#I also took my dog to the dog park and walked a couple of miles on Monday and Wednesday

[oddlittlestories]

Chat is working 8/11/8/12/1 supposed to make every muscle in your body ache so much you want to cry asking for a friend

[strangenewfriends]

"Harry Styles is a better singer than me. As People magazine’s sexiest musician alive 2023, he’s better looking too. But because I’m a fitness writer by trade, the hardest pill to swallow is that he might be in better condition.

This realization dawned on me as Styles’ coach Thibo David walked me through one of his typical training sessions. 

They kick things off with a slow 10 to 30-minute jog, followed by a rapid one-mile run and a bodyweight challenge comprising 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups and 100 air squats within eight minutes. Once that’s done, David considers the warm-up complete. 

What follows is a melee of weighted circuits, more running and core work which left me both intimidated and intrigued. So, as a fitness aficionado and Coach’s unofficial workout guinea pig, I decided to give it a go. All of it. 

30-minute slow-paced run 

If you include the one-mile run and bodyweight challenge, this is the hardest warm-up I’ve ever done, but, given the intensity required for the next two elements I’m promoting them to workout status. 

My usual warm-up routine consists of 10-minutes on a bike or exercise bike, followed by 15 minutes of dynamic stretching. The slow-paced run offered a similar introduction to my morning session, but after that I was in unfamiliar territory. 

Run one mile as fast as possible

David says Harry Styles can run a mile in an impressive 5min 13sec—a standard some of the professional athletes David coaches can’t match—but I was urged to run my own race.

“Don’t go in thinking ‘he did it in five minutes, I’m going to do the same’, just keep on pushing,” says David. “Don’t think about anything else, your time is yours.” 

So I found myself haring through a UK park at 30°F. The cold air stung my lungs and my heart rate soon soared, but I managed to stick to a pace I, as an average runner at best, was fairly happy with and finished in 5min 59sec.

In eight minutes complete:

100 push-ups

100 sit-ups

100 unweighted squats

This was far closer to my wheelhouse as a CrossFit fan. I chose to tackle it in alternating sets of 10, transitioning quickly between exercises to finish within the eight-minute limit. But even commando rolling from push-up to sit-up then springing into the squats left me little time to spare.

I took 7min 39sec, and, somewhat unexpectedly, given I can barbell squat more than 300lb, it was my quads that blew up the most. Whether this was the result of the one-mile run before it or heavy front squats the day before, I couldn’t say, but my thighs were on fire by the final rep. 

Four rounds of:

1min kettlebell swings (16kg)

1min box jumps

2min sandbag over-the-shoulder (20kg)

2min alternating dumbbell clean and press

1min rest

This was the part of the training day I felt most comfortable with—probably because it bore the closest resemblance to CrossFit.

“I like to say that I train very smart, but you also have to be very stupid sometimes, you know? Do this type of workout in the most stupid way; go hard at the task at hand, like when you throw a ball for a dog and it goes super crazy. 

“This is a very good workout for that. Very good at building everything that needs to be added after the aerobic base; aggressiveness, speed, that go-hard mentality.”

I tend to ease off the throttle in timed workouts like this, so I set a couple of goals going in. 

Firstly: no taking long breaks mid-minute. Secondly, hit a set number of reps each round. I pushed my body reasonably hard during the first round and found that 30 kettlebell swings, 18 box jumps, 20 sandbag-over-shoulders and 30 clean and presses made tricky but achievable targets for me.

Things did become particularly spicy during round three and four though, as my body began to tire with the sustained effort. 

My posterior chain (the muscles running along the back side of the body) took a battering from the kettlebell swings and sandbag-over-shoulders, my already-fried legs felt heavy during the box jumps, and my shoulders grew tired from two minutes of straight clean and presses—it was a serious test of muscular endurance.

Eight rounds of:

30-45sec sprint (16-21km/h) at a 0.5-2.5% gradient

90sec rest 

In the absence of a treadmill I sought out a nearby hill. For the first interval I ran as far up the hill as I could in 30 seconds (about 220 meters), sending my heart rate skywards. 

Then I took 90 seconds to walk back down the hill before repeating this distance. I also did 12 total rounds—I wanted the full Styles experience, after all—but I’d live to regret this. The hill I chose grew progressively steeper as I worked my way up it, and by the eighth round I felt like death. My sprints turned to slogs, and the time it took me to complete the distance I established in the first interval grew longer. 

The prior running and box jumps didn’t help either, but I got it done eventually in less than 30 minutes

15 minutes of “diverse core exercises including planks, one-sided farmer’s walks, side planks and sit-up variations”.

These exercise suggestions offer a comprehensive core workout, recruiting a wide range of mid-body muscles from the rectus abdominis (of six-pack fame) to the spine-supporting transverse abdominis and erector spinae, which play a major role in maintaining posture. 

I also appreciated the addition of a one-sided loaded carry, which challenged my core to keep me upright as a weight pulled me sideways. After all, while the core is always credited with moving the spine, it’s also needed for resisting unwanted movement under load.

10-15 minutes of assisted stretching

David left me to my own devices for this final part, so I worked my way through a 10-minute mobility routine on the Pliability app. 

This was a relaxing way to wrap up a far from relaxing morning of training, and gave me a second to catch my breath after a monumental effort which lasted a little over two hours.

How I Found Harry Styles’ Workout

I swapped this day of training for one of my usual CrossFit sessions and had a lot of fun doing it. Every part of my body felt like it had been put through the ringer thanks to the muscle-burning circuit and lung-taxing running elements. I was also very, very hungry. 

Another thing that impressed me was Styles’ evident fitness levels and work ethic; how he has the energy to perform for two hours during a stadium tour is no longer a mystery.

Another thing I liked about my chat with David was his openness and honesty. I often see articles online saying celebrities do a few Pilates classes or HIIT workouts each week to stay in unbelievable shape, and he was keen to dispel this myth.

“Collaborating with Harry Styles was an absolute delight; his commitment is unparalleled,” says David.

“But it’s important to note that this level of training isn’t suitable for everyone. Harry was inherently fit, but achieving the level of fitness needed for this session still required time, work and effort. Rushing into such high-volume workouts can pose risks.”

David also stressed that sessions of this intensity weren’t done every day, and the nature of his workouts will often “depend on the day and the state of the athlete”.

“It’s crucial to emphasize the significance of proper periodization,” says David. “Not every day constituted an intense session. In fact, we strategically incorporated recovery sessions which often involved a light run combined with core exercises and mobility work. Every workout was thoughtfully placed within the overall training plan.”

[katoktm8]

Riot gear and tear gas

Breakfast and headed out. Heard a lot of noise, thought it was a band. We looked and it appeared that a political protest was starting so instead of turning right we turned left and joined the crowd. We were probably one of the first 50 people to be at the protest. Frontline view. All the journalists were there, the stage was set for speakers, and a huge pile of tires was in the street. In addition, police and riot gear guarding the parliament building with tanks of tear gas ready to go. and police Holding gas Masks were lining the street. Did not bother us. We were in it. We found out that people were protesting the current Prime Minister, who apparently has been recorded doing business with gangsters talking about kidnapping people in white vans, and they were also supporting the ex Prime Minister who is under house arrest for some type of apartment sales corruption. So pick your poison. Anyway, people started yelling Free Berini or whatever the ex Prime Minister‘s name was. We scooted along behind the police officers, and the tires were lit on fire and smoke was pouring into the air, and people were chanting. People were screaming. The fire was getting bigger. The firetrucks came in to put out the fire. We got shooed away by a polite policeman a few times, but nothing really seemed to be happening so we got bored and left. There were probably a couple hundred people at this protest. The police were very casual aside from trying to get us out of the way, and unfortunately, we are not living civil historian journalists. We recorded as much as we could thinking that it was all going to go down and we would be witnesses to it. Damnit

We then walked about 4 miles to a cable car in a national park outside of town. It was the steepest longest cable car I’ve ever been on. It took about 20 minutes to get to the top of the mountain. We sauntered around, headed back down and then went to a Bunker museum.

This museum was one of 168,000 bunkers that the dictator of Albania built and he never used a single one. But everywhere you go you see bunker tops throughout the city. This one was the largest. It was five stories high underground and had 106 rooms. This bunker museum told the story of Albania from World War II all the way to present Day Albania. It was fascinating to think that people my age had lived through an entire reign of communism and Democracy. But people my parents age would’ve lived freely in childhood, then under communism, then freely again. The most interesting fact I learned today was that this dictator put a barbed wire fence…an electric barbed wire fence around the entire country of Albania and it was meant to keep citizens of Albania in and people that were not Albanians out. If you got within, a footstep of the fence or tried to escape you would get electrocuted. Several thousand people died from the electric shock before they lowered the voltage and just sent out dogs to hunt the people trying to escape and imprisoned them. They kept the perimeter forever muddy in order to have footprints of the people who were escaping and be easier to track. I think as Americans we just don’t appreciate the fact that we’ve never had a government other than a republic democracy. We don’t understand the trials and tribulations that other citizens and other countries have been through historically… even since we have been alive. We are so lucky.

We walked back, cleaned up, went out for dinner came back and tomorrow We had to a new town up in the mountains. It’s actually a village up in the mountains. Fresh air, and hopefully few people but rumor is that tourists abound

[newnoirstories]

Dark, Surreal Noir Comedy

[Once again, the inclusion of a religious or mystical practice in any of my stories does not constitute an endorsement of it.]

"Arjuna's Bow"

Chapter I

Detective Sammy Drayson, NYPD, dealt mainly with crime in the East Village. Art, drugs and the occasional homicide, Drayson thought. Drayson specialized in the homicides.

1986 was the year, the hipsters of the new kind were rising, the kind Broadway would immortalize, the kind that would be cliché in two or three decades, but at the time, they were the new hippies, and being one meant something, whether you liked them or not.

But then, there was the other side of it: The addiction, the AIDS epidemic, both so common among the artists, and wherever there were narcotics, some would fight to the death over them, others to the death over who sold them, and then there were those who killed for reasons no one understood.

But while Drayson, who believed in nothing he could not see, pored over the tedious red tape at his desk, in an apartment in East Village, Apartment 61 on 13th Street, a woman known to her neighbors only as "Adam L", no context or explanation, was trying to invoke powers at which the cynical Sammy would have laughed, but soon he would believe.

Taking an ebony wand, hardly a traditional wand of the old Druids, given where ebony trees grow, Adam L touched it to the portrait of a man, then to a treasure chest of sorts, and back and forth, chanting in the old Enochian language of Dee and Kelley, until finally, with a yell, she exclaimed, very much in English, "Puppet!"

Chapter II

On a rainy day about a week later, the first of several unsolved homicides occurred. No robbery, no apparent motive: A 52-year-old man out walking his dog was the victim, taken by surprise with a knife. Though his faithful canine friend obviously put up a fight, and likely left some mark on the assailant, the dog, mixed in breed, was too small to prevent the crime.

Drayson heard of the case, but it seemed like the random act of a junkie, and no leads could be found… until four days later, when similar injuries were found on the remains of woman, 27, on the same street, then, just over a week later, an elderly couple, octogenarians at that, all the same: Probably the same weapon, the same lack of motive, and within a radius of less than a quarter of a mile.

Even as Sammy was on the scene of the poor elderly man and woman, in came a call that a young man of 19 died in identical circumstances in a parking lot, perhaps two hundred yards from where Drayson stood, but by now, the killer had gotten away, and Drayson was hearing no end of it from the Captain, though Captain Marsh was concerned more with bad press than with lives.

