they arrived at the restaurant.

Lennox could choose whatever he wanted to eat since it was his birthday – Marigold had always tried to lean him towards healthier stuff the rest of the year, although since her passing Daniel was having trouble keeping up that rule – and he ordered a pizza to share between them. Pepperoni. Extra cheese. And a large Coca Cola.

When quarter to five came around and dinner was finished, Daniel paid the bill and they headed across the street to the community center. As the other boys arrived, they all wished Lennox happy birthday loudly and were hyped up for practice although were a bit distracted by the concept of cake waiting for them afterwards to really do much work. Daniel gave them a pass though. It was his boy’s birthday after all.

He wrapped up practice a few minutes early and locked up as the boys got back into their street clothes. Lennox waited in the locker room while Daniel showered off the sweat from practice and then they headed across the street back to the restaurant together, exchanging their hockey bags for the large, wrapped present from the truck on the way. Lennox powered ahead, helping himself to the glass pained wooden door to the local restaurant and pushed himself inside with Daniel right behind him.

As promised, the restaurant had been decorated during practice with the streamers and balloons that Daniel ordered and the huge grin on his son’s face made it so worth it. The boys’ hockey team and their parents as well as Daniel’s few friends from town were around the large table set up in the centre of the space and welcomed him with ‘surprise’ and ‘happy birthday’. Lennox just beamed up at his father and then rushed over to his spot at the head of the table.

Daniel set the gift on the nearby table where a few smaller presents were stacked and then returned to his son’s side. He pushed back his frazzled brown hair from his face, “Surprised?”

“Yeah!” Lennox smiled, eyeing the large ‘8’ balloon nearby, “It’s so cool!”

He tugged at Daniel’s blue button up to get him to lean down and he hugged him quickly in thanks before turning his attention back to his friends. Daniel didn’t mind – having an eight-year-old now meant his friends were going to be growing in importance – but he was just glad Lennox was starting to open up again after losing Marigold.

Daniel, as host of the party, took initiative to greet the guests although his eye was caught by Blythe standing with Jonah and Jocelyn nearby. He headed over to greet them casually, thank them for coming, the usual niceties that Marigold always knew how to do so easily.

“Quite the party.” Blythe complimented.

“Thanks.” Daniel chuckled softly, “It’s the eight years of practice.”

Lennox, who had been in the middle of a who-can-flick-the-crumpled-up-napkin-the-farthest contest with his friends, suddenly eyed the young woman across the room whom he didn’t give permission to be invited to his party. He would have gone over if it wasn’t for Jack who stepped up to interrupt whatever they were talking about. With an annoyed sigh, Lennox turned back to his friends.

Daniel gave Jack the go-ahead to light the candles and then he found his place back at the head of the table beside his son. Everyone sang happy birthday and applauded as the nice sized vanilla cake was brought out and set on the table in front of the birthday boy. He sat up straighter to get a good look at the white icing topped in shaky blue printing, ‘Happy 8th Birthday Lennox!’, and Daniel set his hand on the back of his chair. Everyone was staring at him with eager smiles.

“Make a wish.” Daniel whispered to his son.

Lennox pondered that for a moment, wondering what to wish for in a world full of possibilities. His last birthday wish was ‘I wish Mommy could come back’ but now he was a whole eight-years-old and he knew that wasn’t possible so he had to think of a new one. He looked at his excited friends. He looked up to his father standing at his right with his usual faint smile. He looked down the table to Blythe who was standing there with a glass of root beer and a polite smile right at him. Their eyes met for a moment but Lennox looked back to his cake quickly, shut his eyes, and spoke aloud,

“I wish for it to just be me and Daddy forever.”

He blew out the candle and the party guests applauded for cake and Daniel caressed his hand over the back of his son’s head with a flat expression, trying to hide the uncertainty in his face. He shyly glanced down the table. Blythe was staring at the floor.

Daniel didn’t think much of her outside of being their gardener but Lennox’s obvious hostility towards her just trying to do her job made his statement just a little more awkward. His heart was racing and he wasn’t quite sure why. Lennox only smiled proudly and watched as Daniel was passed the serving knife, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his single tattoo on display as he started to serve the cake piece by piece.

Lennox carefully traced over the black ink etched into his father’s skin and eyed the gold wedding band still wrapped around his ring finger. With a sweet smile that mirrored his late mother, Lennox looked up at his father and reminded him quietly, “Don’t forget to save a piece for Mommy.”

Daniel passed the plate he was holding down the row of children before dipping down to kiss his son’s head, “I would never.”

On the way home that evening, after the celebration, Daniel and Lennox took an extra stop so the birthday boy could leave a slice of cake and a weighted balloon at his mother’s grave.

Seasons Change Taglist: @stuffofseaveyy @randomlimelightxxx @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @hopinglimelight @onlyangelavery @sbrewer21 @bessonsbxtch @viamiasoncrack @the-girl-who-cried-wolf @bessonbae @21burritoseavey

Please click the link in my bio to be added to the taglist!

#🌼#daniel seavey #why dont we #corbyn besson #jack avery #jonah marais #zach herron #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

41 notes · View notes

sergeant-spoons · 3 years

Text

5. Bellegarde

Maeve R.L. O’Leavy

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @vintagelavenderskies @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lyon, France.

In a city nearly eponymous with a fierce beast of the African savannah, the third-largest in France, to see such lack of life on the streets was strange. No lights burned in windows. No children played on the sidewalks. No flags of France, only the red and black sort that sent a shiver up Maeve's spine, even after five years of knowing its brand and the wickedness that came with it. The quiet made her uneasy. Even the slightest tumble of a pebble across the road, sent off by the tip of her boot, woke her instinct to flinch. She knew better than to allow the urge to play out; anything other than meek composure would draw unwanted attention. Her hands remained steady and her expression did not waver.

Traveling in the shadows as best she could, knowing she was breaking the Nazi-enforced curfew, Maeve was as glad as any good child on Christmas morning when she arrived at the address she called her safe house in this city. Creeping around to the back fence, she found the loose boards- the fifth and sixth away from the house -and pushed them up. It took her a little squirming, but she got through in the end, and when she straightened up, the light from an open door momentarily blinded her. Squinting at the outlined figure in the doorway, she was, for an instant, reminded of Frau Landau, waiting for the children, her hand clasped to her bosom; the thought eased Maeve's panic and she loosened her instinctive grip on her sidearm.

"Drop the pistol, Lawlor, it's only me."

Relief swept through her as Maeve straightened up from the shadows. Though she could not see the familiar face of Joëlle Bellegarde, she knew it was her from the words that came floating from her silhouetted self. What other voice could be so harsh and sweet at the same time, speaking in such an educated timbre strange for a country-born girl? Hurrying up to the back door, she was welcomed inside, and once her contact swept her suspicious gaze across the area, she shut the door and stepped back. Busying herself by drawing the curtains on every window, Joëlle gestured to the stove with an unblemished hand.

"There are bowls in the cupboard, take your fill."

Once Maeve had retrieved a solid helping of vegetable stew and Joëlle was satisfied with the concealment of the goings-on within her home, they sat together at the small kitchen table and ate in silence. Maeve's bowl contained mostly potatoes, but she didn't mind, as the flavor reminded her of her earliest childhood, in the days before her father went back to university, graduated, and earned a position at the same school as the professor of national literature. Those days were long past, she thought in a rare moment of grief for the years spent so far from her family. She had not spoken to them in over five years. No letters, no telegrams, not even a confirmation of her continued existence on this mortal plane sent by word of mouth.

It's for their own safety, Maeve reminded herself. I'll see them again, someday.

"It's good to see you're still alive and kicking, Lawlor." Joëlle pushed her bowl aside, her meal consumed in such a hurry that Maeve nearly forgot it was not empty in the first place. "The S.S. is looking for you," she went on, getting straight to business as usual. "They have you marked as a high-alert target."

Maeve chuckled around a mouthful of spud. "Took 'em long enough."

"You cannot return to Germany."

"What?!" Her spoon splashed a bit of broth onto her sleeve as Maeve dropped it into her bowl. "Ye don't mean tha-"

"What choice do you have?" Joëlle leaned closer across the table. "You simply cannot become a victim of the very same evil you're saving all those children from."

After a long while of hushed consideration, Maeve reluctantly nodded, and Joëlle returned to fully sit upon her chair.

"Fine. I'll go somewhere else then. Amsterdam, Poland, Czechoslovakia-"

"Actually-" Joëlle produced a folded, slightly-yellowed piece of parchment from her apron pocket. "-I have a special mission I hope you'll take."

Maeve lowered her spoon, her appetite fading.

"What kind o' mission?"

Receiving no verbal reply, and more interested in this offer than the remnants of her now-lukewarm stew, Maeve rose and followed her companion's beckon to the closet across the room. Pushing aside coats, they slipped through the cramped space, and Maeve, though she'd been in this house a dozen times before, nearly tripped on the lip of the first step. She followed the sunshine curls of her longtime associate- over two years had passed since their first mission together -down the narrow stairwell, squinting into the darkness below.

Joëlle retrieved a candle from the shelf half-hindering the entrance to the cellar and lit it with a match from her pocket. She went around the small underground sanctuary, lighting the three lamps, one on each wall, and did the same for the half-dozen candles scattered across the desk against the far wall. Maeve took a moment to breathe in and out the stuffy air, acclimating herself to the lower oxygen levels. Joëlle waved her over to the table and she crossed the single yard distance with two quick strides.

"The operation is codenamed 'Overlord'. Thousands upon thousands of American, British, and Canadian troops will swarm the beaches of Normandy-" As she spoke, Joëlle demonstrated the plan upon the crinkled map. "-as well as the skies."

"Where do I come in?"

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is one of guidance. You will escort five Allied intelligence agents to the crucial meeting point of Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. They are with the OSS-"

"The Office of Strategic Services," Maeve murmured, nodding along. "So they're American."

“Mhmm. They will jump- with parachutes -from C-47 Transports that will fly to Normandy from southern England; they will accompany the soldiers of the 101st Airborne."

"Paratroopers?"

“Oui.” Joëlle almost smirked. "More Americans.”

Maeve gave a slow nod. "How soon?"

"A week." Looking from the map to Maeve, Joëlle shifted on her feet. "I know it isn't what you would normally take on, but if these forces succeed, you would help to liberate all the children of France from the Nazis."

"Ye really think so?" Maeve's eyes, though she could not see them herself, gleamed in the candlelight with a new intensity. "That would be... monumental."

