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catzula · 4 years

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Lost and Found

250 followers! Thank you! I couldn’t edit this, it’s pretty late where I live, but I think it turned out pretty well and I'llprobably edit it in the morning, so, ugh, enjoy!

btw I just realized this is my 25th post and it’s funny since it’s also 250 followers thank you post hehe also a last minute edit of oh shit I had a taglist and like ily aah first time tagging someone @astroninaaa

Bakugou x fem!cat quirk!reader

warnings: kissing, cursing, it’s 7.6k- I swear I tried to keep it short but I couldn’t, being very annoying to each other- I don’t know tbh

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers au

***

It wasn’t a secret that you and your neighbor didn’t like each other, but what many people didn’t know was how deep this dislike was. You were in a war, fighting each other openly or secretly, but always finding a way to irritate each other to the most.

You groaned when you heard loud thuds coming from the apartment right next to you, waking you from your one of many daily naps. Trying to go back to sleep, you closed your eyes and snuggled even deeper to the blanket fort you have made, but had to open them once again when you heard a louder thud followed with a string of curses, and guessed that he probably had tossed into another furniture. Really, how long does it take for one to get used to the placement of their furniture?

Pressing the pillow you were hugging to your ear to cancel out the noise, you took a deep, irritated breath, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep again. You could hear his every move, whether it was because of your heightened hearing abilities, or because he was generally a loud person, you weren’t sure. When you finally heard him settling down on the couch, you hoped to sleep, groaned with frustration when he turned the tv on, and like always, on the loudest setting.

”Oh my god!” You screamed into your pillow, sitting up from your sleeping position. Everything was much better before he had moved to the place right next to you. When you didn’t work on your college assignments, you usually slept when you were home, so you wished for silence, and you had no problems with that whatsoever until he moved to the apartment next to you.

Though you weren’t the only one unhappy because of their neighbor. Bakugou, too lost countless hours of sleep because of the cats whining and screaming every night, since it was really common of your quirk for the cats to feel and want to be closer to you. It was like every cat in the damn neighborhood was pulled to you, and they all seemed to be very agitated since they just never shut up. Bakugou needed his sleep -so did you, but it seemed he wasn’t aware of that… or simply didn’t care- and it affected his life enormously when he couldn’t get his sleep, as it had been affecting him the past few weeks.

He had bought a cat repellant for that, a device that released a sound only cats could hear, to prevent the cats from lurking around the building, not even thinking of its effect on you. After only an hour of using the device, he heard a very aggressive knock on his door, only to find his downstairs neighbor glaring at him. Her hair disheveled and ruffled like a cat’s fur would be when it was angry, purple bags under her eyes, and her face pale, looking like she came to his door straight from a war.

He also noticed how one of your socks were missing, and the odd scene of one clothed and one bare foot made him want to laugh. He didn’t know it was because of the many cats that liked to steal your stuff since they thought of your scent relaxing.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you, but it still took a moment for him to recognize you. His gaze wandered on the tail wagging behind you and the pair of cat ears on your head, grimacing when he caught himself thinking about how cute you looked.

”What do you want?” He asked with a glare as intense as yours, but you gritted your teeth and kept glaring without answering his question. He could see your cat ears twitching with the now increased sound since you were closer to the source. ”What- what the fuck is that?”

”What is what?” Bakugou raised his shapely brows, though he was well aware of the reason you were here. Your eyes roaming in the room, trying to find where this goddamn noise was coming from, you looked so irritated that he felt his lips twitching to a smile at the sight.

Without waiting for him to invite you in -not that he would do that- you entered his house, walking to the table that stood in the middle of the room. Your ears were twitching constantly with irritation, your tail not moving anymore.

”Hey, what the fuck are you doing, just walking in my damn appartement?!” He shouted, holding and pulling you back from your elbow, but you easily pulled yourself free from his grip with the adrenaline flowing in your veins. And Bakugou was a smart man, one look you sent his way told him to stay away from you.

The room was unexpectedly tidy, especially for a guy as impatient and angry as him, and the caramel scent you always sensed whenever you saw him now even stronger. A small, black device on the table caught your eye, noticing it was that that caused you to go insane.

”This! What the fuck is this? ” You took it to your hands and brought it closer to your eyes to examine it closer, though the ongoing noise making you shriek with discomfort.

”Is this a cat repellant?!” You blurted out, now even angrier. Quickly putting the device back to its place, he noticed the pure disgust on your face. You turned back to face him, meeting his blood-red eyes that were twinkling with amusement. Seeing him enjoying this made your blood boil, you physically had to hold yourself back from jumping on him and ripping that stupidly good looking smile off of his face.

”You bastard,” you choked out when he didn’t answer, ”you bought a cat repellant?!” Pressing every button on the device, you desperately tried to stop the sound. ”Of course I did.” He answered, the amused look in his eyes now gone with your insult. ”Your cats wouldn’t let me sleep! They’re so fucking annoying.”

”Is that so? ” You asked, taking a deep breath of relief when you finally closed that shitty device off. ”Am I supposed to buy a Bakugou repellant, then? Since you’re so fucking annoying, too. ” You shot back, and you had to admit, it wasn’t nearly as clever as you wanted it to be, but it still worked since Bakugou was seemingly fuming.

”You little- You have the audacity to come into my house, force yourself in, and talk to me like this? You really are as dumb as you look.”

Your eyes narrowed, hands itching to throw a punch right across his handsome face. When you stood silent he sighed with annoyance. ”Get out already! I don’t have time for this shit.” He pulled you towards the exit, but you still had much to say. Apparently, Bakugou knew what you were thinking since when you didn’t exit the room, he simply took the device and turned it on.

Hearing the sound so suddenly made you choke on your words for a second or so, making you want to carve your ears out. ”You- you-” You tried to talk, but he couldn’t care less.

”I said get out.” He ordered, and you did, though not because you were afraid of him, but because the sound was unbearable. Storming out of the room, you promised yourself to annoy him as much as he did you.

This day was the beginning of the war between you two (though you never once heard that noise again after that day, and you were secretly grateful… not that you would admit to that).

You made the cats jump on him when they saw him, get in his apartment, and shed as much as they could whenever they had the chance, making them steal his socks and small trinkets just to piss him off, so in return, he became the loudest neighbor ever. Using the tv in the loudest setting, playing that goddamn drum set every now and then -hitting hit like his life depended on it-, training on the punching bag he hung on the wall that was joint with your wall, you could swear he bought the loudest vacuum cleaner available, and he always played that horrible horrible music that was almost as bad as the cat repellant.

Your cats left furballs in his balcony, he sprayed lemon juice to your balcony, somehow knowing the citrus smell always made you gag and gave you the worst headaches. It went on and on, and it was just getting tiresome at this point, but neither of you was willing to back off.