This time, though, there was a witness, but not one that a district attorney would covet. An old Cornish man, Tom Carew, a painter of some local repute, claimed to get a fleeting glimpse of the killer, but having a limp, he said, it was no use giving chase. In his Cornish dialect, he insisted that the killer was a woman wearing the mask of a man, but also rambled something that Drayson took to be about a man carrying a boom box playing music.

Nine times out of ten, Drayson would have put one word in his notes, that being "gibberish", over such a story, but his job had been threatened, and he was desperate enough to take dilligent notes, in so far as he could understand Cornish:

"Flick o' the wan' o' the cunning wom'n, 'tis what took the souls. Street 13 an' oak, proper fit for her, pale and wan wi' a wan', she is. Looks a maid, 'tis old in deed. Cunning maid pilfered the ol' swag chest 'o Blood Barq."

Such was Carew's explanation of who he thought responsible for the crime he had witnessed.

Chapter III

"I am so desperate," remarked Drayson at headquarters, "That I'm going to Sleepy Brown."

David "Sleepy" Brown was a Lieutenant in the force, 62 years of age, whose greatest asset to the force was as a historian and linguist. He had solved many an antiques caper and fraud, spoke and wrote perfect Greek, Latin, Spanish and Hebrew, as well as English and every Celtic language, and though not from Cornwall, but from Devon, originally, before his parents moved him, as a child, to New York, it was for this last bit of expertise that Drayson needed him.

With typical lack of protocol, finding an unlocked door, Drayson simply let himself in to Brown's office, where the old man seemed to be nodding off, fitting his nickname. Drayson sneered.

"Lovely sneer, Detective. By the way, the sole of your right shoe needs mending," remarked the Lieutenant, revealing that, as was so often the case, his drowsy appearance was an act, "You are here about the Cornish witness, I presume?"

Analyzing Drayson's jumbled notes, Brown opined, "Look for an Apartment 61 on 13th Street, and if you find a woman fond of Druid wands and treasure chests, you will find someone relevant to your investigation."

"How on earth do you know what apartment to look for?"

"This… shall we say, eccentric old fellow was speaking in a sort of mystical code. 61 is the gematria- that's a kind of esoteric code- for 'oak'."

"What about Blood Bark?"

"Blood Barq, with a 'q', Detective, though there are several theories as to the etymology. It's a legend of a British pirate with a lost treasure. No one knows his real name, or even whether he existed with certainty, so they call him Blood Barq."

"You are seriously proposing that a dead pirate has something to do with this case?"

"No, I am proposing that a delusional person might believe he did, however."

With that, Brown closed his eyes and returned to what was either slumber or meant to give that impression.

Chapter IV

Detective Drayson found an Apartment 61 on 13th Street, not far from where the murders occurred, but while a woman's voice answered, all she would say is that, if he had no search warrant, he was not welcome, and that she would answer no questions. It was Adam L's apartment, and Drayson scrambled off to try to find her birth name, but before this, another unexpected witness, as it seemed, came forward.

A man was at the station claiming to be the man with the boom box seen by Carew, saying that his conscience was bothering him. His name was George Clay.

"Okay, officers, I'm taking the chance. You know I got a record and I don't want no trouble, but I swear to you, I didn't know anything about a murder."

"What did you know?" asked Drayson, in his sternest voice.

"Look, all I know is this man, sunglasses and a beard, maybe a fake beard, I don't know. Sunglasses and it was rainin'. Anyhow, he shows me this freaky person, not sure if it was a guy or a girl, but anyway, he says he'll pay me $500 just to follow him, or her, or whatever around and play my boom box for a few blocks, as long as I play the song he wants."

"What song?"

"'Tragedy', a Bee Gees song. Now I'm more a funk man, and that ain't…"

"Get to the point!"

"Anyhow, this crazy person freaks hearin' the song, pulls a knife and attacks the nearest person, as far as I could see, some skinny white kid."

"And you did nothing?"

"Look, man, I got a record. I panicked, okay? But I'm here now, right, and I didn't have to tell you anything, or even let you know I was there!"

Chapter V

Kenny "Dum Dum" Wallace Jr. was the bassist for a struggling glam metal act calling itself "Long Live the Buzz Flies". On his way to a poorly-built recording studio aptly named "The Leaky Roof", he was approached by a man with a beard and sunglasses, again on an overcast day, offered $500 for the simple act of carrying a boom box playing "Tragedy" by the Bee Gees and following someone, someone with the face of a man, but a feminine walk.

Wallace shrugged, and did as instructed, but as in Clay's story, the strange person flew into a frenzy, pulled a knife, and for a moment, Dum Dum thought he was the intended target, but instead, the victim was a 39-year-old accountant, Anderson Tall. This time, though, there was a witness to the entire sequence of events, and not only the killing, Marjorie "Meddler" Davison, a 67-year-old woman feared as much as any man on the streets, in her own way, as a notorious gossip rumored to leverage information for blackmail, someone who knew everything about everybody, it seemed.

She considered blackmailing the band, until attending one of their concerts and seeing the small crowd. Instead, Davison went to the police, but tried to insist on being paid for her information.

"In the first place, Meddler," said Drayson sharply, "If we paid you, it would set a precedent where every lowlife like you could shake us down. Second, it would destroy the credibility of what you saw, to the DA. How about you tell us what happened and we won't go after you for about, maybe, six or seven blackmail operations you have going on at this moment?"

With that, Davison described what she had seen, and the pattern was undeniable, if grotesque. Drayson was planning on looking into whether anyone known to be unstable, like an escaped hospital patient, might be involved, when Lieutenant Brown casually strolled into the room with a dossier on just such a person, Courtney Randall Cline, noted as "paranoid schizophrenic", "homicidal ideations", yet for some reason given permission, just two days before the killings began, "to visit family".

Chapter VI

Uniformed police and street gossip had it that Courtney Cline was living out of a van, an old hippie one, but painted over a silvery gray. Police approached her, and she was wearing a mask in the detailed likeness of a man, though which man was unclear.

"I don't care if you're cops. You play that disco song, you die."

The officers, with great difficulty, cuffed her as a dangerous suspect, but she calmed down when promised that no disco music would be played, and after that, blandly and indifferently recounted committing all six murders, explaining that strange men kept following her with "that horrid song", and "made me do it". When asked about the mask, which she removed only with reluctance, she said that she found it in her room at the mental hospital, and it was a likeness of William "Wolf" Woolley, soon verified as an actual patient in the same wing of the same hospital, and a known murderer himself, albeit found insane. Woolley, however, had been in the hospital during all six killings, and so could not have been directly involved.

Courtney R. Cline was arrested on six counts of second-degree murder, though it was suspected that she would, like Wolf, be acquitted by an insanity defense.

"You think you have solved the case, eh, Drayson?" said Brown, ambling out of nowhere with his customary quiet ease.

"Of course, and you don't?"

"We know who physically carried out the crimes, but why this same song, and this mysterious man I hear of, the false beard and the $500 offers to random men?"

"I admit that is odd, but how can I ever prove any of that?"

The Lieutenant shook his head and smiled, "If you would only use a bit of imagination, Detective. None of Cline's notes say anything about a fixation regarding music, as one might reasonably expect if said music drove her into homidical fits."

"And what does that suggest, Sherlock Holmes?" asked Drayson insolently.

"Sherlock is suggesting that someone at the hospital conditioned Miss Cline as a sort of post-hypnotic suggestion. Follow that lead to the ends of the earth, Detective. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to earning the nickname 'Sleepy'."

Chapter VII

Again reluctantly following Sleepy's advice, Drayson found, rather to his surprise, that Wolf Woolley's notes did indeed include the warning, "Violent reaction to disco". There could also be no question that Cline's mask was a perfect likeness of Woolley.

Dr. Karl Steele gave the NYPD full access to both records and to the premises. One thing struck Drayson, however: All of the staff agreed that, at least in Cline's absence, there could be no question that Woolley was their most dangerous patient, yet Wolf was not in the "isolation room", a sort of equivalent of solitary confinement.

"That's Dr. Steele's idea," explained a nurse, "He said that Mr. Woolley is incurable, nothing changes him, but that the isolation room might change the behavior of some of the other patients."

Detective Drayson was permitted to look into the isolation room, and could scarcely believe the surreal horror within: A man in a straitjacket wore also a mask of William Woolley's likeness, as faintly, the song "Tragedy" could be heard playing, interspersed with the voice of Wolf ranting his hatred of the disco genre, and back and forth, causing the patient to writhe in torment.

The nurses and orderlies seemed to think nothing of this, calling it "an experimental therapy" and "Dr. Steele's idea". An even greater shock: Detective Drayson was suddenly face to face with the gaunt yet imposing figure of Dr. Karl Steele, his deeply recessed eyes glistening cold malevolence, a tight-lipped smile seeming to speak death.

Chapter VIII

Even Drayson's hardened nerves got a terrible start, but suddenly, Steele's demeanor seemed to relax, and he laughed, albeit with a cynical ring.

"Detective, Detective, we mustn't have anxiety. I let you see that. I knew that you would deduce it sooner or later- either you or that old Lieutenant."

"You're the killer!" exclaimed Drayson.

"The killer? I never touched a soul, never gave any instructions to anyone so much as to jaywalk, Detective."

"Conditioning… you hypnotized them!"

"Welcome to the future. The quaint moral laws of Abrahamic times are dying slowly, Detective. There are chessmasters and there are pawns. I have demonstrated that I am a chessmaster. Mr. Woolley… well, he has the will to power, but not the clarity. I have both. You have the potential for both too, Detective. I read in your eyes a deep distrust for the lies of the old ways, and a potential for the new."

"Maybe so," replied Drayson, recovering his nerve, "But what you fail to read is that I would rather die than break my oath to uphold the law. You won't touch me, will you, Doctor? You want others to do the dirty work."

"That is what you call it," shrugged Steele, "But return as you like, you have nothing on me."

The next day, Detective Samuel Drayson, instructing his uniformed help to wait outside the building, returned to the hospital, barging directly into Steele's private office.

"I've been expecting you, but to what avail?" smugly cooed the Doctor.

"That's right. You never said a word. Never told them to do a thing."

"Exactly…"

"Neither did I…" Drayson retorted, his eyes set cold as the Doctor's. Into the room, unrestrained and feral, lurched William Woolley himself, a sight that shook even Dr. Steele.

With a theatrical air, Drayson took out a tape recorder, then stepped back, so that Wolf was closest to the Doctor.

"Tragedy, when the feeling's gone, and you can't go on, it's tragedy…"

In the frenzy of a rabid beast, Wolf attacked, fists and teeth, as Dr. Steele screamed, the last sounds he would ever make, as Drayson locked the door behind the two, escaping as hospital staff desperately rushed to respond.

Chapter IX

"Wolf will be trying to escape, likely out the front way, and if not, I have men at the back," said Drayson.

Indeed, Wolf, covered in evidence of his savage attack on the late Dr. Steele, helped himself to the front exit, only to be captured by nine policemen, one of them Drayson, though not before biting one of them.

Wolf looked up at one of the cops, who in spite of the struggle, still had a cigarette in his mouth. For the first time, Woolley spoke, laughing and saying to the smoker, "You're crazy too."

Meanwhile, somewhere in the United States of America, the quality control inspector of the very cigarette this policeman smoked lived a life in turmoil, his wife having an affair as he tried to drown his sorrow. As the factory man threw a bottle of whiskey at a photograph of his wedding, Jeremy Thomas met with the flashes of cameras. Thomas was founder, chairman and CEO of Jeremy Thomas Holdings, which held a controlling share in the liquor company profiting from the broken man's sorrow, but he was announcing giving a portion of his billions to United Governments, a philanthropic organization dedicated to world peace.

