#I’m talking about a specific type of transplant

[vicontheinternet]

The rant I could go one about black Houston transplant and black gentrifies in Houston

[phawareglobal]

Rajan Saggar, MD - phaware® interview 463

Dr. Rajan Saggar, a pulmonologist at the University of California in Los Angeles, discusses the complications of pulmonary hypertension in various lung diseases. He explains that pulmonary hypertension can either be its own disease or can complicate other conditions such as heart disease or lung tissue diseases like emphysema or fibrosis. Dr. Saggar mentions a recent FDA-approved medication for pulmonary hypertension complicating lung tissue diseases, and ongoing research to develop more treatments.

My name is Rajan Saggar. I'm a pulmonologist. I work out of the University of California in Los Angeles, where I actually did my training. I also span the advanced lung disease area of medicine, so I'm also heavily active in the transplant world, as well. I co-direct the program at UCLA with Dr. Richard Channick. I've been there now since the early 2000s, so it's been a good ride. One of the topics we will address today would be specifically pulmonary hypertension complicating various types of lung disease. I get to see the natural history of those types of diseases as well as just regular PAH. All the different kinds of pulmonary hypertension, all groups and how some of those patients unfortunately do progress over time. Some of these unfortunate patients regardless of all the medications we try to use or get on board, eventually need a lung transplant. I have a perspective, which I think is a little bit different from others. As all of us know with this pulmonary hypertension business, high blood pressure in the lung is a final common pathway for a lot of different diseases. It either comes by itself as its own disease or it can complicate other types of diseases. So, for instance, it can complicate heart disease. In other words, where the pulmonary hypertension is a consequence of the heart disease. Then, what we're talking about here is pulmonary hypertension complicating an underlying lung disease. Pulmonary hypertension is a lung disease. It involves the blood vessels, but it can actually be the consequence or it can complicate what we call parenchymal lung disease. The parenchyma means the actual lung tissue itself. So if you have a lung tissue problem, that lung tissue problem sometimes can be complicated by pulmonary hypertension. The lung tissue problems that we're talking about, generally speaking, most common one is emphysema, or sometimes we call it COPD. Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease comes in many flavors, but emphysema is one type of COPD. It turns out that pulmonary hypertension can complicate the course of patients who have COPD or emphysema. Not all patients who have COPD or emphysema develop pulmonary hypertension. There's a select group that develop it, and we're always trying to figure out who is more predisposed compared to others. Another kind of lung disease of the lung tissue, if you will, are diseases that scar the lung. The word in medicine for scarring is we call it fibrosis. That's a fancy word for scarring. Then sometimes, you may hear the term interstitial lung disease. Interstitium is one part of the lung where you tend to develop this scarring process or fibrosis. Interstitial lung disease and fibrosis are on a spectrum. It's a type of lung tissue disease. Just like the COPD emphysema type of lung tissue disease, this particular type, the interstitial lung disease fibrosis lung tissue problem can also be complicated by pulmonary hypertension. It turns out that for years we've tried to use different medications to try to treat that type of pulmonary hypertension, specifically complicating the lung tissue diseases. In our attempts have failed several times over; however, there is a recent arrival of a medication that we also use in regular pulmonary hypertension, where you don't have a lung tissue problem, where we were able to use the same medicine. Luckily, it actually did work in patients who specifically have this lung tissue problem, this interstitial lung disease or fibrosis or scarring of the lung complicated by pulmonary hypertension. We used a pulmonary hypertension medication to try to work on the pulmonary hypertension complicating this lung tissue problem. Now, that's FDA approved. It's the first medication that's now approved in this particular type of pulmonary hypertension, which is cool. At this point now, since there's one medication that's hit the market specifically for this fibrosis, scarring of the lung disease complicated by pulmonary hypertension, there's a lot of interest by other companies in drug development who are trying to look into other ways or other pathways to help folks with the pulmonary hypertension piece complicating this scarring of the lung disease. What's interesting is some of the medications may actually work on not just the pulmonary hypertension part, but you might get a twofer. In other words, the medication actually helps with preventing progression of the scarring. There's some thoughts that there's certain medications that might be able to hit both problems, because the patients we're talking about here have two lung problems. They have a scarring of the lung problem and they have a high blood pressure in the lung problem. It would be ideal to have a medication that either reverses or helps to improve or doesn't allow progression of the scarring, as well as helps the pulmonary hypertension piece, the high blood pressure piece, which would be really great for patients. Right now, the medication that's approved that I mentioned earlier, the one single medication we have is inhaled. There's a big push to use something that's inhaled, so it has direct delivery to the lung. A lot of companies are interested in looking at this not just from a new medication standpoint, but using something that's inhaled, which the medical community feels may be the best way to deliver such a medication even though some of these medications can be given orally or through the veins or a lot of different ways to give medications as one might predict. But for lung diseases involving the actual lung tissue, the inhalational route seems to have gained a lot of momentum, and that's where the field's going. The scarring of the lung diseases are considered to be an orphan lung disease. The idea is you have less than 200,000 cases in the US at any given time, the definition of an orphan lung disease. Then, you're talking about that disease being complicated by the high blood pressure or pulmonary hypertension, which affects a fraction of those patients. But what's interesting is some of the work that's been looked at in terms of following patients with the scarring disease to see if they develop pulmonary hypertension, if they don't have it on the initial evaluation, the overwhelming majority will go on to develop some degree of the high blood pressure problem. Then, the question is, does it matter how high your blood pressure is before one of these medications can actually help you? In other words, a lot of people will have a mild variety, but then even a smaller group will have more of the moderate severe variety. That's where we've seen most of the medications work for the high blood pressure piece complicating the scarring. But now, there's a push to see, well, maybe if we treat these patients earlier, even when they have a mild problem. Or, for instance, if they just have scarring, we just mentioned earlier maybe a medication can prevent both. So if someone just has scarring and no high blood pressure and you use one of these medicines, maybe you could prevent the development of the high blood pressure problems. None of this is in stone. It's all evolving. We're looking and thinking out of the box with all this stuff. I've always said the patients who we see who have lung tissue diseases, particularly when it's progressive, and even if it's not, pulmonary hypertension patients too, high blood pressure patients, when you combine the two, the double whammy I call it, where you have two lung diseases, generally speaking, are patients with advanced lung disease, they're just a special group of patients in the sense that they're more than happy to sort of give to the scientific endeavor. They understand that they have diseases that don't have obvious cures. They are interested, obviously, in helping themselves, but also in helping move the scientific community forward. You can imagine to do any of these studies, you need willing patients. You need patients who are willing to put themselves into a study where they might not get an active medication. It's disconcerting when you think about it. If you're going to enter a clinical study, and remember a lot of these studies we do in medicine, they're so-called blinded. The doctors don't know what the patient's getting and the patients don't know what they're getting. But we all know that they could be getting one of two things. One thing could be the active drug that's being studied, where we're trying to get some experience and some data so that we can prove that something works or doesn't work. But the other arm of the study is where they're getting not the real drug. They're getting some what we call placebo, which they're going to get for some amount of time. You have to be a special person to enroll in a study and to want to put yourself on the line, so to say. Now granted, there's not a lot out there as it were, but still some people feel very uncomfortable with the concept. But the studies are designed in a way such that if someone has a worsening of their status while they're in the study, of course, we don't know if they're getting the active drug or placebo, but while they're in the study, the studies are designed, and folks should know this, such that if they are to progress and meet criteria for progression or worsening, and those are preset criteria. They're usually pretty forgiving in the sense that we will pull them out of this study, and then they can go into what's called an open label extension, where they would get the active drug regardless of what they were getting to begin with because no one knows. We would assume that they're not necessarily getting the drug. They may have been getting the drug, but the point is after that point that they got worsening of their condition, everyone would get the drug. They would continue to be followed as part of what they call an open label extension to the main study. My only point in all this is that we as the medical community in this setting want to move the field forward. We can't do that without patients who are willing to enroll in such studies. I want to give props to the patients. The majority of the patients we deal with are more than willing to help. They're really moving the needle to help folks in the future and hopefully help themselves, but it's a selfless act. I think at the end of the day, we just want the listeners to know, we're very much committed to trying to prevent and decrease the need for lung transplantation from any lung disease. There's so many different ones that can progress and eventually require a lung transplant, because when we have no medical options, then we take the surgical option, which is the last thing we want to do. No one actually says, "Oh, I wish I could have a lung transplant," obviously, but at the end of the day, it is some light at the end of the tunnel. Having said that, our job and goal all the time is to get medical options to, number one, help people, improve people, et cetera, get people better, having full lives and getting back to their lives, knowing that they have a chronic disease. Of course, a cure would be amazing, but even just to slow down the process or keep what you got in terms of your lung function would be amazing. But what we also really want to do is really minimize the folks who need a lung transplant or hopefully obliterate it. As we sit here today, unfortunately, lung transplant still remains the last option. That whole process of transitioning to we have no medical therapy, we need to commit to a lung transplant, that's a whole other discussion and a very difficult one for patients, because it's scary. It's really scary. Our job is to help people not miss the boat and basically realize that their options may be dwindling sometimes. Some of these patients have to go to lung transplant. But our overall overarching goal is to decrease the number of transplants. Actually, that's what's happened as the pulmonary hypertension, high blood pressure medications in the lung have rolled out over the years, the need for lung transplant, for pulmonary hypertension, the pure disease of high blood pressure in the lung has gone down. That's a nice thing to see. My name is Rajan Saggar, and I'm aware my patients are rare.

Learn more about pulmonary hypertension trials at www.phaware.global/clinicaltrials. Follow us on social @phaware Engage for a cure: www.phaware.global/donate #phaware Share your story: info@phaware.com #phawareMD @UCLAHealth

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

[nocturnalghoul]

Tell us more about ghoul blood, I want to know about weird xenobiology. Or xenohematology, I guess, but blood is part of biology.

Gladly!!!! I went full nerd mode on this because surprising nobody, being at work doing blood stuffs was a great time to think about blood stuffs and SEVERELY overcomplicate things but I had so much fun I don’t care.

I put it under a readmore cause it got kinda long. I am a girlie (kinda) with a lot of thoughts!

To start here are some thoughts about RBC and transfusion biology:

I had talked before about how element relates to blood typing, and if they were part of the same grouping system or their own separate systems and I finally decided each element would be their own antigen families on the red blood cell. I think that makes it much more interesting because then you could technically have a ghoul that would be compatible with an element so to say, but might not actively exhibit the element. A ghoul could also then receive blood outside of their element in an emergency as long as they haven’t made an antibody to that element before (crossmatch time!).

Now quintessence ghouls are fun! In real immunohematology there is a uncommon phenomenon called a “Fy(b) GATA”, which essentially is somebody who exhibits the Fy(b) antigen on their tissue cells, but the gene coding for it has a mutation in it so that that antigen degrades and cannot properly encode on the red blood cells. A similar concept happens as a natural occurrence with quintessence ghouls so that on their actual tissue cells that element is present, but unless they have a secondary element, there’s not an elemental antigen on their RBCs. This essentially makes them the perfect universal donor for both RBCs AND plasma! (Fun fact in humans, ABO type comparability for RBCs and plasma are inverse of each other. So like AB patients can get any type RBCs but only AB plasma). Any sort of quintessence multi or hybrid would still have their secondary element(s) on the rbc though, but I like to think that quintessence is more of a recessive element and while it might be able to co-express with another element, that other element would be dominant.

I have also said before that Dews elemental transition would work sort of like a bone marrow transplant. Expanding on this to say that therefore his red cells would look like a fire ghoul (thanks Ifrit for being such a lovely donor) and his plasma looks like a water ghoul still.

Intermission blood thoughts: I think that once placed into a human vessel, there’s this weird 90 day period where all the old human blood left in the vessel gets gradually replaced by ghoul blood and they can’t really tap into their element until then.

Actual hematology thoughts: Ghoul blood is straight up weird man! Their plasma glows under UV light; it requires a special stain to look at correctly under a scope; their skin is sort of tough to get a needle through! Overall it took a long time to figure out what was going on with them. They all have much higher hematocrits (% RBCs by volume of blood) than humans do which leads to them having a lot more general stamina. There is definitely something weird going on with their red and white blood cell synthesis but I haven’t decided what yet. I do think they have a lower overall wbc count than humans do, but those individual types of cells are in differing percentages as well.

I’m currently trying to wrap my brain around how their blood, and more specifically elemental blood types, would relate to other things like renal function, but every time I try to think too hard about that my funny goofy brain cell just goes “pfft piss lol” and punches the science brain cell out of the way 😔. So those thoughts aren’t quite done formulating into something I can coherently express yet, but I’m getting there!

[mittensmorgul]

So, Signs that 15x20 isn't real: El Sol beer; warm, saturated lighting; Dean's choice of clothes. Signs the writers were silenced: cut-out-tongue-vampire-thing. Sign it's about sexual repression: Vampires! Sign it's all about the gay: Dean was nailed from behind. Anything else to add to that list of symbols? Because this looks like the writers winking SOS at us in a kidnapper's video.

oh gosh... I keep meaning to rewatch the finale and make a full list of it all, because this is tip of the iceberg stuff. But I just... heck I just don’t want to watch it again :’D

That rewatch is on the agenda, and I’m currently watching 15.09 on the eternal loop. According to the TNT schedule, they’re showing 15.20 on Tuesday, looping directly back to the pilot immediately afterward. So... if I do decide to watch that (and I haven’t decided yet), that’s... gonna be some wild whiplash...

But anyway, back to the question!

You have a pretty good list going there...

I’ll add these things that made the episode feel like not-a-finale:

-no Road So Far segment, or even any sort of “important moments from the last 15 years that brought us to this point” sort of montage/retrospective of their lives

-no Carry On Wayward Son at the beginning, but TWO versions of it back to back at the end

And these things that were just general wtf moments for me:

-Sam? cooking breakfast? since when does Sam make breakfast, ever? that’s Dean’s thing

-Dean, with a dog? since when has Dean ever wanted a dog? That’s Sam’s thing

-Dean makes his bed, and it looks messier when he’s done than before he started (this is... not Dean-like... I actually went back and checked previous shots of his room)

-they never, not once in the episode, act like they have even one (1) single friend or any sort of goal or direction in life, which is weird...

-apparently they’d been unable to find a hunt, making it seem like the supernatural world had been quiet (for a moment I thought maybe monsters were no longer a problem in a post-Chuck world), until they stumbled on a hunt out of nowhere after choosing to go to a pie festival... as if the moment they chose to do something to move on and just have fun, suddenly there was work for them to do and they immediately abandoned everything to hunt these mystery monsters from John’s journal, which turned out to be a trap for them (specifically for them? considering the rando s1 vampire seemed to have lured them there?)

-The fact Dean recognized this vampire he never even interacted with and somehow magically knew her name, despite it never having been stated in canon and, again, Dean never having interacted with her outside of watching her escape with the vampire who actually DID bear them a grudge from 1.20...

-the weird lingering close up shot of the rebar during the fight scene

-the invocation of “destiny” and “don’t have a choice” as they went into a freaking pie festival... this hits bad right now because I’m rewatching 15.09 in the background as I type this, and it was almost word for word what the Dean in Chuck’s vision of the future said to Sam as they resigned themselves to go off on their final hunt (which was vampires btw), which they lost because in the next scene Sam and Dean have become vampires and are both killed... so like... this was Chuck’s story. The trappings might’ve been different, but it was still fundamentally the same... Cas locked away in a terrible place (ma’lak box in Chuck’s story, Empty in Dabb’s), Dean resigned to his fate because of a vampire hunt gone bad.

-then the pie festival itself... Dean’s got a huge tray with half a dozen different varieties he’s excited to try (purchased from Dabb’s Pies...), is eager to taste them all (like... metaphorically trying out different “apple pie life” ending scenarios, because he’s finally free to explore and maybe he actually wants the pecan pie life...), but before he can even taste the first bite, Sam... chooses one and smashes it in Dean’s face.

-even weirder, Dean never once in the episode says Cas’s name, or seemed even once to give a dang about Cas at all... and handwaved it when Sam mentioned Cas and Jack. It had been like... days, on screen (if they’d intended for more time to have passed, they would’ve indicated that on screen, and they did not... they showed us MAYBE three days passing since the events of 15.19). So like... did Dean have a personality transplant or what. Sam says Cas’s name in the ep, Bobby says it in Heaven. Dean... never does. Which is weird, considering how many times he’s said Cas in canon over the years, to the point it’s literally become memes...

-jumping around a bit here, but why Masked Vampires? Why had John failed to figure out they were vampires originally? Because he believed vampires were extinct? because he hadn’t been told they existed at all yet when he’d confronted them in 1986? Was John suddenly just A Bad Hunter after years of canon reinforcing that he was actually a really good hunter?

-and why THIS WEIRD CONGLOMORATION OF JOHN-RELATED CASE NONSENSE? From his journal to the murder clowns to rando vampire from their first vamp hunt? It’s like the perfect storm of erasing the last 15 years just to “bring it back to the start” to end it all like it could’ve had this been s1 still.

-speaking of John, and the El Sol in Heaven... WHY would Bobby hand Dean “John’s Beer” in Heaven? Especially since Dean expressed the fact that he didn’t even like it? Like... why wouldn’t he have been handed a beer he actually ENJOYED in Paradise? Why force a John Beer on him when he could literally have anything he wanted?