Stretching your muscles that were stiff from sitting in one place for a long time, you couldn’t help the cat-like moan coming out of your lips, remembering you had another assignment that was due a week from today, though knowing yourself, you would either do it today or the last day. Deciding it was better to at least start it today, you stood up, going towards the kitchen to fix yourself something to eat, though the sudden lack of noise coming from next door making your ears perk up with curiosity.

You listened to him a bit, trying to guess why he was so quiet all of a sudden, but shrugged to yourself and took a snack out of your cupboard. You were going to the balcony to work on the assignment when you heard the water running, explaining the sudden lack of noise.

Since the marble ground in the balcony always made your feet feel cold, you looked for your socks, and you could swear you left them right on the counter, though it wasn’t much of a shock not to find them there. The cats loved to steal or move stuff that belonged to you, and a small part in you felt a little better since Bakugou was going through the same thing.

Since you and Bakugou shared a balcony and both enjoyed being outdoors, it was hard to escape each other, and crossing paths out there always led to the worst arguments. So you were glad to have some quiet time you could spend alone here.

You sat down, sipping on your coffee as you tried to find a comfortable position. As you opened a new word document, you bit your lip, thinking of a strong sentence to start the essay. It was always the hardest to write the first few sentences, you thought. You made a motion to tie your hair, only to find your hair tie missing, too.

Diving deep in your thoughts, writing and erasing the different versions of the same sentence, you hadn’t realized Bakugou was done with his shower, nor had you noticed him and another familiar face coming out, joining you in the balcony.

“Oh, hey Y/N-chan!” You heard someone call out to you, the sound making you let out a small shriek of surprise. It was Kirishima, one of the rare people who visited Bakugou often. His red hair was as spiky as ever, and it always made you wonder how he styled his hair to get that spiky style. Kirishima’s hair always had that hair-gel smell to it, unlike Bakugou’s caramel and mint-scented ones, indicating Kirishima’s hair was not naturally spiky.

“Hey, hey- It’s just me!” He told you when he heard your shriek and noticed how you tucked your tail anxiously between your legs. It took you a few seconds for your nerves to calm down and accept that he wasn’t a threat. “Oh, I’m sorry Kiri-kun. I wasn’t paying attention.” You said with an apologetic smile, noticing how Bakugou winced as you called his friend Kiri-Kun.

Bakugou had a pair of shorts and a shirt on, the black shirt clinging to his frame that caused your ears to twitch in embarrassment of your thoughts.

His ashy hair was still a bit damp, though it was obvious he blow-dried them. You didn’t expect less from the control-freak, though, you could do without that mind-fuzzing caramel scent of his.

“Oh, were you working on something?” Kirishima smiled sweetly as he glanced on your computer screen. “Yeah,” you answered with a pout that meant it’s-not-going-well, making his smile wider. “It’s not important, though.” You closed the screen since you weren’t actually doing anything other than looking at the blank word document.

“Oi, shitty hair!” Bakugou called out when you kept talking with his friend, both of you ignoring him in his part of the balcony. “Come here.”

“Aww, missed me already?” Kirishima teased, causing Bakugou to growl with annoyance. “If you don’t come here right now-” He stopped mid-sentence when he heard you sigh. The crimson gaze quickly turning to you, the annoyed look on his face left its place to straight on angry.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Can you at least try to be a little more quiet? You’re hurting my ears.” You answered with a mocking look, though what you said wasn’t exactly the truth. Disturbing, maybe, but not quite hurtful.

“Can you try to be a little less annoying? You’re hurting my nerves.” Kirishima pouted when Bakugou shot back at your unnecessary attempt to fight with him. “Now- Bakubro, that’s not something you say to a lady.”

Bakugou looked like he had a lot to say, but surprisingly, he chose to stay quiet. Instead, he sat in his place with a grumpy pout on his face and arms crossed on his chest, the sight caused an odd, tingly feeling to spread in your chest. “Will you come here already?” He finally asked when Kirishima kept making small talk with you.

“Eh,” Kirishima sent him a toothy grin as he scratched the back of his neck, “why don’t you just come here?”

“Haah?!” Bakugou blurted, making your ears to hurt for real this time. “I’m not sitting with her!”

“And I’m not sitting with him!” You answered though the blunt response of not being wanted did hurt just the little bit. Denying this feeling, you glared at his crimson eyes, the ones that were challenging you to do so. It took at least 30 seconds before Kirishima interrupted the silent war going between you and Bakugou, finally allowing you to blink or look away. “Oh, quit being a baby, you two.” Kirishima muttered, rolling his eyes. “Both of you are adults enough to sit together for an hour or two without killing each other.”

When Bakugou clicked his tongue in annoyance and looked away, Kirishima pestered him. “Right, Bakugou?” It was a secret challenge, you were sure. If you started an argument, you would lose. And God knew, you would rather die than lose to him.

So without protesting you sat back in your place, followed by Kirishima, who was grinning mischievously. Bakugou was the last to sit down, displeasure and annoyance evident on his face. You took a long sip of your now cold coffee, sending a teasing smile to Bakugou in the process, earning an annoyed “tch” from him. You noticed he did this quite often.

“So,” Kirishima said cheerfully to at least diffuse some of this heavy tension in the air. “How are you, Y/N-chan?”

You shrugged. “Not much, I guess. I’m a little bored at home, and it sucks that I can’t even sleep because of a certain someone.” You didn’t hold back from sending one more look at the blonde’s way.

“Serves you right,” Bakugou growled, his eyes narrowed into slits, “since I can’t sleep either.” You noticed Kirishima snickering as he rolled his eyes with irritation.

“Must be something in the air.” He joked, an attempt to stop the fight before it started, but neither of you was paying attention to him.

“Oh, really? You can’t sleep, and that’s my fault?” You asked quirking a brow up and scoffed when he nodded curtly. “I’m not the irrationally loud one around here, am I?”

“No, your cats are the irrationally angry ones.” Bakugou answered, weaving his hand through his now dry and messy hair, a way of showing his frustration. Your eyes followed his hand, gulping when you noticed your mind started to wonder how it would feel like under your touch.

Noticing how one small act diffused your anger and fuzzied your mind almost instantly, you felt even angrier than before. “Oh, yeah.” You exclaimed. “That should explain why you bought a fucking cat repellant!” His teeth gritting with annoyance, he was going to answer if it wasn’t for Kirishima whose eyes widened with genuine shock.

“You did what?!”

“You heard it! I was losing my mind because of him.” You muttered under your breath, remembering that god awful sound, shivering because of the memory.

“Then make your cats shut up!”

