#so down to Niagara I’ll be driving to bring him home today

[angelsonthesideline]

I’m going to pick up my temporary foster pupper today!! I’m so excited to shelter spring him and spoil tf out of him for the next few days so he can decompress and just be loved on.

[walking-true-to-style]

Home || G.L.

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Words: 1672 

Warnings: Swearing

Gender: Unspecified

Synopsis: After a two and a half week trip to the USA, you were just glad to get home to your boyfriend who was unable to pick you up from the airport for a plethora of reasons. Of course, he made up for it. 

“Fucking FINALLY.” You think to yourself, pausing your music, as the plane lurches under you as the pilot attempts to slow it down as you land. 

Flying to the States was never something you minded, but damn, if this jet lag wasn’t going to kill you! 

You look outside and notice the sky is a pink color, and the sun is setting over the horizon as the plane pulls into the airport. You really did miss London evenings, but you missed someone special even more. At this point you are just excited to get home to your boyfriend, Gwil, and have a peaceful night with him. 

Usually he’d be the one to pick you up from the airport. However, he’s been awfully busy around London while you have been away, and it’s entirely possible he’s going to be passed out by the time you’re home tonight. It won’t even be that late necessarily, but he’s really running himself ragged lately. 

*Bing*

The seat belt sign is turned off and you unclick yourself, stretching your legs and letting out a grunt as the stiffness settles itself out. You pull your phone back out to unpause your music and send a quick text to your boyfriend:

“Fucking FINALLY.” You think to yourself, pausing your music, as the plane lurches under you as the pilot attempts to slow it down as you land. 

Flying to the States was never something you minded, but damn, if this jet lag wasn’t going to kill you! 

You look outside and notice the sky is a pink color, and the sun is setting over the horizon as the plane pulls into the airport. You really did miss London evenings, but you missed someone special even more. At this point you are just excited to get home to your boyfriend, Gwil, and have a peaceful night with him. 

Usually he’d be the one to pick you up from the airport. However, he’s been awfully busy around London while you have been away, and it’s entirely possible he’s going to be passed out by the time you’re home tonight. It won’t even be that late necessarily, but he’s really running himself ragged lately. 

*Bing*

The seatbelt sign is turned off and you unclick yourself, stretching your legs and letting out a grunt as the stiffness settles itself out. You pull your phone back out to unpause your music and send a quick text to your boyfriend:

For some reason, you are seated at the back of the plane, and it takes at least a million years to even get out of your seat as many people in front of you grab their luggage and file out. 

You decide to pull up your snapchat and post a story saying you are back in London- just to let everyone know you’ve made it home safely. Opening the window, you position the camera and snap a photo of the airport gate. 

After about a good 15 minutes, you finally are able to take your suit case from the overhead bin and exit the plane. As you walk, you take longer, higher strides in an attempt to stretch your legs and exit through the gate. You head through customs and down to baggage claim, which are a pain as always. You don’t do this without nearly tripping over your own two feet as you head to the escalators, of course. 

Looking around for the carousel for your flight, you notice that the airport is quite full, and you need to squeeze in to get your suitcase from the conveyer belt. As it rolls by, you lift it off the belt with a sharp exhale and bring it to the ground. You are still trying to pop your ears as you hale a cab to take you home.

“Where you off to then?” the driver asks as he helps you set your luggage into the trunk. You state your address and he nods. 

There is an idle silence as the two of you travel back to your home what with him driving and you texting a friend of yours from the states. Occasionally, you and your driver would engage in some small talk- likely just a pleasant exchange to fill the air, but, honestly, you kinda wished he would just leave you be. You are exhausted after a 10 hour ride and it was the longest 10 hours your butt was touching someone else’s next to you. 

Finally, he pulls up to your home. By this point, the sun had completely set and a few stars were poking out from the incoming marine layer. 

“Ah, London fog.” says the driver. You just nod and yawn. You pay him and get your luggage from the back. Rolling up to the porch, you fumble for your keys, dropping them in the process.

Looking into the familiar windows, you breathe out, relieved your trip is finally over and you can get some quality time with Gwil. There is a faint glow of light emitting from inside.

Guess Gwil is home already.

As you open the door, you are greeted by a heavenly scent. You inhale the savory aroma, and your stomach whines immediately. You aren’t sure what it is, but you want it- and you want it Now.

“Gwil? I’m home!” You yell. You set your keys on the side table and walk through the house, desperate to find your boyfriend and the source of that wonderful smell.

“In the kitchen, darling!” his sweet voice echos through the house. As you get closer to the kitchen, you can hear sounds of sizzling and a knife to a wooden cutting board. As you slink in, you see Gwil chopping something, and olive oil is simmering on the stove. It’s enough to make your mouth feel like Niagara Falls with how much it was watering.

Gwil immediately looks up and grins.

“Hello, darling! How are you?” he says, setting down the knife and enveloping  you in the tightest possible hug he could muster.

“I’m so tired, hun.” You sigh, chuckling at him as he sets you down. The two of you sit in a warm embrace with him rocking you slightly side-to-side. If he kept that up, you may actually fall asleep standing up!

As you separate slightly, Gwil places a hand on your cheek. You lean into it sleepily, and he smiles. He thought you were just so perfect, especially when you were groggy. He plants a kiss on your lips and giggles.

“You better not fall asleep! Not before you have dinner!” 

The thought of food brings you back to where you were- out of your bubble with Gwil, that is. The scent in the kitchen wafts around you like a fog as you breathe it in again. Your stomach groans louder than before. Gwil chuckles at you and holds you at a distance. He grips your shoulders lovingly and instructs you to go sit down. You roll your eyes and nod, slipping into the dining room and taking a seat at the small, wooden table you both built together. After a few moments, couldn’t have been more than five... ten minutes, Gwil emerged with plates and glasses for wine. He pours out a rich, earthy red for the both of you and turns to leave. You scoff at him and ask, “What’s all this?!” laughing in the process. He turns around with a bright grin.

“Well it’s your first day back after a two week trip-“

“2 and a HALF weeks” you interrupt sarcastically. Gwil snorts and shakes his head, grinning.

“Right. So I wanted to make something special for you as a welcome back!” 

You notice you’re smiling like an idiot, but you didn’t care because you’re his idiot.

“Oh, Gwil. You’re the sweetest!” You tell him reaching for his hand. He steps closer taking your hand in his and rubs it with his thumb. He kisses your forehead sweetly.

“Anything for you, love. Now, give me one moment, and I’ll go get the food.” you nod, letting him go and he slips back into the kitchen. When he emerges, he has a large plate of salmon cut beautifully into even strips, garnished with all sorts of spices and seasonings on top. After such an exhausting trip, you damn near cry at the sight! He sees this and is quick to set down the bread and butter.

“Oh, darling don’t cry! I promise it’ll taste fine!” he jokes in an attempt to make you laugh. Of course it works. 

“No, no! I’m just tired, and you’re so sweet and perfect!” you blubber, chuckling in the process. He lets out an entertained huff and kneels beside you, once again cupping your cheek.

“You’re perfect too, (y/n). I love you.” he tells you sweetly. 

“I love you too! I’m guessing this is why you couldn’t grab me this evening?” Gwil chuckles at your question.

“Well, part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” you cock a brow at him. He presses his lips together nervously. 

“I think it can wait. It seems you can only take so many surprises right now, my love. Let’s eat, shall we?”

You stare at him quizzically but smile and nod.

“What are you planniiiiing?”

Gwil has already began eating. Looking up to you he smiles with a mouth full of food.

“Sorry, can’t talk. Mouth full!” He answers between chews. 

The rest of the meal you two chatter about your time away, saying how much you missed the other despite all the phone calls and texts. The fish was cooked to absolute perfection and everything just tasted so good and so perfect together. As you clear the dishes, you notice Gwil looking very Very exhausted for the first time tonight. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, and his usually glimmering eyes seem dim. Occasionally he’ll wobble a bit from side to side as he cleans.

“Love, are you alright?” you inquire. He looks at you and gives you a tired smile. 

“I’ve been preparing all day making sure the house was clean and everything. Plus a few errands needed to be run…” Your eyes widen as he speaks. 

“Love,” you cut him off. He raises his brows at your sudden interruption. “You need to take care of yourself.

“I know, I know….” he answers. “But I really wanted to-“

“Go lay down on the couch, Gwil. Let me finish up cleaning, okay? You’ve done so much for me today- this is the least I can do!” Gwil gives you a pleading look, but he knows there is no reasoning with you.

“Alright….”

“I’ll join you in a minute.” You call, after him as he slinks into the other room.

After about 10 minutes, you finish up the dishes and head into the living room to join Gwil. Your plan was to watch a movie until it was time for bed, but it seems Gwil had already been one step ahead. You chuckle and place a blanket over his sleeping form. Grabbing a book from the coffee table, you sit in the chair perpendicular to the couch and read for a bit. 