"It would." Joëlle tapped a pointed finger where the shores of Normandy lay bare of any notation. Maeve understood why: should her associate be captured and/or her house ransacked, any physical evidence of the operation could easily spell its doom. "That's why they need you up north as soon as possible."

Maeve reached for her pack, bow, and quiver, but her compatriot shook her blonde ringlets with a soft chuckle.

"Not tonight, Lawlor. Do not let the dogs catch your scent. Let the rain wash it away."

"The rain?"

Just then, a crack of thunder rang out, swiftly accompanied by the muffled pelting of sky-borne water onto the yard two meters or so above their heads. Maeve shook her head, mostly to herself, as she let the strap of her bag fall from her fingers. To her, it was almost witchcraft, how Joëlle always knew the weather's twists and turns. Impressive as it was inconceivable.

"Right. The rain." Maeve turned back to the table, blinking in quick repetition as her eyes readjusted to the low candlelight. "So I'll set out tomorrow."

"After you sleep," advised her companion, and Maeve agreed with a silent sigh coupled with a grateful nod.

"You'll have to make the northward journey solo. I trust you'll find your own way?"

"Tha' won't be an issue." Maeve examined the map, planning out the quickest route in her head, considering the terrain, patrols, and light conditions. "I'll need rations, an' some sort o' way t' let 'em know who I am."

"Done, and done." Joëlle hit her palm on the table, soft enough that the candles, though they flickered, remained alight. "I'll radio it up the line tonight. They will be pleased to hear of your agreement."

"I'll be glad t' help."

"I know." Joëlle clapped her on the shoulder. "Go to rest, mon amie."

"Will do. Thank ye."

Nodding her away, Joëlle turned back toward the table, and Maeve made for the cellar steps. Walking around them, she found the little door she was looking for and propped it open- the hatch latched with a spring -with a cinder block from the pile beside it. As she crept through, she breathed in the scent of musty wood and old brick. Retrieving her flashlight, she discerned that the mattress stuffed within was covered in dust. Maeve watched it for a moment, realizing just how long it had been since her last stay here. Any other circumstance and she would think to visit more often; as it were, however, the less she saw Joëlle, the safer they would both be.

She shook out the sheet on top, watching the particles dance in the beam of the flashlight, and laid down. Turning off the light, she closed her eyes and made for sleep, and in her weariness, it hurried upon her. Alas, the morning arrived in haste and the tidings of farewell were ever the swifter, breakfast neglected to ensure a departure posthaste.

"Adieu." Joëlle extended her hand to shake. "Good fortune to you, Lawlor."

Maeve accepted the gesture with the flicker of a smile. "Right back at ye, Bellegarde."

Joëlle turned down the street in one direction and Maeve in the other, sunrise coils and sunset curls disappearing East and West through the haze of the morning mist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#maeve r.l. o'leavy #maeve r.l. o'leavy ficlet #maeve r.l. o'leavy 5: bellegarde #band of brothers #gallant heart #band of brothers ficlet #band of brothers oc ficlet #band of brothers oc #hbo war show #hbo war #hbo war show ficlet #hbo war show oc #hbo war show oc ficlet #hbo war oc ficlet #oc fanfiction #oc ficlet #hbo war oc #hbo war ficlet

9 notes · View notes

redheid · 3 years

Text

end of the movie mark and begbie are in the bed while simon and spud are sleeping on the floor, i fully understand why the raging franco got his place and why he’s also the one carrying the cash but my question is how the fuck did mark squirm a place of comfort out from under simon fucking williamson

#in what world #they flipped a coin then mark won and simon got mad about it and insisted they arm wrestle or something as juvenile and mark again happened #to win then simon made some non excuse as to why he lost then made some reference to mark having a tiny dick or something and that’s the #only way he would allow himself to settle into bed #i won’t hear anything other I’ve been thinking about this long enough now

1 note · View note

onlyliberty-a · 5 years

Note

kisses on the cheek, and then hoists her up onto her shoulder and walks away. Yes, she just stole her. ( notlikegcds )

Anne, for the most part, doesn’t take to kindly to people simply lifting her. There had been a total of three exceptions to the rule: Jack Rackham, James Kidd, and now Armistice Barlow. Anne had tried to lift her, once, and despite her not being overly heavy… she’d failed miserably. It’s one of those evenings where the bar’s starting to quiet down and the brush of her lips against her cheek had her turning her head.

What Anne doesn’t expect, however is to be flipped arse over tit and slung over Armistice’s shoulder like a sack of spuds. A squirming squiggling sack of spuds. Armistice turns on her heel and Anne lifts her head enough to glance back at her company. “Guess it’s time fer me to go, see ye later, lads!”

yoink’d by wife.@notlikegcds

#notlikegcds #* ic / well you know what they say? sometimes it’s better this way : answered.#i love this so much

2 notes · View notes

anonymouswriter2311 · 5 years

Text

Badge’s and Barmaid’s, Chapter 21

Sorry for the long wait. Between travelling and university work I haven't had much time to write. I'm not back to my usual update speed just yet, but just know that I haven't abandoned this!

AO3 Link

“What the hell are you doing here?” Charity hissed as she quickly buttoned up her silky blouse, her cheeks red with a mixture of arousal, embarrassment, and anger. She had a whole load of plans for how their afternoon was going to pan out and having to throw clothes on in front of Joe freaking Tate was definitely not on her list.

“I knocked but no one answered, I can see why now.” Joe’s smug smirk grew as he looked over Charity’s shoulder to Vanessa, who was thankfully now fully dressed. “Nice to see you again Officer.”

“Detective.” Vanessa hissed under her breath as she stood behind Charity. Gently she rested her hand in the blondes back, making sure to keep the small contact out of view from the unwanted guest, only to have Charity move away from her touch. Vanessa wanted to be mad, but she knew that Charity had a long history with the Tate’s and her walls needed to stay firmly up whenever he was around.

“Whatever…I don’t think you’ll have much of a title left after this anyway, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t pay taxes so you can spend your work day in the back room of a run-down pub fornicating with a known criminal.” He smirked the vilest of smirks, tightening an invisible noose around Vanessa’s neck. Finally, he had dirt on Hotten’s newest arrival, and he wouldn’t think twice about using her to his advantage.

“What I do in my spare time is my business Mr Tate,” Vanessa stood her ground, going as far as to gently push past the taller silent woman.

“I think the badge and gun on the table is a big hint that this isn’t spare time.” His smirk intensified, a wave of nausea hitting Vanessa hard.

“Who cares! Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here or am I gonna have ta’ thump it out of you.” Charity spat, every fibre in her body keeping her anchored in place.

“Threatening me in front of an Officer, ballsey.”

“I didn’t hear a threat, did you, Detective?” Charity smirked back, praying that Vanessa would have her back.

“Nope.” The shorter woman said with a pop, as she resisted the urge to reach out and comfort the blonde. She could see how much Joe’s presence alone was affecting her.

“You’ve really got yourself quite the little puppy dog here, and I thought you had more sense.” Joe casually sat on the edge of the table, making sure not to break the intimidating eye contact with Vanessa. “I wonder what your supervisor would think? Sleeping around on the job, with a Dingle nonetheless.” He added, his lips curling up as she watched the Detective squirm slightly under his gaze.

“He’s not going to find out! What Vanessa and I do is our business, and you can stick your privileged gob out of it!” Charity quickly jumped to Vanessa’s aid, the blonde feeling a strong urge to protect the smaller woman.

“Charity, I can handle him.” Vanessa placed her hand carefully on Charity’s arm, hoping to calm the blonde – if that was even possible at this current moment.

“You shouldn’t have to! Isn’t this breaking and entering?” The barmaid spat, looking to Vanessa for answers.

“Not when you have a key.” Joe chuckled as he jiggled a familiar set of keys in front of Charity.

“How the hel-”

“Debbie gave me it a few months ago, in case of emergencies.” He cut her off, taking great pleasure in throwing the small set of keys at Charity’s feet. This was the last straw for Charity, and before Joe even had the chance to open his privileged mouth once again, Charity was pouncing, ready to inflict as much damage as possible. She’d almost made it, her hands just inches away from his throat when she felt Vanessa pull her back and quickly plant her smaller body in front of Charity’s fuming one.

“Vanessa get out of my way.” She tried and failed to push past the frowning Detective.

“Don’t do something you’re going to regret Charity.” Vanessa hissed, more worry than anger laced in her voice. Charity breathed deeply, going over the endless amount of calming techniques she’s been taught over the years.

“I just want to get to know my brother, is that too much to ask for?” Joe shrugged, unaffected by Charity’s little outburst.

“Over my dead body!” Charity was once again restrained by Vanessa, who was ready to attack the man-child herself at this rate.

“What about my silence?” He smirked, his words catching Charity’s attention. “About this, about Detective Woodfield’s extra duties. If you two are hiding in here with all the doors locked, I take it this is something you’d like to keep quiet.” Vanessa was about to refuse when Charity quickly cut her off.

“Tomorrow afternoon. Noah has the dentist in the morning, and I’ve promised him the rest of the day off.”

“Charity!” Vanessa whisper-shouted, as the taller blonde made a point to avoid any eye contact with her.

“One hour. That’s all you get.”

“That’s acceptable.” Joe nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“And I’ll be here the whole time.” Charity pushed past a stunned Vanessa to square up to Joe.

“Understood. He’s my family Charity. I only want what’s best for him, you’ve got to believe me when I say that.” He added, for the first time seeming sincere as he spoke.

“You’ve got what you came for, now do one!” Charity spat, moving aside so he could leave. “Oh, one more thing.” She grabbed his arm violently, forcing Joe to face her. “You ever come into my home again, and I will do something that I won’t regret.” She whispered, unsure if Vanessa could hear her or not, but at the same time not caring.

“Detective.” He nodded at the silent blonde as he left, the once confident smirk wilting slightly.

The air was thick between the two women, neither daring to look at each other in the eye. Vanessa couldn’t believe what had just unfolded, her job threatened, and new-found relationship exposed, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. Charity.Charity was bothering her. She pulled away from her touch, threw herself under the bus out of fear and Vanessa couldn’t understand why. Surely, they’d gotten past this, Charity had promised her that she was all in, she’d said that this wasn’t just a game for her. So what changed? How had the woman who had been kissing her with such passion and lust moments ago, suddenly turned her back and moved away?

“You didn’t have to do that,” Vanessa whispered softly as she gently lowered herself onto the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I don’t care what he does…you didn’t have to give in because of me.”