“For the love of God, they’re not my cats! I can’t do anything to stop them from wanting to be closer to me.” Well, that was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. It was just that the cat’s presence calmed you, making you feel a little less lonely.

“Beats me.” Bakugou answered, though didn’t hold back a ‘You either make them shut up, or else’ look. This only made you angrier, you could feel your hands itching to punch him in his smug face.

Both of them were well aware of how your tail was perking and ruffling behind you, indicating just how irritated and angry you were. “You’re just so god damn annoying, I can’t even-”

“Guys, guys.” Kirishima stopped you by holding your arm when you sprinted on your legs, either to jump on him or run inside, you weren’t sure either. “You did tell me you were going to sit like an adult and not fight, right?”

“He started it!” You felt like a child, but it was okay since he was acting like one too.

“Me?!” He growled, his eyes never leaving yours, and you felt the odd urge to gulp. Taking a deep breath, you sat back down when Kirishima looked at you with a brow quirked up.

“Can you play some music?” You asked for a change of topic. When Bakugou reached for his phone, you grimaced, remembering the things he often listened to. He saw the sour expression on your face and rolled his eyes.

“Now what?”

“I didn’t say anything!” You protested though you kept making a face, you sighed when he looked at you demandingly. “It’s just that… your music taste is kinda lame.”

“What?!” He blurted out, looking genuinely shocked, which amused you just a little bit. Kirishima was roaring with laughter, obviously not expecting that either. “My music taste is the best in the fucking world!” He grunted, his cheeks slightly tinged pink.

“Not to me.” You shrugged, which caused a grumpy expression to find its place on his face. “Then you just have bad taste in music.” He reached for his phone one more time, not breaking eye contact once as he opened a song. You expected that loud music he always seemed to enjoy but were surprised when you heard a soft acoustic guitar instead.

“Oh, I love this song.” Kirishima muttered as he closed his eyes and went along with the song, causing Bakugou to send you a knowing smirk that just screamed ‘See? Even he likes it’ And you couldn’t deny it was… good.

“Well, it’s not that bad, I guess.” You admitted hesitantly, forgetting how bad you were at lying, thanks to your feline parts. This only made Bakugou’s smirk even wider, almost turning it to a genuine smile that made him look even more handsome than he already was, and you felt like smiling back at him. Kirishima stood up, mumbling about getting coffee as he went inside, but neither of you paid attention. “I didn’t think you listened to these kind of music, too.”

“That’s on you for being prejudiced.” He mumbled, and you furrowed your brows. “Prejudiced? If there’s anyone prejudiced here, it’s you!” You protested at the accusation, making him lean even closer to you, so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating from him.

“You don’t know anything about me.” He told you with a low voice that sent goosebumps down your spine. You could feel your breath hitching in your chest, your heart beating like it was trying to scare him away. “I might not know you personally, but I know what type of a person you are.”

“Oh, really?” He quirked his brow, interested. “Do tell me. What kind of a person am I?” He looked like he was just teasing you, but you could see how serious he was under his cynical mask. “Well,” you started your sentence without thinking, “you are a selfish, self-centered, egoistic man who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself.” You exclaimed as you thought about all those times you were awoken from your sleep, that god awful day you almost lost your mind, and the times you had the worst headache because of the citrusy smell he kept spraying on your balcony.

“You want everyone to do anything you say without question, expect them to do everything your way and the way you want it to be, not even thinking about how it would effect them!”

He stood silent at your sudden exclaim, and you didn’t miss how his upper lip curled in a threatening manner. His ruby eyes burning with anger, you couldn’t help but think how beautiful they looked.

A few seconds of silence past, making you wonder if you went too far, and just as you were about to apologize, you noticed his eyes softening just a little bit, a small smirk finding it’s way on his soft-looking lips. “You know, you may be right in all those.” He muttered his voice so low that made your tail stay still with- excitement? His smirk grew wider when he looked at your still tail and perked up ears, and you knew he was well aware of your feelings.

“But,” He started to talk, once again leaning closer, so close that his porcelain skin just millimeters away from your face. “how are you any different, than me?”

Now, that was the last thing you expected him to say.

And it was the only thing that could leave you speechless like this. Your mouth slightly agape, you looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, rapidly trying to find an answer to turn this all around.

But instead, you had to admit defeat.

You sighed as you stood up, taking your laptop and your half-full coffee mug off the table. “Touché.” You told him with a small smile, and you saw him smiling, too.

***

Standing up, you opened your balcony door to have some fresh air and take a break from the essay you just weren’t able to perfect. You had finally managed to finish writing, but editing was just as hard. Rubbing your temples, you stretched your muscles, bored from doing the same thing for the past few hours or so.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, your thoughts had been drifting to the handsome man living right next to you almost constantly. You couldn’t help but replay the conversation you had that day when Kirishima had visited him, and even if you didn’t want to admit, your opinion of him had been changing this past week or so.

Throughout the past one or two weeks, you noticed how these balcony conversations started to happen every day, sometimes even twice a day. You somehow managed to cross paths every single day -you didn’t want to admit, but it wasn’t exactly wrong that your balcony visits were getting frequent at this point, in hope to… catch a glimpse or have a conversation- what you didn’t know was that it was the same with him, too.

He found himself looking your way whenever he was out, sitting in his side of the balcony. Or when he was watching tv or anything, his eyes always looked at your side to find a glimpse of you, going out with two mugs of coffee in his hand when he saw you, your laptop open in front of you, your tail wagging and ears twitching whenever they caught a sound. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw you sitting there, typing something with a displeased look and furrowed brows.

And even though you concealed it immediately, he always caught the bright smile that sat on your lips whenever you spotted him with an extra mug of coffee in his hands.

“Oh, hey.” You muttered when you saw him coming out of his apartment, trying to wear his slippers without spilling the coffee (one of his socks was missing, and you found this to be hilarious). The mixture of his caramel scent and the coffee smell caused you to short circuit for a few seconds.

Pressing your lips together, you tried to suppress your smile, but you were half sure your tail gave your emotions away. “Working hard.” He grunted, and you nodded, this time unable to conceal the smile hanging on your lips.

You shrugged, closing your laptop, fully aware there was no way you could focus on your work when he was sitting right across you -especially looking this good, did he do something with his hair? How did he look this good this early in the morning?-

“How’s Kirishima?” You asked when the silence ensued. His brows twitched with the question, but he grunted. “Good, I guess. He’s working hard.”

“Oh, and here I am, thinking that it was because of me boring him to death that he wasn’t visiting anymore.” You joked, finally able to get a responsive smile back form him. “That, too.” He answered.

He watched as you sipped the coffee he brought -oddly, it was just the way you liked your coffee- and smirked when a relaxed smile appeared on your face with the familiar taste.