You truly could not have asked for a better evening with your beloved.

------

A/n: Wow it’s been a hot minute since I’ve done anything. My bad lmao. Sorry for abandoning ship like that. Shit’s been really crazy this year but also this blog is a year old in a few days wooo Taglist: 

@littlemisscaptainfandom | @jiswoogannon

[katedrakeohd]

Personal Shopper

A Choices : Save the Date Fanfiction

Pairing: MC Stella Jennings and Martin Mercado (Justin)

Rated: PG for language.

Word count: approx. 2800

Context: Martin calls Stella and asks for a favor.

Author's note: Stella's personal thoughts appear in italics

Tagging:

@dailydoseofchoices @sanvivrma @samihatuli @gardeningourmet @lovealexhunt @princess-geek @loveofafangirl @storyofmychoices @msjpuddleduck @perriewinklenerdie @thepotatobleh @shrinkthisviolet @griselda1121 @iamnotjesha @desiree-0816

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

I'm standing in the bridal boutique with Lindsay finalizing our plans to attend the Wedding convention in Niagara Falls, when my phone starts ringing. Without looking at the caller ID I answer, “Hello, Jennings Wedding Planners. We make weddings spectacular, how may I help you?”

After the words leave my lips there's a pause, giving me just enough time to feel awkward about using the word ‘spectacular' .

“Stella, Hi. It's Martin.”

It's been a while since we've spoken, and I can't help but feel a tingle of excitement at hearing his voice. When I don't say anything he continues,

“Nora's wedding is coming up soon, and I was wondering if I could ask a favor?”

Oh so now he needs me for something. Is this a test?

“What kind of favor?”, I ask.

“Well as wedding planner I value your opinion on what to wear, and as Best Man I need a tuxedo. Could you help me pick one out?”

Well I've already overseen the picking out of wedding dresses. And this would give me another chance to show Martin that I can be professional and take my job seriously. So why not?

“Ok Martin, are we picking something out of your closet or are we going shopping?”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he answers, “I want something fresh and new for Nora's wedding, so let's go shopping. Are you free this evening?”

When he's not mad at me for something his voice does carry a certain charm. I wish it didn't affect me so much.

“I'm free, where are we going?”

“I'll text you the address. Meet me there at 7?”

I can't help but smile, “It’s a date.”

I hear him laugh on the other end, “Don't be late.”

As I look out the window of my taxi I can't help but shake my head. Given that the address Martin gave me borders on the south end of Central Park, it couldn't have said more “fancy rich guy” if it tried. When the taxi stops outside of the Ritz-Carlton hotel, I see Martin standing talking to the doorman. When the doorman steps over to get my door, Martin waves him off and opens it for me.

“Wow, aren't we being a gentleman?” I tease as I climb out of the taxi.

“Well you're here to do me a favor, so it's only right.”

Martin knocks on the passenger window and the driver rolls it down to accept his credit card.

I stand on the sidewalk and wait. The Ritz-Carlton doorman tips his hat to me in greeting and I blush. As the taxi drives away Martin comes back over to me.

“So this is a hotel. I thought we were going shopping?” I ask, eyeing Martin warily.

Martin's usual stern facade shifts and he smiles, “Oh we are, the store isn't far from here. So I figured we could walk.”

I shrug, falling in step beside him as we join the flow of pedestrians. “Don't tell me you're taking me to shop on 5th Avenue.” I joke.

Martin glances at me all serious, “Well yes, I always shop on 5th Avenue.

Of course you do.

As we walk by the other hotels on the street the crowd on the sidewalk gets more dense, and it's tough not to bump into people. A group of people come at us from the other direction and I have to step closer to Martin to avoid being trampled. Without warning I feel him take my hand, he leans in close to whisper. “Don't worry, I've got you.”

I give his hand a grateful squeeze, “Thanks, remind me again why walking is better than taking a taxi?”

As he guides me around a woman pushing a stroller, he smiles. “I like walking with you Stella. Remember how I walked you home after Nora's bridal shower?”

“I remember wanting to learn more about the real Martin that hides behind the façade of CEO event planner guy.”

We navigate the maze of cross walks and find ourselves on 5th Avenue.

“Well consider this as an another insight into who I am. I love this city, I live this city. The excitement, the people, the living breathing organism that is the exchange of commerce and business. I feel so energized to be a part of it.”

As I look down at his expensive shoes and the designer clothes he's wearing it reminds me of the divide between our economic classes. We might live on the same island, but he's all high-rise Penthouse and I'm Hell's Kitchen. I don’t belong in his social scene at all, yet here I am planning his sister's wedding and holding his hand. It's terrifying and exciting at the same time, like I'm on a carousel ride and if I dare let go it will all disappear and be just a dream.

He holds the door open for me as we enter the men's wear store at Bergdorf Goodman and as we step inside he looks like he's right at home. I feel like an ugly duckling in my basic cotton dress and sandals. He leads the way to the escalator and we go up to the second floor formal wear department.

The mannequins are all sharply dressed in suits of various colors and designer brands. As the only feminine thing in the whole room it feels very intense, almost erotic to be surrounded by such powerful masculinity.

The way that Martin just casually walks by the expensive price tags on display is mindboggling. But then this is his world, and money is no object. As we approach the clerk behind the counter the man smiles at us and greets Martin like an old friend.

“Martin! Back so soon! And with a pretty girl on your arm. How can I help you two today?”

Martin smiles back, “Good evening, Eric. My sister's getting married next month and I need a tux.”

Eric eyes me appraisingly as if I'm Martin's date. He seems to approve, but I don't know for sure because he quickly averts his attention back to Martin.

“Nora, right? Well tell her congrats for me. So for this extra special occasion are we going for something equally as special? Perhaps a tail coat this time?”

Martin shrugs and then looks at me, “That's not quite what I had in mind as Best Man, but let's ask the wedding planner. What do you think Stella?”

I hold my hand up, needing to clarify something first, “Hang on, I'm still trying to get over the fact that the staff know you by name. Just how many suits have you bought here?”

Martin grins at Eric, “Well this will be the fifth. There was Prom, two award shows, and of course Sam and Ali's wedding. I like shopping here because they carry the styles and brands that I like. Plus they have my size and measurements on file which helps.”

Eric laughs and smacks Martin on the arm, “Besides Martin and I go way back because we used to work here together.”

“So you weren't always part of your Dad's event planning business?” I ask, trying to imagine Martin working behind the counter at a clothing store.

“I was in highschool and Eric was in college. We worked in the backroom more so than directly with customers. It was my first taste of the business world at the ground level.”

Eric smiles, “One of the best, most down-to-earth guys I’ve ever worked with.”

Wait, what? Bossy pants, rich guy Martin is actually a nice guy under all of that expensive cologne? I knew it.

“Stop it Eric, you’re going to ruin the hard ass millionaire persona I’ve been trying so hard to uphold,” Martin jokes.

The air between us gets a little more awkward as Martin looks at me and smiles. What game are you playing Mister? You like me, then hate me, then you look at me like that and my knees go weak. Stop teasing me.

Eric claps his hands to dispell the moment and bring me back to reality, “Ok then, enough reminiscing, let’s get you a tux.”

He leads us to the racks and starts pulling things. “Let’s try this, and…this, oh and this one.”

Eric’s confidence as he chooses designer looks just at a glance is so different to Lindsay’s timid nature at the bridal boutique. He knows his niche market so well and obviously excels at it. I wish I could get the two of them in the same room, and just maybe some of his confident optimism would rub off on her.

He hands Martin a bunch of hangers as he leads us to a changing room, “I’m sure you two will be just fine with these, I’ll check back on you later.”

I feel a sudden panic take over at the idea of being left alone with Martin in a changing room. “Wait, you’re not going to help advise him about fit and stuff like that?”

Eric smiles, “I think in this matter that Martin would value your opinion more than mine. I’ll give you some privacy.”

Did he just wink at Martin before he left?

I suddenly feel hot all over when Martin hands me the hangers and then starts to unbutton his shirt, This is so not in my job description. What is going on?

I feel myself blush and look away, “Um, Martin should I wait outside?”

As he unbuttons the cuffs on his sleeves he looks down briefly as he slips off his shoes. “Only if you really want to Stella, I’m not too shy to ask for your help if I need you.”

If he needs me? What if I want to help now?

My eyes are drawn to the open neck of his shirt and the little bit of chest he’s revealed. I hang up the suits I’m holding and step toward him. “Let me help you with that.”

Martin doesn’t argue as I gently lay my hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric under my palms and running my thumb up over the buttons. His hands hang at his sides as he watches mine work to undo the buttons. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and I boldly let my thumb graze against his skin as I reach the bottom button. Biting my lip I tug the shirt up out of his waistband. As I undo the last button I look up and meet the dark intensity of his eyes with my own. Our lips are only inches apart and I see him gasp as I run my hands up his bare chest and slide the shirt off of his shoulders and then it drops to the floor.