“I didn’t.” Charity hissed back, quickly regretting it once her eyes landed on the look of pure hurt on Vanessa’s face. “Not entirely…I did it for us.” She moved swiftly towards the shorter woman, carefully taking a seat next to her. “My lot. They wouldn’t understand, not yet.” She muttered uncomfortably, tightly clasping her hands together on her lap, restraining herself from reaching out to touch Vanessa.

“You’re ashamed of this? Of us? Is it because I’m a woman?” Vanessa’s voice broke slightly. She’d been through this before, been stuck hiding a relationship because of shame.

“No! It’s got nothing to do with that, trust me!” Charity reached out and tangled their hands together, giving Vanessa’s hand a small reassuring squeeze. “Man, woman. None of that matters to my lot.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so worried about them knowing about us?” The shorter blonde finally snapped, breaking their intertwined hands as she stood abruptly. “What is it you are hiding from me Charity?” She pressed, the barmaids silence only angering her more as she impatiently waited for a response.

Charity ran a shaky hand through her messy hair, making her wish that she could be back in Vanessa’s strong arms once again, back when Vanessa wasn’t mad or upset, back when she didn’t have Joe Tate blackmailing his way into Noah’s life and succeeding. Softly her eyes met Vanessa’s, she knew that she couldn’t – no shouldn’t – keep her in the dark anymore. “It’s what you do...you’re a copper Vanessa.” Charity’s eyes fell to her lap, afraid of what was to come next. She would never ask Vanessa to change who she was, and she knew that Vanessa wasn’t that kind of person who was even consider changing for someone else. She was strong-willed, stubborn, and completely in love with her job and Charity loved that about her, not that love was a word she was even close to embracing or even acknowledging.

Charity was sure that she had messed things up once again, that was until she heard a soft chuckle escape from Vanessa’s lips and quickly turn into a hearty laugh. “Seriously Charity? You want us to sneak around because I just so happen to carry a gun and badge?”

“It’s not funny Ness. We don’t mix with coppers, it’s not in our blood.” The taller blonde pouted, before being quickly engulfed by Vanessa homely arms.

“Well, you seem to enjoy mixing with a certain copper.” She smirked at the woman in her arms, before littering her neck with hundreds of little kisses, full of relief now that she knew she wasn’t what Charity was ashamed of.

“Yeah, well I’ve never been a rule follower.”

“I never would have guessed.” Vanessa captured Charity’s lips, happily savouring every second.

“I will tell them. Just not yet, they need a little warming up first.” Charity whispered as they broke apart, foreheads rested against each other.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The barmaid smiled shyly, half expecting Vanessa to drop her like a bag of spuds.

“I trust you Charity.” The shorter blonde rolled her eyes playfully as she brought her hand up to gently brush a strand of wild hair behind Charity’s ear. “Just promise that you’ll be honest with me?”

“I promise…” Charity gave a small nod, just about enough emotion put into it as she could muster without a breakdown.

“Now, where were we?” Vanessa smirked, her hands already beginning to unbutton Charity’s shirt for the second time that day.

“I think.” Vanessa let out a small squeak as Charity pulled her onto her lap. “I was about to mix with my favourite copper.” Clothes soon found their way to the floor and the two women happily lost themselves in each other, neither quite ready to deal with the shit-storm that was coming their way.

#Charity Dingle #Vanessa Woodfield #Charity x Vanessa #Vanity #Vanity Fic #Emmerdale #Emmerdale ff #Johnny Woodfield #Moses Dingle #Noah Dingle #Debbie Dingle #Tracy Shankley #Joe Tate

20 notes · View notes

theaveragekenyan · 4 years

Text

Hungry Heart...

Hungry Heart.

A quick game of ‘Family Fortunes’. (Family Fortunes the game show where the answers were requested from a publicly polled question, i.e)

Q = Name a type of American Food.

A = Hamburger ....our survey says, Hamburger ✅ Top answer.

Next;

Q - Name a type of Italian Food.

A = Pizza …our survey says, Pizza ✅ Top Answer

Next;

Q - Name a type of Kenyan food.

A = Ugali…our survey says, Ugali ✅ Top Answer.

I’m confident the above responses would be the most popular answers to those questions if a survey were taken on the streets of Nairobi today.

Ask Donald Trump, what’s better than a Hamburger? Juicy, succulent ground beef with tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, pickle, mustard, ketchup all held together by an air pumped bread bun…nothing fake at all about that.

Or what about a Pizza? oven fired circular dough, topped with an infinite amount of cheese options under any mix of vegetables and meat varieties…a billion deliveries every year can’t be wrong.

And let’s not forget a Kenyan staple, Ugali, ground maize meal, mixed with boiling water and then formed into a solid white ball. Delicious, well, ok…it’s not really delicious…it’s more a way of life and enjoyed because there’s very little other choice.

Kenyan Food is interesting, because historically, food has developed into…well…food.

The food theory hasn’t moved too far away from the ‘don’t eat, die’ philosophy rather than into fancy cuisine.

This is why I find the average Kenyan meal to be “BnB”, basic and bland, and Ugali has to stand right up there as a great example of BnB food.

Ugali has various names across Africa and is eaten by many, so African’s aside, It is a guarantee that all foreigner’s will be quizzed by Kenyan’s to find out if they have eaten Ugali. If the answer is yes, the next question will be ‘do you like Ugali?’

And this is when the foreigner will become increasingly awkward, stutter and generally skirt around the BnB fact. The foreigner will mince out cloaked enthusiasm and say “Yes…I’ve tried it…it’s nice…I…..like it” blatantly, the foreigner doesn’t want to get anywhere near describing it’s taste or what it’s eaten with. Essentially anything to not offend the Kenyan national dish.

Then, in the not too distant future, the foreigner will be with the person, that asked all of the Ugali questions, when Lunch is served.

Naturally, the foreigner will be bumped up to pole position in the queue for food.

The food will be covered, all the lids down on the large metallic serving trays and then one by one up they pop. First serving tray open and it’s a large fresh tray of steaming Ugali.

As the cellophane is proudly pealed away, “Ugali” announces the Kenyan “You said Ugali is nice”

Now the food server hears this and loves it, how they laugh as the heavy serving spoon sinks into the epic Ugali field. The foreigner is now looking at the true scale of Ugali, out comes a Rugby ball sized portion and is placed on their plate “is that enough?” the server asks without irony.

“Yes, plenty, Asantee” squirms the foreigner politely. On piles the rest of lunch, but there’s not much room on the plate for anything else. So the foreigner sits down at a table, with their plate of Ugali and other small scale assorted bitings, as the Kenyan’s join.

They all ask the same question “Oh, you like Ugali?” “Yes, I do, but this is a little bit too much for me” replies the foreigner, only to be met with “Oh that’s not much really” from the Kenyan’s, the foreigner looks around and realises this is no lie, food is stacked up on top of Ugali which rises up to peoples chests, steam touching their chins. The foreigner takes the first enthusiastic fork full to barrels of laughter

“Eat it with your hands” say the Kenyans,

“We eat Ugali with our hands” the advice continues to come in.

The foreigner now has to quickly scan around to check how that’s done, they see many shovelling hands with golf ball sized portions of Ugali, scooping up sauce and trapping bits of meat and spinach. The foreigner gives it a go, but soon realise they’ve broken off too much Ugali and now their ball is the size of a Tennis ball. Oh dear, now they’ve got to eat up more Ugali than they thought they ever could. Each bite feels like it’s draining brain juice as their mouth dries to resemble the Sahara desert. There’s easily still 4 more bites of the Ugali ball to go. It’s time for evasive action, “hmmmm tha wath delithuth” splutters the foreigner as they stand up, turn around and spit their mouths content onto their plate and scrape it into the bin, I’ll never eat Ugali again they tell themselves.

I think the closest comparison to Ugali would be Mashed Potatoes, well mashed potatoes if you don’t add salt, pepper, butter and milk. At least with mashed spuds, the extra additions don’t stop there; cheese, beetroot, butternut, Brussels, balsamic vinegar, mustard, soy sauce, chilli sauce all work to break up the classic spud recipe’s monotony. Nothing like that with Ugali, oh hang on…it can be made either white or brown…the only difference being, brown Ugali soaks up your blood.

Speaking of Mashed Potato, there is a fancy mash version here called Mukimo, it’s very nice. It’s bright green and has whole kernels of hard maize in it. I prefer it to Ugali, but it’s definitely one to serve yourself and not have a Kenyan do it for you.

For the the larger part of Kenya, food is readily available, but with the poverty found in such places as the Nairobi slums, food has to be simple and within a ridiculously low daily budget, people don’t have too much of a choice to be flambéing duck or questioning how many times their chips have been deep fried.

From my travels, I’ve noticed that many Kenyan meals will have been cooked for a good proportion of the day. Usually a slow cook involves beans and pulses, incredibly healthy, wholesome and organic, but also served incredibly dull. It’s essentially a bean stew with little flavour or signature kick. It’s like a can of ‘no frills vegetable soup’ that’s been boiled for 5 hours. It has a certain appeal, but it’s nothing special, yet to talk to a Kenyan about boiled beans or “Githeri” as it’s called, is, as if, it is some kind of speciality cuisine. Each region seems to have it’s own version, but the variety doesn’t seem to change that much, maybe one region adds carrots or potatoes and that’s about it. I guarantee, if that dish had originated in one of the poorest regions of China, it would be a real delicacy now. Sure you’d get the odd bat claw stuck between your teeth, but nonetheless, I imagine it would be an overall tastier experience than “Githeri”. Thanks Chef’s of Kenya, but I’ll stick with the English delicacy of baked beans on toast, cupboard to table in less than 10 minutes.

That slow cooking style reverberates through many culinary styles. In fact, most food is slow cooked, this is why the over 70’s love eating here. Pasta is never al-dente, cabbage doesn’t come with a crunch, meat is a lottery as to how how much jaw action will be needed and eggs are always over cooked. Unless you’re in a Western priced Hotel or restaurant, food is never considered to be served ‘just cooked’, I’m yet to find a boiled salad, but I know it’s out there. Note to self, Boiled Salad, somebody get me Heston Blumenthal.

The word Koroga means 'to stir’ in Swahili. A ‘foody’ experience, that is often talked about, is the Koroga. This is apparently a uniquely Kenyan Swahili experience. However, from my experience, what I was told about a Koroga and what I actually encountered at a Koroga were two completely different experiences.