“This is… really good. Thanks.” You mumbled, feeling how your cheeks were starting to heat up. You were about to ask something unimportant just for the sake of talking when he suddenly leaned in, his face so close to yours that you didn’t even notice his hand above you, touching your hair with a softness you didn’t expect from him.

You couldn’t even question what he was doing as his hand straddled your hair, his ruby eyes slightly narrowed and looking at you, his tongue sliding on his soft-looking lips, focused. His caramel scent now so strong, you held your breath, or maybe it was because of the excitement that caused you to do so.

It wasn’t something he had planned to do either, more like a pure instinct that caused him to lean closer to you and try to take that stray leaf that was stuck in your hair.

Your eyes wandered over his flawless face, and just as you did so, his eyes lowered to yours, only to find them looking at him, wide open. The way you looked at him was so sweet, so innocent, and so unlike the anger he thought he would see, it caught him off-guard, his hand slipping and grazing your cat-ears, instead.

His thumb caressing your velvety ears, it was a natural reaction of your body, to close your eyes and lean into his touch, and a deep purr escaped your lips, making you both look at each other with widened eyes.

A few seconds of silence past as you prayed to god or whatever force there was, that he didn’t hear the sound that just came from you. But your hopes died when he looked at you like you grew a second head.

“Did you-” He stammered, causing the heat on your cheeks to worsen, “Did you just purr?”

“I didn’t purr- sh-shut up!” You exclaimed, but he wasn’t over it yet, apparently.

“No- no, did you really just-” His hand that was still on your head moved slightly, and even though you were expecting it this time, you couldn’t conceal how your body flinched and how your tail moved with the feeling of his hand on your ears. The smirk that was growing on his lips didn’t help either.

“Can you- can you stop that?” You whispered, and he chuckled. “What, this?” He asked, moving his thumb ever so slightly, just to be able to see that expression on your face, one more time. The way you closed your eyes with an animalistic instinct, your ears twitching under his touch, and it felt so right-

“Y-yes, stop that please.”

He pulled back, sipping his coffee with a smug grin on his lips. “Didn’t know my neighbour was so sensitive.” He muttered into his mug, not helping your situation the slightest bit.

“Of course my ears are sensitive!” You protested, trying to shake the embarrassment away. “I am a cat after all.”

He hummed, agreeing to what you said, but somehow it felt even worse when he agreed to you.

***

“Oh my fucking god!” You screamed at the annoyingly loud music coming from the other side of the wall. Standing up, you walked to the joint wall, feeling even more frustrated when you felt your concentration fading. Just a few seconds ago you were on fire, working on the essay like it was the last thing you were going to do, and now, it was gone forever.

You looked at the small USB drive that stood on your desk, the one that held every document that was supposed to be on your laptop.

Since your laptop was quite old, it didn’t have enough space to hold many things, so until you had enough money to buy a new one, you came up with this solution, though, it wasn’t very practical.

“Bakugou!” You hit the wall with all your might, trying to get his attention. “For the love of god, can you please shut the fuck up?”

You knew he could hear you since his grunts and snickers were audible to your ears, but he didn’t seem to care, he turned the volume up, instead. Gritting your teeth with annoyance, you started kicking the wall.

“Ba-”

thump

“Ku”

thump

“Gou!”

thump

“I’m trying to-” Your voice was muffled by the guitar solo. “I’m worki-” You tried to scream when you finally heard the guitar solo coming to an end, but your words once again faded when the drums started to play, this time even louder than before.

“Bakugou, I’m working here!” You screamed, knowing it wouldn’t reach him. Huffing with annoyance, you ran your fingers through your hair to look somewhat decent and got out to the balcony. You didn’t notice how you left the USB on the counter, or that you left the balcony door open when you ran outside.

***

Bakugou grinned when he heard a soft knock on his balcony door. He was well aware of who it was, and he ignored how fast his heart suddenly started to beat when he heard the knocks.

What he couldn’t ignore was, however, that it wasn’t him being stupidly stubborn when he played that loud music. He knew you were working, and a tiny voice his mind told him that if he played it loud enough, he might get the chance to see you.

Bakugou gave the punching bag one or two last punches before he turned to the door and opened it for you, a smug grin that you were now used to see -and somehow even started to like- on his face. You looked thoroughly annoyed, though he was well-aware of how your tail swayed behind you with excitement and playfulness.

You had pajama’s on, a little too light for the chilly night. Bakugou grunted in a disapproving manner, though he did skid aside, a way of telling you to get in already. As you took the silent invitation, both of you were thinking of the same night, when you had barged in his house for buying a cat repellent. He couldn’t help but smile at the odd memory.

“What’s your problem?” He asked in fake annoyance.

“You’re being too loud!” You protested though the smile on your lips and the sparkle in your eyes gave your act away. “I can’t work because of you.”

“Must be because I’m a smug bastard who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” He teased, the words 'but then again, so are you’ unspoken, but very much told. You rolled your eyes at the attempt to get you flustered. “And I’m here to tell the smug bastard to be quiet for a few fucking hours so I can work, 'kay?” You told him with a challenging look as you made your way back out to the balcony.

“Whatever the princess says.” He answered cynically, but his smile was genuine for once.

“Goodnight, Bakugou.” You finally gave in and smiled back brightly, and he felt this odd tingle in his chest, which had been happening quite frequently lately.

“Goodnight, princess.” The nickname was meant to be cynical and mocking, though somehow it felt endearing, instead.

With a smile on your lips, you turned back to your apartment, the lack of noise from the apartment next to you a pleasant surprise, making your smile even wider.

Your smile faded when you looked at the USB that was on the counter. Or more like, lack thereof. You were sure you had left it right there, and then you had just-

Oh, shit.

You could smell the cats that were here a few seconds before you, and there was no mistake, it was them who took it along with a few other stuff. Groaning and cursing, you started to walk around the house, frantically searching for the little USB drive, looking under the tables and cupboards, under the fridge, over the fridge, under the curtains…

Running your hands through your hair, you got out of your apartment, not even aware of how cold the night was. If it wasn’t in your apartment, you knew only one other place they could hide your stuff in. The garbage.

Groaning and cursing, you arrived at the big, smelly green thing that was almost a second house to the stray cats. The cats felt your presence before they even saw you, running away for their lives since they could feel how furious you were.

“Where is it?!” You asked them before they could get away, but they ignored your question and ran, leaving you alone in this miserable place. No matter how in contact you were with your feline side, you could never understand how cats could feel at ease in the garbage.

Biting your lip in hesitation -is it really that important? Can’t I just rewrite the 200 files in there?- you rolled your sleeves up, disgust boiling in the pit of your stomach. You finally managed to get one foot in there, the smell and the feeling altogether making your eyes water with disgust, and you were well aware, the second you let your guard down, you would throw up.