“Stella,” he whispers, catching my hands in his. “That's enough, thanks for the help.”

I step back and let my eyes wander down his toned and muscled arms and chest, ending at his abs, trying not to focus on anything below the belt. He clears his throat and then I look back up at his eyes.

“Are you sure you don't need help with anything else?” I ask, bending down to pick up his shirt. It's still warm and smells like him.

He pushes his shoes off to the side, and undoes his belt. I can't help but watch his hands.

“Yes Stella, I think I can manage the rest from here. I'm quite capable of dressing and undressing myself.”

I feel warm all over as I back out of the changing room, “I..I understand. I'll be outside if you need me.”

I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. My mind, nerves and sexual desire are buzzing in overdrive.

Holy hell what the heck was that? He had no reservations about taking his shirt off in front of me. What the fuck is this twisted game he's playing? Was he just testing me to see if the attraction is mutual? Because it definitely is.

My eyes are closed, when I hear the door open.

“Okay, what do you think?”

My head snaps round to the sound of his voice. Damn he looks good in black. The crisp white of his shirt pops against the caramel color of his skin, and the bowtie draws attention to his handsome face and brilliant smile.

“Wow, Martin. Just wow.” I can't hide my smile of admiration.

“I know right? Eric really knows what looks good on me.”

He certainly does.

“You bet I do!” Eric says, grinning from ear to ear with pride.

After a quick visual assessment Eric nods. “And it's a perfect fit.”

Martin catches me staring and makes a show of adjusting his shirt cuffs and smoothing the lapels of his jacket. I can feel myself blush when he lays a smoldering look on me. He knows he looks good and that I'm checking him out. He undoes the button on the jacket and casually stuffs his hands in the pockets of the trousers as if he already owns them.

“Great then. I'll get changed and then you can ring me up.”

Eric smirks at me when Martin disappears to go change, “You like him don't you? You know you're just his type. Please tell me that you two are a thing.”

I'm caught off guard by his observation, but I can't help but tell him the truth.

“Not yet, but I'm working on it.”

Eric laughs, “I knew it! The two of you have been setting off serious sparks ever since you walked in.”

Well whatever is going on it's seriously something volatile.

“You're his friend, any advice for me?” I ask nervously.

I can't believe I'm really asking someone how to pursue a relationship with Martin.

“Be patient, he knows what he's got going on, but under it all he has a good heart and a good head.”

“And a good face.”

He grins and points at me, “You, Stella. I like you. Got spunk for days.”

Martin comes back out, “What are you two grinning about?”

“Oh nothing. Stella and I were just talking about cute boys that's all.”

He laughs, “I bet your husband wouldn't like that.”

Eric laughs, “Nah he'd just be jealous about missing out on the details.”

I blush and look down at my shoes, praying for the floor to open me up and swallow me whole. “Um, can we go now?”

Eric winks and collects the tuxedo and accessories from Martin, “But of course Madame et Monsieur, right this way.”

Standing next to Martin at the counter I try not to peek at the price of everything as Eric rings them up. Martin hands over his black Visa card. “So I'm assuming the hemming of the trousers to the proper inseam is included. And that everything will be delivered to my address?”

Eric smiles and nods as he makes a note on the receipt. “Yes Mr. Mercado, and as always it's been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thanks Eric, we'll be back.”

We? What's this we all of a sudden?

“Nice to meet you Stella.” Eric says as we turn to go.

I smile and wave and then Martin leads me back out of the store. Out on the street I turn on him.

“Ok Martin, out with it. Why did you really invite me out to go shopping with you?”

Martin runs his hand over the side of his face, and looks down at his shoes with a sigh. “Honestly?”

I fold my arms across my chest, “I'd like the truth, yes.”

Martin looks up and the expression on his face is open and sincere. “The truth is…that..that I like you Stella. I was looking for an excuse to see you again.”

Well holy shit. I don't know what to say.

“Stella?” he says, as he catches me staring at him again. “Say something.”

I blink and then look down and reach for his hand. When I look back up at him again he's smiling. “I think I'd like that Mr. Mercado.”

He steps closer, “And what exactly would you like Stella?”

“For you to find more excuses to see me. Because I like spending time with you too.”

He brings his hand up to brush the hair back from my face, his thumb grazes my cheek and sends a thrilling sensation traveling down my neck. He leans in close and my eyes drop down to focus on his lips, now just a breath away from touching mine. I suck in a breath in anticipation and then he draws himself back.

With a sigh he steps back from me. “Can I call you sometime?”

I feel like all the air has been squeezed out of my lungs so I just nod.

“Yes, anytime.” I manage to whisper.

"Okay good, but for now let me call you a cab."

[justlookfrightened]

NHL!Bitty, Part 5

This is it for this fic. I had a request to maybe continue this from Jack’s POV. Watch for that in a week or so. In the meantime, Part 5 is the longest yet ... Bitty likes to ramble.

Part 1    Part 2   Part 3   Part 4    Sequel: NHL!Jack

Bitty still had his key to the Haus, so after graduation, after Chowder got a ride to the airport from Dex and Nursey’s moms took him back to New York, Bitty sat in the quiet of the backyard and contemplated  the rest of his summer.

It was too late for him to want to start driving towards Georgia that day. Heck, it might have been too late for him to think about going back to Georgia at all. His time there after the season ended had been suffocating in a way it never was before. It wasn’t only the way Mama and Coach talked around his sexuality; it was that they still treated him like a child, and he allowed it. What would they do if he walked in the kitchen door and said, “Hi, folks, I’m gay”? Even if they kicked him out, he made more money in the last year than his parents had in the last two years combined. He could pay for a place to live. He didn’t think they’d do that anyway. He just didn’t want to lose their emotional support. But how real was that support if it would evaporate if he said he was gay?

It was a question that had never occurred to him before he came to Samwell, and one that had been gnawing at him one way or another ever since. Maybe he shouldn’t be worrying so much about it now; with his position on the Aeros, he couldn’t exactly go looking for dates, even if his teammates didn’t seem to mind. The only people who would understand would be those in similar positions.

Once or twice he’d thought Jack … but there was no way Jack had been flirting with him. Not in front of Mashkov and Marty and Aeros he didn’t even know. Besides, Jack had made it painfully clear the other night what he thought of Bitty. Had he been amused that Bitty was pathetic enough to come and watch another team play after the Aeros were booted from the playoffs?

Then he was so annoyed that the boys had invaded his precious dressing room. Maybe their presence stopped Jack from giving his own team a massive dressing-down. No one seemed to mind that they were there, except Jack, who decided to take it out on Bitty by reminding him of his own team’s failure.

Still, it had felt good, those last three months or so, to occasionally see Jack’s name pop up with a text notification. It felt good, Bitty supposed, to have someone who was undoubtedly one of the best players in the league notice him, encourage him, act like he thought Bitty actually could play hockey. Bitty knew he could play; he’d been drafted as a sophomore and called up during his first season, hadn’t he? But somehow, Jack’s opinion carried more weight.

It had also felt good to glimpse the man behind the image. Somehow, that poster of Jack in his underwear concealed his personality more than a full suit did in person, at dinner after a game. The pre- and post-game interviews never included Jack’s sly smile when he got a good chirp off, or his laugh, especially when a chirp was at his expense.

Well. Jack didn’t exist to make Bitty feel good, and Bitty could be generous enough to admit it had been a bad moment after the game for Jack. That’s what Bitty told Chowder on the way back to Samwell, when Chowder left off praising Holtby and Snow long enough to say, “Jack Zimmermann didn’t seem very friendly when you were talking to him. Have you met him before? He always looks like he’s about to yell at someone.”

“Not always,” Bitty had told Chowder. “But no, he wasn’t very friendly tonight.”

Now Chowder was gone, owner of a newly minted CS degree and an invitation to the Schooners’ training camp after a stint at home in northern California.

Tomorrow Bitty would start the drive back to Georgia, but not until he called the Aeros conditioning coach. He would ask the coach to set Bitty up with someone to work with over the summer -- maybe work with Bitty himself -- and when Bitty  got back to Madison, he’d pack the truck and move himself to Houston. Sure, he might be heading back to Baton Rouge in the fall, but showing enthusiasm for the Aeros wouldn’t hurt.

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

Bitty folded his lawn chair and brought it into the kitchen as the sun moved further west. The Haus was empty except for Bitty, and no one would be here until a couple of last year's frogs arrived to take up summer residence next week.

Bitty wanted to bake something, but he’d have no one to share it with, and the nutritionists would not look kindly on him eating a whole pie because he was lonely. They wouldn’t know, really, but Bitty would. Mini pies maybe? He could eat one or two and put the rest in the freezer for the summer frogs.

That sounded like too much work. Bitty wished he still had his vlog. That way he could bake something to leave in the freezer and moan about his life at the same time. Not that he had any right to moan, but still.