-and why was Heaven for Dean, in a place where he could literally have anything he wanted, go anywhere and do anything, why was he just driving through the woods along back roads? After years of talking about how he wanted to go “toes in the sand,” take a vacation, go fishing, or even finally get to eat a piece of pie? Or like ANYTHING he’d talked about wanting to do over the years that he never had a chance to... but apparently the thing he’d arguably spent the most time during his life doing is the only thing he wanted to do now that every possibility was open to him? Yeah, no that’s stupid...

-Tree (the final shot of 15.04 with bobblehead Sam and Dean by the tree like they didn’t have a thought of their own, Chuck’s plastic figurines dancing on his orders, very much like where they randomly parked and had the “vamp mime” conversation)

-Dean casually resorting to the threat of torture after YEARS of the show condemning this choice. Dean gratuitously being “a killer” when his acceptance of the fact that that’s not who he was in the previous episode was literally the thing that defeated Chuck... like... this was entirely stupid...

-just... the pacing of the episode was so weirdly wonky, with random cuts and no sense of time passing anywhere, nor interconnectedness between scenes, and the weirdly uncomfortable interminable death scene. Like, it looked like the death scene of a soap opera heroine. It was upsetting when Dean hit the spike and realized what had happened, but then he just... lingered... dangling on the hook for Sam’s benefit. Like Dean was nothing more than set decoration like a framed portrait for Sam to hang up and walk away from. Which is weird... and stupid... Dabb knows how to do pacing, and it’s like he forgot everything he ever knew about writing to force this “good way to die” trope, as if the previous 15 years of the show hadn’t been spent denouncing (and Dean finally overcoming) this mindset of “I always knew I’d go down swinging” or whatever. WHY. IT WAS STUPID.

-Wig

there’s probably more, but I’m tired and have reached my daily limit for the wtf of this episode >.>

Anyone else, please feel free to add more.

[madddddy]

From The Ground Up:

Buck POV:

I don't know what to do. I already apologized to the 118, especially Cap, but they still treat me like shit. It's been 8 months since the lawsuit and I haven't gone out on a call once. I know if I told Maddie or my parents, they would tell me to "go home". I'm starting to think that may be the best thing for me. At least my family knows I'm not on blood thinners anymore. Sitting at home, nursing a beer, I made my decision. I'm going home.

The next day I call up the fire chief and ask if I can get an appointment for that day. They are thankfully able to get me in at 1. I glance at the clock seeing that it's 10am. I text Maddie to have her come over. She lets herself in with her key and I get up to hug her.

"Hey Mads"

"Hey Evan. So why did you want to talk to me?"

"I think I'm going to go home. Its been 8 months and I haven't been out on a call once. I have an appointment with the chief at 1 today. I don't want this to affect your relationship with Chim. He has actually been one of the only ones who has talked to me. Him and Hen have been friends, but Cap and Eddie. They just glare or say things to my face that I just can't take anymore. I'm gonna surprise dad, but I'll call Kelly, Matt, and Boden to let them know. I'll miss you but you know where I'll be."

I look at Maddie to see her with tears in her eyes but she looks understanding. She nods and says,

"I understand Evan. You need a "new" start. I will miss you but I'm glad Chim and Hen have been there for you. I'll help you pack once you get back from the chief since I have today off. I can call Hen and Chim to see if they'll help too, but they probably will anyway."

I nod and get up. She stands up and we hug for what seems like hours, but its only 5 minutes. When we separate, she takes my hand into hers and drags me towards the door.

"Mads what are you doing?" I ask amused.

"We are going out to get breakfast at our favorite diner, then we are picking up Chim and Hen, then coming back here so you can type up your resignation and us three can start packing as you go talk to the chief. After your meeting, you will call Kelly, Matt, and Boden like you said"

I just nod and get my shoes on. We get out to the car and decide on driving my Jeep. Maggie's diner is about 10 minutes away from my loft, so it doesn't take long to get there. The hostess sees us and smiles since we are regulars here and she shows us to "our table". Patti, our favorite waitress comes to our table and smiles when she sees us.

"Well look what the cat dragged in! The Buckley siblings! Y'all want your regular?"

We both nod and Patti winks at us and walks away. Maddie looks at me pointedly so I take that as a point to start thinking of what I should say in my resignation. As if reading my mind, she pulls out a pad of paper and pencil. I start writing and once I do I just keep writing and I don't even realize our food is here until it gets set in front of me. We eat, pay and then head out. Maddie calls Chim and Hen and they agree to head over to the loft, even if they are a bit confused.

"Hey buckaroo!" Hen greets when I open the door for her and Chim. I hug them both and let them in. They already know most about what is going on at the firehouse, so they aren't super surprised when I say I am leaving. I tell them I'm planning on going home to Chicago, as soon as possible. Maddie looks at the time and tells me to get going so I'm not late to the meeting, and that them three will get packing. I thank them and head out.

45 minutes later I'm walking into the fire chief's office.

"Firefighter Buckley" Chief Torres greets and I shake his hand.

"Thank you for seeing me today Chief Torres. I am here because I would like to transfer stations. Specifically to firehouse 51 in Chicago. As for why, things at the 118 have not been good. Captain Nash and Firefighter Diaz have been holding personal vendettas against me because of my lawsuit from 8 months ago. Firefighters Han and Wilson have been the only ones from the firehouse treating me like a human. They don't participate in the jibes towards me and they still talk to me. They don't deserve to be punished, but Nash and Diaz should be. They shouldn't be fired, but maybe suspended. But I will leave that up to you. I came from Chicago and I started at the 51. I made a family there and I would love to return to it."

The chief sits there for a few before nodding and pulling out transfer papers. He signs them and then stands up.

"I hate to lose a good firefighter, but I feel after what you said, I will be looking into Nash and Diaz. Have a good life in Chicago Buckley."

I stand up and shake his hand. I take the papers and walk out to my Jeep. I call Maddie to let her know I'm on my way back. When I get back to my place, I'm surprised at how much they had gotten packed up, but then again, I didn't have much. We call a moving company and book them for the next day. Next I call the men that have become my older brothers in all but blood, Matt Casey and Kelly Severide.

*Ring ring ring*

Matt: "Hey Ev! What's up?"

Buck: "Hey Matty, can you grab Kel and see if Boden is free? If he isn't just go somewhere private. I need to talk to you all."

Matt: "Sure. Is everything alright?"

Buck: "Yeah nothing bad. Just got something to talk to you about."

Matt: "Okay Ev, I have all of us in Boden's office with the door shut."

Buck: "Okay. So I just want to say this all at once so please don't interrupt me and ask questions at the end. Things here have not been good since the lawsuit. Chim and Hen have been good but Diaz and Nash have been cold and distancing me. I am hoping that I can be transfered back home. I have the papers ready, just need a spot. And before you ask, yes Maddie is okay with it. And no I haven't talked to dad, I wanna surprise both my parents. So what do you say Boden, you want another Herrmann on your team?"

Boden: "Okay Buck, I think we can make room here at 51 for you. I told you when you left there would always be a spot for you and I meant it. I would love for you to come back here. What do you think boys?"

Kelly: "Well Cub, I wish you came to us about the 2, I understand why you didn't. I want you to come home too and Matt here is agreeing with me. You want us to pick you up from the airport when you land?"

Buck: "That would be great. Can I stay with you guys? Until I find a place? That or I'll stay with my parents. I should be out there tomorrow late afternoon. I'll text you to let you know for sure"

Matt: "Sounds good Buck. Can't wait to see you. And don't worry, we won't tell your dad."

Buck: "Okay I'll see you guys tomorrow. Love you!"

All three: "Love you!"

*Click*

I want back into the living room where the three are sitting.

"Hey Mads, Chim, Hen. Boden told me I have a spot there and Matty and Kel said they'll pick me up from the airport. You said you booked one right?"

She nods, "yeah I did Evan. I'm glad Matt and Kelly will pick you up. I like that you are surprising mom and dad. Are you gonna stay there or with the boys?"

"I'm not sure yet. The boys said I can stay with them but if mom and dad want me to stay with them, I will"

"Not to interrupt this, but who are Boden, Kelly, and Matt?" Hen asks.

"Oh right! I forgot you guys don't know our friends and family from Chicago! So I was adopted after Evan wasn't able to save our older brother with a bone marrow transplant. He got adopted by Christopher and Cindy Herrmann in Chicago. He grew up there, became a firefighter like our dad and his godfather Mouch. He moved here and worked at the 118, as you know. When I moved here and started dating you Chim, I was able to reconnect with him, since I recognized his birthmark. We talked and cried. I told him how I was disowned by our birth parents because I am bi and he introduced me to our parents. They immediately unofficially adopted me into their family and so I call them mom and dad. Kelly and Matt are other firefighters at 51 and they all went to the academy together and became like brothers. Kelly and Matt are married." Maddie explained. I'm nodding along.

"Yep. Mom and dad treat Maddie like their own and I want to go home to Chicago because personally, it's toxic here for me. You guys are great and I love you but Eddie and Bobby are the worst right now. I know you stand up for me and I appreciate it a lot but I just need my original family. I'll keep in touch of course and I'll miss you but you are always willing to visit me in Chicago." I added on.

Chim and Hen nodded and got up to give me a hug.

The next hours fly by and the next thing I know, I'm landing in O'Hare airport. I see the men who are like my older brothers and run to give them each a hug.

"Hey Ev! How have you been?"

"I've been better but I'm do happy to be here." It's slightly muffled because I'm in the middle of hugging them. I pull back the they see my tears on my face and each wipe them off my face. I smile at them softly and they smile back.

"Hey Cub." Kelly says softly.

"Hi" I reply just as softly.

"Let's get out of here eh?" Matt asks.

I just nod and they each flank one of my sides whole carrying my duffle. The rest of my stuff is in the moving truck. We walk out to Matt's truck. I climb in and we take off to the 51. We stay in comfortable silence with me just watching the city go by. We get there 20 of so minutes later but it seems shorter than that. We get out and the go to each of my sides again. They have always been taller than me and I say I hate it but I secretly love it. I see my dad talking to my uncle Mouch in the break room. Sylvie Brett is the first one to see me and she gasps loudly making everyone turn toward me.

"SURPRISE!" I shout shocking them out of their frozen states.

Next thing I know I am tackled by my dad and godfather. Boden is secretly recording this for everyone.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" My dad and godfather ask at the same time.

"Well it's a long story which I will tell over drinks at Molly's tonight, but pretty much, things got crappy at 118, and I wanted to come home. Don't worry dad, Mads was the one to talk me into it. And only Diaz and Nash were the ones who were bad. Hen and Chim have been good." He just nods and they both step back so everyone else can hug me. The girls are next, Shay, Stella, and Sylvie come running up next hugging me super tight, but I'm hugging back just as tight. I hug everyone else except for 2 people I don't recognize. I turn to my dad questionably.

"Ah right. Evan, these are Darren Ritter and Blake Gallo. They are new to the house." I shake their hands and for some reason I get butterflies shaking Gallo's hand. I think the girls sensed something because they gave me knowing looks. I gave them 'the look' back.

"Hi, I'm Evan Buckley-Herrmann. I used to go by Buck but I think I'm gonna start going by Evan again." I smile at them. They smile back and shake my hand.

"Hi Evan, I'm Darren Ritter. I've been here for about a year."

"Hi, I'm Blake Gallo and I've been here about 5 or so months"

I smile and nod to each of them. When Gallo smiles back all I can think of is damn his smile is cute. Fuck I'm so gone on him and I just met him.

"Oh dad! I didn't tell mom either so I think I'll stay here until shift is done and then we can stop by home, pick her up and we'll all go to Molly's and meet up with the crew from Med and Intelligence?"

"Sounds good Ev. You wanna borrow some turnout gear and go with? If that's okay of course." He asked the last part directed towards Boden. Boden nods and so I agree pretty quickly. Almost as if it knows, the alarm goes off.

*Time skip to end of shift because I cannot write fire scenes for shit*

Dad and I walk out of the firehouse at the end of shift and get in his car. After about 5 minutes he speaks up,

"So what was that with Gallo?"

Shit. Play dumb.

"What do you mean?"

Good, good.

"Look, I know what flirting looks like, son. And I know you are gay since you came out to us in high school. I'm also not dumb, so I'll ask again, what was that with Gallo?"

I sigh. He always knows how to read me.

"He is cute, and I think I might be getting a crush on him, but it's nothing and he is most likely straight anyways."

"Well, I'm glad you told me, and I think you may have a better chance than you think."

And with that we pull into the driveway of my childhood home. We get out of the car and dad goes in first. I hear him say to mom,

"Hey honey, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes"

After a few seconds he comes out and beckons me inside. I walk up and say,

"Hey mom."

She opens her eyes and shrieks when she sees me. She runs up to me and hugs me as tight as she can and I hug her back just as tight. Dad comes up to us and hugs us too. After a few we reluctantly separated.

"So what are you doing here?" She asks as she wipes the tears off her face. I tell her what I told dad and she nods and goes to get ready to go to Molly's. Dad and I do the same.

We get to Molly's and I'm bombarded by hugs again from my friends from Med and Intelligence. I am friends with Jay and Will Halstead, Mouse Gerwitz, Antonio Dawson, Hailey Upton, Adam Ruzek, Kim Burgess, Alvin Oilinsky, not Voight because of reasons, Kevin Atwater, Trudy Platt, Ethan Choi (he's not a dick here), Crockett Marcel, Natalie Manning, Maggie Lockwood, April Sexton, Connor Rhodes, Daniel Charles and Sharon Goodwin. They are all there and as soon as they heard I was back in town, they all came to Molly's. I also got hugs again from Kel, Matty, Joe, Otis, Sylvie, Stella, Shay, Andy, Boden, Tony, and Capp. I shake Gallo and Ritter's hands again. They all look at me expectantly, waiting for the story. I sigh and start talking.

"Okay so basically, you all remember how I was crushed under the truck? Well at my welcome back party, I had a pulmonary embolism in my ex-captains backyard. I wake up in the hospital and find out I need to go on blood thinners because I worked too hard doing my recertification. I go to dinner at my ex-captains house and find out why I can't go back on calls because of him. He is the one keeping me as a fire marshal. I make a dumb mistake and decide to sue the department and him. The lawyer threatened them all and tried to offer me a payout but I just wanted to go back to the firehouse. When I decided to come home, I hadn't been out on a call in 8 months. I got tired of it so I texted Maddie, my sister, and she came over. We went out to brunch at our favorite diner. On our way back to my loft, she called her boyfriend and his best friend, both of whom are my ex-coworkers but they were very vocal about my treatment and never shut me out. I went to talk to the chief, and he signed the transfer papers. I went back home to find that the three of them had packed all my things and Maddie booked me a flight for the next day, aka today. I called Matty, he got Boden and Kel into the office and I told them my plan. Next thing I know they are picking me up from O'Hare, we went to the firehouse, I surprised you all, went out on a few calls, went home to surprise mom, and came here to tell you my story."

I look around and see many shocked and furious faces.

"Okay I know those faces, you don't need to murder them, I told the chief what happened and recommend he suspend but not fire Diaz and Nash."

They all look more satisfied at that, but still mad. Gallo and Ritter just looked shocked.

"Wait wait wait, you are telling me that YOU WERE THE GUY TRAPPED UNDER THE TRUCK?!" Gallo asked, shocked.

I nod sheepishly.

"Yeah some kid was tryna blow up my captain but I was in his seat for the day. Don't remember why."

He just blew out a breath.

"Okay less sad things, what have I missed with you all?"

Jay speaks up first.

"Well Mouse and I finally got engaged!" He said, showing me his ring.

I jump up and go hug them both.

"I'm so happy for you two!"

They thank me and Connor goes next.

"Will and I finally got our heads out of our asses and got together."

I hug them both too and congratulate them.

"Matt and I are still together obviously" Kelly says. I roll my eyes and smack him on the head.

"I got a new girlfriend." Shay says slyly looking at Sylvie.

"I broke up with my boyfriend." Gallo says shrugging.

I feel both the girls and dads eyes on me but I very clearly ignore them. Everyone else is kinda confused but brushes it off.

"Chole is pregnant with my son!" Joe says excitedly.

"Oh my god dude congrats! I'm so happy for you!"

Everyone else shares something or say nothing new.

Couple hours later, it started to wind down and I'm at a table with the Halstead brothers, their other haves and Shay, Kim, and Hailey.

"So what's that with Gallo?" Mouse asks me pointedly. They all turn to me and I know my face is heating up.

"Nothing! There is nothing going on with Gallo!"

They all give me a 'drop the bullshit' look and I sigh.

"Okay fine, you all can stop giving me that look. I might have a slight crush on him. And it may be a little more now that I know he likes guys. But what if he doesn't like me?"

They all look at me in understanding.

"Evan, I love you, but why the fuck would he not want to go out with you? You are good looking, you are sweet, and anyone who wouldn't date you is dumb. And I'm a fucking lesbian." Shay says to me, everyone nodding along showing they agree with her.

"Yeah Cubby, I may not be a lesbian but you are like my brother, anyone who wouldn't date you is dumb" Kim adds on.

I sigh and nod. They all smile at me and we start talking about Jay and Mouse's wedding. Little did I know there was a very similar conversation at the table with Gallo, Ritter, Stella, Sylvie, Adam, and Andy.

Gallo POV:

"So Gallo, what was that with Evan?" Stella asks me.

"I have no idea what you are talking about"

"Cut the bullshit Blake. We all saw what was going on between you two" Andy says to me.