This is what I was told about a Koroga.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who will start the event off by selecting meats, vegetables, herbs and spices and then start adding them all into a large pot. These ingredients will be cooked by the party as as the pot is regularly stirred by the party, whilst allowing everything to cook for about 4-5 hours.

A Curry based BBQ, I mean that sounds like a proper great time.

No, not quite, in fact from my experience, this is what actually happens.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who, once everyone has arrived and is indicated to start will instruct a Chef to add meat, vegetables, herbs and spices into a large pan and then cook everything for the guests, this will be then served 3-4 hours later when the most stirred things are the guests who are totally shit-faced from all the boozing whilst waiting for the food to be cooked. I just think the Koroga idea hasn’t really been properly thought out. It’s closest relative the BBQ or Braai work extremely well, but its USP is about DIY food and standing around the grill complaining. The Koroga’s USP is that the Chef decided to cook everything outside rather than in the kitchen, sorry, I just don’t get the appeal.

One dish that is cooked quickly, at least I think it’s cooked quickly, is Nyama Choma.

Translated literally - Nyama is meat - Choma is burn. A Meat Burn.

“I’ve heard it’s going to be lovely on Saturday, so you’re all invited around to ours for a Meat Burn”

Fortunately, the meat isn’t burnt, not like at UK BBQ’s,

The choices of meat are;

Mbuzi = Goat.

Kuku = Chicken.

Nyama = any other type of Red Meat that is from a Cow.

Sorry Lamb and Pork, this scene is not for you, go find your own Meat Burn.

Just like any badly managed BBQ/Braai, the final cook quality is hit and miss, the hits involve nice juicy tender bites of meat and sucked out marrowbone. The misses include, chewy, sinewy, fatty meat if you can find it, and once again the experience lacks imagination. The only seasoning you will get is salt and there will only be one accompaniment to the meat which is called Kachumbari, a mix of tomato, onion and chilli.

So Kenyan Meat Burn’s are for the real purists only. I do love Nyama Choma though, if not just for it’s back to basic 10,000 BC appeal.

One experience I never tire of, is a Kenyan breakfast in a Hotel. The breakfast routine follows the International standard of the best planned meal of the day. It starts at the Juice bar and ends up at the bloated Pig table. There’s always a great choice at a Kenyan breakfast, although many will be disappointed at the lack of bacon on offer, that’s because Kenyan’s prefer sausages to Bacon hands down.

I like that many of the previous nights dinner offerings will be now re-served for breakfast. So there are always surprises to be had like Green Banana Curry, Githeri, Fish stew, Roast Potatoes, Lentil Stew and anything else that didn’t get eaten the night before.

Hands down, my favourite experience of a Kenyan breakfast is observing the Egg Chef. You’ll know it’s the Egg Chef because they will be dressed like the top google image search for Chef.

The egg is treated with the most respect, kept separately and away from all the other dishes that are hidden underneath aluminium lids. The Eggs will never come into contact with the mixed up serving spoons covered in bean juice and banana curry, they are not good enough for the eggs. But wait, what’s this, what’s hiding underneath here?, oh it’s the Hard Boiled Eggs, the common, dirty poor bastard parent of the free and easy, liberated, naked eggs that the Egg Chef will caress and massage into a beautiful work of art.

The Egg chef will be situated at the start of the line, but when you want him, he won’t be there. I say he, the Egg Chef is always a he, no Woman in Kenya is considered prestigious enough to do this job. The Egg Chef and Kenyan President are two Jobs women will never perform.

So what tends to happen is this, in the absence of the Egg Chef people will pile up their plates first. Then the Egg Chef appears exactly when he wants, just like the true artist he is, only then will the egg orders be taken.

Now the only cooking utensils the Egg Chef possesses are a frying pan and a spatula. So this limits the type of egg available to either a Fried Egg or an Omelette. I always like to joke I’ll take a poached Egg, but it’s short-lived because nobody understands what I’m saying. Don’t be getting technical with the Egg Chef, his position of authority is untouchable.

Fried Eggs will be cooked in either two choices, “cooked” or “sunny side up”. The majority of times I’ve requested Sunny Side Up, the eggs have been served closer to raw, which is a little too avant-garde for me. So, they have to be sent back which will be re-served ‘cooked’.

My advice, request cooked.

If you’re asking for an omelette it will be either served “with everything” or “without everything”. “Without everything” is a plain egg omelette “With everything” is an Omelette mixed with finely chopped onion, capsicum and chilli pepper. Both Omelette varieties are good, but as previously mentioned, they will be “cooked”, i.e a properly cooked through, no nonsense, fuss free, nothing moving, Omelette. That said, they go down well and the pomp and circumstance of the occasion overrides any need for a fancy, modern, runny consistency.

I’ve spoken to many people that blame the style of Kenyan food on Colonisation.

Typical, blame the Brits for bequeathing a bland stereotypical diet.

This is not true, because anyone that says they don’t like British Cuisine then goes onto say, except they like Pork Pie, Mr Kipling Cakes, Sausage Rolls, Full English Breakfast, Chicken Tikka Masala, Black Pudding, Sausage and Mash, Fish and Chips, Mushy Peas, Deep Fried Mars Bar, Jammie Dodgers, Sunday Roast, The Tasting Menu at The Fat Duck, Gordon Ramsey swearing, Monster Munch, Jellied Eels and Roast Badger.

There, conclusive evidence that England has a varied and incredibly well established culinary tradition of original and modern food.

So whilst there is an excellent and extensive varied selection of Kenyan restaurants, serving truly excellent food, once you step outside of all that and roam into the realms of “lazy” Kenyan food, you will be craving Pickled Onion Monster Munch all day long.

0 notes

queenofhearts7378 · 7 years

Text

Slump

(I'm so sorry that I've been watching so much Supernatural lately. This is ridiculously AU and totally self indulgent.)

Adrien blinked at the building in front of him. Plagg stirred in his jacket pocket restlessly. “This is the place?”

Jake shrugged, pushing the map into his backpack before slinging it back around his shoulders. “The address Tuck gave us. Says the dude either lives or works here.”

Danny huffed a breath, shaking his head. “Place is heavily layered with sigils. I can feel ‘em from here. Pretty bang up job actually.”

“Anything that'll….” Randy gave some wide gestures between Danny and the house. “Ya know, totally wonk up your mojo Casper?”

“Shouldn't.” Danny muttered, glaring at the walls of the building. “I'm pretty well studied on things that'll keep me out or screw me up. Plagg, you good?”

“Get me some Camembert and keep me away from all the hunters and I'd be glowing with happiness.” Plagg drawled.

Adrien winced. “Désolé Plagg.”

“Meh.” The kwami rumbled from his spot in the pocket. “Take your apologies and shove them up your-”

“Thank you Plagg!” Jake cut in glaring at Adrien's pocket. The blonde gave them a sheepish smile, pink dusting his cheeks.

Randy bounced on his toes, “Bros I don't know about you but I'm ready to get this over with. Bruce as it was for Tuck to find someone capable of reading all his techno babble ‘sides Spud, I am not comfortable hanging around this many trigger happy hunters.”

Danny scowled at the building some more before leading them down the path and through the door.

The inside was practically the exact same as other bars the four of them had snuck into before. They ignored the initial silence that always appeared when they stepped into a seedy place with practiced ease.

Jake gave a slight nod towards the ceiling, where a devil’s trap was just barely visible on wood.

“Right place for sure.” Danny muttered as they slid into a booth.

Randy leaned back in his seat, stretching his limbs out and knocking his feet into Adrien’s shins. The blonde kicked his feet off of him.

A lady walked up to the group, a maternal frown on her face as she looked at them. “What are ya boys doin’ in a place like this? Look a bit young don'tchya?”

Adrien flashed his model worthy, boy-next-door smile at her. “Looking for a contact for a friend, mademoiselle.” He let his French accent bleed through a little thicker, to up the charm.

She raised an eyebrow at him. Jake bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Were looking for someone named Ash.” Danny jumped in before Adrien could stick his foot in his mouth. “We had some friends put together an algorithm for some demonic omens and they wanted a third party to overlook it. Ash found them and volunteered.”

“We're just the delivery boys.” Randy piped up, grinning at her excitedly.

She sighed and crossed her arms. After a moment she jerked her towards a door in the back corner. “He's in there. Keep your hands to yourself and no sampling the drinks, got it?”

“Yes ma'am.” The boys echoed as they slid right back out of their seats.

Jake grinned as he approached the door. “Yo I like this guy already.”

Randy happily knocked on the door. “Dr. Badass? We got a delivery from Too Fine Foley here.”

The cracked open to reveal a grungy man with a mullet, peering at them with half lidded eyes. “You guys are the super squad Spudster and TF sent?”

Danny spread his arms, “In the flesh.”

He snorted. “Buncha shorties for being hunters.”

“We’re not hunters.” Adrien said.

Ash eyed them some more before sniffing. “Eh, I'm the last person to judge. Wait here.” He disappeared behind the door.

The lady from before walked up to them and knocked on the door. “We ran out of pretzels, can you do a run for me?”

There was some muffled banging and not so muffled cursing before Ash responded, “Can't! Busy!”

She groaned. “Fine! Get your ass out here and watch the bar for me at least. I'll be right back.”

The four boys watched her walk off.

Ash banged out of the room, a bulky computer in his arms. “Follow me boys.”

He stumbled over to the bar, setting the contraption on the filthy surface with a sigh. The group crowded around him as his fingers flew across the keys.

“So this algorithm,” Danny said, handing the hard drive over to Ash, “You think it will work?”

“Psh! From what I saw? It's brilliant!” Ash plucked the device and went to plug it in.

Adrien shot out his hand, “Wait!”

Randy gave him an incredulous look, “Bro what the heck?”

Adrien ignored him leaning in closer to read the screen. “Is that what I think it is?”

Danny turned his attention to the screen, reading quickly. He gasped.

“That's a program for finding Azazel’s psychics.” Danny suddenly scowled, turning an accusing glare on Ash. “Why are you looking for them?”

“Woah, dude,” Ash held his hands up, wincing under his glare. “It's for some friends of mine-”

Jake slammed a hand on the table, “Why are hunters looking for the psychics?”

Ash squirmed in his seat, looking around uneasily. “Back room might be a better place to talk about this yeah?”

He shut his computer and scrambled for the back of the bar, not waiting to see if the others followed.

Randy's eyes were wide. “I didn't think anyone else even knew about them. The others will be okay right?”