Maybe he could call Ricksie, find out how his time in suburban Toronto was going. That was another point in favor of spending the summer in Houston: Ricksie had announced plans to move south after a few weeks at home with his parents. He also wanted to get away from being treated like a child, although his motivations were a little different.

“Dude, I mean, it’s not like I can bring anybody home to my parents’ house,” Ricks said. “I still sleep in a twin bed with my peewee trophies on a shelf.”

Ricks was a year younger than Bitty, but he’d been in the Aeros system for longer, having gone pro right out of junior hockey. Still, he reminded Bitty of his SMH teammates more than anyone else he’d played with since graduating.

Ransom and Holster were on their annual pilgrimage to Niagara Falls now that Holster’s season was over. Bitty had seen the snaps to prove it. Maybe Shitty and Lardo were in Boston. The last time Shitty had weighed in on the group chat, he’d been complaining about exams. That was last week. Maybe he was done now.

Bitty reconsidered his plan. If Shitty was done, and he and Lardo were in the Boston area, Bitty could take at least another day or two before leaving for Georgia. He missed his old team.

Bitty found his phone on the counter where he’d left it when he went outside. There was a missed call from Mama -- she’d want to know his plans, the better to worry over him driving that old truck by himself. There was also a text from Jack, the first contact since two nights ago.

Can I call you?

He checked the time: 6:30 p.m. Jack was due on the ice for Game 2 in a hour and a half.

Bitty texted him back.

Sure. Whenever you have time. Good luck tonight!

Before Bitty moved away to forage for dinner from what was left in the kitchen, his phone rang.

“Bitty,” Jack said. “Thanks for talking to me. I have to apologize for my behavior the other night. And I do know,”

“Um, ok,” Bitty said. “Apology accepted, I guess. Don’t you have a game to play?”

“Yes, but Marty said I should call before the game if I could,” Jack said.

“Marty said?” Bitty asked. “What does Marty have to do with this?”

“He kind of said I was being an asshole to you,” Jack said. “And he’s right. That game was bad, but there was no reason to take it out on you.”

“Ok,” Bitty said.

“And I do know what it’s like to watch other teams move on,” Jack said. “We didn’t even make the playoffs my first year. I’m kind of impressed that you were willing to bring your friends by -- I don’t think I’d be able to do it.”

“It really wasn’t a chore,” Bitty said. “I like those guys and I like hockey, so it seemed like a good plan. Now go play your game, Mr. Zimmerman.”

“Are you somewhere you can watch?” Jack asked.

“I’m still in Samwell,” Bitty said. “Everyone left after graduation today, so I was going to tidy the Haus up a bit and get back to Georgia tomorrow or the next day. But I’ve got my laptop and NHL Network, so yes, I’ll be watching.”

“Good,” Jack said. “Can I talk to you after the game?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “But …”

“But what?”

“Look, I don’t want  to say anything negative, and I’m sure you’ll play well, but if you lose, don’t feel obligated,” Bitty said.

“No,” Jack said. “I won’t feel obligated. But I will want to talk to you.”

“All right,” Bitty said. “I’ll make sure to stay up a while after the game.”

Jack ended the call, and Bitty looked around. If he was going to stay up, he should be doing something besides sitting on Chowder’s old bed with his laptop.

There were still apples in the kitchen. Mini pies it was.

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

Two hours after the game, Jack hadn’t called.

It couldn’t be because he was upset; the Falconers had put on a clinic, winning 5-0. Jack had a goal and and an assist, and 10 different players made the scoresheet, not to mention Snow’s shutout.

Maybe the team was out celebrating. They had an extra day off before their next game in DC.

If Jack was celebrating with his team, Bitty couldn’t begrudge him. It was a big win to even the series, to build confidence in the team, to head into the opposition rink with momentum.

But there was a limit to how late Bitty should have to stay up and wait for Jack’s call. He’d go to bed with his phone on Chowder’s desk (what used to be Chowder’s desk) and if Jack called, if the phone woke him, he’d answer.

Bitty finished wrapping the mini pies in freezer paper to store them away. He hadn’t eaten any after all. Without his regular training regimen, he wasn’t as hungry. Another sign that it was time to get back to it.

Before he could put the tray of pies in the freezer, there was a knock at the door.

It was past midnight, and no one should be here. But a burglar wouldn’t knock, and Samwell was kind of empty right after graduation, and maybe someone needed help.

So Bitty flipped the porch light on and peeked around the curtain, ready to open the door as long as it looked ok, although even a teenage girl could have a gun … and he’d been listening to Mama too long.

There was Jack Zimmermann.

“Oh my Lord, Jack, what are you doing here?” Bitty said while he was still pulling the door open. “It’s the middle of the night. You shouldn’t have driven all the way up here after your game. You must be exhausted -- have you eaten anything?”

Jack, still in his game-day suit (which had to have been custom made to fit like that), waited for Bitty to run out of words.

“I’m fine, really,” Jack finally said. “I ate at the arena before I left, but I could eat a little more. It’s not that far -- a lot of the guys live at least this far from the arena. But if you’re heading back to Georgia tomorrow or the next day, I didn’t want to miss my chance to talk to you.”

Jack looked down. He was still standing on the welcome mat that Bitty’s mother had sent up with him the year he moved in, the one that had, “Hey, y’all!” in cursive script carved into the sisal fibers.

“Where are my manners?” Bitty said, finally stepping back to let Jack in. “I just made some mini pies. Let me heat some up. You can sit in here if you want --” Bitty gestured toward the living room, then winced -- “but you might want to avoid the nasty couch.”

Jack just kept following him, so Bitty said, “Or we could sit in the kitchen. Much cleaner.”

Bitty busied himself by turning the oven on and unwrapping four of the small pastries. 

“Good thing I hadn’t put these in the freezer yet,” he said. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Do you want -- not coffee, it’s too late --”

He rooted through a cabinet that had three kinds of protein powder. What had these boys done to his kitchen? Then he found a box of orange herbal tea with no caffeine. Orange tea and apple pie. Not ideal, but not too bad.

“Do you want some tea?”

Jack was leaning against the counter just watching him.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Tea would be fine.”

Bitty checked the water level in the electric kettle -- he wasn’t sure who had brought it, but he’d decided it was a valuable addition to the kitchen -- then flipped the switch. “That should just be a minute. Please, have a seat.”

Jack sat at the rickety table and Bitty pulled out plates and mugs, forks and spoons.

“I heard that you baked,” Jack said. “Marty said that you promised him a pie for the tickets.”

“I did,” Bitty said. “But I figured it would be better if I sent it after the season. Do you know what his favorite kind is?”

“No idea,” Jack said.

“I’ll have to ask him, then. Or ask Pops to ask him,” Bitty said. “I don’t have his number.”

“I can give you that,” Jack said. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Jack didn’t seem to be any closer to explaining why he’d driven to Massachusetts at midnight.

Bitty poured hot water over the tea bags in the mugs, then turned to pull the tray with the mini pies from the oven.

“What’s your favorite kind of pie, then?” Bitty asked.

“Uh, I don’t really know,” Jack said. “I don’t eat a lot of pie. Do you ask everybody that?”

Bitty shrugged. “People I like,” he said. “I keep a list for people on my team. Figure they might want to keep me around longer.”

“I don’t think you really need to worry,” Jack said. “The Aeros winning percentage went up as soon as you got there, and the team scored more and gave up fewer goals with you on the ice.”

“You looked me up?” Bitty said, taking the seat opposite Jack.

“I try to keep up with my opponents.”

“You haven’t played the Aeros since February.”

It was Jack’s turn to shrug.

“You’re a better player than you give yourself credit for,” Jack said. “You’d be better if you didn’t try to hit so much, but you’re good.”

“Is that what you drove all this way to say?” Bitty asked.

“Not really. I wanted to apologize for being rude,” Jack said.

“You already did that, on the phone,” Bitty said.

“I wanted to explain,” Jack said. “I know it was only one game, and I know we didn’t play that badly. But when Marty pointed you out, I wanted to impress you.”

“I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about,” Bitty said. “I mean, look at the two of us.”

“No, I mean --”

Jack stopped and took a bite of  the pie on his plate.

“Damn, that’s good,” he said.

“I know,” Bitty said. “Go on.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Jack started again. “But Marty said he heard that maybe you weren’t straight?”

Bitty felt himself straighten up. This could be very bad, or it could be very good. Very, very good. But he didn’t need other teams targeting him, which was why the first words out of his mouth were, “I’m gonna kill Pops.”

“No,” Jack said. “I mean, it’s ok, whichever way, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Ok?” Bitty said, still not willing to give anything away.

“I think Marty and Pops were trying to be the world’s most interfering wingmen,” Jack said.

Bitty noticed that Jack hadn’t quite given anything away either, although it looked like …

“And you drove all this way to apologize … for their interfering?”

