Tumgik
#spud squirms
sp-ud · 2 years
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CCs: *hinting that their characters endings won't be happy/good endings*
Me, knowing how much these fuckers like messing with their fans:
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rachi-roo · 7 months
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i have loved reading all of your fics! could you do one that is lee!bakugo and ler!todoroki? hope you are doing well!!
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My Hero Academia: Cooking up trouble!
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Weeeee! Finally, another fic is out! I really appreciate all the support you've given me recently, and thank you, anon, for this request! These two are such a mismatched pair. Their dynamic is so fun! XD
Summary: After Shotos' attempt at potato chopping goes wrong, he's forced to deal with an angry Chef Bakugo his own special way.
Characters: Ler!Shoto, Lee!Bakugo, mentions of other 1A students.
Tw: Swearing
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"Damn it, Icey-Hot! How are you so bad at this!?" A certain explosive blonde snarled as he looked at the miss-shapen potatoes that Todoroki had been peeling for the classes dinner.
The bowl of oddly cut spuds made Bakugo want to cry or hurt someone. Or both. They were supposed to be sliced into thin circles to make chips. Instead, they were odd bolder shapes. He angrily moved Todoroki away from the counter, taking the knife from his hand.
"What's wrong with them?" The raspberry ripple hero asked, tilting his head as he was placed by the door.
"What's wrong with you!? These potatoes are less straight than Deku!"
"Heeeey!" Dekus little voice grumbled from the lounge.
"SHUT IT! Anyway, they won't cook properly if they aren't thin enough. And they're cook unevenly too. Uuugh... Now I gotta get a new bag of them and do it myself and-" Bakugo grumbled on, swearing and fussing under his breath as he stomped around the kitchen, finding an unopened pack of fresh potatoes.
Shoto blinked as he watched Bakugo angrily start cutting up their dinner with his back to him. His flighty little mind thinking over the situation. Angry Bakugo is never nice to deal with. Maybe there's a way he could cheer him up?
Maybe that would work? It always helped brighten Dekus mood.
He smiled, approaching Bakugo quietly as he continued to grumble.
"I'm stuffing you in a box and shipping you all the way to the UK so Ramsey can train you u-HUP!" Bakugo jolted, arching his back away from a sudden tickly sensation. He turned quickly, glaring at Shoto, who stood with two, pokey index fingers, poised and ready.
"What are you doing?" Bakugo asked, setting the knife on the counter. Maybe the airhead just wanted some attention?
"I'm making you happy again. Or the food will taste bad." Shoto said plainly, his expression soft. Still pretty vacant as usual, but with a hint of a smile.
"The food will taste bad if I'm not happy?"
"Yes."
"First of all, my food always tastes awesome. And second of all, I don'tneed to be made happy. I'm fine."
".... You're lying."
"I am not! You just- hey, HEY! Back off!" Bakugo stammered as Todoroki casually reached for Bakugos sides, squeezing ever so lightly.
The light touch already had Bakugo biting back a smile as he tried to lean away from Shotos teasing fingers. His back met the counter, unable to shimmy any further. Shoto used that opportunity to attack!
"Got you." He smiled, suddenly shifting his hands up to Bakugos' worst spot. Below the underarms above the ribs. When it comes to Bakugo, you have to strike hard and fast, or face the consequences!
"GYAHA! N-No! I-Icehey-hyAHAAAA!" The blonde crumbled, his arms immediately clamping to his sides as he leaned against the counter, sliding down the surface and plopping onto the kitchen tiles with Shotos tickling fingers following.
"GEHEet offa meeeEHEHE! AHA! SHIHIT!"
"I do this to Midoria when he's sad too. It seems to have the same effect on you. I'm glad."
Shoto hummed, using very little effort to make Bakugo squirm under his touch. It was just so easy!
He drummed his fingers up and down Bakugos sides, causing the boy to curl in on himself, trapped between Shoto and the kitchen counter.
"Damn ihit! StAAHA! I-I'm n-nAHA! NOT SAD!" Bakugo howled as he made helpless attempts at grabbing Shotos hands. Nothing worked! Every time he thought he had a wrist gripped, Shoto managed to just slip out and tickle him again
"StahaAHAHAP! Y-You- I-IhIHI'M not making you DINNER!"
Shotos hands stilled. What? No dinner? But, Bakugo always helps with dinner! This won't do. No. Not at all!
"No dinner?... Well. What if I keep tickling you until you agree to cook?" Bakugo shot him a glare. How dare he threaten him like that!
"You wouldn't..." A silence fell between the two, staring at each other, a smirk growing on Shotos face.
"Hey... Icey-hot... OI! Don't just stare like that! I'll kiHIHIII! AHAHA! STAHAHAP! Fuhuck!"
"You know very well the rest of us can't cook. You're our only hope." Todoroki deadpanned as he spidered over Bakugos tummy, switching between different tickle spots to keep him overwhelmed and unable to escape.
The fact that Shoto was so calm and expressionless made the situation ten times worse for Bakugo. He couldn't read the situation properly. It was awful! Not that Bakugo could really see much with his eyes scrunched shut, forcing tears of mirth down his cheeks.
He wasn't giving up though!
"I-I'll nEHE-! NEVER! Never CAHAHA! CooHOHOOK! AGAHAHAIN! GahaHYAHA!"
Shoto smirked briefly, deciding to take things up a notch. He stuffed his hands up Bakugos shirt, using his Quirk to make one set of fingers warm, and the others awfully cold. A cruel and conflicting method.