Fine, guess I'm not getting out of this one.

"Okay, I like him, but he is Herrmann's son! And I don't even know if he likes guys."

They all snort and start laughing then they look at me. I'm confused.

"Gallo, Evan is as gay as a fucking rainbow." Adam says to me in between laughter.

Wait, what?

"He's gay?"

They all nod.

Okay, I have a better chance now. They must've seen me thinking because Sylvie pats my shoulder and gets my attention.

"You should go for it. I've seen the way he's been looking at you all night. Just, maybe wait until tomorrow." She says, then walks over to Shay and grabs her hand. And pulls her up and out of the bar. The rest of them are not far behind and soon it's just Ritter, me, Evan, Cindy, and Herrmann. I go say goodbye to my best friend, the Herrmanns and Evan.

"Hey Evan, I'm gonna head out but it was nice to meet you" I hold my hand out for a shake but he pulls me into a hug shocking me at first before I hug him back. Once we pull apart I realize he is drunk because he plants a kiss on my cheek. My face heats up bright red. Ritter is looking at me amused and so I flip him off before we head out since he drove me and didn't drink tonight.

We get to my place and I wave goodbye. I fall asleep to the thought of Evan Buckley-Herrmann...

Buck POV:

I don't remember much from last night cause I ended up getting more drunk than I wanted too. I do however remember hugging Gallo. My face heats up at the thought of him. Oh god I can't believe I hugged him and kissed his cheek. He is never gonna wanna speak to me again. I'm pulled out if my spiral by dad knocking on my door.

"Come in!" I call

"Hey son, I thought you might have a headache after last night so here's some water and Tylenol. Also because I know you, I saw what you did to Gallo and just know, he doesn't hate you and actually texted me asking for your number, so if you get an unexpected text from a unknown number, that's all me. Love you, I'll see you in a few before we have to head in."

I nod and he closes the door. Well that's good that he doesn't hate me.

*Ding!*

I look over at my phone and see:

+773-675-6554:

Hey Evan! This is Blake Gallo. I hope you don't mind that Herrmann gave me your number. I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight? As a date?

Hey Blake! I would love to! I also wanna apologize for last night, I was super drunk. I didn't mean to get that drunk. I'll see you at work today.

It's okay! I'll pick you up around 7? We get off shift at 6.

Sounds perfect! See you later!

See ya!

I groan and lay back on my bed. I stay there for like 30 seconds before I shoot up and start to freak out. Oh god I have a date. I have a date with Blake Gallo. I HAVE A DATE WITH BLAKE FUCKING GALLO! I lay face down on my bed like a teenager and stay there. I hear my door knock and I just groan. He comes in and chuckles at me.

"What's wrong?"

I just chuck my phone at him. They know my password since I don't ever really have much to hide from them, and if I do, I hide it good.

He reads the texts and laughs.

"Isn't that a good thing?" He asks me, amused.

"Yeah. But I have nothing to weaaar." I say sounding like a child.

"Well how about your mom goes and gets you some new clothes, since she knows your size, and then you are ready for your date. Sound good?"

I nod and get up.

"Okay. Now get dressed! We gotta leave in 5 minutes!"

I scramble to get dressed and we head out. I'm excited to have my first full shift at the 51. We pull in and get out. I smile when I see the "WELCOME HOME MINI HERRMANN" banner hanging up. We get ready and as soon as we are all ready, the alarm rings out. It was a quick one, a car accident. We were pretty busy today so it went by quick. I couldn't help but look at Blake when I thought no one was looking but a certain pair of husband's certainly saw this. They pulled dad off to the side to talk to him when we had a free moment.

"So why does Ev keep looking at Gallo?"

My dad laughs and tells then about the texts from this morning, but makes then promise that they won't let me know they know. (Yes I pulled a friends). They agree and as soon as they are done talking the alarm goes off one last time. Our last call went all the way to the end of our shift so I hurry and make dad leave quick, much to the surprise of those who don't know about the date. Gallo is not far behind them rushing out and a few people have knowing looks.

We get home and I see what clothes mom got me and decide on a maroon button up shirt and black jeans with my black doc martens. I gel my hair and about that time is when I get a text:

Blake:

Hey! I'm outside!

Okay! I'll be right out!

I double check I have everything and head out, saying bye to my parents. I walk out and see him leaning up against his car. He hugs me and I hug back, taking in his scent that seems oddly comforting. We break apart and he goes to open my door. I smile at him as I get in the car and he smiles back. He gets in and starts driving. I tentatively reach across the center console to grab his hand and he holds it. We smile at each other and he pulls into a small hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. We get out and he grabs my hand again as we walk in.

"Reservation for Gallo" he says to the hostess. She nods and grabs 2 menus taking us to our table. We look at them and decide what we want. He gets the chicken enchiladas with a coke and I get fish tacos with a sprite. She takes our orders and walks away. I reach across the table and hold his hand. We start talking about our childhoods. He learns I wasn't born to mom and dad and I learn about how his family died. We talk for so long we don't realize our food is here until it gets set down. We eat, and he pays even though I try to protest. He just says "I asked out on a date. If this goes well, you can pay for the next one." I sigh and realize he wasn't going to give it up so I relent. We head back out to his car and he drives us out to a ledge to look over the city. He has a truck and backed it up so we can lay on his bed to look at the stars. We cuddled there since he brought blankets to lay down. We didn't talk, I just had my head on his chest, watching the stars.

"Evan?" He asks softly.

I look up at him and respond, "yeah?"

He looks down at me and asks, "can I kiss you?"

I nod and meet him halfway. His lips are so soft and sweet. His tongue is asking permission to enter my mouth and I let it. I moan into his mouth and he does the same when I put my tongue in his. We make out for a few minutes before we have to take a breather. We rest our foreheads against each other.

"That was amazing," I breathed out.

He just nods and we sit there. He then leans in to kiss me again, this time much more chaste.

"Do you wanna come back to my place? We don't have to have sex, but I just want to snuggle you" he asks after a few.

I look up at him through my eyelashes and nod. We get out of his truck bed and he grabs the blankets and shuts the tailgate. I climb in and let my dad know I won't be home. He just sends back winky faces and tells me to be safe. I sent him the middle finger emoji and shut my phone off. He climbs in and we head to his place. He turns on the radio and I hear one of my favorite songs, From The Ground Up by Dan+Shay. I start humming along and then when Blake turns it up I start to sing which causes him to sing along too. We both laugh and are so joyful when the song ends that we keep singing along with the radio. We pull into his apartment complex and get out. We get up there and I realize I don't have pajamas. I tell Blake this and he tells me I can borrow a shirt and sweats from him. He hands them to me and I go change. We fall asleep pretty quickly, him spooning me from behind. I feel so comfortable in his arms and it just feels right. I never believed in soulmates, but Blake Gallo is making me believe in them now.

I wake up the next morning to see Blake looking at me lovingly. I smile back up at him and kiss him. We both smile into the kiss.

"I gotta get back to my parents before shift since I don't want to go in my nice clothes" I murmur against his lips.

"Or you could borrow my clothes if you want?" He says with a shrug.

I agree, not really wanting to head back to my parents. I borrow a pair of jeans a t shirt, neither of us looking at it closely.

We head out and go to the firehouse. I hold his hand across the center console again, occasionally pulling out joined hands to kiss them. On the way there he asks me to be his boyfriend and I agree immediately. When we pull in, we smile at each other and get out. We keep our hands joined, not wanting to hide this from our family. We hear wolf whistles and cheers and we just shake our heads with smiles.

"Hey kid! Nice shirt!" I hear Mouch say.

I turn around confused a little bit before Stella takes pity on me,

"Cubby, your shirt says 'Gallo'"

We both blush and walk away. I hear Ritter going to talk to Blake and I see the resident hubby's walking over to me. They pull me into Matt's bunk and push me onto the bed.

"Talk" they both say.

I sigh and say, "okay, so the day before yesterday, I got a text from Blake asking if he wants to go on a date. The night before when it was just Ritter, him, me, and my parents, when he came to say goodbye, I was so drunk I pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek. I apologized the next morning but he asked me on a date and I said yes. He picked me up from my parents house, opened the car door for me like a gentleman, and we went to a Mexican restaurant, then out to the ledge that looks out over the city. We laid in the bed of his truck just watching the stars when he asked if he could kiss me. I said yes, we kissed a few times then he asked if I wanted to go back to his place. He said we don't need to have sex and that he just wants to snuggle me. I agree, let my dad know, which was a mistake considering he is a kid at heart. We sang along to the radio on the way back since my favorite song came on, we got back to his place and he gave me sweats and a shirt to wear. We laid in bed, with him as the big spoon. We woke up together and I was at first gonna ask him to drop me off at home but then he just said I can borrow clothes from him so we don't have to go back. He hands me what I'm wearing, we don't look at the shirt obviously. On the way here we hold hands across the console, I keep kissing our joined hands. We then walk into the firehouse and you know the rest."

They nod along to the entire rant and finally Matt asks, "Are you happy?"

I nod enthusiastically and say, "Very. I haven't been this happy in a long time"

They both nod and get up to give me a hug. I start to tear up because having their and my parents' approval are very important to me.

"As long as you are happy Cub, we are happy." Kelly says, Matt agreeing. At that, I finally let my tears fall and they hug me again and kiss my forehead. After a few, I finally get it together and head out of the bunk. I see Blake talking to Ritter, Otis, and Cruz in the bunk room, so I go up to him and hug him. He hugs me back, a little confused but not complaining. He kisses my forehead ignoring the other three who are looking at the couple with a fond look. They walk away to give us a little privacy, shutting the door.

"What's wrong baby?" He asks me.

I sniff and then look up at him, "Nothing. I am just glad that they are accepting of our relationship. I know we just had our first date last night, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

He looks down at me with tears in his eyes too, and kisses my forehead again then my lips.

"I can't imagine my life without you too. All I could dream about last night was marrying you someday and adopting kids with you. I genuinely feel like you are my soulmate. I love you."

At that, the tears start flowing, he wipes my tears with his thumbs and kisses me.

"I love you too" I tell him softly. At that, the alarm goes off and then we are off, but not without one more kiss.

When I climb into the truck, dad asks me if I'm okay. I nod and smile at him, telling him I'll talk to him later. He nods and we are off.

When we get back, Blake and I go to talk to Boden to fill out paperwork for our relationship. He tells us he is proud of us and thanks us for filling out the paperwork. We nod and he hugs us both.

We head into the lounge and decide to cude together on the couch, but not in Mouch's spot. I close my eyes and lay my head on his shoulder. I feel him lay his head on mine and then I am asleep. We wake up when the alarm goes off again.

"Rise and shine lovebirds!" Capp yells at us. We flip him off together. The fire goes out pretty quickly and we are headed back to the station. Blake asks me if we can talk when we pull in and I nod and ask Kelly if we can use his bunk to talk. He says sure, so we head there.

"Okay, I know we literally just started dating, but how would you feel about moving in with me? I know you are looking for a place and your stuff will be here soon. If you don't want to, that's fine, but I figured it would be better for you, and we can split the rent. Whatdya say?"

I take that in for a moment before nodding with a bright grin coming across my face.

"Yeah?" He asks, a hopeful look on his face.

"Yeah." I confirm with a bright grin.

"Yay!! I'm so glad you said yes!"

"I am too. I meant what I said when I said I want to grow old with you. I want to get married and have kids with you. I love you."

"I love you too." He then leaned down to kiss me and I kissed back.

We walk out of the bunk holding hands and smiling. As the shift comes to an end I tell him that I'll head back to my parents for the night and let them know what I'm planning on doing. He says okay and we kiss and head off in different directions. Dad and I get to their house and see my Jeep is there finally. I'm glad, because as much as I love my dad driving me, I need my own vehicle. We walk in and mom greets us. We eat and then I tell them I need to talk to them. They look concerned so I reassure them it's nothing bad.

"Mom, dad, as I'm sure you know by now, Blake Gallo and I are dating. And I know we just started dating but I feel as if I've known him my entire life. He is the person I want to grow old with. He is the person I want to marry someday. He is the person I want to adopt kids with. And I know he feels the same cause he told me. I love him and he loves me. So he asked me to move in with him just because he knows I'm looking for a place and the rent would be cheaper. So I said yes. I hope that's okay."

They look at me with proud looks and tears in their eyes.

"Evan, of course it's okay. After hearing that, I firmly believe you two are soulmates. I don't always believe in love at first sight, but I saw you guys the first time you saw each other and something clicked. Your mother and I will always love you and always be proud of you. We will help you move your stuff along with I'm sure the rest of the firehouse. They all saw something there, and I know you two are meant for each other."

At this point, all of had tears down our faces. I nod and don't say anything because I don't trust my voice. They pull me into a hug and we just hug for a long time. Eventually I speak, "I think I'll stay here for the rest of the week, since we have this weekend off, we can move my stuff then"

They nod and we all head off to bed, but not before they both kiss my forehead. I fall asleep that night thinking of the names Evan Gallo and Blake Herrmann.

The weeks goes by quick. Blake and I explain what we are gonna do and they all agree to help us that weekend. Saturday rolls around and we get everything unpacked pretty quickly since Ieft all my furniture and didn't have much. Next thing I know I'm FaceTiming Maddie, Chim, and Hen to introduce them to my Blake as my boyfriend a few weeks later. They are shocked at first but by the end, Maddie and Chim are coming over for Christmas in a few months. We say bye and hang up the phone. I sigh contently and look over at my boyfriend. He looks back at me lovingly. It's been about a month since we got together. I already bought a ring, but I'm gonna wait a little longer.

*Time skip*

It's now December, getting closer to Christmas time. I want to propose on Christmas in front of our family. Since we became more serious, my family accepted him more. They already liked him since they knew him before, but it's different than being a coworker vs your son's boyfriend. Maddie and Chim are coming like they said they would. They'll be here tomorrow. The firehouse tease us about our relationship, but we both know they are happy for us. They do the same thing with Kel and Matty and Shay and Sylvie, but it's all joking. Christmas rolls around and I'm nervous and excited at the same. We show up at my parents and they let us in. Maddie and Chim are there since they are staying there instead of a hotel. We start opening presents and when it gets to my turn for Blake, I get down on one knee and pull out the ring. Behind me I hear mom and Maddie gasp but right now in focused on Blake.

"Blake, ever since I first laid eyes on you in the lounge room, I knew I liked you. That then morphed into love. I can't see myself with anyone else. I want to have children with you. I want to grow grey and wrinkly with you. I want marry you. So Blake James Gallo, will you marry me?"

He nods yes and falls down to me and we hug and kiss each other like our life depended on it. I slip the ring on as our family cheers for us and gives us all hugs. I see Blake reach into his pocket and pull out a velvet box.

"I was gonna ask you later this week, but Evan Buckley-Herrmann, will you marry me?"

I nod and we kiss again. We put our rings on and keep celebrating Christmas with our family.

We also bought the rubber rings for at work. We aren't telling anyone right out, we are gonna see who figures it out first. I bet on Shay, Blake says Matt, dad says Sylvie, mom and Maddie say Otis, and Chim who has gotten to know 51, says Stella. In the end, mom and Maddie were right. He noticed our rings and congratulated us prompting everyone else to do the same. The girls offered to plan it with Maddie. I ask Maddie to be my best woman and Blake asks Ritter to be his best man. We asked Boden to officiate it. My dad will walk me down the aisle. We each took turns deciding who we wanted for our groomsmen/women. We ended up doing a fall wedding because that is our favorite season and we had many people from intelligence, med, and firehouse 51 and a few people from California. Our first dance is the song we sang together on our first date. About a year into our marriage Blake and I decided to adopt twins. We now have two girls named Maeve Gallo and Robin Gallo who are 4. They love all the aunts and uncles they have from everywhere in Chicago and LA. They also love their "Papa Herrmann and Grammy Cindy. But also their grandpa Boden". Everyday I am thankful that I decided to leave LA and I'm thankful that the Herrmanns adopted me because if they didn't I don't know where I would be. But I thank God the Buckleys didn't want me and that captain Nash shut me out.

And we'll build this love from the ground up

Now 'til forever it's all of me, all of you

Just take my hand

And I'll be the man your dad hoped that I'd be

And we'll build this love from the ground up

For worse or for better

And I will be all you need

Beside you I'll stand through the good and the bad

We'll give all that we have

And we'll build this love from the ground up

Dan+Shay

[veganvampiresdrinktomatosauce]

A Rudimentary Essay(?) About Being Chronically Ill

I have Cystic Fibrosis, which does a number of things, but the bare-bones of it is that my body has problems absorbing salt, and as a result, my lungs, digestive system, and other key parts of my bodily function are, a little wonky, let's say. My entire adolescence and young adulthood has been filled with a variety of health issues and doctor’s appointments that have impacted my school career, and continue to impact my ability to even get to work. It's tiring, both mentally and physically, and on top of that I also have to worry about Cystic Fibrosis Related Diabetes, from the wearing down of my pancreas and endocrine system.

The thing is though, I am intensely grateful I was born when I was. If I'd been born even 20 years earlier, I'm not sure I would have survived to adulthood. See, the thing about lungs is that, if you get a lung infection enough times, or if they deteriorate enough, your lungs can stop functioning. I had a scare when I was 15 because my lung function was down to 50%, and my pulmonologist was afraid I was going to have to get a lung transplant. And, you know, that may not sound too bad. But lung transplants only last about 3-5 years, if you're really lucky, and if you make it past five years, you're basically living on borrowed time, because lung transplants rarely last more than 10 years.