“I’m not doing a very good job of this,” Jack said. “Look, I’m going to trust you, because I like you, and Marty said Pops said you were a good guy, and I know you went to school here, and I know the reputation, and even if you are straight you wouldn’t be an asshole.”

Well, there weren’t too many other ways to interpret that.

“I’m not,” Bitty said.

“Not an asshole?” Jack said.

“Not straight,” Bitty said. “I’ve known I was gay since before I knew the word for it.”

Jack released a breath Bitty hadn’t known he was holding.

“I’m not either,” Jack said.

“Not an asshole?” Bitty arched a brow, suddenly feeling more sure of his footing.

“My behavior the other night notwithstanding?” Jack gave a rueful laugh. “Not straight. Bi, actually.”

Bitty nodded. “And there’s a reason you’re telling me this?”

“I like you,” Jack said again. “Not just as a hockey player. I like talking to you and listening to you and looking at you. If you’re willing, I’d like to get to know you better.”

Bitty felt himself melt a little bit inside, watching this beautiful man watch him while he spoke so earnestly. He reached over the table and fit his hand over Jack’s.

“I like all those things about you, too,” Bitty said. He tightened his hand. “And I like touching you. I’m pretty sure I’d like kissing you, too.”

Jack pushed his chair back from the table to make room, and Bitty got up and let himself be pulled in. The first kiss was a just a brush of lips, the second was a brief press. Then Jack tugged Bitty closer, encouraging Bitty into his lap. Bitty kissed along Jack’s jaw, coming back to Jack’s mouth when gasped and Bitty could take Jack’s lower lip and suck on it.

He pulled back briefly and said, “Yep, I was right. I do like kissing you.”

Then he let Jack gather him back in.

They stayed like that, Bitty perched on Jack’s thighs in the kitchen chair, until Jack groaned and Bitty remembered that Jack had played a game that night and must be ready to collapse.

“Come on,” Bitty said, standing up and extending a hand to Jack. “Let’s go upstairs to bed. You need to sleep.”

“Just sleep?” Jack said.

“Well, there’s always morning,” Bitty said. “But you need to rest. Just don’t look in the hallway bathroom.”

@cyn2k

@fifty-shadesofgay

@ontheavalanche​

@oceansideopus

[taetaeby]

Always In My Memory

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Genre: soldier!AU, angst and a bit of fluff

Rating: 12+

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.603

Description: Things don’t always go as planned and that is something we start to realize when we lose someone that meant the world to us.

A/N: wrote this is 30 minutes so I don’t expect it to be good but here it is, hope you enjoy :)

Seven days.

He said, no he promised that it would take only seven days and as long as you know that promise existed, you kept on believing that he’ll still come back.

The second year was approaching since his departure, but to you, it felt like a lifetime. As you were going through your everyday schedule, time seemed to fly by even slower than before. Maybe it was the thought of wanting to get things done quickly, or because you knew exactly what day it was and that was always the excitement that slowed the things down even more.

Today was the day that you anticipated for 2 years. Every day you counted the minutes until this one came and now that it’s finally the time you’ve been waiting for, you can’t seem to get yourself together as you try to create a somewhat presentable meal for your boyfriend. Everything looked so hurried to the point where no one would tell apart what you were even doing at this point.

As hard as you tried, things just didn’t want to go your way today. You could’ve known that from the beginning because you apparently forgot what his favorite meal was which lead to this mess before you. After all, two years is a long time and it is normal that you forgot about certain things that connected to him because of his absence.

“Why can’t I make this right…?” On your fourth attempt at making a somewhat decent strawberry shortcake the overwhelming of the situation became too much, resulting in you considering to give up at this point. Hair white as snow from the flour that was everywhere, the kitchen island a mess covered in eggs, sugar and what not, to your face that looked like a clown’s masterpiece. Your head hanging low as your eyes scanned the room which no one would consider kitchen at this point, a loud sigh escaping your lips while you took off your apron and took a seat on the nearby bar stool.

Sitting there by the kitchen island suddenly memories filled your mind from the day he told you he’d return…

“Aw baby, please don’t cry or else I’m going cry too and you know what I think about men who cry.” He whispered in your ear while stroking your head as you buried your face deeper into the crock of his neck, crying like the Niagara Falls. This wasn’t supposed to be a sad day in the first place. This was supposed to be a happy day and you promised him that you wouldn’t turn into a crybaby. But now you stood there in his embrace, surrounded by hundreds of people as you were crying your heart out.

“Y-you always said that m-men can cry t-too.” You managed to blurt those words out while still continuing with your sobs. Tightening his hold on you, he pulled you a bit apart before placing a soft kiss on your cheek that was stained with your earlier tears when you were still in the safety of your home.

“That’s right, but I don’t think a man should really show that emotional sight of his to everyone. As long as the person he cares the most about sees his fragile side that is all that matters. So could you make it a bit easier for me and stop to hurt me like this? I know this is hard for you, and so is it for me, but you promised me you would stay strong and not cry when we arrive here.” He said as your crying stopped for a bit and you just wanted to listen to his voice, to remember it and to make this moment you have left last just a bit longer.

With a smile still evident on his oh so magnificent face, he brought you back into his arms and started talking as quiet as possible so that you were the only one who could hear him. “What about this, I’ll make you a promise and in exchange, you won’t cry when the bus drives off?”

From the way you started to calm down in his hold, he figured you agreed to his offer and made you the promise that will keep you waiting for him. “Let’s say this means yes to my suggestion.” He chuckled because he thought that you were the cutest when you agreed to him without even having to say a word. “I’ll make you a promise that comes from the bottom of my heart and I’ll keep it until the next time we meet. I promise you my whole love, my whole heart, and soul. When I return… I promise that we’ll settle down which also means that I’ll find a new job if it makes you happy, that I’ll do anything to never ever make you shed a single tear again. I want us to start working towards our future, start with marriage and a life dedicated to one another. I want to have your DNA mixed with mine, after all, you always talk about wanting to have your own baby Tae, and I want that two with maybe one girl, another boy wouldn’t hurt anyone so that little Tae wouldn’t be alone; and then we’d have to get little Y/N also another sister an-…”

“Tae!” You cut him off when the all so familiar family crazy Tae came into the light but you weren’t mad, you were overjoyed that he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and that he had already a vision of the future.

He smiled fondly before placing a kiss on your lips, a kiss that was only filled with love. “Remember, 2 years and 7 days.”

“2 years and 7 days…” you mumbled more to yourself than him.

And just like that, he took off as a proud soldier of his country, ready to serve and to even sacrifice his life for the better of the nation… and you...

As your phone's alarm went off, indicating that you have to start getting ready and head to the Central Bus Station, you broke from your memories and hurried to get ready for the day you’ve been waiting for since his departure.

When you made it to the station there were crowds upon crowds waiting just as you for the return of their beloved one. You tried to get through them and come to the very front of the bus when you saw Jimin, Tae’s best friend who also happened to be in the same unit as your boyfriend.

Upon seeing you, a smile graced his features but as quickly as it came, it vanished just like that but of course, you didn’t notice that because you were too excited to him because if Jimin was here that meant that Taehyung was also here too, somewhere.

“Jimin!” You shouted and crashed into his arms as you gave him the most beloved hug anyone could ask for. “How are you?”

He paused for a second when you parted before speaking. “I’m great, and you?” Although he sounded anything but his usual self you ignored it because you thought that it must’ve been from the tiring bus ride home.

“That’s great.” You smiled fondly his way. “Where is Tae?”

And there is was, the question Jimin out of all people didn’t want to answer because he simply couldn’t bring himself to break your heart like that. He didn’t want to be the person that would see you cry, as he couldn’t stand to see you broken. “Y/N… I need to tell you something…”

Upon hearing the tone of his voice you knew that he was about to tell you something that you didn’t want to hear right now. “Oh, Tae is not on this bus, right?”

“Not exactly…” His expression told you that nothing good could have happened when even the always bright Jimin was too shocked by the news that you yet didn’t know.

“Then I’ll just have to wait for the other one to come…”

“Y/N… there is no other buses coming. This was the last one…”

“You’re wrong…” You turned your back to him while looking in the direction where the buses arrived. ‘He’ll surely arrive in the next one, even though he told me he was in the same unit as Jimin but maybe they were put into different groups and that’s why he’s late. Yeah, that must be it. I just need to stay here and wait for him. He will come. I know he will. He promised me he would.’

“Y/N…” Jimin said while approaching you. Your back was still facing him but you could hear every single word he said.

As you stood there in silence, you didn’t even notice that it was starting to get dark, that you two were the only people left and the rain just had to make this situation even worse. The realization of the situation finally seemed to hit you which lead to tears that you didn’t notice you were shading. Your heart felt broken. You were broken. The emotions you kept inside all these years couldn’t leave their home even now.