A shriek left Bakugos' mouth as he felt the icey cold didgets pressed against his bare ribs, sending a shock wave up his spine.
"FFFAHAHACK! Noho! NahahaAHAAA!" He flailed, arching his back as he twisted and turned this way and that to try avoid the relentless, freezing, fingers!
Every time he leaned from the icey coldness, he was reminded that the warm hand was still there, attacking his worst spot whilst the cold fingers switched to another when he was distracted. There was no escape. Maybe he'd have to surrender?
"SHIHIT! N-NooOOHO! Ah! HAHA! IHICEY- SHIII-!" The blonde's laughter fell silent as Shoto latched onto his worst spot again, upper ribs, below armpits. He was going to make sure Bakugo never threatened to leave them hungry again!
"Hmm, Midoria also reacts when I say tickle. Does it affect you, too? Tickle, tickle." Shoto smiled, repeating the word in his near monotone voice, making poor Bakugis face light up like a Christmas tree! A pretty crimson red.
"S-ShuHUT- AAAAHHHH-!.... UWAH! F-FuhuHAHAK!" Again, his laughter went quiet before he gasped for air. His head threw back, mouth agape as the endless stream of laughter flooded forth.
"Is someone dying in here?"
All the commotion had gained the attention of the rest of class 1-A. A curious Sero peered around the island counter, spotting Bakugos flailing legs sticking out from behind. One of his slippers had been thrown as he kicked and squirmed.
The rest of the class stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear at the sight.
"I think he's had enough, Roki." Sero continued, chuckling as he watched Bakugo make another desperate attempt at grabbing his attackers hands.
Shoto stilled his hands, giving Bakugo the chance to finally catch his breath, as he looked up at Sero innocently.
"Bakugo said he wouldn't make us dinner." He explained. Missing out the part where it was partly his own fault.
"Ooooh..." Sero nodded in understanding. He looked at the dishevelled Bakugo on the floor tiles, smirking as he made an attempt at glaring. It wasn't very convincing through that veil of happy tears and rosy cheeks.
"Well," the tape weirder shrugged. "We can't have that now, can we?" He shot Bakugo a cheeky smirk. "As you were, Roki. Call if you need any assistance." He chuckled.
"W-Wait! Hey! Soy sauce face! That's not your decision to mAHAHAKE! NAAAHAHAAA-!"
"Let us know when dinners ready, kay?" Sero called back with a wave as he left with the rest of the class. Condemning Bakugo to his tickly doom!
Shoto looked at Bakugo, casually continuing to tickle him all over.
"I want Soba."
"S-Stuff your damn SOHOBA! DAHAHAHMN IT!"
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Thank you for reading~ ✨️
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prolonged-eyecontact · 2 months
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More dumb possum you shit
@axelhamato
Ok ok ok ok i cant get this silly little thought out of my head
Yuu vs RSA
Like, that shit would be awsome
At the vdc you would be the unofficial mascot because no matter what is done, they end up joining in the dace and just jumping around a whole bunch.
By the time the event shows up, yuu is just welcomed. When it comes time to meet the RSA peoples, Vil immediately tells them weird cryptic stuff. When Neige asks, Vil says itcs about the child who is sleeping, wrapped up in a blanket and tied to Rooks back.
Like, imagine
Neige: VIL!! *happy nieve pretty boy sounds*
Vil: *cringing at Neige* yes.. Hello there. There are a few things you must know right now so if and when it happens i get to say i told you so
vil still: first off, don't look yuu in the eyes, don't leave anything of value withun reach, try to avoide doing anything to trigger them to bite you, just-just dont interact with them at all half of NRC will actively set your school on fire because of the little spud.
Neige: *in slight shock* huh. Who is Yuu?
Rook: the petite trickster who sleeps on my back!
Neige: *even more confused, yet happy at seeing the seemingly child* this cuitie pie? They look like they wouldnt hurt a fly, just what are you talking about?
Jamil in the back: the pest has eaten a lile snake once. A poisuonous one at that.. And they dont like being called cute. Triggers bite responce.
Yuu: *eyes open suddely with a weird glare like what happens to eyes at night, and starts squirming violently while giggleing wildly.*
The elf boiz:.*scared and worried about this*
Neige: *giggling as he walks over* aww! Look at you-
Yuu: *biting of the finger commence*
After like 3 minutes, everyone is mostly calm. Yuu had just been left with a large ammount of the dragin nuggies, and is eating them happily. Yuu then overhears Vil complaining about someone's make up, so they walk over, and start haccing and coughing to spit it up. Epel laughs at the reactions while Vil only sighs. "Yes.. Yes very good little spud. Please stope eating makeup like that.." RSA is absolutely terrorfied of yuu now, and Deuce says outloud. "Yeah we dont know how they lived this long either.
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m34gs · 3 months
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While snuggling my cat:
Me: *sniffing* why do you smell like coffee? I don’t even own any coffee….
Spud: mrow
Me: what, are you a wizard? Do you secretly turn into a man and go into coffeeshops when I’m not home?