The flash of the cameras gave way to the flash of lightning, however, as the money Thomas "donated" was being illicitly invested in the Medellín Cartel of Colombia, as haggard Colombian workers picked coca leaves in a storm of rain and thunder, the lightning giving way to neon lights in the middle of the night, somewhere in an American city, a man slumped over, a man broken by cocaine.

Jeremy Thomas, as it turned out, had not always been wealthy, though he had always been unscrupulous. Prior to his wealth, he was briefly married to Lillian Morgan, now calling herself "Adam L", bitter over never having touched Jeremy's later fortune. If the Fates were not capricious enough, the very secretary named as co-respondent by Morgan in her divorce from Thomas had, in turn, just married none other than Lieutenant David Brown, twenty-four years her senior, as if an aging Sherlock Holmes wed a surviving Jayne Mansfield, though Mansfield, of course, was more clever than the public knew.

Brown's loud sounds on the wedding night, in somewhat of a British accent, annoyed the neighbors. Meanwhile, Detective Sammy Drayson, ever the contrarian, was a basketball fan, but not a fan of the New York Knicks, but of the Boston Celtics, and on a rare vacation, was in Boston, watching the most successful playoff run of the 1985-86 Boston Celtics, for once forgetting the wretched world around him.

The end.

[mandana-the-service-pup]

My PTSD is flaring up and I’ve been having nightmares again. Mandana was kind enough to wake me last night. It’s a lot harder than it used to be when she would sleep with me and nuzzle me awake but she managed it from her kennel by stress shaking & nuzzling the kennel bars. It was a rough night and I didn’t get much sleep. I was still feeling stressed out come morning so I took Mandana to the park for a scooter run. She trotted next to me for a mile and then we came home and relaxed.

In the afternoon we made our first trip back to the Training Center. It’s been about a year since we last visited. She’s had a lot of improvement in her health, behavior and training so it was fun to see how well she did. No one else was there but it was nice to walk around the facility proofing cues.

She got to run around the indoor agility course off leash and that was really exciting. Despite being free to run around and explore, she chose to walk over to me, take her badge out of my hand and do a really nice medical alert. I was also able to send her “around” a barrel nearly 100’ away which was really cool because I mostly use that cue to get her longline untangled from trees. Doing it off leash on an agility course was not something we’ve ever done before so I was kind of surprised it worked but she really enjoyed the game.

Our current plan is to scooter in the mornings a couple times a week, swimming once a week and drop in at the training center whenever we can for proofing cues and working on her excitement around dogs. We also signed up for a canine conditioning class which is four 1hr sessions starting in June.

I wasn’t feeling up for taking pics today so here’s a stock photo 🥲

[captaincolossal]

Uuuuugghhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm so fucking tired and sore.

The event today was really good, I had better sales than I expected, it was a gorgeous day, people were nice, I skipped out on paying for parking, etc. But Jesus Fuck, the load-in/load-out situation was a goddamn nightmare. It took 45 minutes longer than I expected, just because the parking lot was so far from my booth, and I didn't sign the permission slip to drive on the path because it seemed unnecessary given the maps I was provided with.

And the thing is, I always feel like these things are, physically, a fair amount of sitting around, aside from set up and take down. But also usually you can get within a quarter mile of your booth location. I figured it out when I got home. I walked roughly 5 miles today. And I'm still here like "why are all of my leg muscles sore, I sat in my moderately comfortable folding chair all day".

I also, like...had kind of a rough sensory time, I guess. There was just so much fucking ambient noise, including: the river, wind, tents rustling, people noises, dog noises, the generators powering the food trucks, traffic, the occasional helicopter, and live music. Sometimes two live musics at once, to either side of me. Also the first live music was mediocre and repetitive smooth jazz and I have very low tolerance for jazz, no offense it is just Not My Thing. Anyway, the end result is that my auditory processing was Bad for most of the event, but also I felt like people were just speaking very softly from the opposite corner of my 10' booth, so I spent most of the day asking people to repeat themselves.

And now, like, everything else is sensitive too, everything is too bright and too loud and my skin is sensitive from sitting in a moderate breeze all day. Ugh. I can't even listen to music right now, I have, uhh...church ambience, at low volume.

Also, okay, I feel like an asshole complaining about this. But I am Tired and sore and complainy, despite the money, so fuck it. They come around and give each vendor a little bag, which includes: custom sticker for this event (1), flyers for future event (10), bottled water (1), granola bar (1), packet of crisps/snack (1). Which is extremely nice of them! The stickers are cool! The water...I always bring my own, but I appreciate it! The granola bar is pretty good! But the fucking packet of crisps or whatever is always something I dislike. Like, not to be a bitch, but can I trade the fucking hot cheetos for a couple more granola bars? They're 0/3 so far.

So overall the show was really good, but it also kind of sucked and now I'm going to sleep and hopefully not get terrible leg cramps from waling 4 fucking miles. No wonder my knee feels fucked up.

[safereturndoubtful]

Fetlar

Wednesday 26th July

I spent five days on Fetlar in the end, the van not moving from its wonderful setting just above he beach, and in that time probably met most of the islanders. Each day I wandered past the cafe, which acts as a shop, post office, and information centre also, and sat inside for a coffee and a chat with whoever was around. The owners are typical of islanders, from the south of England, in their late fifties, and taken to Fetlar as an escape from the noise, pollution and lack of space in England. Only five of the sixty seven residents are from Shetland since birth. The English have brought with them a high level of organisation. Despite the remoteness of their residences things happen efficiently; the food deliveries to the shop from the mainland, the postal service, the regular meetings at the community hall. The arrival of strangers, or rather tourists, is noticed by all. It’s not possible to creep in undetected.

The island is well-supported in terms of infrastructure, probably too much so. For its regular postal service, the island has its own red Royal Mail electric van, which four islanders work in shifts with deliveries, and get paid to do so. The ferry, which is free for island residents, calls at least four times a day, which seems quite unnecessary, as most times when I was there it was empty, but the crew come for their lunch at the cafe. Garbage is collected by a truck that comes from the mainland once each week. A mobile library, hairdresser, and various other services call in for a few hours fortnightly. A doctor or nurse will visit when requested, and a dentist calls in monthly.

In that sense, it’s not as remote as other mainland communities.

Though I knew nobody by name, everyone knew me, the guy with the red dog and the porthole van on the beach.

Though the first days I was there were fine, the second half of my stay on Fetlar the weather turned wild. There were occasional showers, but the wind howled and came from the north. Rather than gusty, it was a steady thirty five mile per hour gale, and as it was from the north it took the temperatures down to single figures, with an added chill factor. These are the most unwelcome conditions for outdoor activity, and even indoor activity is with an unsettling rocking and a constant reverberation.

On the windy days Roja and I headed out in the morning as usual, but no further than the couple of miles to the cafe and back, then settled into an afternoon of reading, podcasts, and even completing the VAT return for work..

A few locals walked their dogs on the beach, and over the days Roja got to know them all. There weren’t many visitors, but two young women came over to say hello one afternoon, sheltering from the wind behind my van. They were students from UCL, a woman of Sudanese descent, and a Nepalese lady. The former was a geography student hoping to be a lecturer, hence the reason for the visit. They were on Shetland for two weeks, and were tough enough not to even mention the weather.

We were one of just two vehicles on the 3:30 pm ferry to Unst earlier today, the wind had at long last dropped, and the sun broke through. I drove to Baltasound, Unst’s equivalent of a metropolis, and stocked up on water, and from the supermarket. At the leisure centre I paid £1.50 for my weekly shave and shower, and the guy told me, at 5 pm, the showers would need to run a bit as I was the first person in today. Unst has as many visitors in Fest week (last week), a few hundred, as it does in the other 9 weeks of summer put together.

I drove to Uyeasound to park-up, at the far south west of the island. I had hoped to visit here, but it had quite a few people around the marina last week, so I had postponed it. From that howling three day northerly wind to a completely calm night - it was appreciated.

[spaciousreasoning]

Walking the Path

Thanks to no peanut munching during the evening TV watching, my blood sugar was down to 221 on Monday morning. Less tummy upset overnight as well, though I was awake for a couple of hours and needed some pain reliever to ease the body aches.

Having completed our morning brain games and our coffee we had some more oatmeal, we washed the sheets from our bed and did some various chores, which included a little computer work for a client. Then we did some prep for the dinner of chicken piccata and popped it in the slow cooker.

While the meal was cooking, we went to Dorris Ranch, near downtown Springfield, and walked about two and a half miles. We started out on a winding path through the forest and eventually came to the Middle Fork Path. We had seen the eastern end of the path during our recent visit to Clearwater Park.

The four-mile, 10-foot-wide path is a paved, multi-use trail that follows the course of the Middle Fork of the Willamette River. It runs through wooded areas and open fields, offering lots of lovely views of the river and the surrounding area. Portions of it run through private land, but one segment is surrounded by fencing with gates at each end that are evidently closed at some time and for some reason.

Near Jasper Road at Georgia Pacific Park, the Middle Fork Path connects to the three-mile Mill Race Path, which ends just south of downtown Springfield, a short distance from Island Park and the Eugene’s trail network.

We were not the only folks along the path, of course. In addition to walkers and dog walkers there were also bicyclists. Nancy and I will get our bikes down there one day to ride the entire four miles, but we first need to purchase a rack to carry them.

Since we’re only going to be shlepping the bikes short distances, we are opting for a rack that can be easily attached and removed. It is also less expensive than having a trailer hitch permanently fixed to the car that allows bike racks to be mounted.

Over the course of our walk, I took lots of pictures with my phone. I posted a dozen of them on Facebook, including shots of the river, various plants, and other interesting sights.

Our dinner consisted of the chicken piccata with rice and we also sliced up and fried a zucchini given to us by a friend at church. For dessert we enjoyed ice cream bars from Costco. They are like those sold by a big name company, but they are much cheaper.

Before diving into the evening’s streaming, we checked on the rising of the blue supermoon, a celestial occurrence that combines a supermoon, when the moon is closest to the Earth, and a blue moon, the third of four full moons in a single season.

Our TV viewing started with the first episode of the third season of “Under the Vines,” a comedy drama from New Zealand about two step-cousins who inherit a declining vineyard. Aussie star Rebecca Gibney plays one of the cousins. The opening credits roll with “Wintergreen,” by the East Pointers, a Canadian contemporary folk music group from Prince Edward Island. It’s a wonderfully upbeat tune that sticks in your head. Sadly, one of the three members died in 2022.

Then followed another episode of “Midsomer Murders.” The killings were done with a guillotine in place for the filming of a movie in one of Midsomer County’s many villages. Our main objection was that an actual guillotine would not have been needed for making a movie, but the rest of the story was entertaining, and five of the actors had also appeared in other episodes of the show. Looking ahead to the next series, when Tom Barnaby’s daughter Cully gets married, one of the guest stars is Charles Edwards, who plays the other cousin in “Under the Vines.”

[chiefpandacollection]

Journal 3- Stream of Consciousness Writing

2/17

Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far awayyyy. Now it seems as though they’re here to stay. Oh I believe in yesterday.