When Jimin pulled you into a hug, you could finally let the pain go. And that’s what you did. ‘You stupid, stupid Tae… you just had to do this to me… I’ll never forget you… You’ll always be my one and only… even if you are no longer here with me, you’re still the one that I’ll keep always in my heart…’

Always and forever…

[faceplant-ux]

Big Dog, Big City, Bad UX

Today I confirmed with the ophthalmologist (that’s an eye-disorder-doctor/surgeon) that my 7-year-old Bernese mutt, Astrid, would need surgery. A benign mass has been steadily growing on the rim of her eyelid for several months, and $proghub and I were referred to this specialist after the mass got one millimetre too bold. The most emotionally trying part of the process was not the steep cost, nor the fact that the mass was actually two masses, or what would evidently be a painful recovery period for Astrid in the cone-of-shame. It was getting to the drop-in clinic in the first place. 

Here were the parameters we were dealing with:

First, the ophthalmology clinic of choice received patients from 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. 

Second, we didn’t have a car. The TTC (subway system in Toronto) allows pets to travel on leash or in carriers during off-peak hours, defined as “before 6:30 am; 10 am to 3:30 pm; after 7pm”. Obviously it’s easier to bend this rule with a smaller dog in a travel crate. Astrid weighed 60 pounds.

Third, according to Google Maps, it would take me 50 minutes-1 hour to get to the clinic from home by transit. Based on previous rides on that very route, I knew delays and increased traffic would be likely.

Finally, taking an Uber/Lyft instead was estimated to be a 15 minute journey at a budget-friendly price of $18. 

Conclusion: For maximum sleep and minimum transit time, take a Lyft at 7:30 am, arrive at the clinic before 8 am, and expect to wait about 2 hours at most. Cool. 

In the past I had no issues riding in a Lyft with Astrid, so long as I called ahead to let them know I’d have a large dog with me. A driver had the right to decline the ride in the interest of comfort or cleanliness, but so far none of them had.

Except today. I called the first driver right away as soon as we were matched and they apologized profusely for not wanting to take the dog. No hard feelings. But then the driver hid out nearby anyway, and didn’t cancel the ride despite my calling him back asking him to do so. It was impossible for me to cancel the ride now that he had “arrived” and was “waiting”. He let the wait timer finish before cancelling the ride and driving off. Annoying; that was three minutes I had to wait before calling another ride.

The second driver agreed to take Astrid when I confirmed over the phone. Great! He arrived, saw her, and said he had misunderstood, and he couldn’t take her. And then again, didn’t cancel the ride right away waiting for the five minute timer to run out — thankfully he figured it out eventually after rolling down the window to ask if I could cancel it (again, I couldn’t), and cancelled after two minutes.

While writing this post I discovered that I was charged a $5.00 no-show fee for allegedly standing up the first driver, which I had to get refunded from Lyft in the form of credit. 

UX questions abound:

Why was it difficult for both drivers to cancel the ride in the Lyft app? 

In the case of the first driver, did they intentionally let the timer run to 0:00 in order to get a no-show cancellation fee out of me? I would have likely missed the fact that I had been charged a no-show fee.

Why does Lyft’s chat bot automatically issue the refund as Lyft credit rather than a credit card refund? I feel I could have gotten in touch with customer support to get the latter, but $5 was a trivial enough amount to not do so. Are there risks with giving the customer the choice of how they would like to receive their refund?

It was now 8:03 a.m. I called one of the local cab companies. They had always accepted large dogs; I even double-checked over the phone with the dispatcher! The driver arrived after the promised 5-10 minute wait. I herded Astrid into the car and heard the tail end of a conversation over the comm, “—listen if you aren’t comfortable and don’t want to have a pet say something, we’re here to help!” I pretended not to hear. The driver asked if I had a cover for the dog since the seats were vinyl. Um, no? He fetched a jacket from his trunk. “Someone forgot it, just put it under your dog.” Fine. 

It was a silent ride, except for the radio going off again: “How long is your fare?” "I’ll get back to you later,” my driver discreetly responded.

We got to the clinic and it was now nearly quarter to nine. I wiped off the back seats as best as I could and tossed the now furry, dusty jacket into the trunk. Astrid and I entered a packed clinic, the many waiting room chairs full of dogs and their owners. It was something to behold; at least half of the poor canines were wearing cones, and half of those coned canines had eye stitches. What was Astrid in for? I wondered.

The reception cheerfully informed me of the paperwork I had to fill, and as I felt my frayed nerves calming she added, “It’ll be a 3 to 4 hour wait.”

“OK, that’s fine!”, I said in my typical singsong. Yet inside:

I killed time by walking Astrid for about 2 hours. The only place that had set out a dog water bowl was the local cannabis shop. They invited Astrid inside and cooed over her eagerly. That experience alone made the morning much less crappy for me.

The cab ride I had taken reminded me of a time when $proghub was ushering Astrid over to dog boarding, and his cab driver hit another car. He blamed our dog for distracting him, despite her already having long finished her investigative sniffing.

You can provide for a large dog’s every need, but societal discrimination remains:

Finding an apartment that will accept your dog. Ontario law states that “no-pets” clauses are void (huzzah! 🙌), but that doesn’t stop landlords from putting them into leases or denying your application once they find out you have one. $proghub and I are moving to Montréal, and in Québec there isn’t an equivalent law, which means we have to search extra hard for a place that will accept Astrid. Many ads will say 1) no pets, 2) cats only, no dogs, or 3) cats and small dogs under 1x pounds accepted, no large dogs. This sucks because Astrid is non-destructive, quiet, and trained to do her business outside — she’ll even actively seek out *grass* over concrete, which we didn’t teach her — and that is what most landlords want anyway. 9/10 likelihood the yapping dog in your condo is a small one. Bonus points if it’s a Pomeranian or a Shiba. Both are wonderful breeds, but improperly socialized, well...

No dogs in many public spaces. This is more understandable. But how many times have you been in a store and seen a small dog in a purse or under one’s arm? Meanwhile the large dog stays tied to a pole outside, susceptible to theft (especially at risk he/she is outgoing and easily bribed)! 

Lack of transportation options, without a car. A lot of transit systems don’t accept pets unless they’re in carriers, which is impossible with a large dog. Thankfully, GO Transit recently changed their rules after a successful pilot in summer of 2018 where they allowed leashed dogs on their buses and trains with restrictions (pets needed to stay on the lower level of the vehicles, among other common-sense measures). And as already mentioned, the TTC accepts leashed dogs during off-peak hours. My in-laws live in Fort Erie, so if we want to take Astrid to visit them, they drive the 2+ hours to Toronto to pick up the three of us. Except in summer, when GO Transit is running their limited Niagara train service, and we get to take our pooch along. 

Lack of off-leash dog parks. The nearest off-leash dog park to us, despite living in bustling North York, is about a 40-minute walk down Yonge Street, requiring passage underneath a bridge supporting what is allegedly the busiest highway in North America, the 401 (Business Insider). Once $proghub and I decided to bring Astrid to the magical Sherwood Park in Toronto, which took us about 50 minutes by transit on a weekend. Constituents in my neighbourhood petitioned for an off-leash area to be placed in one of the three(!!) parks in my area, all within a 1 km radius of each other, and one of my neighbours, a seasoned arbitrator, even put together some costing for fencing solutions. The proposal was turned down. To add insult to injury last mayoral election, the leading council candidate in my area, a young mother endorsed by the then current, retiring councillor, promised to install a dog park. That dream dissipated once the retiring councillor changed his mind on retiring and promptly beat her in re-election. So many dogs, big and small, in my neighbourhood, with nowhere to play.

What to do? The solution to all my big-dog woes is to be less eco-friendly, of course! 

Seriously though!  If I buy a house, which occupies more land per family than an apartment, I can avoid all pet-landlord issues by not having a landlord!  Since public transit and cabs/rideshares don’t perfectly accommodate my dog, I can save the frustration by having Astrid drool outside the window of my very own Bonewagon!

Sounds ridiculous, right? For the first 3 years of Astrid’s life, we lived in a large 2-bedroom apartment with plenty of space for her to roam. Around the back of the building, there was a large, forested area that she happily explored (and pooped in). The vet was a very short walk away, cabs or friends’ cars were available for short journeys and driving lessons, and the in-laws lived much closer so picking us up took about half the time.

However, circumstances changed, as they do. We moved back to Toronto for me to finish my degree. The cost of rent in Toronto was nearly twice that of Waterloo, and our living quarters changed from about 1000 square feet to 615. Because of the extensive, pet-friendly transit system and the cost of practising driving with the car share, I let my G2 license expire rather than practise intermittently and nervously towards my full G license, since we wouldn’t be buying a car even if I had attained it. Of course Astrid was coming with us — we weren’t going to be one of those families that abandoned their dog through moving. 

Our building is extremely pet friendly, housing Great Danes, Labs and Huskies, and even a sweet, massive Saint Bernard, along with many more “apartment-sized” breeds. Without a doubt, the community is richer for it. People know each other by their dogs’ names. Lobby bathroom accidents are extremely rare. When a resident puts their old dog to sleep, the loss is also felt by neighbours, because you’ve seen that dog for the past few years. You’ve watched them become all warty and grey and scabby and slow — they’d wag their butts when you’d pet them, in spite of their arthritic hips.