Spud: *stares at me with his eye wide (he only has one)*
Me: …
Spud: *squirms out of my arms rapidly*
Me: 0.0
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[📝 was gonna make you squirm I mean go Wiki diving and pick something you don't know but I also pick Ratchet & Clank(with the same stipulation of no Faux)]
aw jeez uhh uuuu uuuuuhhh...... its been like. two years since i've played the PSP games and i barely remember anything from rift apart.
i'd like to say i'd play a half decent clank but i know that is not true i know that's a lie......... in the same vein i also kinda lean towards kit. and though she'd probably be easier to muse than clank considering she only has one game of established backstory to clank's eight hundred, i also think i would not do a Great Job, so.
idk maybe kit. maybe f-44 since she's just a reskinned huntress.
but since faux is STILL TECHNICALLY CANON COMPLIANT i would still say faux if it wasn't FORBIDDEN BY SPUD LAW
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spudinacup · 5 years
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I'm sending u an ask instead >:D
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See unlike moon I can charge my phone just dandily and my phone doesn’t die all the time.
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risfics · 3 years
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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
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"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.
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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.
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hdlynnslibrary · 3 years
Text
Crossroads
Dusty Trails Series - Part III
| Part 1 | Part 2 |
Pairing: Marshal Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Warnings: Mention of injuries and blood, gunfights referenced, mention of violence & murder, nefarious goings on, drinking, some swearing, non-sexual nudity (btw idk if I have previously mentioned but while there is no smut yet in this fic there eventually will be smut and I will tag that of course when we get there) Word Count: 6.1k Tags: Old West!AU, US Marshal!Din, soft!Din, childcare, bonding & bath time fluff, Razor is an awesome horse, the kid is cute and Din knows it, Din cooks
My lovely beta reader and plot helper is @princessbatears she is awesome and helped make this part feel more authentic to the characters so feel free to thank her for that with me iwuefhiuwhfiuwe
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The next few hours for Din were filled with a lot of work he had been expecting if things had gone well. He just hadn’t also been expecting the kid. So he had worked at his more grizzly business while the kid was sleeping.
The wagon was more than deep enough to transport the bodies back to town. He had checked to see if there were any other objects like the hair comb there but he came up empty with that search. If there had been anything else it must have been removed.
Razor had come at his high pitched whistle, the horse had already been packed up with his kit before he had come down to the house earlier. He would have preferred to ride the gelding back when they left, but it would be easier for him to handle the wagon in the actual driver’s seat. Probably would have to tuck the kid in by his side, Din hoped they wouldn’t be too squirmy since it was a good trek to the closest town. But if they started out early enough after breakfast they should make good time on the dry roads. Might even make it by mid-afternoon, just would have been quicker on horseback on his own versus with the wagon.
The sky was turning dusty shades of gold and pink as he finished retying the tarp over the back of the wagon. He had already double-checked the poster he had in his saddlebags. He had confirmed that he had taken care of ten members of the gang, the only exception being Colm Reed — a wiry fella in his early thirties, and sly as a fox. Made sense it would be him to have slipped away.
The marshal truly doubted that man would do anything rash, like try to exact revenge for his fallen comrades. But either way, Din had already picked out a closely matched pair of horses from the corral to pull the wagon; a brown gelding with white socks and a black and white piebald he suspected might have a bit of draft horse blood.
The other horses he had removed any remaining tack and shooed out of the corral. He wasn’t about to herd all of them back to town on his own so it was best to just let them fend for themselves with their wild brethren. They would do fine enough out on the prairie in his experience, and if someone in town really wanted to round them up? Well, they were more than welcome to do so.
Leaving the two commandeered horses to eat a bit of breakfast with Razor, Din made his way back into the house.
He was relieved to find the kid still asleep. How long did children need to sleep anyways though? Should he let him wake up on their own? Wake him up?
Unsure about such things, Din settled on a task he could more than handle: Breakfast.
Searching through what the gang had left in the merger larder for something to cook up into a hardy breakfast for him and the kid. He was trying to be quiet, but he was interrupted from looking over some canned beans when he heard the kid shuffling with the blankets.
Looking over, he saw a pair of green eyes blinking sleepily at him. One side of the kid’s hair was plastered flat while the other was wildly curly and mussed from sleep. The sight caused a flicker of a grin to cross the marshal’s face, the youngster was cute as a button.
That reminded him, he still didn’t even know the kid’s name.
Coming over, Din crouched by the bed. His knees and back ached slightly, but that wasn’t new so he pushed past it.
“Sleep well?”
A small hand worried over the head of the stuffed toy elephant — Charlie, Din’s brain automatically corrected — before the kid nodded hesitantly.
“That’s good,” Din reassured. “Now, I didn’t introduce myself proper last night, did I? I’m US Marshal Djarin…” his eyes flicked down to the toy, “I know Charlie’s name already… what’s your name?”
“I’m Lewis Durant, Mama and Papa call me Lewie, so you can, too. I’m four,” the boy recited, his little chest puffing up proud at being a whole four years old and holding his little hand to shake Din’s larger calloused one.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lewie,” Din said, shaking the tiny soft hand with the serious air children generally figured adults always used with other adults.
“I’m gonna make breakfast for us, that sound good to you?”
Lewis instantly perked up, “What we eating?”
“Some pork and fried potatoes, sound good?”
“Yeah!”
The twitch at Din’s lips returned again, but this time it formed an amused smile. “Great.”
After a quick trip to the outhouse for Lewie, Din had gotten to work. The stove had been easy enough to light, and Din was reasonably sure that he wasn’t going to burn the dilapidated house down, since it appeared that the gang had been cooking inside as well.
Cutting two generously thick slices of salted pork, he placed them into the hot cast-iron pan on the stove. The heat instantly caused the meat to start to sizzle as he kept a wary eye on Lewis. He was half making sure the kid stayed put and half out of his own curiosity.