I don’t actually think that statement is very true, I just needed something to write because writing for 15 minutes is a little bit intimidating. My stress was actually a bit high yesterday in regards to the many assignments I must do and the accelerated timeline I have to do it in. Nevertheless, the things I am going to do are quite enjoyable. Yesterday I was reminded of my folks who moved from Illinois to Minnesota when Motley was poking fun at people who live in the freezing North and describing Wisconsin-ers and Maine natives. Yesterday I discussed movies, how to tell stories, and the way that they’re better told from multiple perspectives. I sat with JaRiah and Molly to pitch our own narrative. And then in between classes I sat outside with Sequoia, Courtney and John and it was beautiful outside. The dramatic fluctuation in weather these days is getting everyone sick. At least it’s better than negative temperatures in the Midwest. Yesterday I learned about keyword searches, crawling and indexing in Dr. Xu’s class. I decided what key words may be best for the entertainment page related to the interactive media program. “Is Elon University a party school?” is a top hit. Yesterday I reached out to Jeffrey Scheible who works in athletic compliance at Elon because I want to further my Title IX expertise and the impact it has on dance teams. I was almost the compliance assistant at Elon many yesterdays ago. Sometimes I dwell on the concept of yesterdays. How if we had to pick one thing we should probably avoid yesterdays and pick todays. I’m not actually very good at being ultimately present and living for the moment. I also think that a creative field like interactive media allows us to relive the yesterdays when maybe we need it the most. If you could choose to forget yesterday and start over everyday, would you?

2/18

Today I slept in until noon! And then I made myself toast and coffee. I am running out of the spices I put in my coffee so I need to buy some more. The spice blend is called “mello yello,” it’s ashwagandha, turmeric, lucuma, black pepper and maybe some others I’m forgetting at the moment. After that I washed the dishes, went on a walk, and the sun was shining. I sat by Lake Mary Nell and the ducks got very cozy which always makes me nervous. I could hear the music playing from the softball and baseball fields, and the sound of names being announced in the stadiums. I loved imagining people being caught up in the excitement of being a fan. It’s like your own world of big love. There was a couple who let their dog swim in the lake which I was curious about because I don’t believe the lake is very clean. Everyone say a prayer for Mr. Dog. After my walk today I went to Target which was SUPER busy. The returns line took forever. But that’s okay, I really didn’t have much to do today. I got some bone broth from Target because it’s supposed to be kick ass for your gut in the morning. Sign me up. After I navigated out of the semi-treacherous Target parking lot, a bunch of us cars got stuck behind another threat… a biker. We drove a nice 15 miles per hour with no way around the biker on a two lane road. Finally the brave man decided to turn left… and we hit a red light. But again, it was really okay: I didn’t have much to do today. I finally made it home, unpacked my groceries and started on some homework. I finished up personas for my capstone project. One is representative of a dance team member and another of a dance team parental figure. I edited the interview questions for my capstone project as well. And now here I am writing in my journal about today. 

2/19

Tomorrow. Everyone knows about the “Sunday Scaries” phenomenon. That may be the biggest shared anxiety about tomorrows that there ever was. I am not so much feeling the Sunday Scaries right now as I am a bit stressed about the things that I have to get done today. I think right now I am going to decide to completely flip my thinking. I am going to decide that time is a construct, and I am going to decide not to be stressed but instead to focus on being excited about creating my storyboard for my film concept. In the end it’s going to look super cool and it’s better than taking an exam or sitting in traffic. All I really have to do before tomorrow is finish this journal and my storyboard. I am looking forward to this week. It should be a successful week full of opportunity, and tomorrow is the springboard because it’s Monday. Infamous Mondays. Poor, victimized, Mondays. Everybody hates them. This week I’ll enjoy my Monday and accomplish good things. For me, Mondays are reserved for one class and a work meeting but can be filled with other projects, meetings, movies, television shows, workout classes, or phone calls. Tomorrow will be a great day.

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: Ransom Finds a Puppy

Ok.. so after today’s puppy interview... I couldn’t not write a dog!dad drabble for my Sugary Sweet Dad Collection. Especially since that’s exactly what Chris is.

I didn’t want to write Chris, because my goal this week was to write character stories, so I asked here on tumblr and some of my friends who I should write for. @nomadicpixel​ suggested someone finding a puppy, @flanneled-babe​ suggested Ransom with a small dog.

Those two suggestions combined with this image that I had in my brain from the start and this is what it all became.

As always, my Ransom is more of an AU rather than how he is in the movie.

Sugary Sweet Dad Collection Masterlist

Title: Ransom Finds a Puppy

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context.

Ransom hated running, but he hated going to the gym more, so he forced himself to run two miles nearly every day.

Or at least, a couple days a week during the spring, summer and fall.

He was only half a mile into his run when he heard the first cry as he neared a local park.

Slowing to a walk, he looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. Then he heard it again and that’s when he spotted the dog cowering under one of the park benches.

Having grown up with security dogs, he wasn’t necessarily a fan of them, but his gut told him this dog would be different. Besides, this dog was in trouble and he was the only one around.

Ransom carefully approached the bench and slowly reached his hand out for the dog to sniff.

It took a moment or two for the dog to sniff his fingers and another five before the dog let Ransom pick him up. It was only then that he realized that what he’d assumed was a small dog was actually a puppy.

“Where did you come from?” he asked.

There weren’t any houses close enough for him to escape from and it was too early to take him to a vet to check for a microchip.

“I guess I’ll take you home with me,” he told the puppy.

Instead of finishing his run, Ransom walked the half mile back to the house he shared with you.

“You’re back ear-” you started to say and then switched gears when you saw the puppy. “Who is this?”

“I found him in the park,” Ransom explained.

“Her, it’s a her,” you told him. “Can I hold her?”

Ransom started to hand you the puppy, but she let out a low rumble, expressing her dislike of the idea.

“What are you going to do with her?” you asked him.

"Thought I’d take her to the local vet,” he replied. “She has to have an owner somewhere.”

“And if she doesn’t, can we keep her?” you asked, hopefully.

Ransom looked from you to the puppy, who was giving him a hopeful look, too.

“I’m not making any decisions right now,” he stated, despite knowing that the decision had already been made for him. By you, but also by the puppy.

By the end of the day, it was official, Ransom was a dog dad. He’d spent all day with the puppy and when she’d fallen asleep in his arms after dinner, he knew his heart belonged to her.

“She needs a name,” you said. The puppy had warmed to you, but it was clear to everyone that Ransom was her favorite.

“What about Aggie?” Ransom suggested. “Short for Agatha Christie.”

“Your grandfather would appreciate that name,” you said then tried the name out yourself.

The puppy chose that moment to open her eyes and turn her head towards you.

“Is that your name?” you asked her. “Aggie?”

The dog thumped her tail and then closed her eyes again.

“I guess that confirms it,” Ransom said with a smile.

“I’m glad you found her,” you said as you laid your head against his shoulder.

“I am, too,” Ransom agreed.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), smut/masturbation (implied/mild), cursing, abandonment, infatuation, alcohol, cheating, violence?, mild housewife kink? 

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room. 

A/N: I’m terrible at writing summaries and I’m so sorry about that! I don’t think I would consider this a dark!fic, but it does cover a lot of themes, and topics that are darker than I usually write about- but I think that comes with the territory of writing about Lee Bodecker. I’ll make sure to update the warnings for each chapter and do not read if you are underage. I also ignored canon for this one.

There are no tags on this one, because no one has specifically asked to be tagged on smut fics and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable!

I hope you all enjoy!

Tags and Requests are OPEN

“Get out of here Lee,” you spat, pointing to the door he just walked into the bar from. “You swore to Janie you wouldn’t touch a drop.” 

“C’mon (y/n),” he said sitting at the bar anyways, a smug grin on his face, making you scoff. 

“I ain’t having anything to do with you breaking your promise to that lovely woman,” you say confirming your point. You wipe your hands on the towel that was hanging from your apron. 

“Jack and coke?” He asks, looking at you with eyes that would be endearingly puppy dog if it weren’t Lee Bodecker. You shook your head. 

“A coke it is,” you say and he gives up trying for now. He regrets telling you on his last visit he’d be swearing off drinking cause Janie finally threatened to throw him out. 

You slide a glass bottle of Coca-Cola down the length of the bar to Lee and he grinds his teeth slightly. The sugar was always his temporary fix. You also sent down his way a small bowl of roasted peanuts, feeling bad for the mess of a man. 

“She’s gonna leave me anyways,” he grumbles and you shake your head, picking up on his attempts to illicit sympathy to coax you into giving him a drop of anything. 

“Stop giving her a reason to Lee,” you point out, gesturing with your hands to emphasize that he was in the same small bar on the edge of town he always wandered into on weeknights. He’d tell Janie he was on duty but he’d really be down in this little box of a building getting drunk as a stunk. 

“She’s the one who gone and cheated,” Lee said in an angry tone, not towards you, just at his situation. “That Miller fellow living a few miles down from me. I see his truck parked outside my house plenty of times to know he’s not just being neighborly.” 

“I’m sorry Lee,” you say with a genuine tone of sympathy. You felt for him and his pain. You knew the stress of the job he led and the pain of knowing the love of your life don’t love you. 

“She’s going to leave me,” he says, staring intently at the condensation on the bottle in front of him. “I’d been trying so hard for her and our marriage and she’s two timing with the neighbor when I’m out working.” 

“And the thing is I don’t even care if she cheated,” Lee continued, “I’d look the other way if I knew she’d be staying with me. But it’s cause I know she don’t love me anymore. That’s what’s hurting me most.” 

“Maybe y’all can work through this-“ 

“This was inevitable,” he says, cutting you off. You don’t point it out, cause he’s clearly distressed but normally you’d have no problem saying to Lee ‘Fuck you, let me finish Sheriff.’ 

“Do you got somebody?” Lee asks you. The question takes you back cause it wasn’t like the Sheriff to ask your about anything personal. He would come in, and you’d shoot the shit, exchange small talk, maybe some harmless flirting for a larger tip, but that was the extent of it. 

“No, not anymore,” you say, having recently broke things off with your boyfriend. “I was seeing Arvin Russell for a couple months, but we just broke it off.” 

“You’re too good for him anyways,” the sheriff scoffed at the mention of the Russell boy and took another swing from his bottle of pop. “How old are you anyways, sweetheart?” 

“Twenty-one,” you respond, not thinking too much about the nickname. He had a habit of frequently using names like that when he talked to the women in this town. You think it started out as a tactic to win re-election and then it just stuck. He nodded. 

“Yeah you two are around the same age,” he said, more so thinking out loud than it being a statement directed towards you. “Why’d you break it off?” 

“Beat up my brother,” you answered, “Granted, the little shit had it coming. Can’t blame Arvin after I heard how the asshole was bothering that sweet thing Lenora. But he just took it too far. Almost killed the kid. The boy saw red so I got myself out of the picture. You can’t be with a boy who does that to your kin.” 

Lee nodded understandingly. You didn’t interpret his actions or questions as genuine concern or interest in you, but that he was just asking you questions to distract from his marital woes. 

“I’d do so many things different if I could be your age again,” he chuckled in a self-deprecating tone. “I’d sure as hell love to turn back time and have myself go down a better path.” 

“It’s not just you, Sheriff,” you reply after collecting money another man sitting at the bar. You nod as a goodbye to the man, and then curse under your breath when he doesn’t tip you. “Asshole,” you mumble, tossing the few pennies into the tip jar. You walk back over to the sheriff and prop your elbows on the bar. “I’m sure everyone is this town wishes the same thing,” you say, trying to make him feel better. 

“I’d love to just be your age again,” he says with a sigh, and then pops a small handful of the peanuts in his mouth. “Young, got your whole life ahead of you.” 

“I’m not sure working in a place like this is setting me up for great things, Sheriff,” you chuckle moving to wipe the bar in the area where that other customer left. “A woman working as a bartender is equivalent to just being a whore according to the eyes of the Lord... at least in this town,” you laugh, using the towel from your apron to wipe the rings left behind on the countertop from the glasses. 