Luckily, I was able to get my lung function up during a two week hospital stay, but that knowledge has always stuck with me. Being a kid and knowing, very suddenly, that your body– your fucked up, annoying body– is probably going to kill you is kind of traumatic. Even now, I get anxious when I start having difficulty breathing, or when I feel mucus catch in my chest and throat. I’ve been in and out of the hospital many times growing up, and each time is just as awful as the last. I have a phrase I use to describe the specific type of depression that is a chronically ill person’s hospital stay, and it is the Hospital Blues.

The life expectancy for someone with CF was 8 years in the 60s, due to a combination of lung infections and malnutrition, I would imagine. It's been steadily rising as more research is done (and I recognize the privilege in having research done at all, chronically ill people rarely get the care they need and that’s a real issue) and more medications are released. Recently, there's been a medication that's changed my life, called Trikafta, and I'm incredibly thankful for it. My quality of life has steadily increased, and my lung function is the highest it’s been in years. But, the absence of the threat of respiratory failure has brought new issues to the front. My decreased appetite, for example. Or my irregular blood sugars. Sometimes, I really do wish I could be rid of these problems. They’re a pain in the ass, and they tire me out, and I never have time or energy to do the things I want to. I mean, it's enough stress thinking about how I'm going to figure out my student loan debt, or drag myself out of my room and spend time making food for myself that I may not even finish. But, that sounds like I want to be able to completely alleviate my symptoms, rather than not be sick anymore, doesn’t it?

I'd like for other people with CF to not have to go through the same things I did, with doctors not realizing that neurodivergency can have an impact on my physical health as well as my mental health, and with the anxiety around my lungs completely failing in my mid-teens, but I don't want someone to magically snap their fingers and make me "healthy". What I do want is to live a fulfilled life. But it’s hard to do that when people talk about “fixing” you, or making you “healthy” without your input. I had a doctor’s appointment recently, and one of the people on my care team assured me that they were working on a cure, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, if it would increase my ability to live the life I want, great! But at the same time…

I’m not actively dying. But I know there are some people with Cystic Fibrosis that are. Trikafta the “miracle drug” came too late for them, or they didn’t have the right set of mutations and couldn’t take it at all. Life for those people isn’t getting any easier, and just because I’m doing amazing physically, doesn’t mean everyone with CF is. It’s… hard, to remember that.

There isn’t any problem with having a gene mutation though. The only thing that makes CF a problem, is that it tends to kill the people that have it. My care growing up was completely focused on keeping my lung function up, making sure I could live as long as I could, keeping me as close to “normal” and “healthy” as they could. And then I went into the hospital when I was 10, and I resigned myself to the fact that my life would never be the same again. I’d had visits before, but never an overnight stay. I was terrified. I thought I was dying. I had no idea what to expect, and over the next few years, IVs became my sworn enemy. They kept bursting my veins, and it was painful as all hell.

As of right now, there isn’t a cure for Cystic Fibrosis. Trikafta works miracles, but I’m still sick. And until my doctor talks to me about something that could completely alleviate my symptoms, that’s not something I can think about. It’s simply not relevant, and I’d like healthy people to stop pretending like finding a cure is all that matters, or that chronically ill people are walking fodder for Five Feet Apart type romantic tragedy movies. (I have a burning hate for that movie. It plagues me to this day.)

A cure doesn’t matter right now. Why not just change society to give people more support, without making them jump through fifty hoops to actually have that support? I don’t want to be fixed, I want help that will actually help me, with managing my symptoms! I want not to be told, for once, that I’m not doing enough, and that I need to do more! I want to be able to live my life the way I want, I want to be able to tell the stories I want to tell, and I want to be able to live for as long as I feel able to!

Not to mention, being trans and chronically ill is its own special brand of hell because of the bureaucracy you're forced to slog through to even change your name in the system. It’s like they’re trying to make it impossible for me to live my life comfortably!

I’m so tired. It’s just the same thing, over and over again, and I’m never going to be free of it. It would be easier, if I didn’t have to do all of this, every day, every hour, every minute. But the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t matter if it would be easier. This isn’t some alternate universe where I’m healthy and was born without a genetic mutation that fucks with my cells. I’m not a thought experiment, and what you think about me– whether you think I would be happier if I were “cured”, whether you feel sorry for me because of the perceived tragedy that my life is to you– doesn’t matter. I am a human being, I am a person. I have been disabled my entire life, and I will continue to be disabled until the day I die, because there’s no curing me. This chronic illness is part of who I am. If it kills me, then it kills me, but until that happens, I’m going to tell my stories. I’m going to live my life, to the best of my ability, and I’m going love, and despair, and dance, and cry, and I’m going be okay.

I am who I am, and that’s never going to change.

[ouyangzizhensdad]

So where does the word fǔ​nǚ stand (and does a white Westerner have any business self-applying it—or, for that matter, the corresponding Japanese reclaimed slur fujoshi and its gender variants fudanshi and fujin?) I ask in part because MDZS was the BL work that imprinted me, as it were. Even if you can’t answer, the comments are likely to bring out people who can.

Hi anon, 

I am very uncomfortable, personally, with the use of “reclaimed slur” to talk about fujoshi. Maybe it’s because English is not my first language and I’ve only encountered the use of “slur” in context of oppressed groups before it became the internet’s favourite buzzword, thereby colouring my interpretation of the word, but I do balk at seeing it used to describe any derogatory term applied to any type of group, especially those who do not inherently experience oppression because of their belonging to said group. I believe that words do things, and by that logic I believe that we are losing something when we are using the same term for both the n-word and something like fujoshi. Something being derogatory and meant as an insult doesn’t make it inherently a slur? By that logic I’d have to say that “weird” is a slur because the kids at school used it when they bullied me, and I guess it was also a “reclaimed slur” because I was just like ‘yeah, I’m weird, so what, fuck off’ (although thank god I was never one of those ‘normal is just a setting on a washing machine’ type of hot topic goth). 

I am very aware that the original inception of the term fujoshi was rooted in misogyny and homophobia, and thus understand how it can be framed as empowering for the people who were targeted to refuse to be shamed and to give a new life to a term that was originally meant as an insult, but I don’t think we need to over-woke things to justify their existence? 

I am indeed limited in what I can say about Westerners choosing to use these labels. If you mean whether or not people Westerners’ should use “fujoshi” as this Problématique Boogeyman, then of course my answer is that I find it a profoundly unnuanced and unproductive practice, and a culturally insensitive one with racist undertones at that.

If your question is whether Westerners should use terms like fujoshi or funu (or fujin/fudanshi), then I can’t really speak on the question of whether that would be appropriate for a non-Japanese/non-Chinese person to use them. My biggest question however would be: why? Communities and subcultures have a tendency to engage in linguistic creativity, generating in-group linguistic quirks and sometimes inventing or claiming terms to refer to either or both the in-group and out-groups. These moments of linguistic invention and play are extremely contextual and shift much quicker than linguistic change in mainstream society. The use of fujoshi in Japan emerged out of a specific societal context within which the community existed and also how it rubbed off against other existing communities, both online and offline. It has meaning, in context. It has its own life and evolution, in context, which we see with the apparition of fudanshi and fujin for instance. The same could probably be said of funu (I am less familiar with it and how it might be used in CN danmei communities). But at the end of the day, there is no inherent need for a “label” to apply to people who engage with a specific subset of fiction or who engage in certain fan communities--even if sometimes some labels do pop up. Some fandoms have labels, like Trekkie, but most do not. We don’t tend to use labels to describe people who like certain subset of fiction in English, talking instead of “fans of sci-fi” or “YA readers” for example. And taking “fujoshi” or “funu” and artificially trying to transplant it, now divorced of their context, because the definition technically allows for it, seems pointless and inorganic to me. In the western, EN-language internet culture of today, defining someone by the fact that they sometimes or often read bl from Japan (or danmei from China) seems like something only people who want to frame bl and danmei as inherently more homophobic than other depictions of m/m romance, be they mainly targeted at a female audience or not, would be actually interested in. But I fail to see the use of it.

[jaegersol]

THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME       Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat

Mun Name: Plouton (or Plou)  Age: 21+  Contact: Discord, DMs

Character: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez My language(s): English Themes I’m interested in for rp: Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: None specifically. I’m more interested in the themes transplanted into the bleach world than transplanting Grimmjow into a different world.

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. Asks can be sent by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?:   YES / NO    only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck.

Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?:   YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?:  24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) / duplicates (haven’t tried, no opinion yet) / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts (i don’t know what the difference between this and an OC is?) / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / AU-versions. Do you post more ic or ooc?: IC / OOC. Are you selective with following others?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.  

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting: slide into my DMs!!  Or just flick me an ask to start something. If your shy/aren’t sure if I’ll go for a certain plot you’re also welcome to send me an anon ask and ill rate my interest in the plot and make some suggestions!

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner: I like to have either a specific relationship we are trying to cultivate, a specific goal we are working towards, or a vague plot outline. (I do not mind if any of this diverges once we actually start writing.)

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?: Hmmm usually I just fling a whole bunch of au’s at someone till we find one we like. (I’m a bit disorganized). I feel like usually I do most of the work??? But I’m open to ideas and I want to make sure we are both equally excited and invested!

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: RP is a fun hobby! I don’t care if we drop a thread but I like to know so I’m not waiting around wasting time coming up with more material for you if that thread isn’t going anywhere. - Will you tell your partner?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Is communication in the rpc important to you?  YES / NO. - And why?: I think its really important to get to know the muns. This is a hobby and something I do in my downtime. So I want to know that my partners are having as much fun as I am. It also makes it much easier to work through any issues, as well as generate new ideas and plot and content! I feel like the better the muns get along, the easier it is to write!

If there’s ever a problem, let me know. I’d much rather have a chat the deal with drama and childish attempts at public humiliation. Most of the time the problem is a misunderstanding that can be realized with a talk.

- Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?: As long as you’re respectful and not needlessly mean you can tell me anything. Just know that depending on the criticism (ie if its about how I portray my muse) it’s ultimately up to me how or if I implement changes. I believe everyone is constantly learning, and I love to hear feed back.

- Do you think you can handle such a situation in a mature way?  YES / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?: For me, my biggest reason for doing this is to explore my muse. I want to develop relationships, both good and bad, explore how they came to be the way they are, and see what happens when I put them in new situations.

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios:

Some specific characters I really want to develop relationships with include:

Ichigo Kurosaki

Sosuke Aizen

Kisuke Urahara

Tier Hallibel (post war)

Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck (post war)

This is by no means the limit to my interest, just the characters I believe I have the most to offer without much mun discussion as they are all very important for my muse.

I want to explore the 17 months between the winter war and the quincy war, the time where the three surviving espada need to reach some sort of balance. I’m fascinated by Grimmjow’s opinions on Aizen and Ichigo - and how these seem to have extended towards Kisuke in CFYOW.

I want to write about trauma and healing - Orihime is one such character i think would be really interesting to write this with.

I want to explore the effects of shinigamification and how this affected grimmjow and others around him - good for the visored and the more science minded muses.

I want to write about the horrors that created a hollow like grimmjow and I’m equally interested in discussions of morality, guilt, and redemption.

Full disclosure, I also love writing romantic/sexual ships (toxic ones inclusive) and exploring characters and dynamics through that sort of lens too.

What Type of Starters do you prefer?: Either something with a great dialogue or emotional hook. I needs something to play with that can be taken in a few directions. If I’m being railroaded I tend to get annoyed and frustrated.

What Type of Starters do dislike, can’t work with?: I don’t like being railroaded (coincidentally neither do my muses) if you try to set the genre without approaching me first (particularly if its a romance or smut kinda vibe) i will almost certainly do the opposite of what you want and then neither of us will be happy.

I also don’t like writing when it feels like my muse is being used for another muns muse to work through their feelings about another not present muse. I think these discussions are interesting, but when my muse begins to feel like a prop, I get uncomfortable.

Sometimes stuff falls flat even if there is multiple paragraphs. Not anyone fault! But I try to kill it early if there’s no movement.

What type of characters catch your interest the most?: I’ll be honest with you. I’m more interested in the mun behind the muse then the muse themselves. A Great story can come from any characters, the mun and the brain behind it that breaths life and depth into their characters is more important and interesting for me. Not only do the characters need to have an interesting dynamic, we need to get along as muns too!

As for interesting characters specifically….. I like characters with depth that are driven my muns who *want* to explore that depth. Help me create moments of vulnerability! Muses who are more capable of calling my muses on their bullshit is also something I look for. Backbone! Fire! Passion! Ambition! Fear! Growth! Vulnerability! Bring it ON!

What type of characters catch your interest the least?: Romance only characters. I know shipping is fun. But if that is all your character has to offer…. I don’t really vibe with super cutsie characters in general. I try to give everyone a chance but if we have a few threads and there’s nothing new happening I get bored. If a character lacks visible depth, I struggle.

I also struggle with really asocial characters and really guarded characters (I know, this is a little hypocritical of me, but I do try to force Grimmjow into positions of vulnerability). It interacting with your muse is too much of an uphill battle, I’m out! Same with any characters who don’t grow and develop. The point is to deepen relationships, and if there’s no continuity then the plot stagnates and I don’t feel there is much more to explore.

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?: I love angst. I love it. I also love redemption arcs and facilitating friendships and relationships. (Not necessarily romantic). I write generally pretty well and I like to think i have a lot of au Ideas I can shower you in! I’m very good at approaching people first (I think). I like writing longer more complex threads with deep plots and emotional depth. Think fics but in rp format - that’s my sweet spot and I’ve published several threads int ofics at this point.

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: Sometimes I forget to write starters (especially if we discuss and idea and then don’t specify who should do the starter piece). I have some weeks were i have a lot of time to rp and some where I don’t. I can get overwhelmed easily if there’s too much happening at once.

I love shipping, but I am very picky which who I ship with.

I am also not great with fighting scenes. I (like my muse) hate being the weaker character in the situation and it can really get my hackles up. I do my best to be respectful of your muses strength and this can lead me to downplaying MY muses strength, which pisses me off . I need fight scenes to be somewhat plotted in advance.

Do you rp smut?:  YES / NO / UNKNOWN I don’t generally like to write porn on the dash Do you prefer to go into detail?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?:  YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?: Usually more for character or plot development. Sometimes for fun! (Sometimes just because I want to torture/tease my muse).

- Anything you would not want to rp there?: Hmm Just some of the grosser toilet play kinks. I’m pretty open to a lot of stuff, especially if it suits the plot like.

Are ships important to you?:  YES / NO. I don’t need to ship, but I have fun with it!

Would you say your blog is ship-focused?:  YES / NO

.Do you use read-mores?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES.

Are you:  Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship  —  Multiverse / Singleverse (for some muses and only if all parties agree - my muse is poly so if I can have this, I like this).

- What do you love to explore the most in your ships?: I love plot lines focused on personal growth.  A ship should allow both muses to grow and develop individually and as a pair. I also love the “enemies to lovers” trope. I want to explore new depths and create vulnerability. Sometimes I like exploring really horrible unhealthy, abusive, and co-dependent relationships. Sometimes I like exploring fluff and safety and mutual love and respect! I’m a mixed bag.  

- What is your smut tag?: I use the requested ones on the soul pantheism page. (so nsfw tw)

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: Acquaintances of circumstance, Rivals, Enemies, Allies, Sibling like, Fracción (for his fraccion), Parental, Ex, Abuser, Employee/Employer, Significant Other.

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?:

Grimmjow is the second artificial arrancar created (meaning he has been in Las Noches throughout the entirety of Aizen building his army), involved himself in two wars, and has brushed up against quite a large number of factions - from the other Espada, to the Vizard, Humans, Shoten, and quite a few shinigami.

His angst potential is off the charts considering all his fraccion/family are dead, his boss is in prison, and he’s going to die alone and unloved in a desert with no friends, no home, and in total obscurity! For a guy who fashions himself something like a king, he has an awful lot of self esteem, and personal significance issues.

Engaging and fascinating arcs exploring Grimmjow’s non-human emotions, behaviours, and tendencies: including the conditioning of being a hollow and learning to fear and hate the titular ‘good guy’ shinigami because being 'cleansed’ will destroy everything you are. This leading to coloured perceptions of shinigami characters and humans in general for both being lesser 'food’ and having something he doesn’t: a 'heart’. This can lead to wildly complex interactions and trust issues with other muses. If this is the kind of content you like, come rp with him!

If you want more fluff content, Grimmjow is actually a very cute person when you get your C4 out and blow through all of his defensive walls. Grimmjow wants to be important to other people, and once he has decided that your muse is worth the effort, he will go through great lengths to prove his worth to them. If your looking to build long lasting relationships in a variety of flavours (from familial to romantic) in which you get to slowly but surly earn the trust and loyalty of a guy who literally purrs, then you should also rp with him!

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?: Quiet types or doormats. He gets bored. He thrives off of dysfunction and chaos.

- With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?: Powerful characters. People he wants to overcome or there’s friction or conflict with. People he relates to. There’s not many, but he’s generally at a point (post canon) where he is trying to reach out and form connections with people.

- What interests your Muse(s) in general: He finds the human world fascinating. He finds power fascinating. If someone triggers any of his shriveled empathy, he’s invested automatically.