He sat on the chair Din had provided by the little kitchen table, little booted feet swinging as he watched Din with eyes rounded in anticipation for food. He looked hungry, but was patient as Din finished with the pork and then fried up the potatoes he had chopped up in the grease that was leftover in the pan. He didn’t have salt or pepper for the spuds, but the pork drippings would be tasty enough that he hoped the kid would eat them even if it wasn’t fancy.
The coffee was for just him and finished brewing, dark and robust just how he liked it, as Din filled two plates up with the pork and crispy potatoes. He filled a tin cup for the blistering hot brew of Arbuckles and drank it black. There was only one other cup of coffee he preferred better than he made and the lady who ran the general store he could always rely on for a good cup of it. Lewie picked up a fork and knife, both utensils looking large and unwieldy in the small chubby hands. He looked at the large slab of pork as if it was a puzzle before starting in on the smaller pieces of potato instead.
“Need some help cutting the pork?” Din asked, recalling a bit more now from some of the time spent with his friends and how they handled their younger children.
He quickly nodded before piping in with a, “Yes, please, Mister Marshal.”
So Din took the plate back and made quick work of cutting the pork and some of the larger slices of potato up for the kid. Bemused at being called “Mister Marshal” but letting Lewie know he could just call him Din.
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Din was finished hitching up the two horses to the wagon after breakfast when he had to pause and watch in bemusement at the sight before him.
The lawman always knew Razor was a good horse, his favorite mount he’d ever had if he was being honest. The silver and black dun, or grullo, was a mixed breed to be sure. Maybe had something finer in the mix like Arabian, or something less exotic like the Morgan horse or Quarter horse. But whatever else Razor might be, he was certainly of principally mustang descent.
He was a bit smaller than some of the massive horses from the east, but Razor had heart, spirit, and always had been better with kids then Din ever was.
Since Din had shown little Lewie how to hold out a flat palm out with a handful of grain for Razor to snuffle up, the two of them were getting along like they had been old friends for years. Currently, the horse was very patiently letting the child pat his velvety black nose with barely even a flick of an ear at the examination. The chubby hands traced over the little spots of silver-grey that Din knew peppered across the large muzzle.
Lewie giggled as Razor snorted slightly, the warm rush of breath ruffling the kid’s curls.
Yep, that was cute, Din thought as he finished tightening the last bit of tack, taking a bit of extra time to make sure the heart rings on the bridle were straightened out. He gave the piebald horse a pat on his withers before going to rest the driving reins on the lip of the wagon where he could easily grab them up once he was up in the driver’s seat.
“Alright you two, time to head out,” Din said as his long legs ate up the distance between the wagon and his two charges having fun.
“Can I drive, Mister Marshal?” Lewie pipped up, giving Razor one last pat before Din scooped him up.
“If you don’t squirm, I’ll let you help, sure,” Din agreed easily, not seeing any issue with letting the kid hold onto the ends of the reins while he drove.
The kid only weighed thirty-five pounds, or thereabout, so it was easy enough for Din to swing him up into the high back driver’s seat.
Din whistled his command for Razor to follow. His horse was trained well enough he didn’t feel the need to tie him to the back of the wagon. All in order, the Marshal clicked his tongue and snapped the reins to have the two horses hitched to the wagon to walk on. The farmhouse became abandoned again as they started down the old road.
Lewis had lasted a good ten minutes on the road before Din saw him squirming.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
“The seat’s hard,” Lewie pouted, as he squirmed more one of the wagon wheels hit a nice sized pothole in the road.
The kid squeaked as he slid a few inches away before one of Din’s hands shot out to keep him in place.
Once they were on a steadier stretch of road, Din held the reins in one gloved hand and pulled the kid onto his lap. Once he had Lewie sat steady there, Din showed him where he could hold the loose ends of the reins while the marshal kept control of the team with a steady hand.
That set up worked a charm, the kid entertained by “helping” drive and also having a comfier seat. There were a couple stops to water some bushes, and also several more small meals than Din was used to partaking in. But it made sense that the kid might need to eat smaller amounts but more often seeing he had a smaller stomach and all.
But they had eventually made it to the nearby town of Pine Bluff. Din drove the wagon right up Main Street, with Razor trailing close behind, as he came to the sheriff’s office. He’d been here before, back when they had a different sheriff last year, that one had moved out to California and been replaced.
Getting down from the wagon, Din tied the team and Razor to the post before getting Lewie down.
“Alright, kid, let’s see what the sheriff has for us, alright? Figure out what’s up with you and then we can look into getting some supper,” Din explained. Glancing further down the street he saw what looked to be a barbershop and bath and added, “Maybe a bath too.”
Lewie nodded his head in agreement before capturing two of Din’s large fingers in his chubby little fist. Din blinked in surprise at the new sensation, but didn’t pull away and just led the child into the building with him.
The sheriff looked to be in the middle of something as someone that Din couldn’t see slammed the door going out the back of the office in some apparent haste, so Din knocked his knuckles on the door jam to get the man’s attention. The sound caused the old brown and white spotted dog, laying against the cool wooden floor, to jerk awake with a happy couple of thumps of his tail.
The man, who Din had a good six inches on, was rather stressed-looking. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, which he went to dab away with a handkerchief. He had gray eyes and had a brown beard and a mustache curling over his upper lip in such a way that Din questioned how the man was able to eat properly.
“Afternoon, I’m Sheriff McCarty. What can I do for you… and your son today?”
“Sheriff McCarty, I’m US Marshal Djarin. He’s not mine, and you’ll find ten of the Stone River Gang in the wagon out front,” Din stated without any preamble, flashing the marshal pin he had pinned to his vest. He then pulled the folded up wanted papers from the inside pocket sewn in his duster, handing them over.