“Arvin didn’t think so,” Lee countered, trying to make you feel a little better about your position. “I don’t think so. Hell, people in this town are so uptight about things that aren’t their business. You’re young, you need a job and you have one. It’s that simple.” 

“I wish more people in this town thought that way,” you reply with a smile. “That new preacher last Sunday-“ 

“Don’t listen to that asshole,” the Sheriff scoffed, and chuckled when your eyes widened at his derogatory words towards the preacher. “He’s a showboating son of a bitch and he’s as phony as they come.” 

“Those ruffled shirts are the most pretentious thing I ever seen,” you say, letting out a big laugh thinking about when he is giving a sermon in what looks like tacky prom attire. 

“Pay him no mind,” Lee said, bringing the bottle to his grinning lips as he looked at you. “You’re a better person than he is.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” you chuckle. 

“Have a goodnight hunny,” another customer at the bar says dropping cash on the table as they leave. “Goodnight Sheriff,” the older man tips his hat and then walks out. 

“Have a goodnight Marvin,” you call after him, “Give my love to Loretta!” You clear the empty glass and drop the cash off in the register. 

While you’re moving around, Lee takes a moment to actually look at you. Any man with eyes knew you were pretty, but he ain’t never noticed before just how attractive you were. His eyes lingered for a moment at how the canvas waist apron extenuated your figure. He couldn’t believe this stunning young thing was stuck in a place like this with a dead end job talking to a deadbeat like him. 

“How long you staying for Sheriff?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his trance. 

“Uh, not sure,” he says, looking up at the dingy Luger Beer clock that hung on the wall. “Why sugar?” 

“Seeing as though your sober I was hoping I could trouble you for a ride home?” You ask shyly. 

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “No trouble at all honey.”

“Thank you, Lee,” you say with a smile, making his heart skip a beat. 

He’d talk to you most weeknights and never had this feeling. Maybe he had but he was too wrapped up in his own troubles to notice it. You were such a sweet girl, and he realized what an injustice it truly was for you to be stuck here. 

The thought crossed his mind very quickly about if he wasn’t married- even though he knew divorce was coming around the corner any day now. If he had met you at a different time in his life if it would’ve been better. Instead of meeting you as an overweight, deadbeat of a sheriff which a drinking problem- he’d met you when he was fresh out of school, same age you are now. You all coulda fallen in love, started a family, and that would’ve been enough to keep him from taking up drinking in the first place. 

He knew from the beginning Janie ain’t ever loved him. Hell, he’s not sure if he ever loved her thinking back on the whole relationship. Lustful, without any sort of promise behind it and they both were users. They used each other. He knew he treated her poorly as poorly as she treated him. He definitely had loved her, that much he knew was true, but now she’s cheating- something Lee never thought of doing at all no matter how many fights they had until the early morning hours.  

As you maneuvered around behind the bar, locking up the liquor and wiping down the machines getting ready to lock up for the night, his mind played little tricks on him. The canvas apron was instead a pinafore, and the bar was his kitchen. He’d loved the sight, thinking about coming home to you instead of what was soon to just be an empty house. 

Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he’d even be the one to keep his house. The idea of finding a new house- buying one for you, and being able to start over sounded like a dream life. Hell, he’d run away from this town right now if you said the word. He’s sure he could secure an election in another town, he had the connections to make it happen. 

“I just got to lock up the office and I’ll be ready to go,” you say, untying your apron. He gulps and nods as confirmation. You disappear in the back room, cash drawer in your arms to lock away in the safe. He heads behind the bar to dispose of his empty bottle and the cardboard tray his peanuts were in. 

You come back, your peacoat buttoned and the sash tied around your waist in a bow you had made. You had a small handbag in one hand, and your work apron in the other. Suddenly, he was nervous and didn’t know how to carry himself around you. Undeniably, the Sheriff was developing a crush. He couldn’t shake the feeling. He wanted to ask you out on a proper date, but he knew with his age and reputation- it wouldn’t be fitting. He was moving way too fast in his own mind to keep up with. Just daydreams, he thought to himself, suppressing the thoughts of a future with you for now.

“Okay,” you said, giving the place one more once over to make sure it was all set. “That does it.”

“After you,” he said, holding the door open for you. You giggled, and once you both were outside, you used your key to lock the front door. He held the door open for you to take the passenger seat in the cruiser. As you buckled your seatbelt, he walked over to the driver’s side and then slide into his seat.

You were a little nervous. You weren’t sure why. This wasn’t the first time you’d asked for a ride home. Usually, it’s never this late. When you close, you usually walk home alone. You definitely didn’t live that far, but again that was more dangerous than getting a ride home.

You realized that you were worried about nothing. You thought maybe some would accuse you of something scandalous, getting a ride home from a man so late. However, this was the Sheriff and the streets didn’t have another car on it at all. The town knew where you worked and if anyone were to see you, they’d know you were closing shift and you asked for a ride to avoid walking home this late alone.

“Thank you again,” you said, starting up a conversation as the sheriff was backing out of the tiny lot that was next to the bar.

“Oh, don’t mention it, hun,” he said, “It’s my job to make sure you get home safe. Your house is the white one at the end of Birch?”

“The very one,” you say, looking out the window. There aren’t any street lights, and the only light for miles is coming from the headlights of the cruiser. You don’t catch Lee stealing glances at you as he starts moving forward.

“How’s your ma doing?” He asks, making conversation.

“Oh, she left,” you said nonchalantly, and it makes Lee’s eyebrow raise in confusion.

“Wait. What?” He asks looking over at you for a second before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Oh, I thought you would’ve heard,” you say softly, your façade of indifference torn down. “She left us about a month ago. Met a man from Columbus and moved in with him. The whole town was talking about it for weeks.”

“So, is it just you and Tommy now?” he asks, wondering what kind of a mother leaves her girl to take care of her high school aged brother on what she makes at the bar.

“Oh, he went with her,” you explain, “House is all mine. After the whole thing with Arvin, she decided to pull him out of school and he goes to school in Columbus now. She wasn’t gonna bring him but after that, she changed her mind.”

“They just left you?”

“I chose to stay.”

“No offense but why would the hell would you chose to do that?” he jokes, making you laugh a little.

“It’s all paid off, and my grandpa left it to me and not her anyways,” you explain. “House has been in my name for three years now. And if we sold the house, she’d just piss the money away. Besides, would you move back in your mother now, Sheriff?”

“No, I can’t say I would want to,” he chuckles.

“So, I’m just supporting myself and that ain’t too bad,” you shrug.

“Sounds lonely,” he comments and you nod in agreement.

“It can be,” you admit, as he turns down your street.

“You ain’t worried living alone?” He asks.

“You tell me, Sheriff,” you joke, “If I got something to worry about it sounds like you’re not doing your job.”

“Ouch,” he says and holds a hand clutching his hand to his heart dramatically. It made you laugh, and it made him smile that he made you laugh. God, he loved your laugh.

“Thank you again, Lee,” you say sincerely, quickly kissing his cheek when he parks in front of your house. The gesture takes him back, and he’s relieved you can’t see how red his face is. He’s almost angry at how flustered you make him and you have no idea. “Have a goodnight,” you say.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he says, a little shakily. You get out of the car, and he watches you walk up to the porch, your hips swaying naturally, and he bites his lip. He groans, but at his disappointment in himself for staring again. You disappear behind the front door and he hits his palm on the steering wheel, trying to shake whatever feeling this was.

He reluctantly drove home, not wanting to have to talk or see Janie. He knew he was just heading home to a fight for being out so late, even though he knows she takes full advantage having fucking Miller over. His jaw is locked, angry about a fight he hasn’t even had with her yet. His cheek still tingles from your touch, and he thinks about if he should just leave Janie. He could just leave, get an apartment nearby or something. He doesn’t even care if she gets the damn house. He’s bracing himself for another night of fighting as he pulls into his own driveway and heading up to his own house.

He fumbles with his keys in the dark. He thinks he had the right one, but it doesn’t work. He tries another that is the same shape, still doesn’t work. He intakes a sharp breath and tries the first key again- he’s positive that’s his house key. “Fucking Christ,” he mutters when the key won’t even go into the lock. “Janie!” he shouts, pounding on the front door. She changed the locks.

“Fuck,” he exclaims, stomping down the front steps and walking around to the back door. He tries his keys again with no luck. He pounds into the door hard and incredibly loud. He knows she’s there, upstairs in their bed, ignoring his knocks. He tries the kitchen window, but it’s locked. Every window on the first floor is fucking locked. He curses again and heads back to his cruiser. He slams the door shut and his grip on the wheel is turning his knuckles white. Does she expect him to sleep in his car in the driveway?

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going to go, but he knows damn sure he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of sleeping outside of his house in his cop car for the whole town to talk about. He just pulls out of his driveway and starts driving. He isn’t even thinking about what route he’s driving, it’s like he’s driving on autopilot while he screams out every curse word in existence.

By the time he calms down, he realizes he’s driving down Birch again. His muscles in his body tense, and he thinks back to your conversation when he dropped you off. Your mother and brother were gone, meaning you have two spare bedrooms. He knows he shouldn’t but the temptation is way too overwhelming. He has nowhere else to go. If someone saw his car… well, he’d worry about that tomorrow. Your house is two miles away from your nearest neighbor, settled back at the end of a long dirt road. Someone knowing he was there was unlikely. He had people who could save your name. It was all innocent. Janie kicked him out and he knew you had an extra room. Hell, he’d rent a room from you- Wait. That’s perfect. That solved all of his problems and yours. He knows you were downplaying how hard it must be to keep up with the house and by him paying rent, you could take care of the house. It was a win-win.

He felt so confident now and he was so proud of himself for devising this plan. He parked his car out front and then walked up to your front door, knocking gently. The sound of the knock made him now incredibly nervous. He didn’t want to scare you or for you to think he was trying to take advantage. Granted, there would be a lot more than financial benefits to being able to live with you, which he knew were selfish, but the idea of being able to see you everyday was overwhelming. It was the closest thing to the dream he was wrapped up in back at the bar. He could live out his little pretend domestic bliss, and you’d get the money you need for the house. He knew he was insane and this was probably wildly inappropriate, but he knew you were too kind to turn him away.

You opened the door with a small yawn, a yellow bathrobe secured over your nightgown fully, to keep yourself decent when you answered the door. You were going to call the Sheriff when you heard the rapping at your door so late and ignore the knocks, but looking out the window of your bedroom you saw it was Lee’s cruiser parked outside.

“Lee?” you ask quietly, sleepiness very evident on your mumbled voice.

“Janie kicked me out,” he said softly, “Changed the locks on me. Darling, I’m so sorry for intruding but I have no where else to go.”

“Come in,” you say sympathetically, the news waking you up quite a bit. “Lee, I’m so sorry. You can take my mom’s old room; it’s got an attached bathroom you can use too.”

 “Thank you (Y/N),” he says quietly. You close the door and secure the lock and the chain again as he looks around the house.

“Don’t worry about it,” you insist. “I can take you there. Follow me.”

You walk up the stairs, Lee following closely behind and he’s ashamed that he took the opportunity to just openly check you out again. At the top of the stairs there was a hallway lined with photographs in mismatched frames. You point to the door at the end of the hall.

“That’s the master,” you explain, “There’s a bathroom attached inside if you want to clean up or anything. There’re clothes in the dresser if you want pajamas- should be in the bottom drawer.”

“Okay, thank you,” he replies, looking down at you as you yawn again, and he notices how your hair is a little messy. The sight drives him wild.