Owning a large dog is a pretty normal North American thing to do. I just wish that as dog owners, we didn’t have to jump through so many hoops in order to enjoy the friendship of these unconditionally loyal creatures. With all the shit we humans put ourselves through, we could use the extra love.

Dog tax:

[bomberqueen17]

Phooey. Today has been a lackluster day, to put it mildly.

1) forgot my coffee on the counter on the way to work, ugh

2) unceasing anxiety over how ungraceful America’s fall from world superpowerdom is being, and how many people are going to get killed by it, Jesus fucking Christ. Bring back the fucking guillotine already. 

3) I’d been absently planning on taking up transcription/subtitling work online for extra cash since I’m not getting paid for the farm work like I’d hoped, but Rev turned me down and said only 12% of applicants are accepted so I should work on my grammar (!) and reapply in 45 days (!!) so-- I’d really just absentmindedly assumed that was something you could just pick up, but apparently they’re extremely choosy? I would bet actual cash that my application was flawless, but they must just be full up at the moment. I don’t know. The other site’s call for captioners used to ask for English language and now doesn’t anymore, so I doubt they’ll want me either. Wahh, I was so foolish to think that money would just work itself out. I don’t need very much, I mostly just need gas and insurance and tolls and car payment, and I’m incredibly lucky, I know, but I’m going to be struggling to get that if I can’t come up with an income source. Maybe I’ll have to cut down how much time I spend on the farm after all. I’ll give it a shot for June, anyway.  (They were going to pay me, for real, this year, for really real, but CSA signups are down and they took such a hit on the loss of the pigs and some chickens too, there was an Incident in the chick brooder, and they’re going to have to take out an operating loan, and i’m like, do not borrow money to pay me that is counterproductive, and I was really counting on picking up something freelance and remote and I clearly was counting on it too much.)

4) I just in a fit of pique went through the entire Duolingo Spanish program-- I’ve already completed it, but you know how the strength bars deplete over time? My “fluency” never went above 38%, and now it was down to 30% even after I’d completed the entire program, so today I went back and filled in all the strength bars. All of them. At this point the entire program is filled in gold, I’ve completed the entire thing, there are no more exercises waiting for me to do-- and I’m still at 30% fluency. So, I don’t know how they measure it, but I’d really been looking forward to having some kind of accomplishment, and I’d figured it would at least go up one measly percentage point if I finished the entire program, right? 

No.

5) I made pulled pork in the crock pot and it’s such a beautiful day that all I want to do is go to the hot dog joint down by the Niagara River and people-watch and sit in the sun, and i can’t, because I already made dinner. When I’m at the farm, I cook dinner almost every night, but Dude goes out and eats takeout, and so when I’m here, he doesn’t want to go out or eat takeout, he just wants a home-cooked meal-- so I’ve cooked every night this week, and will until I leave again, and dang it all I really want is cheap takeout but that’s all he ever eats so he can’t stomach the idea of it. I should really leave him with some premade meals or something but I am not his goddamn mother and he is an adult, if he’s tired of takeout he can make himself something. Also I know for a fact that if I pre-make him anything and put it in tupperware he’ll forget it exists and I’ll have to throw it away when I get back. Ask me how I know! Go ahead and ask me. 

6) One of only three programs I ever use on my ancient work computer stopped working today, apparently irretrievably-- I’d reinstall it, but the DVD drive in that computer won’t function anymore. (I think it’s just stuck shut but I have no idea how to get it open; I already tried prying it, and that was months ago.) So I can’t, I just have to, I don’t know, somehow figure out a way around about half of my job. 

So, I’m grumpy. I’m just real grumpy. Maybe we can go out for ice cream tonight. Maybe I’m too grumpy to live. Grrrr. 

[itsworn]

Ultrarare 1 of 7 Canadian 1965 Ford Falcon Hi-Po Was Built for the Dragstrip

When physics teacher Graeme Thompson sat down at Little Brothers Ford in Weston, Ontario, just north of Toronto, to order his 1965 Falcon Futura, salesperson Ole Sorensen told him, “I’ll place the order, but I don’t think they’re going to build it.”

That’s because Thompson had opted for a little-known performance package that included the 271hp 289 Hi-Po engine, Top Loader four-speed gearbox, and Traction Lok–equipped 9-inch rear axle. That would be the K-code engine package in Mustang or Fairlane terms (minus the Traction Lok), but for the Falcon, it was simply conveyed as code 992. And it was only offered in Canada. No American-built Falcons were built with the package, and the K-code was never officially available with it north of the border.

brouwer-1965-ford-falcon-hipo-rear-three-quarter Nick Brouwer was a fan of the racecar Teacher’s Pet back in the 1960s and was “thrilled” when he was able to buy it in 2003.

As with other factory high-performance packages of the day, the intent was to make the car legal in NHRA Stock Eliminator racing. Problem was, only seven of the cars were built by Ford at the Oakville, Ontario, assembly plant: three pillared coupes and four hardtops, like this one. NHRA demanded at least 50 to qualify for a Stock Eliminator class. As a result, they were relegated to the Factory Experimental (FX) class.

brouwer-1965-ford-falcon-hipo-engine-overall Although the original is long gone, the engine is an internally authentic 289 Hi-Po, dressed with more contemporary induction components.

Knowing the cars would go straight to the strip, Ford truncated the normal two-year/ 24,000-mile warranty to 90 days/4,000 miles.

A modern, Quick Fuel-prepared 750-cfm four-barrel atop an Edelbrock aluminum intake takes the place today of the original 600-cfm Holley and iron intake of the original 271hp engine.

Racing the car was the very reason Thompson ordered the Hi-Po Falcon. He wasted little time in attaching a tow bar and pulling it to dragstrips around Ontario, often bringing home trophies for his weekend’s work. For the first couple of years, Thompson was sponsored by a local shop named Weston Race and Custom. When the sponsorship money dried up, he dubbed the car Teacher’s Pet and soldiered on independently.

All told, Thompson campaigned Teacher’s Pet for about eight years, typically running in the mid- and low-13s. He even worked his way through a 24-car class field, including a 390-powered Galaxie in the final round, to win the Niagara Gold Cup Nationals in 1969 at Niagara Dragway. It was one of 30 trophies the car earned in its eight years on the strip.

The restored interior matches the original, well-trimmed Futura cabin in Palomino, including the bucket seats and console.

It’s no surprise Thompson was able to drive around so many competitors. With a curb weight of right around 2,800 pounds, the car had a strong power-to-weight ratio of around 10.7:1. The 1965 Nova SS, by comparison, tipped the scales nearly 200 pounds heavier, and its 327 engine was down 20 hp to the 289 Hi-Po.

As it did many racers of the day, the advent of bracket racing prompted Thompson to put away his helmet. He sold Teacher’s Pet in 1973, and it changed hands a number of times before Nick Brouwer acquired it in 2003. More than a fan of the factory Hi-Po Falcons, however, Brouwer was a fan of the racecar.

A Hurst-shifted, close-ratio four-speed was standard fare with the 289 Hi-Po engine and could be matched with a range of rear-axle gears, up to 4.11.

“Starting around 1967 and for the next couple of years, I would walk past the car every day on my way to school,” says Brouwer. “Graeme worked on the car in his driveway. I don’t think the rest of his neighbors appreciated that, but I sure did.”

Brouwer even saw the car run at Golden Horseshoe Dragway (later renamed Toronto International Dragway), then watched it drive around his hometown after Thompson sold it, as a succession of his friends traded ownership. Although the car stayed local for a while, it eventually moved away. But not too far. Brouwer recognized it immediately when it popped up in a local trader publication in 2003.

The 60-series, 15-inch drag radials fill out the stock rear fenders, while a set of CalTrac bars used with the stock rear leaf springs keep axle hop to a minimum.

He says, “It had been painted black from the original Prairie Bronze, and the Palomino interior had also been changed to black, but it was definitely the Teacher’s Pet. I was thrilled to buy it. What it really deserved was to be restored to its original racing condition.”

Fortunately, the car’s early years as a dedicated track tool kept it off the street in the salted months, helping preserve the body. The miles were comparatively low, too. To date, the odometer shows 54,800 miles, the first few thousand, as it is said, racked up a quarter-mile at a time. The original color was resprayed, and temporary reproduction “Teacher’s Pet” graphics were added to the sides. They were ultimately removed, and discreet versions of the racecar name now reside on the rear quarter-windows. It’s a subtle but knowing tribute to the car’s heritage.

The car also rolls on updated wheels and tires, but it carries that classic big-and-little dragstrip stance. With a deep oil pan and a set of CalTrac bars out back, the effect is a nice blend of restomod and vintage drag car. Frankly, we just don’t see many Falcons with such a look, and it’s refreshing.