“Pardon?”
“I’m here to collect the bounties on the ten men who’re accounted for outside.” Feeling a tug on his pant leg, Din turned his attention to the boy hiding slightly behind him.
“Yes, Lewie?”
“Can I play with the doggie, Mister Marshal?” Lewie asked, very clearly trying to not beg but not doing the best job of it.
“You’ll have to ask Sheriff McCarty. Ask him if it’s alright,” Din prompted.
Big green eyes turned from Din to the sheriff who just waved the kid off with his blessing.
“Sure, you can play with that ol’ hound, hardly has any teeth left and it gentle as a kitten,” the sheriff said, and shortly both dog and boy tumbled out of the sheriff’s office to do what boys and dogs did.
“So what’s with the kid?” The sheriff asked.
“Was there when I took the gang,” Din explained. “Not sure what happened, but I think they might have kidnapped him with his parents. There was no sign of the parents, at least none that suggested they were still alive. No sign of the money they stole either, I'm figuring they hid that and potentially the bodies of the kid’s parents out there somewhere.”
“Poor kid,” the sheriff mused, a frown on his face as they both watched Lewie play outside for a moment. “You have a name for him?”
“Lewis Durant,” Din supplied.
McCarty hummed in thought, “Ain’t heard of no missing folks, much less any Durant family. What is that? French? Italian?”
Din shrugged, he didn’t have a clue.
“Well… I suppose we can send to Silver City, see if they’ve heard anything. Nothing to be done for it at this moment though except see how the city police want to handle it. Must be a right terror to have to transport the kid on your own though.”
At the mention Lewie, Din glanced outside, watching as he was still playing with the sheriff’s old hound dog.
Having tucked his gloves in his belt earlier, Din rubbed at the patchy stubble that was starting to come in long after some several weeks of tracking. He could hear the sheriff shuffling through some papers behind him. Something wasn’t sitting right with him, the way the sheriff was angling after the kid… no it just didn’t sit right.
“He’s not much trouble,” Din finally answered, turning away from the sight outside the window, “I already was figuring on taking the kid in. It ain’t no skin off my teeth to handle that.”
Din almost missed the tightening of the sheriff’s hand around the pen he was using, for the man then snorted, the action causing his rather bushy mustache to bristle a bit.
“Just as well, I doubt the missus would've liked having another mouth to feed if you left him here,” he joked, but something in his tone didn’t ring true.
Damn it all, Din didn’t care for this bullshit.
“So, the bounty reward?” Din prompted.
The sheriff had the grace to look a bit embarrassed, “See now, it is a bit complicated. This bounty was put up between us here in our little town of Pine Bluff and the good folks of Silver City. Even if you had brought in all eleven members I couldn’t pay you the full amount,” he explained. “Now, I sure can write you up a letter to take to the sheriff of Silver City confirming the rest of the bounties so you can collect the nine-hundred, but I can only pony up the first one-hundred myself.”
Din felt his jaw creak with the pressure he was grinding his teeth at this development. He had taken up these bounties to get paid, after all. He took a moment to collect himself, it would do him little good to get on the bad side with even a small-town sheriff. They had their own measure of political and social pull, that was a hornet’s nest Din didn’t want to step in.
“If you could write that letter, I would be obliged,” Din said, keeping his own opinions to himself.
Sheriff McCarty supplied as he rifled through his messy dress apparently looking for a pen. “If ya’ want to wait a spell, I can send one of my deputies down to Silver City to handle the rest of the bounty money.”
Din blinked, offended, he certainly was not someone to have another man play messenger for him. He was about to make a derisive comment about the offer when Sheriff McCarty kept on talking.
“There’s a boarding house just a bit down Main Street if you want to spend the night. Clean enough and food that will stick to your ribs. I doubt that you’ll want to head back out this evening with the kid in tow,” the sheriff continued. “Can even send a telegraph to the city if you want, make sure they know you’re coming.”
Din hummed noncommittally, though he did note the mention of the boarding house to himself. It would be rather nice to have the kid sleep in a bed and get a home-style cooked meal for the night if it was available.
The sheriff handed over the letter in an envelope, along with the money inside.
“Thank you,” Din said, with a slight tip of his head, and with that he was out the door and collecting Lewis from his playtime with the sheriff’s hound. The kid had been literally rolling in the dust, much more energetic than the old dog was. Yeah, a bath was truly in order.
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Sheriff McCarty watched as the marshal got his horse and walked down Main Street with Lewis Durant, until they entered the boarding house that Mrs. Elliott ran.
So they would be staying the night, that was good.
He didn’t turn around when he heard the back door open again, the person stepping in was quiet but he already knew it was Colm Reed.
The sheriff turned on his heel and glared at the last remaining man from the Stone River Gang who was currently lurking in the shadows by the cells.
“What the fuck happened out there?” McCarty asked, glaring at the reed of a man who had somehow been the only gang member to still be living. He had barely gotten to hear how almost the whole gang was now dead when the damned marshal had driven right up to his front door and Reed had to duck out back before being seen. “Last I heard from the boss no one in the family was supposed to be badly hurt. Not without direct orders.”
Colm hissed and spat in the beat-up spittoon that was near the desk before pointing to two long bloody and inflamed marks on his face that ran down his jaw to disappear into his dirty shirt, “I didn’t do shit and I still got fucking stabbed in the face by that bitch.”