“Anything in the kitchen is up for the taking to,” you offer.

“Look, (Y/N),” he says, “I know this isn’t the best time to be talking about this, but I really need a more permanent plan on where to go. I know it sounds crazy and out of the blue, but could I rent that room from you? Name your price. I figured… I really need a new place, and you could probably use another source of income to keep up with the house. Plus, it’s safer than living alone…”

“Um…,” you begin to speak, but you bit your lip, showing that you’re intently thinking about his offer. Everything he said was right. You needed the money, and he was right that living alone was dangerous in this town and living with the sheriff is the safest person there was in the whole town. People would talk, of course, but no one would deny that the circumstances were just ideal for the two of you and nothing more. You were an adult, a homeowner, and it was your business who you rented a room too. “Yeah, I think that makes sense for both of us,” you agree. “We’ll sort out the details tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he says with a smile.

“Alright, um,” you say crossing your arms around your chest awkwardly. “Goodnight, Lee.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Lee responds as you head back into your own bedroom. He let’s out a heavy sigh and heads into your mom’s room- or rather his new room. He’d have to figure out how to get his stuff back from Janie tomorrow. He’d really just need his clothes and some other necessities. 

The room was fairly spacious. There was a closet and dresser. The closet still had some clothes of your mom’s left behind, and for the most part, the room looked fairly intact. It was like she up and left with just a few things. Lee shook his head, angry at how poorly you were treated by your mother. He pulls off his leather jacket, tossing it and his hat onto the bed. He opened up the bottom drawer of the dresser, and just like you said, it was filled with men’s clothing. He concluded they had to belong to the man your mom lived with now, more things just left behind.

He tosses a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt onto the bed, and then he heads to the bathroom.

In the drawer beside the sink, he finds a new toothbrush still in its packaging, that he opens for himself and drops it in the white toothbrush holder on the counter. The towels are all clean and folded neatly on the shelf above the toilet. He finds a new soap under the sink as well, and decided he needed a shower to just wash off everything of tonight off in hopes he’ll feel better.

He strips of his uniform, folding it nicely knowing he’ll need to wear it all again tomorrow morning. He steps into the shower and turns on the water. The hot water just immediately helps him to loosen the muscles that had been so tense. He lets the warm water run down his face and back, just letting himself enjoy the feeling. He lathers up his body with soap and then it finally hits him that he was here, living with you, and then suddenly he’s hard.

“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his head against the shower wall, the running down his back. He was in so much trouble he realizes. As he beats himself off in the shower, his mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The way the apron at the bar looked around your hips, and the smell of your perfume when you leaned into him. The way your body looked as you paraded yourself around behind the bar. The way you have no problem talking back to him when he walks into the bar after saying he’s off the bottle the night before, just making want to shut you up with a rough kiss. The feeling of your lips on his cheek and he imagines your lips on his neck. He thinks about how your hair looked tousled when you just showed him to his room. He lets himself slip back into that same domestic daydream. You being his wife… married to you instead dealing with this goddamn divorce. The absolute sickening sweet domesticity making him groan, as he imagines his hand is yours. Why on earth did he think he’d be able to do this?

PART TWO

[to-be-a-dreamer]

Hello, it has been three hours and I have not been able to stop thinking about the boys. So now I come bearing gifts of Darcy/Bill headcanons. I guess these are for a modern era but most of them could be any time period.

Darcy is definitely the more shy one between the two. He's proud of his work but has trouble letting himself show it off. Bill is just barely not crossing the line between confident and arrogant. He's good at what he does and he knows it but he never acts annoying about it.

THAT BEING SAID Bill will go bright red and become a stuttering mess every single time Darcy shows him any form of romantic affection. Like he'll be talking to someone and being all cool and collected and then Darcy will walk up, kiss him on the cheek, say "gotta go now, love you", and then leave without another word. This leaves Bill completely incomprehensible for a solid five minutes.

No, I cannot stress enough just how utterly whipped this boy is for Darcy. Like Bill would legitimately help him get away with murder, they know this for a fact. One time Darcy was dared to prank call Bill and he said, "Hey babe, do you think you could come over and help me hide a body?" And Bill just immediately said, "Yeah, of course, you got a shovel or should I bring mine?"

"Bee, you were supposed to say no"

"Well gee sorry, I just wanted to support you"

"And I love you for that, but you shouldn’t support me committing homicide"

Oh, related note, Darcy calls him "Bee". Everyone (including Bill) thinks he's saying "B" as in short-for-Bill but no, it's bee, like a bumblebee. Bill tends to hum when he's working or just walking around the house. He doesn't even realize he’s doing it, but Darcy finds it adorable.

For their first Valentine's Day as a couple, they went to a fancy restaurant and they were both bored out of their minds before they even got their appetizers so they just left, went to the park, bought greasy tourist-trap hot dogs, and fed the pigeons for literal hours. Being raised in high-class families means they've been to enough fancy events for three lifetimes so they like to go out and do simple, meaningful stuff for dates.

They tried to go hiking once and made it about 1/8 of a mile before just sitting down in a clearing and looking at birds and trees and wildflowers. Neither of them is a really big outdoorsy person, they just wanted to try something new. The hiking part sucks but they enjoy being outside together. (Even if Bill complains about the bugs the entire time and Darcy is overly-dramatic about the heat.)

Bill carved their initials surrounded by a heart into a tree, like a literal seventh-grader and that became their "spot". They never go hiking past that point. Not on purpose, they just always get distracted and all lovey-dovey.

He definitely proposed there

Before they got together, they both individually went to Katherine for relationship advice and she was so frustrated by their inability to just ask each other out that she legitimately considered locking them in a closet until they made out.

She doesn’t have to because Race and Albert do it for her.

It took them so long to get together because Bill’s father gave him some good ole fashioned internalized homophobia. Bill’s always been okay with it and he was very supportive when Darcy came out, but it took him a while to accept his own sexuality.

Dunno why but I see Darcy as pan and Bill as gay. I’m not projecting onto Darcy no, of course not, why would I do that

This was fun I love them. Thank you to @katherinebly for being the reason I wrote all this down, I literally have not been able to stop thinking about them since I got that ask.

Also if anyone wants to give me an excuse to write Bill and Darcy getting locked in a closet together my asks are always open just saying

[lallyloo]

Sending you some lurv ❤️❤️

How are the Wild Horses boys doing in their farmhouse? Did they ever get their lap dog(s)?

CAL! ❤❤ They did get their dog... a couple months ago I actually wrote a secret little thing about it that literally three people have read.. so.. since you asked..

Wild Horses - Merle

(2000+ words of pure softness under the cut)

Link hasn’t given up on getting a dog. He checks the classifieds a few times a week, watching for free puppy postings, and he and Rhett have even talked about stopping by the pet store in town – but neither of them can justify spending several hundred dollars on a dog.

They’re still settling into their farmhouse. Rhett didn’t have much to bring – basically his clothes, his CD player, some books, and a couple posters. Link had a bit more to bring – clothes, books, tapes and cds, movies, and an old TV with a built-in VCR. He also managed to talk his mom into letting him have some old furniture and a couple lamps to use in their new place.

He’d taken his time telling his mom about the house, trying to let her down gently, but she took it surprisingly well. She said she’d rather they were together in their own house than have Link constantly staying overnight at the milk house. Link didn’t ask what she meant by that – likely something to do with his virtue or some other old-fashioned idea. He figured she was being supportive in her own way, and that’s all he’d been hoping for.

His grandma had pared down some of her kitchen cupboards, giving them some old plates and glasses and cutlery to fill their own kitchen. They even had a cupboard dedicated to bowls and measuring cups, with the suggestion that they might bake something eventually. The idea seemed completely foreign to Link, but Rhett has been talking about learning to bake bread, so they figure those items will likely be put to good use eventually.

Their first, and so far ONLY, purchase was a new bed for their bedroom. Link wanted a king sized bed, but Rhett was quietly worried there’d be too much space between them on a big mattress like that. So they settled for a queen, and Link picked out sheets, a comforter, and some fluffy pillows. After all that time sleeping on the tiny milk house bed, they both swear their new bed is like sleeping on the softest cloud.

The house itself is still a work in progress, and will be for a long while, but as far as they’re both concerned it’s theirs and it’s perfect.

But, in Link’s opinion, it still needs a dog.

He’s thrilled when his granddad sends him on an errand one afternoon, and he spots a sign propped up at the end of a farmhouse driveway on the way into town. It’s an old piece of plywood with FREE PUPPIES painted on with red paint.

It feels like it’s meant to be.

There’s no more information on the sign, and no number to call, so Link finishes his errands in town, and then stops by the pet store and buys some dog food and a couple chew toys, before heading back to the farm to tell Rhett about his discovery.

“It’s the last farm before the old grist mill,” Link explains as he fills up a water bucket. “The one where the house is a ways back? The sign out by the road says free puppies.”

Even though they’ve been talking about it for awhile, Link figures it might still take a bit of convincing.

When he’d been thinking about it on the drive back, he imagined Rhett might be reluctant at first, and then laugh when he saw the dog food in the truck, and then still need a bit more prodding about it.

But Rhett seems open to the idea right away.

“You wanna go after work?”

“Yeah!” Link grins. “That’s what I was hopin’. I already got dog food and everything.”

“What?” Rhett laughs, “When?”

“When I was in town.

Rhett just smiles and shakes his head, but doesn’t argue.

Link can’t help but smile to himself as he gets back to work.

They’re getting a dog.

After work they head straight to the farm to see the puppies. Link already had the food and chew toys in the truck, and Link’s grandma gave them a box and an old blanket for the new puppy.

They’re not really sure what to expect as they drive up to the farmhouse, and they’re both looking around as they head up the long driveway.

“You’re not gonna surprise me, are ya?” Rhett asks.

“Huh?”

“You know, buyin’ me a house?” Rhett looks over at him and grins.

Link laughs. “You think I got money to buy this place?”

Rhett doesn’t answer, he just dips his head and takes another look out the windshield as he steers, his eyes roaming over the brick farmhouse and the massive fields in behind. There’s a tractor way in the back of the field, moving along at a slow pace.

“Maybe someday,” Rhett says quietly, like he’s lost in thought.

Link hums in agreement and stares out the passenger side window.

“Hey, there’s someone.” Link points to a woman leaning over a flowerbed outside the house, and she turns to look their way just as Rhett puts the truck in park and cuts the engine.

She watches as they both climb out of the truck, and when they approach the house she heads over to meet them.

“Somethin’ I can do for you, boys?”

“We saw your sign about the puppies,” Link explains, pointing to the road. “You got any left?”

“Sure do,” the woman smiles, “still got a whole litter waitin’ for a home.”

She gestures for them to follow her, and they do.

“I’m Millie,” she says as they walk.

“I’m Rhett,” Rhett says politely.

“I’m Link.”

Millie smiles. “You boys live around here?”

“My grandparents live a few miles from here,” Link explains. “Cattle farm. We both work there.”

“So you’re needin’ a farm dog?”

“Not exactly,” Link smiles. “We just wanted a dog around.”

He doesn’t offer any more than that, and Millie doesn’t ask. She leads them around the farmhouse to a little pen in behind.

The puppies start jumping and yipping when they notice people approaching, and when they reach the pen Link realizes the dogs are some sort of lab mutt mix. His gaze immediately goes to Rhett, because he wanted a lap dog and these puppies will definitely grow beyond lap sized.

But if Rhett is concerned, he’s not showing it. His eyes are moving from one dog to the next, like he’s studying them, so Link turns his own focus to the puppies.