- What do they desire, is their goal?: Grimmjow craves companionship and security and respect. Everything else is secondary. He believes he can have these things if he is powerful.

- What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?: Passion/power and confidence are both key. He is interested in people who function with purpose.

- What do they value in a person?:  Integrity. Strength. Loyalty. Compassion. Confidence.

- What themes do they like talking about?: He’s a curious guy, so he likes to learn what motivates other people. He has a lot of questions about everything. Las Noches and its future. Change and revolutions.

- Which themes bore them?: He struggles with politics and cannot tolerate small talk at all. Munanity and bureaucracy are also not good for hm.

- Did they ever go through something traumatic?:  Yes.

- What could possibly trigger them?: Oh. God. So much stuff.

- What could set them off, enrage them?: Condescending to him or perceiving oneself as superior. Hostility.

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?: Yes.

- Is there someone /-thing they love?: No. “Hollows don’t love.”

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO? - Best ways to approach them?: Like approaching a wild animal who’ll either bite or run.

No, I joke! It’s very easy to actually approach him, but its difficult to get anything of value out of him and he’s prone to both violence and retreating if the conversation gets too pointed or confusing for him.

- Where are they usually to be found?: Stalking Las Noches, Karakura (Near both the shoten and the Kurosaki clinic), various parks with large trees that he can sit in.

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?: Grimmjow is an excellent actor. In 80% of his canon interactions with other characters, he is acting. His hot-head personality type is a direct product of this, as he is actually rather emotionally flat.  Being perceptive is key when dealing with him, and so please don’t come write with me wit the standard fandom perceptions of him in mind. 

[laundryandtaxes]

Hi Julia, I'm gonna push back on your post re: nyc. I grew up in another city in New York State and moved to the city at 17 for work, never going to college. I've lived in three different boroughs, and never held a lease, just for context. I think the divide of "native New Yorker" vs "transplant" is in many ways created as a way of sewing division and doesn't reflect that in every strongly-rooted ethnic group, immigrant or otherwise, there is a certain amount of coming and going. For me, every generation of my fam has come here to live for a time since immigrating, despite moving to the south or Midwest. That's super common for my ethnicity and common in many other groups here.

Many if not most of my friends who grew up here have nuanced views on this, and when it gets down to it see it beyond a binary of "native vs nonnative". I think that viewing it as a binary isn't particularly useful. There are definitely alienated internal migrants and people who move to join elite communties, but most of my friends who grew up here have lived elsewhere for a time, and if there have family or ethnic community here aren't weird about it.

This model of discourse doesnt usually talk about the strongly rooted elite/borgeiouse here, and many people who migrate to NYC internally do it for social and economic reasons. Particularly pre-pandemic, the gay and ballroom scenes were massive draws, and jobs in certain industries are concentrated here. Wealthy residents are catered to, and certain type of internal migrant/wealthy expat/wealthy immigrant is definitely catered to by legislation that favors gentrification and has made the city a playground for the rich. The city has intentionally eroded public housing, but it remains that a higher percentage of residents live in public housing, rent controlled apartments well-below market value or recieve housing subsidies here than nearly any other city in the country. People will get on public housing and section 8 waiting lists and leave the city or even country. To be here and to stay here is very tenuous for many multigenerational residents. Regardless, migration and immigrantion have been part of NYC since it began having a distinct culture towards the 1820's. Culture and social creation has never been the exclusive domain of people born here, and NYC is what it is because of born-residents, immigrants, internal migrants and being a center of cultural and social community that draws people from around the world. If it was just one of these things it wouldn't be NYC.

NYC is a place that feels disconnected from the (rest of) the USA and I think that the politicization of desire to be here will have implications exacerbated by the pandemic.

Re: nyc again:

Many wealthy people leave nyc because there isn't a great bang for your buck in the same way as other parts of the country. It's honestly a shitty and expensive place for the rich lmao.

And many poor/working class people come here bc of enviable renters protections, higher wages, and special education for disabled kids. In particular people come from within the eastern seaboard, New England and south for all of these things.

Thank you for another perspective! I am not from New York myself, so my perception of the city comes largely from the accounts of friends who are from NYC, and media, but just like with anywhere you can’t get a complete picture of what a place is like based on those two things.

I will say that a lot of what you’ve said here strongly contradicts my idea of what the city is like, some of which is based on personal experience. I considered a move to NYC at some point with an ex girlfriend (which, holy shit thank goodness that didn’t work out) and I have to say that in particular the idea of NYC as a place with “enviable renters protections [and] higher wages” specifically doesn’t square with what I saw when I researched those two things. Wages in NYC for work that doesn’t require degrees didn’t look good at all, and as far as renter’s protections go, my current understanding is that rent control is awesome but that landlords regularly engage in tenant harassment to pressure rent controlled tenants out of units and the city does almost nothing about it. The second is based more on recent articles I read and news pieces I watched about NYC, but the last time I looked at wages in NYC I was extremely unimpressed given the cost of housing alone, and when I was running the numbers for myself (this was maybe 2015ish) I came away not understanding how anyone could possibly afford to live in the city unless they 1) made a ton of money, in order to afford the outstanding rents, or 2) got into a rent-controlled apartment, which it seemed it was not easy to do unless you knew someone, like I did at the time, who was basically going to tell their landlord to hand you the lease. Obviously I’m not saying you’re wrong, just that I am very surprised to hear that anyone thinks of NYC as a place with genuinely solid rent protections and good wages, because the last time I looked it really did not seem like either of those was the case. If that is the case, that’s awesome and I am very glad to hear it. The story I was told by friends was largely one of intense, almost unbearable pressure from gentrification and jobs not paying nearly enough for the cost of living and being actively displaced by people who came to the city with an absurd amount of money to spend. So if that isn’t actually the case, that’s very very good news because I kind of had what I THINK of as contemporary NYC built up in my head as this horror story of the worst things that could happen to a city.

I also am not intimately familiar with the culture of NYC, but I have to say that I don’t think I agree with the idea that ‘ "native New Yorker" vs "transplant" is in many ways created as a way of sewing division’ because I don’t think that concept is unique at all to NYC- I certainly have a lot of a specific kind of pride in having been born and raised in Chicago, I and most other Chicagoans consider it genuinely offensive and rude when people who grew up in suburbs nearby tell people they are from Chicago, I and most other Chicagoans see ourselves, I would say, as a particular breed of people who share a particular kind of roots in this place, and I don’t think that pride is harmful or bad in any way. I would never tell someone that moving here is an evil thing to do- I consider roughly 10 years of residency to grant you the right to refer to yourself as a Chicagoan and not just a Chicago resident lol- or say that transplants to Chicago are categorically bad people. Half of that is just stupid cultural stuff, really, and shouldn’t be taken very seriously. But I don’t think the concept itself is bad. I have a fundamentally different relationship to Chicago than someone who grew up anywhere else and moved here, no matter how long they moved here, and I don’t think it is harmful at all to be open about and proud of that. I would never make the claim that transplants haven’t made massive contributions to the city, and I would assume most native New Yorkers wouldn’t make that claim about transplants to NYC.

Thank you for sharing your personal understanding of the situation there, and I am very surprised to hear that the proportion of residents in NYC who live in public or rent controlled housing is quite high, and glad to hear it. As needlessly aggressive as Chicagoans (myself included) can be when “New York” is even uttered aloud, I obviously have a lot of real respect for the city and I am glad to hear that it hasn’t just been mostly ruined in the way I had imagined it. This is a good lesson in taking any media you see about a place whose name will get clicks/engagement just by virtue of the aura of the place (New York, Chicago, San Francisco, etc) with several grains of salt. If I was only familiar with Chicago through media I’d think it was some super dangerous place when it definitely isn’t categorically. 

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

I see you’re a woman of culture 😌 I LOVE The Book of Mormon, POTO, Something Rotten; they’re definitely in my top 5. I’m also a Sondheim fan. I love LesMis, Chicago (the movie), Cabaret, Hairspray, Legally Blonde, Hedwig and the Angry Inch and dare I say it, Cats (NOT the movie, and before you ask, no I’m not a furry lmao). Falsettos, Dogfight and Rent make me cry like a baby. Avenue Q is good but I think it’s a bit dated.

Anyways on the topic of RPF or fanfiction in general, what’s like the worst fic you’ve encountered? That one I talked about definitely scarred me the most, but I also saw fics where the entire premise is a female Y/N “turning Freddie straight” and having heterosexual sex with him which is just ew. And tbh I personally don’t have anything against old man thirst/PD!Queen fics (not including fics that normalize ped0philia etc), it’s just… some things are harder to stomach than others lol. As long as they keep it in their corner of the Internet and do not present it to the people they write about, live and let live.

Actually now that I think about the old man thirst, it’s a bit concerning to see literal children in their preteen and early teen years openly thirsting for old men, like men in their 60-80s. This goes beyond the Queen fandom, and applies to the wider classic rock fandom. The things I’ve read… They’re not just cute innocent crushes, they’re literally talking about present day rock stars in a very explicit, sexual way. A LOT of kids are getting into classic rock now; I sent you that ask about Tiktok and I’m not exaggerating when I say I see a lot of 11-14 classic rock fans (who like bands like Motley Crue, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, The Who…) And this opens up to all kinds of problems; I’ve seen a lot of them talk about how creepy old men would disguise themselves as their faves online and talk to them, ask for their number/address, etc.

-----------

Oh yeah, Avenue Q is a product of its time. It was 2003 and it even has the line that George Bush is "only for now" in the last song lol. A lot has changed in our culture over the past 18 years. Sondheim is my favorite composer, hands-down. He's a genius and his music is so damn smart a lot of times. I haven't seen all of the other ones you've mentioned, but I'll be controversial and say that not only am I not a fan of Cats or POTO (with the latter, it has good songs but I think they're better out of context because the characters suck), but god, I really dislike RENT lol. I know a lot of people love it and that's fine. I'm glad you can get more enjoyment out of it than I can. I cried my eyes out when I watched it in 8th grade, but then I watched it when I got older and really did not enjoy it anymore.

Ooo boy, you're asking the real controversial questions lol. I'm definitely uncomfortable with the type of stories you mentioned. RPF is a complicated topic and I have mixed thoughts on it, but the short version is that I do think there are lines that shouldn't be crossed with it. I...really hate to name any specific fic....But. There's this person who has posted a ton of stories and they've gained quite a reputation. The stories tend to have these common themes: young Freddie being physically ill in some way (so some lowkey illness exploitation, for lack of a better term), the other members of the band being medical professionals who are either related to Freddie or his partners, some underage shit, random George Michael cameos, a dentistry fetish, and a tickling fetish. There are other things thrown in their work, but those are the things that pop up the most frequently.

I'm sorry, but it's the strangest collection of stories I've ever come across. I read just the descriptions of these stories to friends who've been reading fic for a long time, and they agree they've never seen such a weird collection. I think it would be weird if it were regular old fanfiction, but the fact that it's RPF is...Idk. I might get my head bitten off but I'm very uncomfortable with these stories which revolve around making Freddie medically suffer in some way when he really died of a terminal illness. This is where the stories go from strange to offensive for me. It's not like these stories deal with his real AIDS diagnosis, either, but stuff he didn't actually have irl. I saw one description where he'd need a lung transplant (?!) and closed the fuck out of AO3. Just, why? Where is the enjoyment out of imagining such a thing? Why not just write this story with a fictional character if it's going to have nothing to do with Queen? It honestly unnerves me. Oh, and the formatting of the stories themselves is absolutely unreadable. I clicked on one out of sheer curiosity but the lack of spaces and paragraph breaks hurt my eyes.

I do think the old man thirst is concerning when the people doing it are very young. Sorry but....kids aren't supposed to find senior citizens attractive lmfao. It definitely seems to be a thing in the wider classic rock fandom. I was going to say they'll just outgrow it, but if these kids on Tiktok are really talking about older men talking to them while posing as their idols, that's really concerning. Reason #7234 TikTok was a fucking mistake and I'm so glad I'm not on there.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Taste of Home (Indruck)

Prompt for the 13th was: strange harvest

Most days, Duck isn’t too worried about the dirt on his hands or the bits of leaves that stick to his clothes. Most days, he’s not about to meet with a reclusive, wealthy donor to the Kepler Botanical Gardens who has specifically requested Duck be present. 

When he enters the meeting room, Thacker is waiting for him along with a tall, pale-haired man sporting red glasses.

“Ah, here’s Duck now.” Thacker smiles. 

“Sorry, uh, thought we weren’t meeting until-”

“-One. You’re correct, I have a habit of getting a bit, ah, ahead of things t times.” The man offers a wide smile that’s polite but also gives Duck the heebie-jeebies.

“Duck, this here is Mr. Cold. He’s one of the garden’s longest standin supporters. He’s got a project for us, and asked that you be the one in charge of it.”

“I was quite impressed with your work on the native plant section, and I’m told you headed the transplant and maintenance of the tree specimens in the New Zealand section, which is no mean feat.”

“Thanks, I’m real proud of both. What do you have in mind? Is it an exhibit?”

“A private collection. Come, let me show you.” Mr. Cold unrolls a set of plans as Duck shoots a glance at Thacker.

“Didn’t know we did that sort thing.”

“We do for Mr.Cold. Whelp, I gotta go lead a tour. Mr. Cold, I leave you in Duck’s capable hands.”

He joins the taller man in front of the plans; they’re for a garden within a greenhouse, the structure as angular and distinct as the man requesting it. He knows the greenhouse hs Cold’s name above it, is usually used as a teaching space

“I imagine you think me rather selfish for requesting to use your space in such a way.” Mr. Cold doesn’t look up from where he’s making final notes on the paper, as if the answer is a foregone conclusion. 

“Think it’s kinda strange, but I ain’t about to rule on it bein selfish until you tell me what I’m actually doin.”

“I have several species of trees, flowers, and shrubs that I need grown. They are, ah, rather difficult to cultivate anywhere other than their native home, and I am not a skilled gardener at the best of times. Hence my seeking out someone who, I presume, has not killed multiple succulents in the last two months.” The man looks a little ashamed, then clears his throat, “the plants I am asking you to grow are the only specimens of their kind on earth.”

“How’d you get them, then?” Duck tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but this feels more and more like some rich guy made an impulse purchase of something that should be in a seed bank or species ark somewhere.

“I brought small specimens over from my home, which is where they grow. But I couldn’t keep them alive, and they were already rare. Last I heard they were all wiped out by an, ah, an illness. I stored seeds from my specimens in hopes of one day regrowing them.”

Duck looks at the diagram closely; the plant’s are actually sketched in, not just noted by name and the number of eraser marks suggest Mr. Cold spent a long time planning out exactly where each one went.

“You’re askin us to do all this because you’re homesick?”

“Yes. I have been away from home for a long, long time. The Kepler gardens have been a refuge for me. Lately I’ve been drawn to the woodland and prairie type sections.”

“I helped with a lot of those.”

Mr. Cold turns to him with a smile, “I know. That is another reason I requested you. But, before we go any further, I must make something clear; these specimens they mean...they are so, so precious to me. And secrecy is a must, for reasons I can only half explain. They would be solely under your care and protection. If that is not a responsibility you wish to take, I understand entirely.”

Behind the red glasses, Duck can just see a glint of hope. 

“Think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Wonderful” Mr. Cold claps his hands together, “in that case, there is not a moment to lose. Here, this is everything you need.” He produces a briefcase, inside which sits ten packets of seeds and three pits, bout the size of an avocado pit.”

“All the information I have on ideal growing conditions is in the attached notebook, and the seeds are labeled. If you have any questions, ny at all, my phone number is in there s well.”

 He pauses, smiles, and murmurs to himself, “it's been awhile since I gave anyone my phone number.”

Duck opts to ignore the stealthy glance at his arms and carefully takes the case, “Thanks, this’ll all be real helpful. 

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

He doesn’t see his new patron (as Juno calls Mr. Cold) for a week. When he does, he’s on his belly, checking for any sign of sprouts in the greenhouse. 

“How goes the growing?” Mr. Cold asks from the direction of Duck’s feet. 

The gardener rolls over and sits up, “Not much to report, just trying to keep an eye on ‘em so I don’t miss anythin important.”

Mr. Cold offers his hand, helping Duck up, “I appreciate the care you’re taking, Duck. I hope it isn’t cutting into your other work too badly.”

“Had to move somethings around, but that's just the nature of this kind of work.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “Pun intended?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Oh. Your, h, your lunch time is coming up right? I was wondering if you would let me take you to lunch as an, ah, extra thank you?” He’s spinning a small ring on his finger, the shyness almost charming, and Duck felt neutral at best about the sandwich he brought today.

“Sure, thanks.”

Mr. Cold grins, “Oh good. Where would you like to go? I hear the crystal palace has a lovely lunch.”

“The fancy Japanese place? Pretty sure they got a dress code.”

“Brush off the dirt and you look completely respectable.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “I was talkin about you.”

They both stare down at the classy but still very clear pajama pants Mr. Cold is wearing. 

“Fair point. How do you feel about Indian food?”

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

Duck’s stepped into some sort of painting. And here he thought he was just wandering into the birch grove. 

Indrid (“”I really prefer that name”) is laying on his back on a bench. Sun streams between the branches, falling across his face, making it all angle and shadow in ways Duck wants to sit and study. His silver hair is ruffling in the breeze, and his glasses are pushed up his forehead. Eyes shut and hands folded on his stomach, he reminds Duck of the paintings in fairytales of someone waiting for true loves kiss. 