What took the most courage was to put your hands in there and actually move the trash. You could only thank God that not everything was out in the open, and most was in big black trash bags, but some were ripped open and scattered, thank the cats.

Even if it was the most disgusting thing ever, you did get used to the sickening smell and the feeling of sitting on top of the trash. Whenever a cat got close to you to apologize, you threw whatever was in your hand at them -along with a string of curses-, making them realize you were pissed.

Bakugou was smiling when he closed the door after you. He tried to stop smiling and be annoyed with you, but how could he when you looked at him like that? He remembered how you purred that day when he had touched your soft ears, the memory only making his cheeks red and his grin wider.

He was going to go on with his workout when he heard a noise coming from outside. He frowned when he realized it was once again the cats scattering and playing with the garbage. He was going to ignore it, but he groaned in annoyance when he heard a loud glass breaking sound. They were particularly messy today.

Wearing the sweatshirt that was on his chair, he went downstairs to at least scare them away, but as he got closer to the source of the sound, he also noticed someone talking to themselves, grumbling and mumbling under their breath, and he noticed it was you in the garbage, and not cats.

His eyes widening when he got sure it was you -he could recognize your voice, especially when complaining- cursing and searching the trash.

You noticed his presence, your hands coming up as if to say I’m not guilty, and you looked at him with horror. “Wh- what are you doing here?!” You stammered when he kept looking at you with disgust and confusion.

“I should be the one asking that.” He answered, “What the fuck are you doing in there?!”

“I- I’m-” How were you even supposed to answer that? “I’m searching for something.” You finally admitted, tears swelling in your eyes, and this time, not because of the smell. “The cats stole my- and now I’m- I gotta-” It was especially hard to talk as you tried to hold back your tears, you realized, not even able to make a full sentence.

“What?” He asked, rightfully confused.

“I- I left my USB on the counter- and now it’s gone! I had my assignments and everything in there and now I can’t find it.” You finally managed to answer, you could feel a tear sliding down your cheek and you couldn’t even wipe your tear since your hand was dirty.

“For fucks sake, how did you even-” He stopped talking when he heard your sniff. “Wait- are you crying?”

“No!” You answered, biting your lip. “It just smells really bad in here, the heightened smelling abilities and shit, you know.” You lied, not very good, though.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah- right.” Expecting him to turn around and go his not disturbingly bad smelling home, but he got a little closer to you, instead.

“Scoot over.” He told you after inspecting the garbage with his ruby eyes, looking very- very uncomfortable.

“What?” You asked as you dropped the trash that was currently in your hands. “You heard me.” Bakugou muttered. “Scoot over, I’m coming in.”

“You’re going to help me?!” He scoffed when he heard the disbelief in your voice, and you couldn’t suppress the odd feeling of relief washing over you. It wasn’t having someone next to you to help, but it was having him near you.

He held the cold metal, pulling himself up and joining you in your misery. “Thank you, Bakugou.” You muttered as he settled to the place next to you, a sour expression on his face, caused by the disgusting feeling and smell.

“Whatever, let’s just find the shitty thing and get out of here already.” He grunted, and you smiled.

***

Drying your hair with a towel, you were finally able to get rid of that awful smell. Bakugou was already clean and dry, sipping something out of his mug. You were surprised to see him sitting out in the balcony, despite the cold weather and the late hour.

“Hey,” you muttered, running the towel through your hair one more time. You heard him grunt in response, not raising his head from the steaming substance -it was coffee, you realized, and you noticed there was one mug right where you usually sat, too- and sat across him.

“Is the shitty thing still working?” He asked, breaking the silence. He scoffed when you nodded. You were about to thank him for the 100th time when he leaned a bit closer to you, his eyes narrowing and lips curling in a frown in displeasure.

“Didn’t you dry your hair after taking a shower?” His hand touched your hair. Not giving you the time to answer, he stood up and sat next to you, instead. “You dumbass, it’s fucking cold.”

Shaking his sweatshirt off of him, he pulled it over your head, dressing you with it, even though it was a little too big for you. He closed the hood and hid your cat ears and damp hair under it, his scent all your mind could process for a second or so.

His thumb touched your cheek softly as he closed the hood, Bakugou noticed how you leaned into his touch or drew a sharp breath as he traced a soft line with his touch.

Suddenly, his presence was overwhelmingly strong, your bodies so close and his face near yours, your mind only occupied with him and him only. His gaze dropped to your lips as you took one more sharp breath, ruby eyes darkening as you rolled your lip in your mouth anxiously.

“I-” You started to talk, but stopped when you noticed you had nothing to say. Maybe you should thank him again, you thought, and as you were about to do so, his thumb that was on your cheek pressed in, in a warning manner.

“I swear to god, if you thank me one more fucking time-”

“What?” You asked, not realizing you were getting closer to him, so close that you could feel his soft breath on your face. “What will you do if I thank you one more fucking time?”

He saw the challenging smile that was forming on your soft-looking lips, swallowing the excitement that was rising in his chest. “I will- silence you.” Bakugou answered, also smiling.

“Well then, thank you Ba- mmph!-” Bakugou was a man of his word, after all, so he did what he said. His lips closing in on yours, for the first time in your life, you weren’t mad at someone for not letting you finish your sentence.

***

Your head right on his chest, you could hear his steady heartbeat, the sound oddly comforting. One of his arms was wrapped around your waist, holding and not letting you an inch away from him, the other softly stroking your hair and your ears, smiling at the feeling of you purring right on top of his chest.

It felt so nice to be so close to him, your hand in his ash-blond hair, running your fingers through them. You moved in your place a little, snuggling into him, making him grunt in annoyance. “Stop moving, shitty woman.”

You smiled, moving even more just to annoy him even further. He was going to say something when a loud cat scream caused both of you to shut up. You could feel him gritting his teeth, his irritation evident, and you weren’t making it better by laughing at him.

“You know, this is all your fault-” He protested, but was once again interrupted by the cats. “For fucks sake- can’t you silence them, at least for one night?”

“Okay, okay. Just this one night.” You always liked hearing the cats, they made you feel lonely, but tonight, you didn’t need them to make you feel better.

You opened the window, leaning a bit as you glanced at the blonde that was watching you with much interest, sending a small smile his way as you opened your mouth and shouted. “Shut up!”

Bakugou didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but he definitely didn’t expect that. “Is that it?” He asked in disbelief as you settled back on top of his chest, his arms wrapping you immediately.

“Yup,” You nodded, a cheeky smile on your face. He shook his head side to side, though he was laughing as he did so.