Danny didn’t say anything as he marched after Ash, Jake on his heels. Randy looked at Adrien who shrugged in response. The two of them scrambled through the door marked ‘Employees Only’.

Ash had hunched his shoulders under Danny and Jake’s heated glares. “We aren’t after psychics, cross my heart!” He mimed the motion, raising his hands in defense.

“And the algorithm?” Adrien questioned, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder to calm him down.

Ash ran a hand through his hair. “Something’s going down with the demons and the psychics. Some friends caught wind of it when they found psychic killing people.”

All the anger drained out of the boys at the news. Jake rubbed his forehead. “Aww man.”

“Then there was an exorcism thing,” Ash continued, “and something big is about to go down with the demons and they asked me to see if I can find anymore psychics so we can maybe have a leg up when all the demon shit goes down.”

“So you’re building an army?” Adrien squeaked.

Danny puffed up in anger and Ash waved him off, “No no no. The demons are using the psychics for something and we’ve been searching for them to warn them and make sure they aren’t going bad side.”

Randy looked between his friends and Ash a little wide eyed. “....Did you make sure to demon proof your laptop so they can’t track you?”

Ash paled and Danny cursed. He turned to the others. “We have to get everyone out of here now. Chances are demons are headed here now to kill everyone.”

Adrien slumped against the door, groaning. “Just when I thought we had a nice, normal task demons have to come and ruin everything.”

@i-understand-mon-cher

#writing #queen will write #secret quartet #danny fenton #adrien agreste #randy cunningham #jake long #supernatural au #crossover #fan fic #fanfic #plagg #danny phantom #rc9gn #miraculous ladybug #american dragon jake long #drabble game

196 notes · View notes

mypkshop-blog · 5 years

Text

Top 12 Best Classic Toys | Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price

Puzzled for blessing thoughts for your children? Before you select the most recent prevailing fashion toy, consider one of these 12 exemplary toys. Check your loft or grandmother's cellar before you purchase these blasts from the past!

Mr. Potato Head Classic Toys Mr. Potato Head

Whenever Mr. Potato Head appeared, it was simply a gathering of plastic facial highlights. You really needed to supply the potato. Throughout the years, Mr. Potato Head has experienced a few changes: He wedded, had little spuds, and in the long run increased a plastic body. What's more, despite the fact that he's spun himself off into programming, books, and a featuring job in the Toy Story arrangement, his appeal continues as before.

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Radio Flyer Classic Red Tricycle Classic Toys Radio Flyer Tricycle

In the event that you had one of these - or if your folks had one of these - odds are, it's still in the storm cellar some place. That is on the grounds that the metal edge and strong development implies this bicycle never bites the dust. This is an extraordinary method to hurry around the area. It's anything but difficult to control and looks incredible with a little ringer on the handle bars!

Barrel of Monkeys Classic Toys Barrel of Monkeys

It was a straightforward, however unendingly disappointing idea: A lot of monkeys lived in a barrel and could be snared onto one another. Would you be able to snare them all together without breaking the chain? Nope, you proved unable. All the monkeys snared together were taller than you, all things considered. However, what an incredible method to rehearse persistence and dexterity! The present monkeys arrive in a bigger size than you recall – without flaw for little hands.

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Wooden Blocks Classic Toys Wooden Blocks

Without a doubt, a great arrangement of wooden squares can be costly, however recall the intricate structures you worked as a child, with mystery rooms, taking off towers, and brave extensions. Youth simply isn't the equivalent without those accomplishments of structural grandiosity? Squares stand the trial of time, as well, keeping your kid intrigued from the little child years through evaluation school.

Lincoln Logs Classic Toys Lincoln Logs

Proceeding on a subject, this is another extraordinary structure toy. Keep in mind every one of the wall, dividers and...well...log lodges you set up together with these? You could make whole towns for your activity figures and carports for your Hot Wheels vehicles.

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Hot Wheels Classic Toys Hot Wheels

Furthermore, talking about these little metal vehicles, recall dashing these along those little orange tracks? You'd construct them over the sofa and down the stairs to see who's vehicle could go the quickest? All things considered, they're still near, orange tracks what not! There are a large number of vehicles to browse, and they come in a wide range of multi-packs. Snatch some track sets and you're ready!

Twister Classic Toys Twister

Get you children's squirms out with this great game. Allow them to wander aimlessly until their prepared for bed! Furthermore, why not hop in and play, as well? Presently that you're greater, the hues are much simpler to reach!

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Wooly Willy Classic Toys Wooly Willy

Got a vehicle trip later on? Try not to need to hand over your telephone to keep the children involved. Toss two or three these in the vehicle and let your more youthful children have a great time giving Wooly Willy hair on his head, his jawline and ...in his nose? Please, you realize you did it, as well!

Simon Says Classic Toys Simon Says

Pursue the lights and sounds and do what Simon says! Correct, this game is still near. It's not just an extraordinary 80s great, it likewise shows hues, examples and dexterity. In this way, you're not simply getting a toy you can sneak after the children go bed. You're getting something instructive!

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Tinker Toys Classic Toys Tinker Toys

Discussion about a great toy! Tinker Toys were made in 1914. They've been utilized to make everything from basic structures to complex machines, and even a tic-tac-toe-playing PC. Think about the every one of the things your splendid child could make with these!

Operation Classic Toys Operation

Keep in mind all the close cardiovascular failures you got when you contacted the edges and heard that buzz? Blessing your kid a similar endowment of complete stun! The organs have changed a piece from when you were a child, however the game is as yet the equivalent!

Buy Classic Toys Online at Cheap Price from Here...

Spirograph Classic Toys Operation

This is a fun, inventive toy that gives kids a chance to investigate shapes, examples and plan. They can utilize it to make cards for loved ones, or simply mess about with various spiraling shapes. You may even end up taking this one to remember your own adolescence.

0 notes

reekierevelator · 5 years

Text

The Summer of Eavesdropping

A short story by Brian Bourner

They crouched in the small seven by five foot airless and musty boxroom which adjoined the living-room in this one bedroom plus boxroom tenement flat. Some dim light percolated through from the living-room, via the only window, which was closed and located high up on the dividing wall. They couldn’t help making tiny rustling noises as they squirmed, cupping their ears to the wall, desperately trying to hear the muffled voices of conversation on the other side of the divide.

‘Did you hear that?’ Tony whispered incredulously. ‘They’re going to attack us.’

‘Shhh,’ muttered Gerry, his finger across his lips.

It wasn’t really eavesdropping; it was war and, as they say, all’s fair in love and war.

They could have been soldiers hidden in haylofts behind enemy lines. Or they might have been spies in a café cellar, their secret hiding place, tapping out Morse code messages to be deciphered by British Intelligence.

But that was last year’s game. Playing secret agents and re-enacting old wars was very out of fashion this summer, largely because up until the end of term even little seven year olds had been playing at soldiers, their armies fighting from one end of the playground to the other. And they were already taking tactics just the way we had: outflanking, surprise attacks from the rear, and so on.

It’s funny how some kids grow in spurts. In this last year of Primary School Gavin Jordan had gone from being slightly bigger than usual to being a veritable man mountain. Of course, he looked that way partly because he’d been held back and had to repeat two years. So, as well as being the biggest, he was also the oldest boy at Laverock Primary School. And since he’d always been loud and bullying by nature it wasn’t a surprise that he took full advantage of his stature, a veritable playground despot, forcing other kids to kowtow to him.

This was particularly annoying for Tony, since Gavin’s parents had developed some kind of grudge against his own parents. He couldn’t really understand what it was all about, something to do with whether you liked some bloke called Wilson or some woman called Thatcher. But this visceral antipathy had readily filtered down to Gavin. He classified Tony as amongst his deadliest of enemies.

During schooldays, obeisance to Gavin involved involuntary donations of chocolate, sweets, and freedom to ride your bicycle when he felt like it. Sophisticated veiled threats were not Gavin’s forte. It was more a case of waving a fist in your face. With this raw power Gavin decided that when the summer holidays finally arrived all the kids in his street would be playing with him and be part of his gang.

This really irritated Tony, not only because he had to work so hard to keep out of Gavin’s way, but also because he, and his pal Gerry, had always been the initiators of whatever new games and fads took root amongst the local kids. Tony and Gerry were the acknowledged leaders of most group activities that filled the empty days of the long school summer holidays. Bored kids usually joined whatever gang Tony and Gerry had organised and followed whatever ideas and notions they implanted, however bizarre.

There had been very wet days with the water-pistols gang, and painful days with the spud-gun gang. There was the penknife gang, when everyone had to have a little penknife and went around carving initials into trees and so on. There was the time they’d spent all summer in the woods making bows and arrows and firing lengths of cane at each other. There had even been the detectives’ gang when carrying a magnifying glass had been de rigueur.

And last summer Tony’s dad, an electrician and shop steward, had dumped left-over rolls of thin plastic coated wire, plastics of different colours, in the rubbish bin at home. Of course, intrigued, Tony had retrieved them. He’d seen enough sword-fighting in films featuring Romans, Pirates, and Zorro for it to trigger a connection with his mum’s sewing basket, with its scissors and big jar of pins.

It wasn’t long before he’d worked out how to remove the actual wire and cut short lengths of these cables. Then he either stuck pins through the hollow sheathing instead, or else he used the pins to pierce through pieces of the coloured cables.

He ended up with miniature swords. Some had standard hilts and some had curved cutlass type handles. All types of swords, colours of swords, crossed swords – they all became little gang badges whose meanings Gerry, who was always full of ideas, worked hard at inventing that summer. By the time school was due to start again every kid for miles around was wearing pin sword combinations on their clothes and proudly telling each other what they supposedly signified. Some even started doing swops. They were more popular than a sleeve full of Cub badges.

Indeed, as gang leader, Tony had ended up with the title Field Marshal Stevens, a row of ten crossed swords, very fancy and colourful, decorating his jacket lapel to prove it. It was all wonderful and exciting. At least that was until his little brother Dougie, only four at the time, started leaving sword pins all over the house. When his mum accidentally pricked her finger for the umpteenth time picking up Tony’s jacket from the floor she declared she’d had enough of it. Against Tony’s howls of protestation she made him pick up every last sword pin in the house and then dishonourably discharged him from his own army, removing every last sword pin from his jacket. Tony was devastated by his instant demobilization.