“Go on in and take a look,” Millie says as she opens up the pen, “they’re friendly.”

Rhett steps in first and kneels down amongst the puppies, so Link steps in too and kneels down across from him, waiting to see which dogs might approach them.

There’s a rambunctious one, a nippy one, one that just seems to want to sleep, and a couple randoms that seem to be doing their own thing. After a minute or so, one random puppy trots over to him and Link offers his hand. The puppy sniffs him for a second, gives him a lick, and then plunks itself down over Link’s knees.

“She’s a pretty little one, ain’t she?” Millie says.

Link smiles and nods, smoothing his hand down the puppy’s back. She’s shiny black, with white markings on her paws and under her chin. She seems happy to be sitting with him, and doesn’t shy away from his petting.

“Only girl in the bunch,” Millie continues, smiling at him. “Looks like she’s taken a likin’ to you.”

“Rhett..” Link whispers, and when Rhett looks over Link motions to the puppy.

Rhett watches them for a moment and then reaches over to give the dog a scratch behind the ears.

“Can we still call her Merle?” Rhett asks quietly.

“Yeah, man,” Link replies, “that’d actually be kinda cool..”

He should’ve known Rhett would be easy about it. Link was the one who wanted a dog in the first place, and he can’t think of much that Rhett wouldn’t give him if he asked.

They grin at each other, and then Link looks over at Millie.

“Can we take her?”

“Sure can, boys,” Millie replies. “You need a crate or you just puttin’ her in yer pickup?”

“We got a box,” Link explains, “with a blanket..”

“Well that sounds good.”

While Rhett talks to Millie about what shots the puppy will soon need, Link holds Merle and takes her around to say goodbye to her siblings.

“Is the mama dog around?”

Millie shakes her head. “She’s out in the back field with my son. But don’t you worry, I’ll let her know her pup went to a good home.”

Link nods and follows Rhett to the truck, holding Merle close as they walk.

Millie watches them as they load her in the box and Link offers her a chew toy.

“Looks like she’ll be a happy little lady.”

“She will be,” Link says, at the same time Rhett says, “We’ll take good care of her.”

They give Millie a wave as they head back out the driveway.

When they’re on the road, and the truck speeds up, Merle starts to whine.

Link leans over the box and makes soft shushing sounds at her, reaching in to pet her gently. Her little body is trembling so Link pulls the blanket up around her.

“Should I slow down?” Rhett asks.

“Nah, she’ll be alright,” Link replies, “let’s just get her home.”

Once they’re back at their farmhouse, Rhett makes them some dinner while Link carries Merle around and shows her the place. He sticks to the main floor, figuring they can tour her around the second floor later. He points out each room, whispering softly in Merle’s ear, and then he takes a seat on the floor, offering her some toys and kibble.

“I forgot to get a water bowl.”

“Do we need some kind’a special one?” Rhett asks from the kitchen.

“I was imaginin’ one of those little bowls that says ‘doggy’ on it or somethin’.”

“They make those?”

“I don’t know,” Link shrugs, “in my mind they do.”

“Well we can go lookin’ for somethin’ on the weekend,” Rhett says, and he opens a few cupboards, glancing around before pulling out an old stainless steel mixing bowl they’d got from Link’s grandma. “This okay for now?”

“Yeah.”

Rhett fills it with water and brings it over, setting it down in front of Merle. He watches for a second and then takes a seat next to Link on the floor.

“You happy?”

“Yeah,” Link smiles, “she’s perfect.”

Rhett nods, watching Merle drink from the giant bowl.

“She’s not gonna stay small though,” Link adds, and he watches Rhett, trying to read his expression.

Finally Rhett looks over at him and smiles. “That’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. We got that big bed. There’s room for the three of us in there.”

Link stares at him for a second. “You’re not gonna let her sleep between us are ya?”

“Just when she’s a puppy.”

“Rhett!”

“Man, she’s gonna fall off the bed if we put her on the edge!”

“We can get her a little doggy bed!”

“Where’s that gonna go?”

“Next to our bed!”

“On the floor?” Rhett reaches over and picks up Merle, holding her up so her little face is pressed next to his, and they’re both looking at Link. “You’re gonna put this sweet girl on the floor?”

“FINE.” Link laughs. “Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. You and Merle can have the bed. Just come on down when you want a cuddle.”

Rhett lets out a booming laugh and sets Merle down carefully before tackling Link, pushing him down onto his back and hovering over him. Merle jumps around them excitedly, sniffing them and giving their arms little licks.

“You really gonna fuss and sleep on the floor?”

“Maybe,” Link replies, biting back a grin, trying to make himself frown instead. He’s not really bothered, he just likes the attention from Rhett when he pretends to be.

“Well, I’ll sleep on the floor with you then,” Rhett says, leaning down to kiss Link, soft. “Merle can have the bed.”

Link turns his head to look at Merle, “Hear that, girl? You just got here and you’re already takin’ over.”

Merle lets out a tiny yip, and they watch her for a moment before turning back to each other.

“I gotta finish cookin’,” Rhett says.

“Okay.”

“But after we eat you wanna have a cuddle?”

Link grins up at him. “On the floor?”

“Man, wherever you want.”

“Well this is how we live now,” Link says, dragging out the joke. “On the floor. Merle’s in charge.”

“I’m fine with that,” Rhett says, “I’ll go wherever you go.”

It’s softer than Link expects and he reaches up to grab Rhett, pulling him down to kiss him again, a little harder this time. Merle lets out another yip, lunging at them playfully and then bounding away.

“I’m gonna take her upstairs and show her around,” Link says against Rhett’s mouth.

Rhett nods, “I’ll call ya when supper’s ready.”

Rhett heads back to the kitchen, and Link tucks Merle under his arm and takes her upstairs for a tour.

It feels right, the three of them, even if she does take over their bed.

[quinncupine]

Hiiii quinn! I never realised you did requests but if it would be fine (and also because its my sole goal) could you do a boom boom boi and izubby with having their own cat or dog as a pet??? I'm seriously thinking that boom boom boi would be both a cat and dog person, don't u agree? (Ily lots and don't feel pressured to do this if you have a lot of stuff going on!)

Hi Dorki! I'm finally making my way through my requests and I was really excited to write this one! Okay, hope you like it!

Quinns Masterlist

Wanna request something?

The Boys with Pets

Word Count: 1,750

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo!

Warnings: dogs, cats, cursing

Izuku Midoriya

Now Izuku loves pretty much all animals, but I can totally see him getting a dog. Dogs are loyal and full of energy just like a certain green-haired hero. The perfect duo.

He would probably rescue one from the pound, the one with the biggest, saddest, cutest eyes because how could he not? But someone has to go with him because he'd try to rescue them all if there was no one there to stop him. Once a hero, always a hero I suppose.

I'm thinking for names, he would definitely pick a name that reflects his favorite heroes. Don't be surprised if he names his dog something super cheesy like Mighty or Rocky…

Wait, okay, I've decided, he names his dog Mighty and that is the hill I will die on.

The life of a hero is quite busy so when he goes off on long missions, he drops the dog off at his mom's house. Inko has fallen in love with this sweet pup, so much so that she sometimes begs him to stop by with the dog for a visit. It's the closest thing she's got to grandbabies at the moment, she'll take what she can get :)

Now, this cute pup draws in the attention of just about everyone so he's gotten an influx of attention and a few numbers slipped in his hand during their walks, much to his flustered surprise.

Best wingman ever.

This dog goes on regular runs with Izuku and sometimes even helps him with training. I'm thinking a Collie or an Aussie would just be the perfect fit for him to keep up with his personality and lifestyle. He needs an active dog!

I can see it now, he goes on his daily morning runs with this cute Lil furry training buddy and they race the whole way! A few regulars on the trail know about this and it's become sort of a tradition to cheer the two on as they pass.

 ...

The morning air was crisp with the slight scent of the coming autumn, the perfect morning for a run. Izuku, dressed in his usual training wear, had a steady rhythm going for the last forty minutes, letting out even, controlled breaths. This was the easy part of the run, a warm-up if anything, and he hadn't even broken a sweat yet. The canine jogging by his side was enjoying the dewy morning air as well, tongue happily flopping out the side of her mouth. The shared morning ritual between man and man's best friend: Mighty.

Her tail picked up speed, wagging uncontrollably as they neared the bend where the giant jagged rock towered over the path. It was the place marker to start the race. A three-mile run to the top of the hill located at the center of the park. It was also Mighty's favorite part of the morning.

"Ready girl?" Izuku grinned down at the ecstatic dog who barked in reply.

The instant the two of them passed the big rock, they both broke out in full speed, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Happy barks filled the air as she gained the upper hand. Izuku laughed as the dog turned to look back at him lagging behind her. He always did these races without his quirk to assist him. It was only fair and it helped him work on his natural stamina in case he was ever in a situation where he couldn't use his quirk. Always good to be prepared.

He watched as she bounded up the first steep hill on the trail. There were a few small hills on this route, but this one was the hardest to climb and Mighty had the advantage with her four legs so she always managed to pull ahead first. She stopped at the top and barked him on before quickly disappearing over the crest.

When he reached the top, he stopped for just a second to take in his surroundings. This part of the park was a heavily wooded area with numerous trails that many people used to hike or run. It also served as a great view of the city skyline and he couldn't help but stop and admire the rising sun from between the foggy buildings every time. Then Mighty barked to pull him out of his thoughts.

"It's not over yet!" He called after her and raced down the hill, putting on an extra burst of speed to easily close the distance.

Tail wagging, she nipped playfully at his feet as they sprinted along the path, side by side. There weren't many people out this early so he usually had the trail to himself. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the leaves crunching under feet and paws, Mighty barking beside him, and his own unrestrained glee as they ran together.

These were the mornings he loved. Just the two of them, away from the stresses that came with pro-hero work. He wouldn't trade being a hero for anything, but sometimes it got to be too much so coming here to clear his mind with a little run was always a cathartic release, only made better by the furry companion by his side.

The short bridge that arched over the creek signaled the last mile. Getting more serious, Izuku pulled ahead of Mighty, not able to hold back the giant grin as he streaked across the bridge, startling a few birds off the railings which Mighty barked at as she came up behind him.

Up ahead was a large open meadow with a small duck pond near the center. A few benches were scattered about the path and he saw the same elderly couple sitting in their usual spot with a bag of rice and seed to feed the plethora of ducks waddling around their feet.

"You got him this time Mighty!" The old man looked up as the two of them zipped down the path towards the couple.

"Show 'em what girls can do!" The woman cracked a smile, waving her hands.

"Morning Mr. and Mrs. Fujino!" Izuku waved as he passed. "Don't count me out yet!"

Mighty barked her greeting and took a detour, herding some ducks closer to the couple then with a quick lick to Mr. Fujino's hand, she sprinted back to catch up to Izuku.

The Fujino's marked the last leg of the race. The only thing left was to climb the top of the largest hill in the park to the old oak tree at the top. That was the finishing line. It was always a gamble as to who finished first every day, but Mighty sure had a competitive spirit.

Izuku pumped his legs as he steadily made his way up to the dirt trail, Mighty just behind him before she suddenly veered left and disappeared into the shrubbery. He was so focused on the tree that slowly came into view just around the curve as he neared the top that he didn't notice.

Just as the path leveled out, almost to the finish line, he glanced back to see no sign of his dog. The tree was a few feet away when a furry mass ambushed him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. The pro hero landed in the grass with a heavy Oof. Sitting on his chest was Mighty, looking quite proud of herself.