“I would’ve done that sooner if I knew,oes d it work on you, too?.” He muttered in your hair and laughed when you punched him. Pulling back slightly, he made you look at his face. “So it doesn’t work.” He grinned when you rolled your eyes. “But, still, that was fucking hot.” Bakugou muttered, leaning in to kiss you one more time.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #mha imagines #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #mha x y/n #mha x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou scenarios

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MY LIFE AND OTHER HARD TIMES IN THE TEXAS HILL COU...

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MY LIFE AND OTHER HARD TIMES IN THE TEXAS HILL COU...

…or how Honky Tonk and Sister Bill got their nicknames. If it happened in the Hill Country, it probably happened at Mamacitas.

This is an essay about the Texas Hill Country, but it’s going to take me a long way around to get to the Hill Country. I’ll add a paragraph here and there as the spirit moves me. Nicknames are easy to come by in the Texas Hill Country. Any naming incident that sparks a full two minutes of laughter is apt to create a life long nick name.

I got mine early on when Sherry began her career as a Methodist minister. Churches she was assigned to by the Bishop had never or seldom had female pastors and for the most part the pastor was called Brother Smith, Brother John, Brother Ralph or Brother Bubba, maybe even Brother Slim or Brother whatever. At Sherry’s first church one of the men was speaking to Sherry in front of a crowd and referred to her as Brother Sherry. The crowd erupted in laughter and that sparked me to ad lib, "Well I guess that makes me Sister Bill." It stuck, and from then on everywhere we’ve gone I’ve become Sister Bill. Strangly enough, the Brother Sherry didn’t stick and she’s always been Pastor Sherry. It’s funny how that works. This system makes a good litmus test as to who you can trust too. Those who use it in derision are easy to pick up on and you can depend on it, they will become your enemies. It’s always good to know who your enmies are. Next time I’m in the mood to post, I’ll tell you who Honky Tonk is and how she got her nickname.

Joy got her name from British author,Ruth Hamilton. Joy is the pianist at the First United Methodist Church in Johnson City, Texas where Sherry and I spent nine exciting years before we moved to Kerrville five years ago. Joy is my age (80+-) and grew up in a series of Methodist churches. Her father was a Methodist preacher. When she was junior high age she was so good on piano, she started playing the church organ where her father preached. Joy became famous with her junior high school peers by playing the country-western/pop hit "Pistol Packing Mama" to a slow hymn cadence in church during certain parts of the service. Her father never was able to hear the plaintive admonition, "Laaaaaaay thaaaaaat pistooooool dooooown, baaaaabe, laaaaaay thaaaaaat pistoooooool doooooown; Pistooooooool Paaaaaaacking Maaaaaaama puuuuuut thaaaaaaat guuuuuuun awaaaaaaaaay." Of one thing you can be sure, every junior high kid in the Methodist church heard the message and nobody ever figured out why the kids would often become so giggly and out of control, especially when they heard the tune telling them, "Oh, she kicked out my windshield, she hit me over the head. She cussed and cried and said I’d lied and wished that I was dead. Lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down, Pistol Packing Mama, put that gun away!"

Naturally Joy grew into a natural musician and could improvise without even having to consciously think about it. During the nine years we were rewarded with her weekly concerts, I noticed that she would often spontaneously begin the add character to the hymns. Some came out with the feel of honky tonk country western and some even took on a boogie beat. She did this naturally, but seemed not to be able to do it on demand. Perhaps demand made her self conscious. For that reason when Ruth Hamilton begged me to tape "Honky Tonk" (that’s the name Ruth began to call her because she could never remember the name Joy Feuge) and send her the tape, I made a noble effort. I was never able to get a tape, but Ruth’s name "Honky Tonk" stuck and that’s what we call Joy to this day. Next, I’ll tell you something about a Texas Hill Country institution, Mamacita’s Mexican Restaurant, serving Mexican food, but owned and operated by an American Muslim Iranian. That gets him in trouble with the area’s fundamentalist cowboy Christians from time to time, to which he pays no attention and simply continues to oeprate a superb small chain of Mexican restaurants. He operates one in San Antonio, one in San Marcos, one in Fredericksburg and one in Kerrville. It just goes to show, you can’t hold a good man down.

I’ve been eating at Mamacita’s restaurants for years now and when I began writing this piece couldn’t even remember the owner and founder’s name. Sherry found this link on the internet and it is so interesting and complete I’m going to post it word for word:

*********************

Mamacita’s Mexican Restaurant: Oh Mama! Profile By Kathryn Jones Thursday, 24 January 2008

There are four Mamacita’s Mexican Restaurants in Texas, the largest of which seats 400 people. Premier Business Partners: DeCoty Coffee Co.

Known to most as simply “Hagi,” Hossein Hagigholam left Iran for the United States in 1976 with a dream to make it big in the land of opportunity.

His initial plan was to study civil engineering. But, as fate should have it, he now owns and operates four Mamacita’s Mexican Restaurants in Kerrville, Texas, with four other locations in Fredericksburg, New Braunfels, San Marcos and San Antonio, Texas. The smallest location seats 250 people and the largest seats 400 people.

In an interview with Food and Drink, Hagi reveals how he transitioned from a lonely dishwasher who could barely speak English to a successful entrepreneur with plans to turn his Tex-Mex restaurant into a nationally recognized franchise.

The ride has not been an easy one, he adds, but with a little faith and hard work, dreams really can come true.

Food and Drink: What brought you to the United States? Hossein Hagigholam: From the time I was a boy, I wanted to come to America. Before the revolution in Iran, lots of Iranians came to the United States to become engineers and doctors, and then they went back home.

Without any knowledge of English, my first place to go was Houston. There was a school for English as a second language called ESL Houston.

If there were 40 students, 35 of them were Iranians, so the teachers learned how to speak our language instead of us learning English.

I knew in order to make it in the United States I had to learn the language, so I researched which college in Texas had less Iranians. Shreiner College had only one Iranian student, so that’s how I ended up in Kerrville. While I studied, I found a job in the restaurants.

If you are a foreigner and don’t know any English, the only job you have is washing dishes. I later became a bus boy and then a waiter.

As a waiter, that’s when you really make it big. I was so happy about how much money I was making as a waiter that I took three jobs: the breakfast shift in one restaurant, the lunch shift in another and the dinner shift in the third.

I remember one time a customer asked me if we took Visa, and I thought they were asking me if I had a visa. I thought I was in trouble somehow, so I ran home as fast as I could.

My manager called me the next day and asked, “What happened?” I said, “Someone wanted me to show him my visa.” He said, “No, you idiot! They were asking you if we accept Visa – the credit card.”

FAD: I can see how you would feel anxious about that. In 1979, American hostages were taken at the embassy in Tehran and President Jimmy Carter called for all Iranian students in the U.S. whose visas had expired to leave the country by the spring of 1980. You must have been devastated. HH: The world just shattered on me, because now I had to go back. I had learned English, started earning money and I was dating Ruth.