He’s worried he might be the one to give it.

They’re having lunch once a week at least now, the awkwardness of the first time melting away as Duck got going on a tangent about dandelions only to find Indrid, elbows on the table and chin in his hands, listening to him so intently he blushed on reflex. Then he was giggling as Indrid pulled a custom-made curly straw out of a small tin in order to drink his Mango lassi. And then Indrid had laughed at his laugh and it all fell into place, the conversation so easy it’s as if they’d know each other for years. 

Then there were the frequent visits by Indrid to the greenhouse to check on the progress. Which, if Duck does say so himself, if pretty fucking good. The plants are thriving, reaching for the light, and the trees are already flowering in deep blue stars, the speed with which they reached adulthood fascinating to him. Sometimes Indrid just comes to see the gardens, but always seeks Duck out to say hello and smile that increasingly charming smile at him. 

But the biggest change has come with Indrid asking if Duck would be interested in designing a small garden for him 

“Something very simple and manageable. Hardy too.”

“Any plant preferences?”

“No, I trust your judgement entirely, though you may have to help me with their maintenance the first few weeks, if that is alright.”

Duck would have done it even if Indrid wasn't paying him. He liked sitting in the living room, surrounded by strange art and  crumpled papers, showing Indrid how to tend houseplants. And when they sit on the back porch, each dirt-smudged and grass stained, Indrid sipping soda while Duck nursed a single beer, the other man kept beaming at the new, small patch of garden, Duck’s heart wanted to burst from his chest and flutter around. 

Last night, he stayed late for dinner, and as he was checking over the houseplants…

“I’m fond of this one. It’s sturdy and makes me smile, much like you.” Indrid murmurs as he steps beside him. 

Duck slides a smile his way “Dunno, partial to this snake plant we chose; unique and kinda tall, just like you.”

It’s the worlds weakest flirtation, but as Indrid steps away his fingers tease Duck’s lower back, “I wonder if they can cross-pollinate.”

All of this is why Duck decides to leave Indrid be. Because playing prince charming to one of the gardens donors could backfire and shatter his whole career if he reads things wrong. 

The path takes him past Indrid, and he steps lightly. But just as he passes Indrid's head, cool fingers find his own. 

“How is my favorite flora expert today?” Indrid purrs, eyes still shut.

“Good. Uh. Yeah, good. How’d you know-”

“It was you? I have my ways.” Indrid grins, squeezing his hand once before letting go, “are we still on for lunch tomorrow? I can bring you that soup you like.”

“That’d be great.” Duck hesitates, reaches down and ruffles Indrid’s hair. The other man sighs, rubs his face against Ducks palm. 

“I can't wait.”

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

It takes him until ten pm to remember he left his phone in the greenhouse. Which would not be a problem, except he’s supposed to take a call early tomorrow from Jane, the first time in months they’ve been able to talk.

Plus, he’s been having an excellent text conversation with Indrid until his last rounds, sending him pictures of the plants in the greenhouse, which all look ready to bloom in the next day, and the strange fruit on the trees; speckled gold and white, and smelling faintly of marshmallow. Indrid’s reply texts were filled with excitement (and a great deal of praise, which Duck is thoroughly enjoying).  He wants to keep that going as soon as he can.

He finds his phone on the workbench, looks up just in time to see glowing red eyes reflected in the glass. 

Something’s in the greenhouse with him. Which should be impossible, because only two people have the keys. 

Turning, he scans the plants and spots a large, dark shape holding very still behind the trees. Which would work better if said trees were not so thin.

“I am aware this is not a good hiding place.”

Duck gasps, not expecting it to talk, then steps back when the creature emerges. It towers over him, antennae twitching and wings rustling slightly. His mind puts all the pieces together, and he understands only half of them. 

“Why the fuck is the mothman breakin into my greenhouse.”

The antenna flatten slightly, “I am not breaking in. Do you see any broken glass?”

“No, but I got one key, and the only other person with one ain’t here. And put those down, they ain’t yours.” Duck reaches for the two fruits, each clasped between a pair of clawed hands, only for Mothman to raise his arms. 

“They are, in fact, mine. If you would stop trying to knock me over I can explain.”

“Uh uh, first you gotta put down Indrid’s things, then you can explain.”

The creature chirrs, annoyed, and points at its neck, “His things? Such as this key perhaps?”

Duck stops moving, staring at the key before rising his gaze to the mothmans face and meeting his eyes for the first time. 

“What the fuck? Indrid, what the fuck?”

A sheepish chirp, “There was not a good way to tell you I am a famous cryptid. At least, I did not feel there was one. I was worried you would be afraid of me if you knew.”

“Feelin a little too confused to be afraid. Did, did I just grow a mothman garden instead of a butterfly garden?”

The laugh is unmistakably Indrid, “In a way. I was telling the truth when I said these were from my home, but my need for them went beyond homesickness. Every twenty five years, my kind are compelled to eat these. It is not fatal if we don’t, but we suffer a very unpleasant illness for several weeks if we do not. I resigned myself to that sickness until I began visiting these gardens, and saw there were people who might be able to help me. My own powers, including foresight, cannot replace a green thumb. Your green thumb went beyond anything I could ever have hoped for. This” he gestures to the trees with their glittering fruit, the flowers blooming in a  rainbow of glowing star-shapes, “Duck I, I haven't seen a sight like this in close to a  hundred years.”

Duck holds his breath as Indrid steps towards him, bending to rest his downy forehead against Ducks.

“Thank you, Duck Newton. Thank you for giving me a taste of home.”

The human reaches up to touch a black, fuzzy cheek, “Does this mean you gotta leave or somethin, now that I know your secret identity?”

“Not unless you are planning to tell everyone you’ve been acting as the Mothman’s personal gardener.”

“Nah, rather tell ‘em about the cute fella I’m takin to dinner tomorrow.”

Indrid blinks, “You...you do not find this alarming?”

“I mean, you’re big and a little terrifyin, but you’re still Indrid. And it means a lot that you actually stayed and told me who you were, instead of just flyin off.”

There’s a deep purr as Indrid says, “In that case, may I invite you to dinner at my house, Duck Newton? I can even share some of this strange harvest with you.”

Duck grins, drawing his fingers long Indrids arm, “That your way of tellin me they’re an aphrodisiac?”

Indrid nuzzles his cheek and pulls him close, “I guess we’ll find out.”

[kerwritesthings]

The Start of Our Love Story

Summary: Before there was a me and you, there was me and there was you

Word Count: just a hair over 7k (buckle up y’all)

Warning: fluff and feels, a little bit of angsty longing, a little bit of messy, a bunch of sweet

Author Notes: So this is another one of those that festered from a tiny germ of an idea after something @fallinallincurls​ said and it kind of became, well this. It’s how it all started for these two. A look at their backstory. I kind of really love this. For me, I always want to make things I write feel real, that it’s not too much of the storybook, easy cliché. I want it to feel like this could actually be a thing that happens. This one feels more like that than anything I think I’ve written. I’m quite proud of it. 

As always, this falls in my yet to be named verse. The rest of my works can be found here at my newly cleaned up and shareable masterlist. This honestly, if you’re just starting to read my pieces now, would be the first to read, then follow the rest as I’ve got them down on the master. However, it can be read as a solitary one shot. Much love to @whenidance​ for listening to me whine constantly at stupid o’clock that I’m writing more fic yet again and to @fallinallincurls​ for being the kickstart to this and for being the best damn cheerleader.

Toronto was never in your plans. Work wise, you were grinding away, working like crazy to make a name for yourself. That’s what mattered. Nothing else outside of work, your tiny apartment on the Upper West Side, brunches at Sarabeth and Jacobs Pickles and abusing Class Pass studios with your best friend Didi made it on your radar. But when the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving came to you to chat about the expansion of their presence through the other international offices outside the US, more so growing and figuring out new ways  to introduce corporations with their donations and their CSR programs with new charitable efforts; specifically an opportunity that would have you sitting possibly between New York and Toronto for a few months, eventually leading to full time position in Toronto, you sat up to listen. She immediately sets up time for you to head to Toronto along with a dossier of meetings with key folks there.

Didi came with you the first time you went up to Toronto for the exploratory conversations. The both of you came to love your time traipsing through Canada, Toronto and Montreal specifically. Plus, you both have friends scattered between the two. “This also means we can go harass the shit out of Hirashan, who we have not seen nearly enough of,” she trills off gleefully. “Plus, you know he throws killer parties, if we both visit you know he’ll do something fun.”

She was right. As soon as Hirashan found out you were coming into town, aside from the key smash that you may be in town for more than a brief trip if all works out well, a calendar invite for dinner shoots through immediately, then with a quick follow of ‘my friend Tristan is already having a few friends over for drinks that Friday night, we’re crashing’ which had you and Didi rethinking your packing knowing how Hirashan rolls.

After a day full of productive, thought provoking meetings that have you questioning everything back in New York, dinner with Hirashan, his boyfriend Miguel and Didi was exactly what you need to put the heavy thoughts in your head back a bit, at least for now.

“Tristian’s place is like Architecture Digest worthy,” Miguel raves, arm in arm with you as you head into the building. “The views of downtown and the CN are ridic. I’d say splurge if they want to drag you here and give you budget, but I’d much rather have you closer to us.”

“There is no way I’d be able to afford this building, let alone this neighborhood,” you quip, heels clicking on the tiles as you head up past the front desk to the elevators. Tristian’s ‘few friends over’ was tamer than you had expected, a solid number of people are scattering through the condo, but enough room to still feel like you could breathe.

Hirashan introduces you around like a proud parent, it’s sweet and not nearly as embarrassing as you thought he would be. There’s no way that you’ll remember everyone, your brain already feeling at max capacity after the day you had. However, luckily for you after the first full round of the room, you fall into an easy conversation with Tristian. He’s down to earth, a transplant from Georgia, and someone you could easily see becoming friends with if this move becomes an actual thing

“I have to introduce to my friend S,” Tristian says his thick southern twang bleeding through, craning his head around looking for him. “Normally, you can’t miss him he’s so dang tall. Whenever he gets here though, I must make the intro. I think y’all would get along well. He’s my neighbor, well not directly, but he lives in the building too.”

Didi and Miguel pull at you, passing around shots, and passing you around to meet and talk with other people. Your head is spinning, less from the whiskey you’ve been plied with through the night, more with the sheer fact that this night is making you see that Toronto may have to become a thing; and you’re smiling.

“Wait, here she is,” you hear Tristian first, before you feel him tug at your elbow before you go stumbling forward before tipping sideways. Another pair of hands come to steady you at your waist.

“Easy Tris, don’t break the girl before I can meet her,” the voice belonging to the hands at your sides retorts. He helps right you on your feet and you’re met with a pair of the prettiest eyes you’ve seen in awhile.

“As promised my dear,” Tristian grins, throwing his arms around the both of you. “This is Shawn.” 

He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t place it or him. He’s quite stunning though, gorgeous really. And unlike some of the others around the apartment, he’s dressed for the occasion. A well put together man is a weakness for you. Let alone one with eyes like this, a swath of riotous dark curls and a bright smile.

You fall into talking easily, not even noticing when Tristian leaves. This Shawn of his is well spoken, funny and it feels like you’ve known him for much longer the way the two of you chat. You wander into the kitchen at some point to grab another round of drinks, a glass of white for you, a beer for him, continuing the conversation of why you were up in Toronto this week in the first place.

“Sorry man, I need to borrow this one for a few if you don’t mind?” Tristian calls from over the breakfast bar. “Couple more folks I need to introduce her to before they head out.”

“It was really lovely talking to you Shawn,” you say, smiling. “I’ll find you before I leave.”

A few minutes turns into an hour, Tristian and Hirashan passing you around through a new group of people that just arrived. Next thing you know, it’s almost 1:30 am and the boys are starting to fade. You’ve lost track of Tristian, as well as his friend Shawn. You were hoping to see them both before leaving.

“Can I steal you for a minute before you go?” Shawn inquires, as you’re grabbing your coat from Didi’s outstretched hand. Miguel just smiles, elbowing Hirashan and pushing Didi towards to the door.

“We’ll go down and wait for the Uber,” Miguel says, nudging you forward.

You slide into your coat as he walks you around the perimeter of the living room, out the French doors to the balcony.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, especially your friends,” he gets bashful, a light pink flushes his cheeks. “But I really liked talking with you tonight, getting to know you. Can we stay in touch? Even if Toronto isn’t in the cards for you, I’d still like for us to talk more. Become friends even.”

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah, I’d like that. Here’s my card. Everything is on there. Cell, email.”

“I’ll text you in the morning, so you have mine,” he replies, squeezing your hand after sliding the card from it. “Let me walk you to the elevator.”

He loops your arm through his, guiding you back through the groups of people in the apartment, down the hallway and to wait for the elevator to pop back up.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” you say softly, hands in your pockets so you don’t do something like reach out to grab a hold of his.

“Yeah I do,” he smiles, and it seems like he shifts closer to you. You get a whiff of his cologne, and you hope in lingers in your nose for the rest of the evening.

The elevator doors slide open. “Thanks for the lovely night, Shawn.”

“We’ll talk soon,” he responses with a smile and a cute little wave before the doors close in front of you.

“Good night?” Didi asks flopping down onto the bed in your hotel room. “I saw that look on your face a few times, this is gonna be a thing now isn’t it? I should warm up the Star Alliance frequent flyer number soon, eh? Figure out the best flights from LaGuardia up here.”

“It’s feeling good, I want to really think on it though once all the big brass talk everything over,” you start, changing quickly, the day finally catching up to you. “And more so what they’re thinking with transition plans and comp package.”

“You do realize though you were all chatty flirting tonight with Shawn Mendes, right?” Didi fights through a yawn once they’re in bed. “Major thing to throw in the plus column for this. He looked all smitten kitten too, especially when he came over before we left. Get it girl.”

You’re suddenly not as sleepy as before. “What the fuck, no way Dee.”

“Mmhmm, why do you think the three of us let you guys be for as long as we did. Tristian mentioned him coming by. Thought right off the bat you two would get along after you and Tristian got to chatting. Tris was right and I’m glad he made that happen,” Didi mutters, face smushing against the pillow. “Plus, he’s so your type. One of us needs to tap that, and I think Tomas would be beyond pissed if I did, so it’s your mission now. And you must share all the details once you get dicked down by that hot piece of man candy.”

You throw the smaller decorative pillow on the bed over at her face. “I didn’t, I mean. We were just talking Dee. He looked familiar, but. Oh god, Didi,” you grab the other pillow and place it over your face to scream.

You try to put it out of your mind, especially with everything else going on around the Toronto whirlwind. Even more so when a few days go by and you don’t hear from him. He flat out asked for your number, you slid him your card which had your cell and your email address. He said he was going to text you, so you had his number, and he wanted to stay in touch. You thought he was being sincere. You try not to let it get you down. Thinking of it now after everything, he’s a massive pop star, what would he want to do with someone like you? He was probably just being polite. You’re about to pop into the meeting with the SVP of Charitable Corporate Giving, when a text pops up from a number you don’t have in your phone.

Hi it’s Tris! Found your card in my guest room, must have slipped out your bag at some point when you were here last week. Let me know when you make your decision. Welcome to crash here until you find a place if the decision is a YES!

The only card you gave out that night was to Shawn. Did he lose it? Did he leave it there? Too many questions, you had an important meeting to get to.

Your apartment is almost completely packed up, the movers coming in a few days to take everything. It was a no brainer to say yes, though it meant less time of a transition and more of an immediacy in Toronto. You decided to spend your last full Sunday in the city at some of your favorite places. Breakfast at BEC, a facial from Facehaus, a wander through Strand Book Shop and an afternoon at Té Company. You manage to snag your favorite table: a half-padded booth in the back corner next to the window. A pot of tea and a book that has nothing to do with work and you’re ready to take a deep breath or three.

“That young man asked me to bring you over a fresh pot of whatever you were having,” the server gestures, swapping the steaming pot in her hands with the cooling one you have on the table. “Shall I bring over another cup?”

You look up from your book, and from her, to see him. Your breath catches for a moment. He’s got a shy smile, looking straight at you. Beat up black boots, dark jeans, cozy grey sweater, a vintage black leather bomber. Curls a windswept mess and eyes bright. He looks like he belongs here, in your perfect Sunday afternoon in New York City. You don’t know how you feel about the fact you’re thinking that way, especially after everything. Damn your subconscious. You’re too polite to ignore him or flip him off, so you nod and wave him over.

“Of all the gin joints, Shawn…” you sigh out softly.

“This is so crazy, that you’re here. Hi. So, I owe you an apology,” he explains carefully, sitting down across from you despite wanting to slide onto the bench next to you. “Because the nervous asshole I am, I totally put your number in my phone wrong. I tried texting you a few times, and nothing. I figured when they weren’t going through as iMessage I got it wrong and then I realized I lost your card, so I had absolutely no way to check or get in touch. I also didn’t want to look desperate or completely pathetic tracking down your friends through Tristian to hound them for your number when I had already asked for it myself, especially the way I did, or stalk you on social that would have been worse.”

He’s adorable when he’s flustered. “Take a breath, Shawn,” you smile softly. “Tris has it. He texted me the following week that he found it in his guest room.”