"Cheater!" He laughed, trying his best to hold back the slobbery licks she was determined to give him. "Okay, okay, I'll call it a tie!"

 Katsuki Bakugo

Now Katsuki on the other hand would totally be a cat person. Not that he has anything against dogs, but cats are more his style. They don't need constant attention and are pretty much self-sufficient. Just the way he likes it.

That being said, Katuski would go all out on toys and the latest gizmos to take care of his cat. Has a self-cleaning litter box, a waterfall bowl, an automatic feeder, etc. You get the picture.

Oh, and toys galore. If he has space, this cat is getting a personal jungle gym that lets him walk up to the ceiling. S.P.O.I.L.E.D.

Doesn't like to tell people just how much he actually loves this cat because he's never been one to express emotions, but this cat just gets him to his core. They share the same wavelength and he appreciates that. The cat is the only one he trusts to open up to, so sometimes you might catch him ranting to the poor thing who just stares back with big wide eyes and occasional meows. Yup, totally gets him.

I see him with a super chill cat, like maybe a Ragdoll or a Russian Blue. Something that tolerates his constant screaming and explosions.

This guy is just as bad at names. It'll definitely be something long and dramatic like Lord Cat Explosion Demon God of Furballs. Yep. He doesn't take criticism so most people call him Lord Furballs, much to his disdain.

Katsuki won't ask for attention from the cat, but the little furry feline is a total cuddler and will often find itself curled up in his lap or even on his neck if Katsuki's sitting on the couch. You better believe this guy won't be moving until that cat decides it's time to move. He's been late to meetings with friends because of this cuddly cat.

He's a hero so this cat is definitely being treated right. Katuski is no slacker when it comes to caring for his lil buddy. The vet is on speed dial should anything ever happen.

Did someone say a custom-made collar that matches his hero costume to a tee?

He's never loved anything more.

 ...

"Uh, hey Bakubro, why is your cat glaring at me?" Ejiro asked, staring down at the feline.

"What?" Katsuki didn't even bother to look up from his laptop.

"Your cat. It's giving me the evil eye. I thought it was supposed to be friendly." The red-haired hero frowned, not able to break eye contact with the cat. "I don’t think it likes me."

The small furry creature had lazily curled up in the sunspot next to Katsuki's feet, purring away without a care in the world. It seemed harmless enough, except for the heavy glare it was shooting Ejiro's way.

"Heh," Katsuki finally glanced down and crossed his arms. "He's not glaring. That's just his face."

"Ah," Ejiro nodded, "like father like son."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"

Taglist: @thecindy @peachsenpie @awilddreamerwrites @miriobaby @kiyoobi @dragonsdreamoffire @amive2567 @justscar @kenmaskitten10 @freckledoriya

[juletheghoul]

Mysticus Chapter 3

Ezra x F!Reader Soulmates AU

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Slow-burn (Smut later on)

Masterlist Chapter 4

His name bounced around in your head constantly, Ezra. So simple, but once he told you it seemed almost obvious. Repeating it back to him you could almost taste it, easy and sweet, with a little something rich near the end. Something darker maybe, it was like you’d been waiting your whole life to say his name.

At first his casual touches shocked you. Big firm hand on your shoulder guiding you through a parking lot, same hand on the small of your back when opening a door for you, a light smack on your thigh while driving when spotting something interesting on the side of the road. Even though you’d been travelling alone with the dog for so long, it was worryingly easy to get used to him. It felt as though the warmth in his hands seeped into your skin wherever he touched you, warming something inside of you that you hadn’t realized was frozen. It also didn’t hurt that to you, he was devastatingly handsome.

Sometimes he caught you staring at him, but he only ever gave you that secret smile you had grown to love over the short time travelling together. He smiled, because he stared at you the same way

As you drove through a particularly long stretch of highway in comfortable silence, you saw a sign advertising a rest area coming up within a few miles. Some food would be really welcome you thought to yourself. You noticed movement beside you, Ezra was digging in his bag for something and before long he was holding out a bag of pretzels to you. Not looking up from the paperback he was trying to read in the dying light of the day. Your brow furrowed. Had you spoken out loud?

“Here Birdie, to hold you over until we can stop for a proper meal.” Secret smile on display. You felt like there was something strange going on.

“Did I say I was hungry out loud?” You asked just as your stomach growled loudly. He laughed softly, without malice.

“Audio evidence aside, I’m not sure you’re aware how loud your thoughts are Birdie. Eat, we shall arrive at the rest stop soon. Once we’re properly fed and watered we will trade places and you can rest.” He put the open bag on your lap so you could reach in while driving.

“I know you’re hungry too aren’t you sweet girl?” He smiled over his shoulder at the dog whose attention had been piqued from the crinkling of the bag. He reached into another bag and pulled out one of her treats and gave it to her. Cooing softly into her ear as she took it gently from his hand. You had this overwhelming sense that there was something bigger at play here. You ate the pretzels, quietly lost in thought.

Two hours later you were both enjoying the evening breeze while sitting at one of the many empty picnic tables outside the rest stop. Both of you happy to be out of the car for a little while, dog enjoying the grass as she laid at your feet. You had been more quiet than usual as you ate your food.

“What’s troubling you Birdie? I can tell there’s something on your mind. I hope I haven’t done something to upset you?” He asked with genuine concern, softly taking your hand in both of his big warm ones.

“How’s do you do that? It feels like you know what I’m thinking sometimes.” You felt ridiculous asking, realizing how crazy it was once the words were said out loud.

“I suppose I do it the same way you do Birdie. You often give me answers to questions I haven’t voiced. Haven’t you noticed?” You frowned, you didn’t know what he was thinking did you? He traced the mark on your palm unconsciously and it made your heart race.

“Haven’t you ever noticed we seem to anticipate what the other needs before speaking it out loud? Yesterday while I was driving you handed me my water without me even making so much as a peep. Often times I’ll think I need something and you’ll hand it to me.” He stared at your hand as he spoke.

You tried to think about what he was saying, you assumed he’d said he was thirsty. Had he actually said it or did you somehow feel what he felt as clearly as you felt your own desires. Your heart was racing and there was a curious panic spreading from the middle of your chest, radiating out of you in waves. He sensed your panic in that strange way and tentatively walked over to where you were sitting.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of Birdie.” He spoke gently, slowly bringing his arm around your shoulder to ground you. So many emotions hit you at once and it was hard to focus on any one in particular, you were scared at the thought that someone else might know what you were thinking or feeling or whatever the hell this was, you felt emotional at the tenderness he was showing. Quietly letting you deal with everything you were thinking without pushing. Most of all, you felt embarrassed. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. There had always been something, you knew that in your heart of hearts, or you wouldn’t have said some of the crazy un-knowable things you’ve previously said during your palm readings. Whether you acknowledged it or not there was a sense you had about people; about different places even. Why was it so unbelievable that you’d find someone who was similar? He rubbed at your shoulder in comfortable silence as you slowly brought your sudden panic under control.

“What does it mean do you think? How come we’re connected this way?” You asked as you unconsciously scooted a little closer to him, seeking out his reassuring warmth. You felt him stiffen for the briefest of moments, you thought you saw a look of sadness on his face; it was gone before you could even register it. It still tickled at something, in the back of your mind. There was something there that you pushed away, avoiding. Ignoring.

“Well Birdie, I’m not entirely sure what it means. We’re special I suppose.” He didn’t meet your eye as he took your hand again. Touching the mark on your palm as you took in his words. He was quiet when you got back on the road You thought about your conversation with Ezra for a long time after, and as you were coming up on the motel you were planning on stopping at for the night you felt something. There was something wrong. The motel looked indistinguishable from any other motel you’d stopped at during the course of your travels. There was an unnatural electricity skimming over your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The car came to a stop before the entrance of the parking lot and you turned to face him. There was a strange expression on his face. A seriousness that was completely at odds with his usual mood. He generally wore an easy smile, always in a good mood. If you were honest this scared you a little bit. The dog growled softly from her place in the back seat. “If it’s all the same to you Birdie, I strongly suggest we depart from this place without haste.” He didn’t wait for you to respond as he peeled out of there and got back on the highway. “You felt it too right?” Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I did. What did you feel Birdie?” He asked quietly, as he continually checked the rear-view mirror. “It was like someone threw me in ice cold water.” You felt the sweat drying on your back as you tried to focus on your breathing. “I couldn’t have phrased it better myself. We’ll find another more suitable place to replenish our strength.” He said it in a voice that booked no argument, not that you had one to offer. You read about that motel in the news a couple of days later, a fight had gotten out of hand and shots had been fired. A few stray bullets had found themselves lodged in the beds next to the room involved in the altercation. Luckily, the room had been empty.

--------

Tag List: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @thirstworldproblemss @cannedsoupsucks @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs

[safereturndoubtful]

The Lost Village of Framgord

Tuesday 18th July

Just across the hill from Mu Ness Castle is Easting Beach. Parking is at Hannigarth, a spectacularly situated holiday rental property. From there it is just a kilometre’s walk across the field to the sands of Easting.

My exploits today began here. These days are with a strong, like 30 mph, northwesterly wind blowing, which keeps things cool. I’m on the eastern coast of Unst hoping it will be less exposed to the gale’s teeth, but if it was any less strong, it was only by a fraction of a mile per hour.

It was still quite wonderful on the beach, and after some time there I continued around the coast, vaguely north, on some lesser cliffs, or about 10 metres only, home to several otters, the first I’ve seen on this course. Roja’s first thought is that they need chasing, they are a game, on the planet for his fun only. I call him sharply. He ignores, but hears the whistle, which I only use for matters of great importance. He comes, sulkily, already knowing his mistake. He sits, a few centimetres away only, and I tell him clearly, four times, ‘no’. Behind him I see the pair of otters, back to where they were, chasing each other around the rock. Perhaps I was wrong, maybe they are here just for fun. But I’m satisfied that my dog didn’t scare or threaten them. From now on he is more placid, and respectful.

After about three kilometres the abandoned village of Framgord can be seen, a couple of hundred metres inland. I’m interested by such villages, I have not long ago read and thoroughly enjoyed Matthew Green’s Shadowlands, subtitled ‘a journey through Britain’s lost cities and abandoned villages’. Framgord doesn’t make the cut, but it does have an appealing story. There has been a community at Framgord since the Iron Age, the remnants of two Pictish houses and a burial ground are nearer to Easting beach. A bit further along are ruins or a Viking settlement, though some of this has been eroded with the coastline. The Viking graveyard, set back off the beach, and with no road to it, is still in use today. There are also the remains of a longhouse.

In the 1800s fishing communities were no longer profitable to the lairds. Prior to this tenants had sold their fish to European traders. The lairds turned their attention to sheep farming, and evicted tenants who grazed their animals, as they had done for centuries, on common land. Though the most devastating clearance was on the island of Fetlar in the 1860s, where I will be next week, Framborg suffered similarly.

Wandering amongst the abandoned and ruined houses, the locals say that as the wind whistles through, conversations of the day can still be heard, the ghosts of the crofts warning each other of the starvation that was to follow, or of violent eviction.

Here’s that holiday let at Hannigarth. I’ve got my eye on places like this to spend 12 weeks of winter at in the next few years. My idea is to offer the owner a set sum for that time, when most likely they will have few clients. It has a wonderful location.

After lunch I headed north, through the metropolitan centre of Unst, the few houses that make up Baltasound, with its primary school, cafe, shop and leisure centre. Here’s the shop..

It’s another 15 minutes up to the northwest corner of the island, Hermaness Nature Reserve, where I parked up for the night in preparation for an adventure tomorrow, took a walk to the pier below, and settled in for the evening.