To avoid the utter humiliation of being reduced to the ranks Tony felt obliged to invent a story. He told the gang that a miniature Highland sword dancer had come in the night, danced a sword dance across all his crossed swords, and been so impressed with them that he’d insisted on taking them all away with him to admire at home. It’s possible one or two of the youngest members of the gang, still in P2 or P3, even believed him.

But on this latest school summer holiday, nine year old Tony’s antennae had picked up vague trends, winds of change in the world of pop music. It gave him the impetus to form a new gang. It would, of course, have the usual bizarre range of membership rules and initiation ceremonies. But this time it would be different because each member of the gang would be allocated a nom de guerre, a soubriquet formed after the fashion of members of punk rock bands.

‘Eh, right,’ Gerry had said, scratching his head, ‘mental, great idea,’ as Tony revealed his latest notion.

‘Yes, and I’ve thought of a name for myself,’ Tony hurried on enthusiastically. ‘My secret new name, to be known of course only to gang members, will be Stinky.’

Gerry grimaced. ‘It doesn’t really sound too powerful Tony, not really awe-inspiring.’ But Gerry’s big brother had started buying records and it was true that, as far as he could understand it, unfortunate self-denigrating names were part and parcel of the punk ethos.

‘Are we going to go around spitting on people?’ he asked.’

Tony hadn’t heard of that aspect of the culture. ‘What’s spitting got to do with it? My new name rhymes with my surname, see, Stinky Stevens.’ Tony grinned like he’d been offered free ice-cream. He loved ice-cream.

‘Right, Stinky Stevens it is then.’ Gerry, who generally had the best ideas, was then off and running. ‘Let’s call ourselves Stinky Stevens and the Sudden Smells.’

‘Perfect,’ agreed Tony immediately.

‘And my name will be Drain Brain.’

Tony had to think about that for a minute, working out the play on words, remembering his dad talking about some kind of brain drain, before eventually nodding acquiescence.

That long summer holiday other kids were, as usual, looking for something to occupy themselves. They were intrigued with this weird idea of a sort of band where no-one had to learn to play an instrument. Gradually, one by one, they were enlisted into the new gang.

Tony and Gerry took each new prospective member to their gang hut. It was actually the flat roof of a small single storey factory. It was reached by shinning up a drainpipe, walking along the top of a six foot high wall, and clambering up over an area of slated roof, tilted at an acute angle to the horizontal, which surrounded the actual flat roof.

Being brave enough to actually reach the gang hut was the first membership test. After that Ton and Gerry gave each potential recruit further tests - answering questions on the twelve times table, spelling big words like ‘pterodactyl’ (which they’d only recently learned themselves) and, for a geography test, having to describe the best route between school and home that was guaranteed to avoid bumping into Gavin. Then finally they had to put two fingers in their ear and repeat ‘Sudden Smells forever’ three times. Tony had decided this would be the new salute. Their short punk song, well war-cry really, would be ‘Smelly, smelly, sudden smelly’, repeated as often as required, for up to a maximum of two minutes.

After the initiation ceremony Gerry allocated a special secret gang names to each new member so that, in no time at all, the Sudden Smells expanded into a big punk band comprising Arty Farty (fat Arthur Smedley), King Pong (little Denis King), Pun Gent (Graham Gentleman), Mal O’Dorous (Malcolm Docherty), Sue Age (Mal’s sister Susan Docherty), Wattie Niff (Jimmy Watt), Hon King (Wattie’s sister Honey Watt), the chubby twins who were made to share a single joint name, Rot ‘n’ Egg (Reginald and Edward Edgeworth, sons of the corner grocer) and, lastly, Stellar Whiff (pretty Stella Griffin).

Needless to say, no-one actually failed the initiation tests, even if they got most of the answers wrong; not even wee Graham who couldn’t get one answer right and had never even heard the word ‘pungent’ before.

While the boys were keen to flaunt their new names the girls, always more grown-up and socially aware, were strangely much less enthusiastic. Still, they felt honoured enough at having been allowed to join the gang at all. So they didn’t complain too much, generally forgetting all about it and flouncing off to play amongst themselves. Tony was never quite sure what the girls did play at now they were apparently too mature to play at houses with their dolls.

And, of course, though Tony and Gerry managed to steer well clear of Gavin, all the palaver about a rival new gang, which used idiotic names and involved Tony, his sworn enemy, didn’t pass him by. He immediately felt the need to establish his rival organisation on a similar footing in order to put the new punk gang in its place. He began to coerce a range of kids into joining with him rather than with Stinky Stevens and hit on the theme of cowboys. He didn’t know much about cowboys but he’d seen westerns and in one he’d been struck by a man called Red calling another man Yellow. He decided that the interesting thing about his gang would be that all the members would have the names of colours. And, of course, being cowboys there would definitely be no girls allowed. Only sissies played with girls and cowboys weren’t sissies.

For an initiation ceremony Gavin made each new recruit sign a piece of paper on which he had scrawled the words ‘On my honour I promise to God and the Queen that I will be loyal to my great leader, Red.’

His first member was Johnny Nisbet, known only for having a big head, his dad’s regular joke being that he’d love to see it full of beer. Johnny lived next door to Gavin, existing in constant fear of him. But venturing out one day Johnny was quickly enlisted and forced to sign the paper as Yellow Nisbet. Johnny breathed a sigh of relief when Gavin allowed red ink to be used instead of blood. Ginger-headed Billy Thompson was the next forced to join. He received a gratuitous thump on the head for suggesting that he, rather than Gavin, should maybe be called ‘Red’. In no uncertain terms Gavin impressed on him that he was going to be called Blue.

Of course, as an autocratic type, Gavin attracted a few of the usual power-worshipping sycophants, the weak characterless characters whose route to authority was only ever via the vicarious exercise of a despot’s power. Two of these monochrome fellow-travellers were Charlie Blackley and Gordon Whitehouse, tall gaunt-looking kids with narrow eyes. With a sudden flash of inspiration Gavin re-christened them Black and White.

And there were others, like Tommy Green, who actually seemed keen on joining. But Tommy tried to change his mind when Gavin told him to sign his new name as Green Green. Tommy’s teacher always referred to him as Green anyway and he felt that being in Gavin’s gang was only going to remind him of the classroom, where ‘Green!’ was usually followed by ‘Stand outside the door!’ At that point he suggested resigning, but Gavin rather forcefully reminded him that resignation wasn’t an option by whacking his head with a heavy hand. Then Gavin pointed out that he was writing the gang rules and that these rules were entirely about attacking Tony’s useless punk gang.

Next, Gavin set his merciless recruiter’s eyes on little Denis King, not realising that Denis had already been netted by Stinky Stevens and the Sudden Smells, having being re-named King Pong in the process. But Denis knew there was nothing he could do about it when Gavin kicked his shin, twisted his ear, put the red pen in his hand, and told him, as if he didn’t already know from the bruises, that henceforth he was to be Purple.

But the big question then confronting Gavin was exactly how to deploy his magnificent new gang so as to achieve its aim of destroying Tony’s punk gang. He had to organise something really nasty for them, some purpose his own gang could work towards. But what? Imagination and strategy weren’t Gavin’s strongest points. He decided his gang would have to come up with the ideas.

And so Gavin called a gang meeting and informed Denis that it would be held in his house the following afternoon when his mum was out working. Gavin knew Denis lived alone with his mum in their top floor flat and that his mum would be out working all day. In the school holidays that meant Denis looked after himself. His mum laid out a cold lunch for him and otherwise he was left to his own devices. Like the other kids he wore his house key on a string round his neck so he could come and go as he wanted and it made it unlikely that he would lock himself out.

‘Bring me a plan to destroy Tony’s gang,’ Gavin demanded, adding ‘and if you don’t I’ll batter you instead.’

When Denis sneaked out and turned up at Tony’s gang hut the following morning, looking white-faced and utterly miserable, he blurted out ‘Gavin’s made me join his gang. They’re all calling themselves colours like a rainbow, and unless Gavin gets to beat up Stinky and the Sudden Smells he’s going to beat me up instead.’

Tony could only sympathise, but when Gerry arrived, and King Pong re-told his tale of woe, the Drain Brain’s face immediately brightened.

‘Listen boys, here’s what we’ll do…’

And that was when Gerry convinced Denis to let them overhear what Gavin’s gang were planning.

Like many tenement flats, the main door of Denis’s led on to a lobby, a short corridor with each room lying to one side of it, living room at the front and bedroom at the back, and squeezed in between a small boxroom. Tony and Gerry arrived early and stealthily at Denis’s flat, and that was how they ended up hiding in the dusty boxroom behind a closed door. As he didn’t have any brothers or sisters the airless boxroom in Denis’s house was used as a storeroom. It was full of old cardboard boxes, newspapers, paint pots, paint brushes, an ironing board, a small child’s tricycle, and old tools. In the middle of all this stood an open set of step ladders. So Tony and Gerry settled down, huddling down cramped on the floor, pressing their ears against the dividing wall.

It was a warm summer’s day but Denis was so nervous his teeth were chattering and, nearly terrified, he wondered how Gerry had ever managed to convince him this plan would work.

Half an hour later Denis was managing to appear no worse than his usual fearful self as the doorbell rang and he allowed Gavin the Red to march in, closely followed soon after by the rest of his crew. After Gavin had found and eaten the chocolate pudding Denis’s mum had left him as a treat for his lunch, he launched straight into the purpose of the meeting.

‘Right, you, Black, what’s your idea for attacking Tony’s punk mob?

‘Eh, well, we could all dress up like it was Halloween. They’d all be scared and run away like a lot of sissies.’

‘That’s crap; never work,’ shouted Gavin as he whacked Charlie’s head.

‘You, White, what’s your plan?’

‘Well, we could all get sticks and then sometime when they’re all together we could surround them and hit them till they all surrender and agree to join our gang.’

‘Hmm, better,’ said Gavin, ‘but we might have to wait a long time. How would we know when they’re all together? How would we know that Stevens is with them?

Gordon hung his head, but at least it escaped a blow.

Green! Blue! Yellow! Purple! – Come on, speak up let’s hear your suggestions.’

Tommy Green put his idea that ‘Maybe we could organise something ourselves that would draw them all to one place and then when they’re all there we could surround them like Apaches attacking the circled waggons.’ Tommy made an Apache whooping noise waving his hand over his mouth.’

Gavin scrunched up his face. ‘We’re the cowboys, you idiot!’