“I went in there after I walked you out,” he runs his hand through his hair, messing his curls about even more than they are already. “Needed a minute cause the pretty girl I talked with all night actually wanted to keep in touch too. I sat on the bed and put your number, or what I thought was your number, in my phone. I thought I slid it back into my pocket, it must have jostled out.”

“I thought, well, honestly I didn’t know what to think,” you begin. “I didn’t realize you were, well you until after I was back at the hotel with Didi. I thought you looked familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. Then when you didn’t reach out, I was like what would this guy, this Rockstar, want to do with me?”

He shakes his head at first. Then, he slides his phone out of his coat pocket, flipping through a few things before sliding it across the table to you. “Go ‘head,” he nudges it closer to you.

There were four or five green text bubbles in the open message window, an 8 in the place where the 0 should be in your number.

I know I said I would wait until tomorrow, but I just wanted to say how nice it was to talk with you tonight. It’s Shawn btw :)

I know you’re probably crazed with just getting back but wanted to see how decisions were shaking out? I’m bias but I’d be happy to talk up Toronto some more.

Let me know when you’re back in town? Would be great to see you.  

I may be in New York soon, would love to see you in your element. Can we grab a drink if you’re around?

Chat soon?

“He was kind of taken with you right away. Because that night? He got to just be just this guy Shawn talking to the prettiest girl in the room, who also happened to be so easy to talk to and laugh with,” he says honestly.

“It’s happening by the way,” you respond, pouring him a cup of tea despite your shaky hands. “Toronto. Next week. It’s my last full Sunday in New York, I’ve been hitting some of my favorite spots today as a last hurrah, including here. Movers come Tuesday; I fly out Thursday.”

“I found this place on my first solo trip to New York, and have been coming here ever since,” he sips at the mug that looks awfully small in his hands. “How many times do you think we crossed paths here and didn’t even know it?”

“We did on the time it really matters though didn’t we?” you smile over your mug.

You’re there for hours without even realizing it. Talking about whatever comes to mind. Everything from Toronto to New York to music to hockey, life and everything in between. After the second pot of tea, he moves to sit next to you on the banquette. By the third, he’s turning to face you straight on, head resting on his left hand with his knee pressing warmly into your thigh. Not once did anyone come to interrupt or bother the two of you, no wonder he’s gravitated to this place. By your fourth, you’re mirroring him, turning towards him. It’s comfortable, he’s comfortable. It’s easy, too easy actually. There are no awkward silences, no weird blips in conversation. It scares you. You’re already on the precipice of something majorly life-altering. You’re not sure you can take up another major change. And you believe him and his rambling explanation before. You do. But there’s a part of you that’s scared. Maybe you were just meant to have these pockets of time together, these brief beautiful moments. Nothing more. Your head is a swimming mess of emotions.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but we’re getting ready to close,” the older gentleman you’ve come to know as one of the managers explains.  

“Holy shit, it’s almost 8,” you stretch, popping your shoulders. “I didn’t realize it was that late.”

“What time did you get here?” he asks.

“Only 20 minutes before you did,” you say, timidly, resting your hand over his that’s resting on his knee. “But this was a really good way to spend my last Sunday in New York. Honestly.”

He flushes brightly, “I’m really glad I came in here today.”  

“Now, may I please see your phone?” he questions, a sly little grin creeping up one corner of his mouth.

You nod, reaching for it out of your bag and unlocking it.

Shawn takes the most ridiculous selfie, you can’t help but fight giggling, then flipping back to poke at the screen before handing it back to you.

“You’ve got mine and I sent a text to make sure I’ve got your right number this time,” he expresses, his finger tracing over the knuckles on your hand. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate and it’s all going to be crazy for a good while for you, but I’d like to keep whatever this may be going.”

You duck your head, threading your hair behind your ear, nerves suddenly rearing their ugly head. Your stomach flips at his touch.

“I don’t want to lie to you Shawn, or lead you on,” you exhale, voice shaky. “This is all a lot. The new job, the move, this, you. I’m pretty fucking terrified as it is. But then add this in? Especially cause you’re you and… This isn’t a no, but it’s not a yes. It’s a not right now and I know that’s a lousy answer and the last thing I expect is for you to wait, because why would you. I’d like to text, when I can, at least for now.”

You know that answer wasn’t what he was expecting. Honestly, it wasn’t what you thought you would say to him either. You want but you also know you to listen to what your gut is telling you, despite your head and your heart fighting to have a say in this too. You’re afraid to look up, to meet his eyes, as you fear it could be the last time you see them up close and in person like this.

“Hey,” he replies softly, nudging your chin up with his pointer finger knuckle. “You’re turning your entire life and everything you’ve known upside down. I get it. It also means a hell of lot to me that you’re being honest. It also means you’re not placating me, which I’m appreciative of. It’s actually really refreshing and kind of a turn on. I’ll be here and I’d really like it if you still texted, call if you want even. I promise you I’ll answer, anytime ok?”

You nod, trying to fight back the fog shifting across your eyes, a small sniff breaking through though. “I’m going to just…” you say gesturing to the ladies room.

“I won’t leave,” he states.

You quickly splash water on your face, blow your nose, grateful you had your facial before, so you don’t have a mess of makeup to clean up. Taking a few more deep breaths, you head back out. He’s got your bag in hand, your coat over his arm. He’s making this whole not now thing hard to stick to, but you know truly know that if it’s meant to fall into place, despite everything, it will.

“What about the…” you start, looking around the table for the billfold the owner left.

“Taken care of,” he cuts in before you could finish, holding out your coat to help you into it. You itch to hold his hand as you head out and down the steps, but you don’t want to go back on everything you just said. Instead, you set to order an Uber. You peek over, and it seems that he’s doing the same, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as well.

The nip in the early spring air is out, now that the sun has set, and you snuggle further into your coat. He shifts closer, rubbing his hands lightly over your arms. You’re coming to realize how much touch is a part of his language.

“I won’t let you say goodbye, because it’s not that. I won’t let it be that,” he murmurs. “It’s a see you later, ok? And, I’d like, if you’re comfortable with it, to give you a good luck I’m here for you hug before you go.”

You nod, thankful it’s dark so he can’t see you blushing. He takes you in his arms easily and holds you close. He’s warm and solid, he smells like fresh laundry, boy and springtime wrapped together and it feels like you fit just so. He leans his head down to rest on top of yours, squeezing his arms around you tighter. “I mean it,” he whispers. “I’m here ok? However you need me to be, whenever you need.”

He keeps you in his hold until a car pulls up, and of course it’s yours that comes first; the driver calling your name through the open window.

You pull away slowly, reaching for his hands and squeezing them in yours. “We’ll talk, I can promise you that, Shawn. Just bear with me?”

He nods, squeezing your hands in return, “Travel save and go be awesome.”

Your resolve lasts a whole four days, texting him simply a photo through the plane window of the approach into Toronto.

She’s looking all pretty for your arrival – welcome to your new home! he texts back with a Canadian flag emoji and a red heart.

It’s not easy, you knew it wouldn’t be. Your new apartment is lovely but it’s still not feeling comfortable and like your home yet. You’re thankful that you have friends that have taken time to wait for the cable guy, accept furniture deliveries and your moving truck because you don’t have the time. Not with work. Work is hard, harder than it was in New York. They throw you right into the fire immediately. It’s new office politics, it’s a new role, new everything. Even the fact you don’t have your favorite Starbucks baristas nearby anymore to supply you with your afternoon pick me up the way you like it when things are crazy irks you. You look back through your texts, hovering over the chain you’ve got with Shawn. You haven’t texted him since that flight photo. You want to, but it would just add more to an already full plate.

Bringing you dinner and a surprise! LMK what you’re jonesing for comes through from Tristian late Friday afternoon after your second full week in the new office.

A gigantic bottle of white? you text back with the side eye tongue out emoji. He’ll think you’re kidding. You’re not.

I’m bringing a few bottles and Japanese. I’ll use the spare I need to drop back off. See you in a bit!

The surprise, you come to find, once you’re both on the couch with chopsticks in hand, is even a mystery to Tristian.

“I couldn’t say no,” he fights out around a mouthful of shrimp teriyaki, pointing at the package on your coffee table with his chopsticks. It’s carefully wrapped in butcher paper with a pretty silver ribbon. It’s a box, thin and flat, nothing too large with a white notecard underneath the ribbon. “I’m not going to butt in on what’s going on with y’all, but we had drinks after he got back from New York. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that besotted, but all he’d tell me was that he’s playing off your lead. He’s not pushed or anything. So, when he asked me to help get this to you, I had to. At least I didn’t give him your address, girly.”

“It’s complicated,” is all you can really give to Tristian to explain or encompass it. Because that’s exactly what it is. You slide everything off your lap to exchange it for the box. Carefully, you unwind the ribbon, it’s too pretty and something you’ll want to keep to use in another way. It’s two notecards under it, and they fall out into your lap. They’re handwritten in deep blue scrawl, to match the border of the card. You pull the shorter of the two notes out first.

I’m really hoping this isn’t too much or crossing any lines. I saw this and thought of you immediately. It’s just a little something as you’re conquering the world. – Shawn

The little something is a gorgeous journal, soft deep midnight blue leather covered in silver embossed vintage maps with a silver pen slipped in the loop.

“Damn,” you mumble, fingers tracing carefully over the leather for a moment before snagging the other notecard.

I know you’re probably still figuring everything out and exploring. I’m giving you a list of some of my favorite places in the city, so don’t go spilling my secrets ok? :) If you go to the link at the bottom, it’s a Google Maps planner so you can save it to your phone.

“This boy,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the couch. It’s sweet and thoughtful and just on the right side of tugging at your gut. Damn him.  

“Tell me why y’all aren’t knockin’ boots yet?” Tristian quips, leaning over you to grab a Spider roll.

“Because I still don’t know my head from my ass up here yet and he’s Shawn fucking Mendes, Tris,” you take a large sip of your wine. “And I’m just some girl.”

“By the looks of it, you’re not just some girl. Just saying,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

Well after a few bottles of wine are polished off and Tristian on his way back home, you’re finally in bed. You’re still not used to the sounds of this city and you’re fidgeting, tossing your phone back and forth between your hands. It’s late, too late to call. So, you do something completely out of character, you record a voice memo to send to Shawn.

“I wanted to call, but it’s too late and I’ve had a little bit of wine that would make my resolve even weaker if we actually talked on the phone and I heard your voice. But your delivery boy came by this evening,” you speak quietly and carefully. “Thank you, Shawn. It’s perfect and so beautiful. I’m going to start using it on Monday. Then that list, with that Google link? That’s the absolute sweetest. I know I haven’t reached out and I’m sorry, really, I am. This is a lot harder than I thought. I miss home, this doesn’t feel like home yet. I know it will, but it’s not right now. Work is kicking my ass, and I’m grateful they trust me and for the challenge, but it’s so different than New York. It’ll all come together, but right now it’s just a fucking lot. I think though that this weekend, I’m going to try some of your list and I’ll try to share my adventures along the way. I promise you though Shawn, I am thinking of you and I want to get through this and feel like I’m good to talk more to you, with you. Thank you again, sweet dreams.”

You can’t bear to listen back, so you just save it and quickly shoot it off in a text to him with an old school t9 heart. You wait a solid 20 minutes before setting your phone on do not disturb, plugging it into charge and flipping over to try to get some sleep.

The next morning, your phone is scattered with different alerts: a missed FaceTime call and a handful of text messages, some with attachments, from Shawn. You press play on the memo first.

“So, please forgive me for trying to FaceTime, especially at like 1am, but you sounded so defeated in your message and it just killed me. Then I realized what time it really was and hoped you were already asleep, or your phone was off, and I didn’t wake you. I was in the studio head down working on something when you sent that, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you right away especially after I told you to reach out at any time,” he rambles before taking a breath. “First off, you’re welcome. I spotted it and knew it belonged with you. Please do let me know what you think of these places, I’d offer to come with you especially since you’re having such a hard time, but I’m going to respect your wishes. Just know, if you do need company, I’m good for it. I’m sending you a couple things to read and to listen to, too. Things that have helped when I’m on the road and just feeling overwhelmed or scrambled. I hope they help some. I’m here, remember that ok?”

You send him a video of your mug of tea next to the journal on your coffee table, steam swirling from the mug with his latest album playing in the background.

Step one – making this journal about me and for me, not about work, with my favorite tea at the ready and I may or may not be listening to something special today to get me started.

You do something you haven’t in a long time, you write. You journal, and you let yourself feel and get everything out. Including about this darling boy who keeps making his way into the forefront of your mind.

I feel honored – need to know what your fav is, you know for reasons ;) I’m hoping it gives you a bit of a breather that you’re needing.

You spend the day concentrating on you, hitting two spots off his list: the tea shop and the record store, purchasing way more than you need at both. Once you make it back home, you feel lighter, more at ease. You spend time setting up the new record player, immediately sliding the first item you searched for onto the turntable and snapping a quick picture.

You sound better on vinyl btw – please don’t make me pick a favorite, I kind of love this whole entire album.

From there, you keep randomly texting, haphazard things, no rhyme or reason. Just talking and photos and whatever comes to mind, and it goes both ways for the both of you and you keep that up for a few weeks. It’s easy, it’s fun, neither of you putting pressure on the other for what’s next or what’s to come.

A touch over a month after you sent him the vinyl photo, he texts you a Dropbox link one afternoon.

A little something since you liked the album so much. Hope you enjoy.

That little something? It’s the whole album, acoustic, just him and his guitar stripped down. It’s soft and intimate and absolutely amazing.

Shawn, are you kidding? This is stunning. How come I haven’t heard any of these before?

It’s only late that night when you’re about to fall asleep that you think you hear your phone chime. You don’t pick up, waiting to look at the message the next morning. There as plain as day is his very simple response.

Because I worked on it for you.

You want to call to really talk to him, hear his voice, you want to see him, something, anything. But you can’t. You’ve got an important meeting at 9 am sharp that you cannot be late for, a jam-packed schedule the whole day and an event that night with one of the new clients, a charity benefit showcase at Horseshoe Tavern they asked you to go with them to. You don’t want this to be a brief tete-a-tete either with him. You quickly send off a string of every heart colored emoji there is because right now that’s what it feels like, your heart is exploding in its feelings.

The club is filled to the brim that night, your clients are overjoyed and your new boss keeps texting how she’s pleased the clients are happy. However, you’re frowning at your phone. Nothing from him, not a peep all day. You normally wouldn’t be concerned, but after yesterday, you’ve got a little bit of worry niggling at your stomach. You can try him after you’re out the doors of the club later, but for now, you need to put on a smile and make sure the rest of the night goes smoothly. The talent wrangler for the evening is dragging you backstage with your clients. A surprise guest is coming to perform and the CEO wants them to all meet before this person heads up to the stage for the last songs of the night, a thank you to your clients for their support of the charity. Backstage is a shit show to say the least, you’re jostled around trying to make your way back to the green room before being slammed by one of the sound guys and his massive rig bag.

“Watch it,” you call out, rubbing at your hip as you try to catch up to the rest of the group ahead of you.

“Damn, are you ok? It was a hell of a hip check if I ever saw one,” you hear from behind you.

You know that voice. “Shawn?” you ask, turning around to face the voice.

His eyes grow wide, his smile even wider.

“Oh, I see you’ve met our special guest,” the wrangler says, nudging Shawn forward. “Shawn, you can head back with this group if you don’t mind? I need to find a few other folks for this meet and greet.”

He agrees easily, shifting closer to you as you head back to the green room. “Fancy seeing you here. An unexpected surprise for sure. The best one really.”

You nod, biting your lip, the corners of your lips quirking up. “It is. Let’s get the business stuff out of the way first. Then maybe, after everything, and the show’s done tonight, we can talk?”

“I’d like that,” he snags your hands, squeezing them in his before he lets you go to you knock on the door.

The green room is small given the venue, but it’s a loud cacophony of sounds and people, and you’re both pulled in opposite directions immediately. You can’t help but catch sight of him here and there, he’s one of the tallest in the room so it’s not difficult. He looks good. His hair’s a little longer, curlier. You can’t help but smile, for a few reasons now, but at this moment you hear his laugh from across the room and it’s bright, infectious. It simmers in within you, but you can deal with that after the event’s over. The rest of the evening flies smoothly. You manage to sneak a drink from the bar in time to catch Shawn taking to the stage. You stay out of sight, tucked in the corner, wanting to observe him in his element.  Him performing is nothing like you’ve seen before, especially in such a small venue. This could easily become something very addictive. Just as the show wraps, you shoot him a quick text.

Need to get my clients out the door then I’m free, maybe take me 10 more min. Somewhere around here good for a drink of some kind? Quiet?

His answer is quick, quicker than you expect, in two rapid texts.

Yes, Suite 114: https://www.suite114.ca/

It’s a 20 min walk from here, about 2km not bad - but I saw your heels so there’s none of that tonight. Uber over? I’ll meet you there as soon as I’m done with packing up and I have to say goodbye to the club owners. Promise I won’t be long.

Once you’re wrapped, an Uber comes quickly, surprising for a Friday night. It’s a quick hop over and the bar is cozy, dimly lit and decadent. A modern-day speakeasy vibe. He’s right though, it’s quiet, not overly full and there’s a couch you can claim towards the back of the room. You order something simple, a champagne cocktail with grapefruit and St. Germain, to sip on as you wait for him. Something light and celebratory. It was a good day all around.

“Am I allowed to say you look beautiful tonight?” you look up to hear him say, your cocktail and a rocks glass in hand with a few fingers of something dark in it.