The only way I could stay in the country was if she married me, and she wouldn’t marry me. She said, “Look, I’m 20 and you’re 21. We’re young and you come from another country and my parents won’t let me.”

I finally talked Ruth into marrying me. You talk about begging! Her parents gave their permission because of the difficult situation, but it was on the condition that we live apart for six months.

I tell people I really got married for the green card, but we’re still married after 25 years and we adopted two wonderful children. I think that says a lot.

FAD: Is it true you named the restaurant after Ruth? HH: She is Spanish and I used to call her “Mamacita” when I was a waiter. I decided to name the restaurant Mamacita’s because it means grandmother, good-looking lady – all the goodies.

FAD: In 1985, you and a business partner opened the first Mamacita’s in Kerrville. Was it challenging to get it off the ground? HH: Not really. We opened the second restaurant in Fredericksburg in 1988, followed by one in San Marcos in 1996, and then the biggest location, which is in San Antonio, in 2003.

And then, in 2005, we tore our original restaurant down and built a new restaurant. If there were a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for most expensive restaurant ever built per capita, it would be this restaurant, because we spent $10 million in a city with a population of only 25,000 people.

It is very tough to make money when you open a $10 million restaurant, but because of our confidence and if you treat people the way you want to be treated, anything can work. In fact, Kerrville is a German town. People say, “How could an Iranian come to the United States and build a Mexican restaurant in a German community and make it?” My answer to that is, “Only in America, of course.”

FAD: Can you share some tips in how to run a successful restaurant? HH: If a restaurant has five elements, the owner will hit the jackpot in this business. If he has four out of five, he will make a living out of it. And if he has less than that, it is better not to mess with the restaurant business.

These elements are quality, service, location, atmosphere and reasonable prices.

Of course quality and service are always important, but I wanted to give an atmosphere that not every causal restaurant can do. In our Kerrville location, we have a third of the actual size of the Alamo inside of our restaurant.

A mechanical Davy Crockett sits on top of the roof that plays the music like the movie “Alamo.” Also, in our San Antonio location, we created a village that makes you feel like you are outside even though you are inside. It has fiber-optic stars and village shops and bakeries in it.

FAD: Having worked in restaurants when you were in college, would you say that makes you a more empathetic boss? HH: Many casual restaurants have just one general manager that takes care of the quality of the food and the service.

When I used to work in the bottom line myself, I found that it was difficult to put all of this work on the shoulder of one person and expect him to control costs and increase sales.

So, this is why each of our locations has two general managers – one for back of house and one for front of house. We also took away any administrative work for them. Each of our locations has at least six managers.

This is what makes us different. I believe in spending money to make money when it comes to [hiring good employees.] We have a good 4 percent budgeted to training at all times.

We talk to them about the golden rule [of the restaurant business.] If you treat someone the way you want to be treated, it will increase the sales.

FAD: What is Mamacita’s perspective on providing customers with exceptional service? HH: All of our customers can testify that no customer can walk out unless a manager has visited their table. We believe if a customer is unhappy, they will tell us when they leave.

Usually, if they are unhappy, they don’t say anything and just don’t come back.

But by having a manager shake hands and talk to them, they will feel comfortable enough to tell us what we did wrong.

We appreciate the compliments, but what we really want to hear is if there are any complaints.

I tell my management that when people go out to eat, they are in a good mood.

You never see a husband tell his wife, “Let’s go out to eat,” and the wife gets upset about it. Everybody is happy when they go out to eat, and if they choose your restaurant, you should feel honored. So, do whatever it takes to please them. They like attention.

You know, lots of Middle Eastern people that have businesses complain because they say we lost business because of the 9/11 terrorist action.

I disagree on that because my business has been doing well and I think it is because of how we treat people.

I make a lot of speeches about America, the land of opportunity. What I always emphasize at the end is this: Whoever doesn’t make it in this country, it is their own fault. I am one of those guys that really appreciate the country for what it has done for me.

FAD: What’s next for Mamacita’s? HH: We would like to open locations in Austin, Houston and Dallas in the near future. We’ll do it one at a time. I don’t open a restaurant until I have its general managers ready. I have no plan after that yet.

You never know. Maybe a successful, nationally recognized chain will discover us and we could make a deal to take this nationwide.

********************

When Hagi shut down the Kerrville Mamacita’s Restaurant to build that ten million dollar culinary mansion, some of the Shiite Christians in Kerrville became very upset because the architect had put a small, simple dome on the structure and it reminded them of a Muslim Mosque for some reason. They demanded the dome be removed, despite the fact the State Capitol in Austin has a dome, some churches have domes and the dome, while a Moorish design, is commonplace in Spain and Mexico AND this is a MEXICAN food restaurant, OK? My friend Frank Clark says Hagi told him, "I don’t have the kind of money to buy this quality of advertising." As expected, the dome remained, the new reataurant opened and the furror subsided.

Second to the mechanical Davy Crockett who from time to time activates and play the fiddle on the ramparts of the similated Alamo in Mamacita’s in Kerrville are the murals painted by Haigi’s brother whose name I have never heard and can’t find on the internet. Hagi’s brother is a truly outstanding artist and at some time in the future I’m going to photograph some of the interior and post it here. Mexican restaurants around the Southwest are famous for their absolutely crude murals, but Mamacita’s redeems them all. Hagi’s brother is a wonderful muralist.

For almost fifteen years now, Mamacita’s has been a part of Hill Country living for Sherry and me and the good people of the First Methodist Church in Johnson City Texas. We meet there to celebrate birthdays and for a long time after Sherry and I moved to Kerrville we met regularily at Mamacita’s in Fredericksburg. Same driving distance from Kerrville and from Johnson City.

I recommend Mamacita’s to anyone as being the best eating experience you’ll ever have. Their New York strip is flawless and substitute the baked potatoe for guacamole salad and you’ll have a low carb meal to die for. The Mamacita’s salad is perfect weight control meal IF you’ll skip the taco shell. If you’re not on a diet the Mexican food is delicious, the tortillas are always hot and honey with butter is always available on request.

As Kathryn Jones described in her profile, I can’t remember ever eating at Mamacita’s without someone from management stopping by the table and asking if everything is alright, which reminds me of the only negative experience I’ve ever had at a Mamacita’s restaurant.