Didn’t do shit sounds about right, McCarty thought before snorting, pulling out a bottle of cheap whiskey from his desk drawer and taking a swig. He grimaced at the burn as he recapped the bottle, not bothering to offer Reed any.
“Looks like they’ll be in town for at least tonight, I know a reasonable man when I see one,” McCarthy expounded. “That marshal has been out after you all for weeks, one more night dealing with a kid and I’m sure he’ll listen to reason and be happy enough to have me ‘deal’ with finding his next of kin. Hell, he might even come to that conclusion on his own.”
He turned back to glare at Reed, “Then we can clean up the mess your idiot friends got started when they didn’t follow the plan.”
“We did follow it,” the man protested weakly. After all, the bodies in the wagon outside didn’t really speak highly at all of the validity of that statement. “We just weren’t expecting no lawmen since… well you know how we didn’t have to worry about you none so some of us boys might have been a bit celebratory after hiding the haul.”
“Got absolutely roostered more like,” McCarty muttered, he knew how this gang got after a heist.
Reed growled in annoyance but didn’t say anything, both men knew who had the real power in the room and it certainly wasn’t the outlaw on the run and in deep shit with their shared benefactor.
“Get out of here for the night and stay the fuck out of sight, we don’t need that kid seeing you and squealing, or that Marshal recognizing you,” McCarty called out as Colm Reed slipped out again into the darkening evening.
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The town’s barbershop was easy enough to find seeing as it had the familiar white pole with the helix of red and blue stripes. As Din and Lewie came to the front door, he found a painted sign that read:
Haircut Cleaned or Dressed - Smooth & Easy Shaves Hot and Cold Baths - Teeth Pulled Hours: 9 AM - 11 PM Closes at Noon every Sunday Hair Cut 25¢ Shave 10¢ Baths First Water 50¢ Used Water 25¢ Soap & Towel 20¢
Din could only presume that the price for getting a tooth pulled was probably given on inquiry and was thankfully not in need to ask.
The barber ended up being rather short of talk, which suited Din just fine. Taking Din’s money, a whole $1.35 to cover hot baths, soap, and towels for both him and the kid as well as a bit of a haircut and shave for just Din. Since the shop didn’t close until 11pm they had plenty of time to get cleaned and sorted through Din would prefer to have the kid sleeping in the small room he was renting out for the night.
After being out for so long Din knew he was rather ripe. Not anywhere near the level he would get on the long cattle drives, but he was hardly flowery fresh. Might as well fix that since they were staying the night and they had a good hour or so before dinner was being served at the boarding house.
He had come to the agreement with the barber that it would be best for baths first and then a cut and shave, and he and his charge were ushered to the back room. A tin bathtub, large enough for the majority of the male clientele that came off the range needing to be washed of their sins, was set in a wood-encasement. Two large towels were set out on a small stool beside that and some plain cheap soap onto of that.
The barber had thankfully had some extra marbles for Lewie to play with while Din got himself settled for his bath. The ceramic spheres clunked together as the kid seemed to be making up his own rules to play with rather than actually playing marbles correctly from what Din could tell.
After pulling out a change of clothing for himself from the saddlebag he had brought in, Din undid his gunbelt and shucked off the layers of clothing until he was naked as the day he’d been born.
Yep, he certainly was in need of a bath, he could see where the dust had started making a rather noticeable layer on his skin wherever it had been even slightly exposed.
Climbing into the tub he lowered his saddlesore body into the steaming bathwater. Din hissed in a mix of pain and pleasure at the heat of it, as he leaned back against the tub. The tops of his knees remained above the top of the water, his legs a bit too long for the tub to fully fit him but it would be good enough. He certainly had taken baths in much smaller tubs to be sure, this one was a right luxury in comparison to those.
Sighing heavily as he listened to another customer in the front room talking enough for both themselves and the barber. Probably a cowboy recently off the range if Din knew anything. Seeing as the partition between the front of the place and the back bath was just a heavy canvas sheet, Din could hear every single word.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and slipped under the surface. The water caressed and slid over every inch of his neck and face, filling in his ears. The water made the talking on the other side of the room sound distorted, dull, and heavy. He stayed under another moment, feeling how his hair floated and waved in the whirls and eddies his movements had created in the water around him.
Pushing back up, Din snorted the water from his nose, shaking the dripping hair away from his face.
He heard a muffled giggle and turned to look at Lewie with a raised eyebrow. The kid was covering his mouth to try and suppress the laugh but was failing rather spectacularly.
“Somethin' funny?” He asked the kid, his own lips twitching. He was sure he looked plausibly like a drowned dog, a huge curl of hair was stuck to his forehead now and his mustache did feel out of sorts.
The kid snorted and nodded, “You are, you’re hair’s all silly.”
“Well, just you wait, little mister,” Din warned. “Once I’m done here it's your turn.”
Din didn’t spend too much more time scrubbing up, his golden-brown skin turning rosy from the rough scrubbing he did with the washcloth and soap. It felt good to slough off the dirt and grim, to dig his fingers against his scalp and get his wavy curls squeaky clean, as well. Once that was completed, he slicked the mass of hair back with both hands, squeezing a good amount of the water out to stream down his neck and back.
If he didn’t have the kid to take care of still, he might’ve stayed in a bit longer, let his muscles unwind a bit more in the hot water. But there was dinner to make sure they didn’t miss, the boarding house lady had sounded rather serious about when supper time was to happen and that latecomers would be out of luck.