But as Gavin raised his hand Billy ‘Blue’ distracted him, adding ‘We could get them all together if we set up a stand offering free juice and ice-cream in the playpark.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Purple. ‘We could put secret notes through their doors about free ice-cream and they’d all be out like a flash looking for it.’

Gavin’s arm was back by his side as he tried to engage his brain. He spotted a flaw in the plan. ‘Where would we get all this ice-cream and juice from? It’s the holidays isn’t it? They’re impe… impec… impetunias [it was a word he’d heard his dad use many times].’ The gang looked at him with blank expressions. ‘You morons, they’re all too hard-up aren’t they? We can’t even grab any dinner money off them, the kind of money we’d need to to buy the stuff in the first place!’

Gavin’s narrowing eyes rested on the last member of his gang, Yellow. Johnny Nisbet was to be the final victim of his inquisition.

‘Come on Yellow, there must be some activity going on inside that giant stupid dome of yours!’

Being his closest neighbour, and therefore someone who generally tried to stay indoors, hermit-like, when he knew Gavin was at large, Johnny suddenly had an idea.

‘Tony’s supposed to look after his wee brother when Wee Dougie’s allowed out to play. We could grab Dougie and hide him. Tony would have to come looking for him. Then one of us could tell Tony where to find him.’

‘Tell him where to find him? What’s the use of that? – Idiot!’ Johnny ducked as Gavin retracted his arm ready to strike, but still managed to quickly gabble ‘See when Tony comes to try and find the wee man our gang grab him and beat him up.’

Gavin let his arm fall to his side again and nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes, that’s it. We lure Tony into an ambush. Capture him. Beat him up. Give him a proper doing. Teach him who’s boss.’ Gavin was almost licking his lips at the prospect. ‘That would be good. That would work. Teach him a lesson. Show him who’s the real gang leader round here.’

A broad malicious grin spread all over Gavin’s face. ‘Yes, that’s my best idea yet.’

In the boxroom Tony and Gerry were listening so intently to the gang’s conversation that when Tony heard them plan to abduct his little brother his body jerked, his stiffened-up leg moved involuntarily and he fell over.

‘What was that?’ shouted Gavin, his eyes darting around the living-room.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

While Tony and Gerry’s heads jerked around desperately looking for an escape route from the boxroom, Denis was slowly stepping backwards towards the living-room door, terror etched on his small white face.

‘Where are you going? What’s the matter with you?’

Gavin’s voice was loud, harsh, and suspicious.

Without thinking, Denis, almost fainting with fear, blurted ‘Mice! We’ve got mice.’

Screwing up his face Gavin came towards Denis, slowly and purposefully. While Yellow, Blue and Green held back, Black and White grinned, expecting to see Gavin make an example of little Purple.

‘Nobody in our gang is scared of a wee mouse,’ Gavin insisted, as he prodded Denis’s chest with a rigid index finger. As Gavin bunched his fingers into a fist a quailing Denis flinched, but Gavin merely tapped the terrorised boy playfully on the chin.

‘Right, aye, sure, that’s right, - not scared of mice, not in our gang,’ echoed Denis’s trembling voice.

In the boxroom Gerry had spotted a wooden hatch in the ceiling above the top step of the ladders. He was already silently climbing. On the top step he reached his hand up to the hatch and found it slid open easily to reveal access to the tenement loft space. Holding the edges of the ceiling entrance with both hands he hauled himself up, Tony following closely behind. The attic was cold and empty, smelling faintly damp and structured to the shape of the sloping roof. There was about four feet clearance in the central area but from there the roof sloped downwards until it met the walls at the eves. Once both Gerry and Tony were up and balancing on joists they slid the hatch cover back into place.

Grabbing Denis by the ear, Gavin opened the living-room door and pushed him out, round the lobby and, opening the door, shoved him into the boxroom.

Denis’s eyes boggled at seeing no-one there.

The other boys had followed Gavin, and stood behind him as he stared at the junk and listened carefully. But the only slight scratching noise he heard came from the ceiling overhead.

Then Tony’s foot slipped off the joist and there was a thump as it landed heavily on the ceiling plaster, though fortunately not quite heavily enough to actually tear a hole in it.

‘Big mice.’ Gavin sounded anxious.

‘Could be rats, big rats – or maybe bats,’ Denis improvised nervously.

The other members of the gang exchanged worried glances, decidedly uncomfortable. But Gavin noticed the roof hatch. ‘See that - You better get up there and investigate Denis.’

Seeing there was no alternative Denis cautiously ascended the ladder. At the top he stopped and looked down.

‘Go on then, what are you waiting for?’ Gavin snarled.

The other boys backed away.

Denis, stretched up an arm as far as possible. He was barely able to reach the hatch and slide it aside. There was a collective intake of breath from the other boys, fearing a big brown rat might jump down on top of them. But there was no rat, and even Gavin could see there was no chance of little Denis hauling himself up into the loft space. Denis quickly came back down the steps.

‘Get up there and see what’s happening,’ Gavin commanded, jerking his head towards the tall boys, Black and White. Charlie and Gordon nervously began the ascent. Both had a fear of heights, but their fear of having to confess their vertigo to Gavin and the rest of the gang proved even greater.

Tony and Gerry meantime moved as far away from the hatch as they could, crouching and crawling into the furthest away spaces. They found themselves underneath the small glass skylight giving easy access to the roof itself. As they heard Gavin commanding people up to the loft they decided there was no option. They pushed open the skylight and clambered onto the roof. It felt like climbing up to their gang-hut, at least until Tony found himself sitting, knees bent, looking around at the great glass cupola bulging upwards to one side of them, covering the central stairwell. The sky seemed suddenly vast and the chimney pots much bigger than he had ever imagined. Looking down he saw people moving around like tiny insects on the ground far below.

Gerry closed the skylight and they were left sitting together on the roof slates, open to the elements.

Like Tony, Gerry stared down, transfixed by the miniaturised street below. He shuffled his feet for a better look and the slate under his right shoe dislodged. And as it slid down the roof Gerry felt himself slowly follow it. Terror-struck, he stretched his arm backwards screaming ‘Tony!’

Tony reached an arm down just in time to wrap his hand around Gerry’s wrist. There was a muted crash as the slate slid down the shallow-pitched roof and lodged in the guttering, precariously balanced, a danger to the street below.

They lay there, Gerry lying prone against the slates, ashen-faced and quivering, Tony kept a tight grip on his wrist for what seemed an eternity. The sunlight on Gerry’s face gradually revived him until he finally found the courage to press the rubber soles of his shoes back against the slates again. Then, like a sclerotic crab, he moved himself slowly backwards, one limb at a time, up to the skylight beside Tony.

Black and White, creeping gingerly around the loft space, stopped when they thought they thought they heard something. It sounded like ‘Tony’, followed by a little bang. Speaking loudly to reassure themselves, Black said ‘Must be getting windy outside, making funny noises,’ and White likewise excused his unwillingness to contemplate opening the skylight on to the high roof by adding ‘Yes, could be the sounds like kids shouting down there in the street.’

At the skylight Gerry and Tony listened as the sound of Black and White’s muffled voices escaped through the tenement eves.

‘No, there’s nothing up here Gavin. Can’t see any mice…’

‘…or rats…’

‘…or bats.’

‘Just a lot of dust and dirt…’

‘…noises from the street…’

‘…and a funny smell.’

Stinky Stevens tensed. But the loud voices of Gavin’s men lessened as drew away from the skylight.

‘Oh, and here’s an old measuring tape and some lengths of wood for making stuff.’

Down below, Denis remembered how his mum had once had a man round who had talked like a machine, all about converting loft space into an extra room. He’d spent some time banging around in the boxroom. Of course, nothing had come of it. Something about not being able to help the cost of building materials.

‘That’s useless. Ok you two, come on down!’

Tony and Gerry heard Gavin’s yell quite clearly through the eaves, and listened to Black and White shouting to each other as they shuffled across the loft beams, making their way back to the hatch and quickly exiting. Then there was silence. The hatch had been closed over again.

Tony stretched over and tried to lift the skylight. But the skylight fitted flush and neat into framework and he couldn’t budge it. ‘Oh no, It must be designed only to be pushed open from underneath. We’re stuck, trapped here, hundreds of feet up and there’s no way down.’

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But Drain Brain had recovered sufficiently from the shock of nearly falling off the roof that his mind was again in full working order.

‘Don’t panic Tony. Squirm about and you’ll end up sliding off the roof like I nearly did. Remember, people get out through the skylight so they surely have to be able to get back in again.’

Looking closely, Gerry identified marks left where a little handle had once been attached to the wooden frame surrounding the glass. The weather had rusted the screws and at some point it had broken off and disappeared. It certainly wasn’t there any more.

But Gerry had an impromptu solution. He reached his hand down into his pocket and pulled out a small penknife with a red plastic handle.

Tony was amazed. ‘Grief, you’ve still got it? The penknife gang was years ago.’

‘It still comes in useful sometimes.’

Gerry slipped the blade between the roof and the skylight’s wooden frame. He levered the skylight open just enough to get his fingertips on to the edge of the skylight’s frame and pull it open.

‘Well done, Gerry, that’s brilliant.’

Avoiding looking down at the street far below they manoeuvred themselves carefully and slipped back in through the skylight. In no time had made their way back down through the loft and back into the boxroom.

The boxroom door was open and the flat was silent.

‘They’ve gone to grab Dougie haven’t they?’ Stinky Stevie had tears in his eyes as he looked for hope in the Brain Drain’s frowning face. ‘How can we save him from these desperadoes?’

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

‘Where would Dougie be just now?’ was Gerry’s first question.

Tony wiped his sleeve across his eyes and said ‘He should be at the playground at the end of the street. He can go there without crossing the road. He knows he’s not allowed to cross the road by himself.’

‘And if the Rainbow gang got hold of him, where would they take him?’

‘Who knows? But remember, we heard them saying it’s me they’re really after. If I go looking for Dougie they’ll actually want me to find him. One of that will just tell me where to look.’

‘Ok, so you go to the playground first. If Dougie’s not there, you ask if anyone knows where he’s gone. Denis might know but it’s unlikely he’ll be able to get away from the Rainbow Gang. So you just start looking for Dougie and wait for one of that lot to point you in the direction of wherever they’re going to ambush you.’

Tony was dubious. ‘And meantime - you’ll get the Sudden Smells together, tell them what’s happening Gerry?’

‘That’s right. And if you can’t get a message to me to tell me about the ambush I’ll follow you discreetly at a distance.’

‘Like the detective gang?’