The original “Teacher’s Pet” graphics are honored in quarter-window decals.

Like so many dedicated racecars of that golden era, the original 289 Hi-Po engine had expired long before, and a replacement engine was nestled between the shock towers. Brouwer had a correct replacement build featuring all of the 271hp goodies, including a solid-lifter camshaft, heads with smaller chambers that supported a 10.5:1 compression ratio, a dual-points distributor, the appropriate crankshaft, and more. It was all to enable 6,000-rpm engine speeds, and it was a potent combination.

Vintage participation stickers show that the rare Falcon got around in the early 1980s. The Street Machine Nats were in Indianapolis in 1981, while the Motion event was a Toronto show that ran from 1974 to 1989.

Externally, the engine varies slightly today, with an Edelbrock Victor Jr. aluminum intake, a Quick Fuel 750-cfm Holley, finned valve covers, and a few other bolt-on items.

After the restoration was complete, Teacher’s Pet was displayed at the 2008 Speed-O-Rama in Toronto, as well as the Toronto Performance World Car Show, where Brouwer reunited it with Thompson for the first time in decades.

“It was a great moment,” he says. “And after the show, I took the car over to Graeme’s house. He still lived in the same one I walked by more than 40 years earlier. He and his son took the car out for a few blasts down the street. It was just like 1967 again.”

There’s not a K to be found on the Canadian data plate. The 992 engine code doesn’t correspond with other standard engine codes for Canadian Fords and is an indicator of the special-order option.

Brouwer has accumulated copious documentation on the car, including photos and notes of Thompson rebuilding the engine in his living room, a letter from NHRA indicating the low production excluded the car from Stock Eliminator classes, and, curiously, a copy of the original dealer invoice, which was shown in the Jan. 2002 issue of MCR. It was part of a story on another of the seven don’t-call-it-a-K-Code Hi-Po Falcons.

“I’m not sure how the invoice for my specific car ended up in the story, because it wasn’t for the car in the story,” Brouwer says. “But there it was, which prompted my contact to the magazine.”

For the record, we don’t know, either. It’s an MCR mystery dating back to the days when photo shoots involved a brick of Fujichrome slide film and when flip phones were still a thing.

Today, the car is part of Brouwer’s enviable muscle car collection. To be honest, his true penchant is for Mopars, but the Falcon is one of those cars that, like many of us, has burned into the brain: the muscle car you saw in your formative years that you just had to have one day. Brouwer made that happen, with one of the rarest high-performance Fords on either side of the U.S./Canada border.

At a Glance 1965 Falcon Hi-Po Owned by: Nick Brouwer Restored by: Chris’s Auto Body (ext. and int.); Autoserv 98 (engine) Engine: 289ci/271hp Hi-Po V-8 Transmission: Top Loader close-ratio 4-speed manual Rearend: 9-inch with Traction Lok (Detroit anti-spin) differential and 4.11 gears Interior: Palomino vinyl bucket seats with center console and Hurst shifter Wheels: 15-inch Cragar Street Pro five-slot Tires: 5.60-15 front runner front, P235/60R15 Mickey Thompson ET Street R rear Special parts: Factory performance package with 289 Hi-Po engine and driveline, including transmission; 9-inch rear axle with limited-slip differential; heavy-duty suspension; heavy-duty 10-inch drum brakes

Racing Days

Original owner Graeme Thompson showed the car in 1966 at the Speed-O-Rama car show. It’s the same event at which current owner Nick Brouwer reintroduced the car to Thompson in 2008.

Graeme Thompson, a physics teacher himself, hand-painted the lab-coat-wearing namesake character on the Falcon’s flanks, circa 1968.

Teacher’s Pet at Cayuga Dragway (now part of Toronto Motorsports Park), circa 1968 or 1969. Note the full house for the heads-up action.

Here’s the letter from NHRA tech director W.E. Dismuke indicating that the low production rate of the 271hp Falcons would keep them out of Stock Eliminator and push them to Factory Experimental.

The post Ultrarare 1 of 7 Canadian 1965 Ford Falcon Hi-Po Was Built for the Dragstrip appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[fitnesstoldbybagel]

Mental Toughness

I’m warning you now. This isn’t going to be about my running, my most recent race, my stupid long run, or my weight.

This one is about my mental sanity.

For those of you that don’t know, I flew to Florida last Saturday literally one week ago today. My dad and I have a place in Florida, and it’s been something I’ve valued coming to ever since I was a young kid. We started coming in 2002. It was always my mother, my father and I. For years we did Disney, we did Universal, we did the tourist stuff. In years past, I’ve come down to spend time with my dad for a week at a time for one of his weeks of spring break.

First of all, I love that I have a job that allows me to do so, both with vacation time and financially.

I remember writing a very similar blog in April of 2015, when I played golf with my dad before I was stuck on an airplane. Sorry in advance if I repeat anything.

I look at going to Florida as a vacation before I get there. When I’m there, I use it as an excuse to wake up early and run, or to play golf, or to drink a lot of beer and hangout in the sun and get burned (Every year, never fails). It’s not a vacation when I’m there; it’s a way to re-live my childhood. It will never be mom and dad and I walking for hours through Disney World to stand in lines, or experiencing Orlando, or anything like that. But it’s a memory that I’ll always cherish.

My dad and I do all sorts of stuff together that we never used to do. I attribute a lot of that to my mother no longer being in his life. I think that she caused him a lot of stress (as did I, but that’s not the point here). Now that he’s doing his own thing, we can enjoy father/son activities that we never enjoyed together: golf, hunting, fishing, backpacking, traveling, beer, sports...etc. This week we had so much fun it was insane. We played five rounds of golf, we drank so much terrible beer, we fished for bass and gar in the Florida fresh waters on kayaks, we had a great time.

I’m not sure what caused me to write this; I dropped my dad off at the airport this morning about an hour and a half before his flight to BUF and I was overcome with sadness. I got back in the rental car after I hugged him goodbye and tears just started streaming down my face. I drove by the National rental car return I think four times. You see, my dad isn’t a very expressive heartfelt man. I think I’ve seen him cry once - the day he dropped me off at college and told me to not get AIDS (verbatim). We both cried that day. Since then I’ve probably cried 650 times, and I doubt he has once. I get this same feeling every time I pull out of the driveway in WNY, or every time I turn onto the hardtop road at the camp and beep my horn twice to signify “see you soon.”

That infamous Kulbago Hug goodbye is always so much to me. It brings me back to August 30th, 2009 when he dropped me off at RIT, or when I took my first deer on my own in 2014 and had to put it in my own car to drive it home, or when he hugged me for longer than normal to say “Congratulations, you did it kid” at my college graduation in May 2014, or when I played my final college hockey game in 2010, or when my mom was arrested in 2005 and he told me I could be anything I want to be and that it wasn’t my fault. Or when I picked up my brand new car in January 2014, and the first person I called on Bluetooth was my dad...he said “That’s awesome man, you really deserve it!” That hug means so much to me.

Normally I’m a pretty good golfer. I consistently score in the 70s, and I think this week my best round was a 78. I had some really bad shots out there though, and I lost a lot of golf balls. My dad played pretty bad. But when he got mad, I just didn’t say anything. I knew he would come around; I always come around, and we always come around. I think I spent over $1,000 between golf, beer, groceries, gas, travel, etc. I don’t care. I was able to spend a week with my father in Florida in my 20s. I don’t care if it’s golf Florida, if it’s running in Niagara Falls, if it’s hunting at the camp, if it’s lobster in Maine...I’ve never actually had the wherewithal to appreciate it for what it is. This is me finally recognizing that it’s way more than just an activity in a place.

It’s an opportunity to show someone what they did for you. How they created and molded you. How everything they did for you attributes and is a direct cause of your successes. How you’re not hitting a stupid white ball on a golf course, you’re spending time with someone who gave you everything you have. It doesn’t matter if you birdie or if you take a 16. It doesn’t matter if you lose golf balls or if you throw clubs. The end result is not the same as the journey.

Switching gears for a second; I’m not sure what really causes me to get so sad when I leave. Maybe it’s partially knowing my mom isn’t around anymore and we’re no longer a family. Maybe it’s just being alone and not knowing how to cope. Maybe it’s just my incredible anxiety about flying (the process, not the actual flying part). Maybe it’s my over-analysis of everything...however!

I think it’s normal to cry. I think it’s normal to miss your parents and miss your past. I think it’s normal to get emotional from time to time. I think it’s okay to be affected by a farewell, or by quote unquote abandonment. I’m not sure what causes me to get so sad. When I leave Alise - I get the same feeling. It’s much much stronger when I leave my dad, or when I see my mom. I get it all the time.

This was a total ramble, I hope that at least one of you readers will reach out and say “hey, I read your tumblr post, and you’re not the only one who gets sad.”

Thanks for reading.