Several years ago Sherry and I met seven or eight of the Johnson City folks at the Fredericksburg Mamacita’s for one of our monthly reunions. As always I was low-carb dieting and ordered a Mamacita’s Salad to get some healthy carbs as opposed to sugar laden carbs. Unlike any other Mamacita’s salad I’d ever eaten this one was very short on vegetables. I mentioned it to the person next to me and when the waiter came around asking if everything was ok, that person told him my complaint. It has always been my policy NOT to complain at a restaurant, but I’ve worked too many police cases concerned with what a cook can do to a customer in way of retaliation. Spit in the food is the least of the possibilities. Whatever the revenge, there’s always someone in the kitchen who wants to get even with the cook and so the retaliation gets reported. So, there I sit, not wanting to complain but really disappointed in the amount of vegetables I was served. My friend from Johnson City has spilled the beans and I’m forced to admit I thought the salad was skimpy. The waiter went to the kitchen and returned witha such a large plate of vegetables AND chicken which I hadn’t complained about that it was obvious the cook was angered and this amount of food was his way of retaliating and an attempt to make me look foolish for daring to complain. I did eat some more vegetables and the shared the rest of the extra food with everyone at the table. Johnson City folks are not short on appetite, so nothing went to waste. I can see the cook’s point of view. He or she probably sees tons of salad thrown out by customers who eat the grilled chicken, pick around on the vegetables and then send the remainder back to the kitchen to be disposed of. I was still disappointed in the arrogance of the cook and the attempt to make me look ridiculous. Maybe the cook was having trouble their spouse, who knows? In fifteen years that’s the only negative experience I’ve had at a Mamacita’s.

The Texas Hill Country is full of anomaly, so it’s no wonder that an Iranian man can become a millionaire with Mexican restaurants in German communities. Fredericksburg is even more German than Kerrville. San Marcos and San Antonio have strong German influences too. Go figure. Now I want to tell you about a mystery writer who writes murder mysteries in and around Blanco County, yep, Blanco county where I was a reserve deputy for several years after I retired from SWT Police Dept. as an investigator.

At all those birthday parties at Mamacitas there was the "viewing of the presents and cards" ritual which I’ve described in the narrative of another ritual. Sherry always shops for certain people on our list and I shop for others, we’ve never discussed it, it just seemed to fall into place. One of the people I always bought the present for was "Honky Tonk" who is the pianist at the First Methodist Church in Johnson City and a very close friend as well. I always bought her music CDs and usually gospel music. She found out I collected author-signed books and so that’s what she always gave me for my birthday.

My eyes were really bad for a long time and so I collected a bunch of those books without seriosly reading them. One set of books were by a young mystery writer named Ben Rehder. Joy (Honky-Tonk) went to several book signings and so I built up a collection Ben’s novels. All of his novels take place in Blanco County of which Johnson City is not only the County Seat, but is the home town of former president, Lyndon B. Johnson.

When I retired in 1998 I was seventy-one years old and had never written anything more than a police report, but upon retiring I began to write essays and short stories and had so much fun I completely lost my identity as a police sketch artist and watercolorist. I’ve read a lot of the local Blanco county writing generated by the Blanco County Historical Society and others and I’m here to testify this stuff will put you to sleep quicker than prescription drugs. So you have the picture; there I was with faulty glasses, a collection of novels obviously done by a local guy…nothing here I can’t wait a while for…right?

So, several years later and a new pair of glasses, this time prescribed by an optometrist and NOT a opthomologist…HURRAY, I can read again. So, I picked up a Ben Rehder novel and VIOLA’ this guy is really good. This is really just like Blanco County. He’s talking about the Sherrif’s Office and I rode for several years as a reserve deputy with one of the full time deputies and we had experiences very similar to the ones Ben tells about in his novels.

I did feel like Ben’s tales were a little tame though. Like in "Murder, She Wrote" it seemed like Blanco County might begin to compete with Cabot Cove for the title, Murder Capital of the World. I was tempted to write Ben and tell him to let go a little bit and make the cases really as bizarre as the ones we actually worked. There was the guy who carried female garments in his car and when he came up on a dead deer along the road, he’d dress the remains in the female attire and have his carnal way with them. A combination the density of cell phones and Baptists got the guy arrested pretty quickly and his case was investigated and taken to the district attorney.

Another case I wanted to tell Ben about was the one involving some young men who had small explosives used on coyote bait. They began a campaign to blow up all the rural mail boxes in the north part of the county. In this case the volume of the explosion plus the denisty of ranchers, pickup trucks and deer rifles brought about arrests before too many mail boxes had to be replaced or before someone was killed or injured getting their mail or before the county has to investigate the strange deaths of two young men blown up in a pickuptruck sitting in front of a rural mailbox. It would have probably been written up as a double suicide.

I had three of Ben’s autographed books and read all three nonstop and was amazed at the quality of his writing and the universal appeal these books would have. When he spoke of eating at Ronny’s Barbeque, it was like being home. I have eaten at Ronny’s many times and it’s just like Ben tells it.

When I finished each novel I passed them on to my best bud, Frank Clark, who wanted to read them because although he doesn’t come from a law-enforcement background, he comes from a Central Texas deer hunting background. His wife called me and complained; she said she wasn’t getting her sleep. He wakes her up all through the night laughing his ass off, so I decided I gotta get online and order everything this guy has written.

Online at Ben’s website I was amazed to find out that Ben is writing these in a vein of HUMOR. It even cites the genre as being humorous mystery novels. What humor? These are serious law enforcement novels of Blanco County, just the way she is! Damn! Did I ever feel like a hick. I ordered everything he’s written and Holy Moly which isn’t even off the press yet.

As of today Holy Moly is the only one I haven’t read. "Gun Shy" is my favorite, but there’s not one in the set that isn’t a fantastic read. In my case, I can’t put them down and it’s a good thing I’m retired, otherwise I’d have used up all my sick leave for the next two decades. Frank is still reading and Michele is beginning to look a little "red in the eye" but otherwise we’ll just have to wait for "Holy Moly" to come out and hope Ben is presently working on a new novel. The main man is a game warden who helps with the Sherrif’s Department’s criminal cases. That’s the truth or at least very close to reality, we had a game warden in Hays County who was skilled and certified in Forensic Hypnosis and worked with police sketch artists on all kinds of cases.

This ends my little essay on the ‘Life in the Texas Hill Country" and I apologize for it being a lot longer than I intended it to be. In closing, I’ll simply say, "If you’re not already living in the Hill Country, start now making your plans to move here; the life you save may be your own."

I’m a terrible proof reader and it may be weeks before I get around to the first tip toe back through….be patient, I’m old…ok?

www.benrehder.com/

This is Ben Rehder’s website and you’ll be relieved to know Ben doesn’t have to rely on the likes of me for his publicity. Kinky Friendman of Texas Monthly fame recommends Ben highly.

Posted by mrbill78636 on 2008-02-20 02:18:11

Tagged: , digital imaging; PSP XI , Dada , Nostalgia , Texas , Hill Country

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keijay-blog · 6 years

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