‘I’ve still got my magnifying glass.’

‘What if all their gang’s there waiting? It’ll be us against them. And Gavin’s twice our size.’

‘Let me worry about that Tony. I’ve got an idea.’

And with that they let themselves out of Denis’s flat, shutting the front door behind them. They took care not to be seen, leaving the tenement close separately. Tony walked quickly down the street, the way he did when his mum had sent him on an urgent errand, like when milk or bread had run out unexpectedly.

Gerry kept to the street’s shadows and eventually made his way up the drainpipe, along the wall, and up over the slates until he reached the Sudden Smells’ gang hut, where he knew he’d find at least a few of their members. A few minutes later he was off again.

At the playground Tony scanned the children. In the sunshine three little boys and two girls were rampaging around the swings, chutes, and roundabout while two mothers sat on the bare metal bench chatting together as they knitted.

‘Dougie!’ Tony called, though it was obvious he wasn’t there.

The children momentarily stopped playing to stare at him and resumed when one of the mothers said ‘Douglas was here earlier. He went off with some friends, older boys, big enough to keep an eye on him.’

So Tony followed the agreed protocol, turned back into the street, ostentatiously looking to his left and right, even screwing up his eyes and using his hand as a sunshade to stare purposefully up to the far end of the street. Charlie Blackley and Gordon Whitehouse seemed to emerge from nowhere to walk either side of him. Actually they’d been monitoring the playground, lying behind the low perimeter wall.

Charlie spoke first. ‘You’re that Tony Stevens aren’t you?’

And Gordon asked ‘You the leader of this new gang then?’

‘That’s it,’ agreed Tony, puffing his chest out.

‘Stinky Stevens, isn’t it?’

Tony was a little aggrieved that his secret name was clearly public knowledge, but happily conceded ‘Yes, we’re Stinky Stevens and the Sudden Smells.’

Charlie and Gordon burst out laughing, hopping around and holding their fingers to their noses.

‘Sudden Smells eh? The way you’re searching around it looks like you’ve lost something. Has something run away from all the stink?’

‘I’m looking after my wee brother Dougie, but I can’t find him.’

‘Dougie, eh? Would that be wee boy wearing red dungarees…’

‘…and a green pullover?’

‘Exactly. That’s him. Have you seen him?’

Charlie pointed across the road. Tony followed his finger to a battered pair of tall wooden entrance gates, supposedly barring the entrance to an access tunnel that passed through the bottom of the street’s tenements. It was common to find such access portals to small-scale workshops and factories lying behind tenements. In this particular case Tony knew it led to a dusty area at the back where there was a shabby old house, there even before the tenements were built, and having a small group of outbuildings in front, a hut, a shed and a lock-up. The two halves of the six foot high gates were held together by a loosely fixed chain leaving a small gap in the middle. The old bearded man who lived in the old house was seldom seen except when he or his stick-thin mournful-looking wife emerged to castigate children found trespassing on their territory. The boys knew them as ‘The Deadly Dunsires’. Tony’s mum had specifically forbidden him from ever going there.

‘He went that way Stinky.’ There was a sly grin on Charlie’s face.

Tony sighed and turned to cross the cobbled road while Charlie and Gordon ran off into a nearby close, smirking like they’d pulled off a fantastic practical joke.

From a tenement close further up the street Gerry was in position and watched as Tony trudged off across the road, like a condemned going to the scaffold. Tony stopped in front of the gates of The Deadly Dunsires place.

Standing close beside Gerry in the close, Sue Age pointed out ‘That makes sense. You know those old Dunsires are Gavin’s grandparents, his mum’s mum and dad.’ How did girls know these things? Gerry was constantly amazed at girls’ knowledge of peoples’ relationships.

The loose chain joining the two halves of the battered wooden gates left enough of a gap for a child to squeeze through. Tony paused only briefly before doing so. Once inside he stuck close to the tunnel’s wall to avoid being seen. Reaching the end of the short tunnel he ducked to the ground and surveyed the courtyard situation.

The ramshackle old house, its paint silently peeling, stood grim and eerie. Walls either side separated the courtyard from tenement backgreens. A big padlock ensured the lock-up, which was nearest the house, could not be entered. The shed, which was closest to Tony, was in a sad state of disrepair, its roof having collapsed and one side leant dangerously inwards. If Dougie was going to be here, Tony concluded he had to be in the small hut standing on a bare patch of dusty ground between the lock-up and the shed. He listened intently and thought he could hear the muffled sounds of voices. Suddenly there was a louder movement coming from the entrance gates behind him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

For a moment he envisaged the Deadly Dunsires returning from a shopping expedition and attacking him with full cans of soup, beating him up with a bag of potatoes. But the gates weren’t opening. Squinting back down the entrance tunnel he saw the gleaming eyes and maniacal faces of Charlie and Gordon, who had climbed through the gap and were coming towards him with sticks in their hands.

‘Gotcha now, Smelly Tony’, roared the deadly duo.

This clearly provided some kind of clarion call because as he turned to run away the hut door in front of Tony was thrown open and the near giant that was Gavin charged out, his eyes bulging, arms flailing like a demented boxer, and wailing ‘Now men - attack, attack - pulverise him!’ And then came the rest of the Rainbow gang, trooping behind him, spilling out of the hut a little more sheepishly.

Wee Dougie was there too. He was smiling. He wasn’t hurt. He had no idea what was going on except that he had been lucky enough for some of the bigger boys to want to include him in their game. Tony was surrounded. Things didn’t look good.

A high-pitched voice rang out across the courtyard.

‘Come on Dougie, time to go home!’

Everyone stopped and stood stock still. They could only watch as three girls, Susan, Honey, and Stella, jumped through the gap in the front gates and ran forward to make a fuss of Wee Dougie, totally ignoring all the other boys. They took the little chap by the hand as they led him away, and out through the gap at the entrance gates. The last to disappear, Stella, winked at Tony as she left.

But as soon as Sue Age, Hon King, and Stellar Whiff were gone Gavin yelled ‘We’ve got him now!’ and the Rainbow Gang was quickly closing in again on Tony.

Suddenly, the war cry “Smelly, smelly, sudden smelly” rent the air and other Sudden Smells - Arty Farty, Pun Gent, and Rot and Egg – were pouring through the entrance gates carrying water pistols and other weapons. In an instant they had grabbed Charlie and Gordon, disarmed them, and stuffed something down their shirts. The smell was instantly overpowering – stink bombs.

Gavin’s advance was repulsed too, stopped dead in its tracks as a stream of water hit him squarely in the back of the head. The water pistol gang lived again. Drain Brain had gained access to the backgreen next door, attached to the close which included the home of the Watt family. And, along with Wattie Niff and Mal O’Dorous, Drain Brain had scaled the dividing wall between it and the courtyard. It was the old attack from the rear tactic of their soldiering years.

And Tony could see it wasn’t just plain water the gang was firing, it was coloured stuff. Drain Brain had found a use for the blocks of colour from the watercolour set he’d been given for his birthday and never used. And he had clearly worked out who to direct the gang’s super-soaker firepower at. As the pistols squirted, Gavin found himself attacked from behind as well as in front and was soon drenched in watery red paint. As he stopped to examine the damage a couple of accurately delivered ripe red tomatoes burst on his forehead. Reg and Eddie - Rot and Egg – jumped for joy at finally being able to make proper use of stuff from their dad’s shop. But Gavin himself was near to tears. The red skins of squashed tomatoes slid in their juice down his face. He stared in despair at his clothes, wringing wet in red paint.

‘Well, you wanted to be Red and you really are Red now,’ jeered Gerry.

As Rot and Egg raised hands re-filled with tomatoes and rotten eggs Tommy Green, Johnny ‘Yellow’ Nisbet, and Billy ‘Blue Thompson instantly reached for the sky, holding up both hands in surrender, the way they’d learned to do the year of the wartime commandos gang. And, though the Sudden Smells complained heartily, Tony ordered them not to loose off their water-paint pistols and other weapons at the surrendering enemy. After they’d agreed to join the Sudden Smells Gerry allowed the three vanquished enemies to run away down the tunnel and quickly out through the gap in the entrance gates.

Charlie and Gordon struggled out after them, discharging an atrocious stink seemingly indicative of serious toileting mishaps.

The Sudden Smells even permitted Gavin to scramble out behind the malodourous duo, soaked in red dripping paint, and utterly humiliated. Tony called after him ‘You better leave us alone in future Gavin. We outnumber you. You can’t beat us when we’re all together. Pick on any one of us and it will be all of us that come to get you!’

Having taken Wee Dougie home the girls re-joined the victors, and Tony and Gerry led all the Sudden Smells in joyful shouts of ‘Sudden Smells forever’, making a noise which echoed loudly in the tunnel. In celebration they fired their water pistols in the air, staining the tunnel roof red.

Only then did a final small figure emerge, cautious and forlorn, from the hut. It was Purple, Denis.

Stinky Stevens rummaged in the top pocket of his jacket and found the best of his pin sword creations, with lots of coloured bits, the only one which he’d managed to secrete and retain following the debacle of his military discharge and ritual stripping off of his badges. He presented it to Denis, commending him to the gathering as ‘the great King Pong, surely the most expert double agent the spies gang ever produced’. Denis nodded in acknowledgment of the Sudden Smells’ rousing applause and quietly muttered ‘Hmm, nifty’.

It was only as the whoops and clapping died away that Drain Brain spotted that the door of the ramshackle house had opened and saw the Deadly Dunsires charging towards them armed with belts and brooms.

Not wishing their parents to know they had trespassed into forbidden Deadly Dunsires territory the Sudden Smells instinctively and unanimously decided that before they were recognised by the Dunsires discretion would undoubtedly be the better part of valour. They scampered as fast as possible towards the gates and their route back out to the street. As a rear guard action Drain Brain released one last stink bomb, the shock of which held the elderly couple at bay, coughing and spluttering, until all the children had managed to escape.

As they jogged homeward together, Gerry shouted ‘The Sudden Smells were epic today Tony, but next summer, how about we try some of the girls’ ideas?’

‘What ideas?’

‘Well Sue’s keen on a scrap-swapping book club gang. Honey thinks we could have a painting and making things gang. We could all work together sewing patches of material together and so on. And Stella wants the gang-hut to be a hospital instead of a spaceship. She wants the gang to play doctors and nurses.’

‘How does that work?’ asked Tony, nonplussed.

#Reekie Revelator #edinburgh #1970s #children #scotland #short story

0 notes