Pushing himself up, Din grimaced at the color of the water left in the tub before he pulled the plug to let the water drain. As the water swirled around the drain he could hear the faint sound of the water running under the building, it probably drained out at the back of the building.
Toweling off his skin and hair quickly, Din then securely tucked the cloth around his waist as he got the tub filling up again from the water boiler. This would be why this place cost a bit more, it wasn’t often he saw this sort of kit outside of the larger cities.
Switching to the cold water source, Din mixed the water until it felt warm and not scalding before having Lewie approve. The kid still thought it was too hot so he watched as Din added more cold water until it was to the young mister’s approval.
“Alright chickabiddy, let’s get you washed up.”
Staying in the towel ended up being the correct decision. The floor getting a good amount of water all over it as Din scrubbed the kid’s hair, doing his best to keep any soap from getting into sensitive eyes. The kid was filthy, worse than Din had been it seemed, turning a whole two shades lighter as the dirt from scrubbed off. It was a bit of an ordeal for about halfway through Lewie decided that he was hungry and wanted to be done, so Din had bribed him with a bit of dried fruit to gnaw on while Din finished cleaning behind his ears and the like.
Finishing the snack and finally getting toweled off, the kid had been a bit happier. Content for long enough that they both could get dressed and the barber had been able to give Din a quick shave and a hair trim. In short order, Din’s cheeks were first coated with a thick lather and then scrapped smooth with the precision only a barber with his cutthroat razor could do. The man also neatened up Din’s mustache and left a bit of sideburn. For the rest of his unruly mane, the barber took some of the length on the sides and left the wavy hair up top longer, but Din forwent the pomade since he figured it would just get mussed by his hat.
Scooping the kid up, who was officially dozing in an empty barber’s chair, hair already starting to dry fluffy and soft. Din thanked the barber and went out.
Lewie’s arms instinctively came around Din’s neck as he snuggled in closer. His face, still with its baby chubbiness, was soft and warm against Din’s freshly shaven jaw.
Mustache twitching with the ghost of a smile, Din shifted the kid’s weight slightly so he’d be more comfortable on the walk back to the boarding house, he just hoped the kid would be awake enough to eat dinner. But for now, he would carry him, the kid had some really long stressful days. The least Din could do was carry him.
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Din had tacked up Razor in the early morning hours, a sleepy kid in tow. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to sleep all that well, but something about this sheriff… rubbed him the wrong way. Couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but he wanted to be out of the town well before the sun rose this morning.
Lewie, despite being wedged between the Din and the horn of the saddle had somehow managed to nod off in the first few minutes after leaving the town. The sway of Razor’s gentle gait perhaps being perfect to soothe the child back to sleep at the early hour.
It wasn’t far from town when Din came to the fork in the road he knew had been coming up. If he continued straight he would be traveling some fifty miles to Silver City and going exactly where the sheriff would be inclined to think he was headed.
Pulling slightly on the reins, Razor came to a stop. His ears flicking back to listen expectantly for his rider’s next instruction.
The morning sun was bright and orange on the horizon now. The day-star looked like the shiny yolk of a newly cracked egg, shimmering with its slow ascent higher into the sky.
Turning around slightly in his saddle, Din saw that they weren’t being followed. It was at that moment that he became aware that he had been expecting that they would have been. That same instinct had him pulling lightly on Razor’s reins as they set off again, this time at a loping canter toward the town that — if he was to be honest — had been on his mind the whole time he had been out on the prairie.
Namely, the town of Shady Rock, where his favorite general store was. After all, it was only about ten miles away, which should take only about three to four hours at a good canter. They should be there before noon.
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It was well after two in the afternoon when you did a double-take at the sight in front of your store.
Not that seeing the marshal was odd — Marshal Djarin, you corrected with a private smile — but the manner of his arrival? That indeed was a bit odd.
Rather than riding up on Razor, he had been walking the horse down Main Street and also had a kid perched on the saddle. Since when had he ever had a kid?
You continued to watch, currently not having any other customers to distract you, as you watched the marshal swing the child down from the saddle before turning to the storefront.
Too slow to move away, trying to figure out what was going on, he suddenly caught your eye through the glass, catching you in the act. This was about the same time you noticed, that while he was perchance a bit dusty from the road, he had clearly been to a barber recently. Absent was the normal scruff from his square jaw, and the slight grin showed off the dimple just to the side of his now sharp mustache.
The man must have known he was a sight to see as he tipped his hat to you through the window before sending you a cheeky wink.
Your eyes widened at the brazenness of is, and you barely could give him a curt nod back before busying yourself with pretending to straighten the stock behind the counter. It was already perfectly in place, but that didn't really matter.
You were able to sort yourself enough as the marshal and his… Son? Charge? …came in. If he was going to be that way? You certainly could give it back if you wanted to.
“Come to pay your tab, Marshal Djarin?” you asked, your tone almost boarding on archness. You also couldn’t help but savor the taste of his name in his mouth. The feeling filled your limbs with something warm and sweet and just a bit spiced. It was like… taking the first sip of hot mulled cider of the winter. The sweetness of the cider, the fragrant cloves, anise, and cinnamon, a bit of brightness from a lemon that had come on the train, and maybe a splash of brandy or good whiskey so it sat warm and comforting in your stomach.
“Yes’m” he said, pulling out a plain leather wallet from inside his coat. “Fourteen cents, correct?”
“That’ll be correct,” you paused just a moment as he pulled out a single dollar bill. It was an older issued one with the old Secretary of the Treasury on it, unlike the newer bills. “I’m surprised.”
The marshal tilted his head in question, his dark brown eyes on you even as he kept a hand on top of the kid’s tousled hair. You assumed he was doing that to keep the kid from wandering off and touching things as kids were want to do.
“I didn’t expect to see you back when you left with only twelve bullets,” you explained candidly as you quickly counted out the correct change for him.
He grunted in understanding, “Just lucky I suppose, ma’am” he said without a single iota of false humility.
“Well… I’m glad,” you said before backtracking slightly. “Would’ve been out a whole fourteen cents.”
The smirk was back on his face though, he knew what you’d meant, “I’m glad too, not like me to leave a lady in the lurch”
You were left staring into his liquid brown eyes, blinking dumbly at the mild insinuation that you weren’t entirely sure if he had meant it that way when the moment was broken.
“Lewie, let’s not touch those,” the marshal said. Moving to swoop in just before the child managed to pull out one of the bottom cans in a pyramid of canned peaches from California you had displayed. He thankfully did so before the curious kid pulled the whole pile down on top of himself.
“This is Lewis,” Marshal Djarin explained, “He and his parents were taken by the gang… so I’ll be taking him to see if we can find his next of kin.”
It didn’t take you long at all to put together the unspoken fact that the kid’s parents were probably dead. You nodded at the marshal in understanding.
“I know it would be an inconvenience…” he started to ask before trailing off.
You waited for him to continue as you marked in your book that Marshal Din Djarin’s tab was currently paid in full.
“My horse threw a shoe outside of town,” he started to explain. “I already was planning on getting Lewis here some clean clothes from your stock, would it be possible for you to pick those out with him while I get Razor sorted with the blacksmith?”
You blinked, mouth opening automatically to say that you were running a business and didn’t have time to be nannying. But you made the mistake of looking into those brown eyes and any argument you might have had disappeared.
“I suppose I can do that,” I agree hesitantly, but the flash of a full smile that the marshal charmed you the rest of the way. Hell, that man had no right looking as fine as he did when he smiled like that. With a flash of teeth, and how it caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle making them look kinder, softer.
“I’m much obliged,” he murmured, his tone honey warm.
Coming around the counter you crouched down a bit to introduce yourself to little Lewis, from what you could tell he was a polite and rather quiet boy whose clothes looked completely filthy but that the child himself was clean enough. You assumed your marshal — no the marshal— had gotten the kid bathed at some point.
“So, Lewie, you ready to pick out some clothes and maybe some candy on Mister Marshal’s dime?” You asked with a grin.
You threw a sidelong glance at the marshal as you spoke about spending his money. He snorted quietly but didn’t protest as he tipped his hat with a “Ma’am” to you and a “Behave for the kind lady, Lewie” before he went out to deal with Razor.
This could be a good bit of fun.
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Old Western Slang / Sayings / Historical tidbits
Cute as a button: Cute originally was a shortening of acute, for “sharp-witted and clever,” but in the early 1800s it also took on its current meaning.
Arbuckles’ Coffee - founded in the post American Civil War era, it was a popular roasted coffee brand in the west (Folgers was founded earlier but was more prevalent in the California gold fields being founded in San Fransisco). It was so prevalent that many cowboys didn’t realize there were other brands besides Arbuckles and would thus sometimes use it as a generic name for coffee, like how you might say “Kleenex” vs “tissues”. The company is still around to this day.
Roostered ~ drunk
Barber Shop / Bath House - most barbershops of the time would have secondary businesses (such as being a bathhouse) to make ends meet. Technically a man or cowboy would have their shave and hair cut done first and then the barber would ask if they wanted a bath as well, but I’m playing with that social norm of back then a bit to still translate better for a modern reader imo.
Marbles - Ceramic marbles were first mass-produced in the 1870s, glass ones wouldn’t be mass-produced until the early 1890s
Chickabiddy – A young chicken. Used also as a term of endearment for children starting in the late 18th c.
US one-dollar bills originally had the US Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase on them, George Washington wouldn’t be used in the design until 1869 so I'm figuring there was a time both designs were in circulation.
While canned foods have been around since the early 1800s, canned fruit was being produced in California c. 1868
Perm: @princessbatears @youhavereachedtheendofpie @cosmicbug379 @yellowbubblewrap @keeper0fthestars @agentpike @opheliaelysia @catfishingmorales @anxiety-riddled-mando @rzrcrst @mrsparknuts @beccaplaying @trippedmetaldetector @maybege @aeryntheofficial @mandolovian​ @littlevodika @oloreaa @lovinglokiforever @gallowsjoker @whataenginerd Pedro Characters: @mrschiltoncat @seasonschange-butpeopledont Din Djarin Tag: @kyjoraven​ @maydayfigment​ @awboomerangsno​ Dusty Trails Tag: @the-feckless-wonder @frannyzooey @lark-cale @annathewitch @swimmingsloths @roxypeanut @justanotherblonde23 @phoenixhalliwell @cryptkeepersoul @ben-is-a-hoe @hayley-the-comet @discogrrl
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chilling-seavey · 3 years
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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
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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.
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sergeant-spoons · 3 years
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5. Bellegarde
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Maeve R.L. O’Leavy
Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​ @vintagelavenderskies​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @tvserie-s-world​ @adamantiumdragonfly​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​​
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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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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redheid · 3 years
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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
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onlyliberty-a · 5 years
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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.
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    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
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anonymouswriter2311 · 5 years
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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.
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theaveragekenyan · 4 years
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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. 
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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
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mypkshop-blog · 4 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! 
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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. 
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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! 
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