“Only if I can wax poetic about seeing you perform live tonight,” you reply, fingertips brushing his hand as you slip the glass from his grasp. You may have done it purposely.

He blushes, settling down close to you with his arm stretching across the back of the couch. “I just might have switched songs at the last minute, after seeing you. Wasn’t supposed to do Lost tonight, but it just felt right.”

“Special in a room like that, like that small and intimate yeah? It felt that way at least, from watching it. You’re something else up there, Shawn,” you muse, twirling the flute carefully between your fingers, eyes catching his.

“Had a pretty girl I needed to impress tonight, so,” he drawls, looking down at the drink in his hands. “It was the best thing seeing you there tonight.”

“I wanted to call you this morning,” you begin, sliding your free hand to his forearm on the back of the couch. “But I didn’t want to rush the conversation. I had meetings, this tonight. I just. I had to send something, so I exploded all those hearts in that text. I needed to make sure I had the time I wanted, that, after your text with what you said, and that Dropbox. Shit, Shawn you’re making me all jumbled and to be perfectly honest? After seeing that text when I woke up? All I wanted to do was to hear your voice, talk, laugh, spend time with you, hug you tightly. I didn’t expect any of that. Whatsoever. It’s thrown me for a loop. A good loop, but still a loop.”

He places his glass on the table next to you, slides yours out of your hand to take a hold of it. “The last thing I want to do is scare you or overwhelm you. But. Is it okay if I say I feel the same? After Tris’ thing, then even more so after New York, I knew I needed to have you around, whatever way you’d let me. Your call and your speed. I was drawn to you in a way that I hadn’t been to anyone before, and I didn’t want to give that up. I was so glad to hear from you, after Tris got you that package. Your voice I mean. And then, the last couple weeks, not going to lie here. I’d look forward to your texts, those random little photos you’d share of those looks of how your life was settling in here. When you went to Sonic and it was my album you got and started listening to, it just hit me and I went into my studio at the condo to start laying those tracks down for you. That was, it meant a lot to me, so I wanted to just do something for you just as special.”

You lean your head on your hand, the one that’s still laying on him, now closer to his wrist and take a deep breath. “Honesty continuing? I’m scared. This whole being here is still such a rollercoaster, and then add in what this could be, especially… You’re you, Shawn. Shit, I don’t want to sound like that but it’s there. There’s a lot that goes with it, you get that right? I don’t think…”

“Take a breath,” he murmurs, slipping a piece of hair that’s fallen across your cheek behind your ear and trailing his finger down your cheek ever so lightly before tanging his fingers with yours. “I understand. I do. I’d like to, if you’re game, see where this goes. No pressure, nothing but the two of us. Only the two of us. Can I take you out on a proper date? I’d love to, please?”

This boy, this sweet, kindhearted adorable boy, this ridiculously famous pop star, really wants to take his time and spend it with you. This time, you listen to what both your head and your heart are telling you. Take the jump.

“I’d really like that, Shawn.”

 TAG LIST: @whenidance, @parkerdavis, @sinplisticshawn, @hollandraul, @fallinallincurls, @itrocksmysocks, @rainbowshawn, @lasingphomustra, @illumecherry​

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Four

B.C.

Bucky had overheard Thor. The big blonde asking what had happened when he noticed your red eyes and mussed makeup. You’d said it was nothing, but it was clear that he didn’t believe you. Stupid kid, Bucky, scoffed to himself. 

He kept a wide berth of Thor, though, knowing you were going to have a very visceral reaction to being close to Bucky and knowing Thor wasn’t as dumb as people tended to think he was. He watched as Thor tucked you against his side and coaxed you into the car with him, out of the public eye. Thor, probably better than most of the others, understood how alien these press events felt for you. How alienating. 

Supersoldiers, spies, billionaires, heroes... there were movies about them. They permeated popular culture so thoroughly that they seemed relatable. Witches though? Witches in this culture were scary. Alien. Often cultural shorthand for evil. Thor knew better. He knew that you, that your kind of witch was indicative of a pure heart. And he knew that these types of events made you feel exposed. 

“My Lady,” Thor said gently, “Please. You are not alright.”

“I'm just stupid, Thor. It’s fine... I just. I’d like to go home and go to sleep, I think. It’s been a long week.” you tell him, carefully taking off the rest of your make up.

Thor frowned, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to speak to someone?”

“Thor, I told you. He isn’t interested... Really he hardly even knows I exist.”

Thor scowled, “He knows enough to know how to hurt you clearly.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” you sigh, “He’s not a monster; he’s just...”

Thor smiles a little, “He’s a man.”

You nod, “I can’t... no one could be that malicious, right?” Thor looks down at your face. Big eyes, reddened and tears pooling again even now as you try to tell him it’s okay. 

“No one,” he reassured, brushing a soft kiss against your hair. But in his heart, he knew that wasn’t true. Some men. Some kinds of especially broken men take a heart that’s proffered to them and break it. Crush it in their hands the way he’d seen you crumple thick black earth when you’re tracking something.

Thor stays quiet after that. He leaves you to your thoughts and is careful not to press too hard. Back at the compound, he stays near you as you walk through the doors. And so he doesn’t miss when you flinch away from Bucky when you nearly brush against him. Thor watches you scurry towards an elevator to your room, keeping your head down, a pair of heels in your hand, and he frowns. “Hmm,” he rumbles. That filled in another piece for him. 

“What’s up?” Steve asked, looking between you, still obviously upset and Thor. Thor frowned, “I am not sure. The lady has elected to keep her own counsel.”

“Is she pregnant?” Sam blurted out.

“That’s unlikely,” Thor snorted.

“Is it boy trouble, though?” Clint asked, falling into step with them all.

“I promised the lady that what she told me would be in confidence,” Thor said firmly. 

“So, yes, but you can’t tell us that,” Clint snorted.

Thor’s eyes narrowed, and Clint held up his hand, “I’m not gonna ask her, I just wanted to know if I should be kneecapping someone.”

“Or making a move,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

Clint flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, “That obvious, huh?”

“Boy,” Sam said, smacking the back of his head, “The only person that HASN’T figured it out is Y/N, and that’s because she’s mostly oblivious to anything that isn’t a rectangle with pages.”

The archer rubbed the back of his head and sighed, “Still, she’s not interested in me. At least not like that.”

“Not yet,” Steve said, shrugging, “I mean. It’s not like you really tried anything.”

“If she’s got boy trouble, it’s with someone else,” Clint reminded.

“You could turn her head... with a hair cut. And a personality transplant,” Sam said.

“Hey, fuck you, I’m charming!” he protested.

“About as charming as roadkill,” Bucky said walking by to the training room

“Fuck you too!”

“Not my type.”

Thor rolled his eyes, and Steve chuckled, “Boys, you’re both pretty.”

“Am I not pretty, Captain?” Thor asked, smirking. His booming laugh echoing off the marble foyer when Steve threw up his hands in exasperation.

___________

You sat at the vanity in your room and surveyed the makeup and brushes you had laid out. Then, you looked at your own face. 

Shaggy hair that needed to be professionally cut instead of it just being you lopping the ends off with a pair of scissors when it got unbearably shaggy. Eyes, lips, nose, cheeks, forehead... all of it was nothing to write home about. Not like the girl Bucky had been whispering to on the balcony. Each whispered word, and lingering kiss had felt like a pin shoved into your heart with devastating accuracy. Hitting every insecurity. 

The stupid thing was, you knew spells and cantrips and potions that could make you as beautiful as that woman. More beautiful even. You could make yourself so earth-shatteringly lovely that men would fight and die just to walk you across the street, but...it would only be an illusion. Like it was for that woman. A dream of a fierce fucking contour and some really beautifully applied eye make up. Anyone could learn to do that part. She’d learned, between Natasha and youtube. Something was soothing about the process of putting the various goop on your face to create the look you wanted to wear. And you were halfway through sculpting your own contour when Natasha burst through your door.

“Oh good, you’re getting ready,” she said, lounging on your bed. 

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Out,” she said, “Girls night out.”

You nod, accepting this, “Not a club, right?”

“No,” she scoffs, “Wine and canvas.”

“Gods bless Pepper,” you laugh, “Did she book the whole building again?”

“Tony insisted,” Nat said stretching.

“Tony?”

“We’re supposed to be interrogating you about your current boy problems.”

You’re heart stutters, and your hand pauses, halfway through putting eyeliner to your eyes, “Boy trouble?” you say out loud while internally cursing Thor. 

“The boys are convinced you’ve got a crush or something...”

You roll your eyes, “As if I’d tell them before I told you.”

“That’s what I said,” she answered. If you were struggling with some unrequited love, you hid it reasonably well. Natasha hadn’t known about it and still couldn’t get a fix on who the object of your affection might be. Maybe you were getting over it on your own. It’s not like you didn’t have a support network to lean on. Perhaps Thor had been more helpful than he had thought.

_____________

A. C.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve had this specific house. But that’s all it is. A house. It’s lightly furnished. A few dishes, enough furniture to make it comfortable. It’s better than it was. For a couple years, you only had lawn chairs and a mattress on the floor. A few books and some plastic dishes. 

It was a place to go to. You had to drive for almost an hour to get anywhere with a movie theater, and there were woods for miles. It was fine. You felt almost safe. Almost okay. There was no one to come towards you with menace in his face. There was no one to prey on the anxieties in your mind.

At least. At least until a beat-up blue pick up rolled down your driveway. You took mental stock of where your staff was in the house and marshaled a little energy to bear, firming up shields and willing yourself not to look surprised... Until you recognize the man that gets out of the car.

“Clint?” you say, tilting your head, releasing the energy you’re holding, “What are you doing here?”

He lopes towards you with a sheepish smile and stops at the steps, “I- I came to find you.”

“Why?” you ask, “Did something happen?”

“I missed you,” he said, cheeks coloring, “Movie night is no fun without someone that understands how to riff on shit.”

“I don’t have a T.V.,” you tell him, rubbing the back of your neck.

“We don’t- I mean. We can just talk.”

“You drove all the way out here to talk?” you ask, taking a hesitant step down to him.

“I mean- I- We don’t have to talk... I could just take you for ice cream. And tell you you're pretty.” He gives you a little crooked smile and holds out his hand.

“I- I dunno if that’s a good idea, Clint.”

“Since when does that matter?” he teases gently, “I don’t wanna stick my tongue down your throat. I just miss my friend.”

“It’s a 30-minute drive to a dairy queen,” you tell him, taking the hand he’s holding out.

“So... 30-minute concert with yours truly as the featured Artist,” he laughed, “Good thing I put new batteries in my hearing aids.”

You giggle and for the first time since he found out you’d left, Clint feels like himself. And it feels good as he helps you up into the passenger seat. 

Tags: @lancsnerd, @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess, @stevieang, @beautybyfire, @sunmoonandbucky @mrsfox79, @bbmommy0902, @mendes-fan, @iheartsebastianstan, @wtfcas @pinknerdpanda, @process-pending, @ladifreakingda, @leasly, @coldbookworm, @hv-chw3, @past-perfect-future-tense, @starkrobb @beardburnsupersoldiers

[ks-caster]

It’s Like Watching Fanfiction – An (Un)Necessarily Long Critique of The 100 Seasons 6 and 7

Ah, the familiar cry of the content-starved fan, particularly as our favorite shows descend into the depths of mischaracterization, unexpected ships, hiatus, abrupt cancellation and shock-value death endings. I’ve said it myself about so many of my shows, while wanting to spend some time watching the characters but not wanting to re-hash episodes I’ve nearly memorized: “I wish I could just watch fanfiction!”

But the further into seasons 6 and 7 I’ve gotten, the more I’ve come to realize that my dream of having new and exciting possibilities for the characters come miraculously to a screen near me wouldn’t be the pleasant experience I’d imagined.

Now, depending on the type of ending you like – hopeful but with a lot of lose ends left to your imagination, or bittersweet but more definite, you could consider either seasons 1-4 or 1-5 their own complete stories.

Both seasons 4 and 5 ended in a way that suggested an unknown but likely positive future. They could have been considered conclusions for the main characters’ developmental arcs, and while season 5 went a little off the rails in terms of offscreen character development and sudden new characters, they both stayed fairly close to the original concept: survivors living in the ruins of the apocalypse. All four (or five) seasons emphasized the importance of the found family dynamic (although those dynamics shifted radically in season 5 due to the time-skip, they remained an important source of character motivation).

But seasons 6 and 7? Those feel like I’m watching fanfiction. And I don’t love it.

A story told on a whole new planet with a new environment, culture and cast of original characters was always going to feel like an AU – it sort of is, no matter how you swing it. If that was all that had changed, then I think the story would still feel cohesive.

If it weren’t for the timey whimey bullshit.

Now, fun fact: when reading fanfiction, I love time travel stories. I haven’t posted any myself but I’ve sought out and read them voraciously, for every fandom I’m in. I love the idea of characters meeting themselves or their friends at radically different ages, plot points and levels of experience and the way that changes things for both groups. (Yes, I’m also a Whovian if that wasn’t blatantly obvious). I also love a good amnesia arc. And I DID think that the Josephine/Clarke body possession thing was pretty cool.

So why did season 6 and most* of season 7 fall as flat for me as they did?

The simple fact is that some things – and characters’ emotional dynamics are one of those things – are so much easier to get across in writing than on screen. A good actor can make us feel the character’s emotions, but unless the film goes full-on Clarke’s mind space, we can’t really know what they’re thinking in individual moments. For the most part film as a genre has ways around this, but if it’s mishandled, then the emotional beats come off all wrong. (See for reference Tony Stark’s funeral where half the actors didn’t know what was going on due to Disney’s spoiler fears.)

If you’re going to include time skips in which things have happened and character dynamics have changed, you cannot handle it wrong.

Which brings us back to seasons 6 and (so far) 7 of The 100. So far to date we’ve had all of this occur either offscreen or asynchronously enough to be confusing to an audience watching the episodes in real time:

Jordan’s entire life prior to meeting Napkru in the waking world

Octavia’s character development while living on Skyring with the Diyozas

Hope’s first 22 years of life, on Skyring and (I presume) Bardo

Echo, Hope and Gabriel living on Skyring for 5 years with Orlando

Going back a little further, we also have the season 5 timeskip, which brought us Spacekru as found family, Clarke adopting tiny!heda, and Octavia building Wonkru. Now season 5 took care to show us Wonkru flashbacks and dedicate time to show Spacekru and the Griffin family loving on each other, making inside jokes etc. But it was still incredibly jarring for the audience in a lot of ways, because at the end of the day, we’ve spent four years with the character dynamics and development doing one thing, and no amount of telling us that they’ve had 6 years to do another thing while our time with them only lasted about one year in comparison is ever going to undo the importance of “show don’t tell.”

Let’s take Bellarkers’ beef with Becho for example. (Disclaimer: Since I don’t really have a strong opinion either way on the popular Bellamy ships, I hope that I’m representing what I’ve read from other people accurately.)

I understand cognitively that Bellamy and Clarke knew each other for one year (during which they were in a lot of intense situations that really didn’t leave them the emotional space to figure out how they felt about each other outside of “I don’t want to lose this person”) and Bellamy and Echo knew each other for seven years (six of which they had plenty of low-stress time to get to know each other, grow and mature side-by-side, etc.).

But that doesn’t compute on an emotional level when I as a watcher went straight from watching Bellamy and Raven tearfully eulogizing Clarke on the ring, to him turning up with a coffee mug and a plucky attitude to rescue her the second he finds out she’s alive and in trouble. I don’t think that could compute emotionally for me without having spent the last few years watching the dynamics shift and Becho happen. And that was with the writers giving me as a watcher an episode at the end of season 4 where Bellamy stops Echo from killing herself and connects with her on an emotional level, and then one at the beginning of season 5 where we got to see the spacekru dynamics, including them being together.

So we’re watching this show, many of us for the found family character relationships (god knows it’s not for all the positive happy feeling I get from watching *checks notes* ah, yes, characters having to constantly choose who to kill off in a string of increasingly huge and horrible genocides. *Side-eyes my life choices for getting into this fandom in the first place.*) Okay, we’re watching this show for the characters, and between seasons 4 and 5, many of those dynamics radically shift offscreen. Becho is the easiest and probably most talked-about example (well, and the Blake siblings, but the radical change shown in Octavia’s character between 4 and 5 makes that at least a little easier to choke down) but there are plenty of others, take your pick.

Although it makes perfect sense for a lot to change between separated groups of people in a half dozen years, it makes a lot less sense to an audience watching week to week, particularly when the show’s limited amount of screen time was too focused on plot to really delve into those changes and let us see and understand them. That was what made me think that the show was headed into jump the shark territory in season 5, but I really wanted to know what happened to my faves (Octavia, Raven and Memori, to be specific) so I kept watching.

Our fandom’s excellent writers spent the hiatus crafting mid-time-skip vignettes and missing character moments, and I spent the hiatus reading them. And I remember thinking that it would have been great if even a quarter of this content could have been put into the show to ease the audience into the dynamic shifts – but of course they’d never have the screen time to do all of that.

Especially, coming back to the main point, since written fiction allows the audience to see inside the characters’ heads, while television (usually) does not. It’s much easier to write a scene in which, say, two characters who have known each other for 7 years show that they’ve gotten into a relationship some time before the scene, and convince the audience that their relationship is good and healthy and genuine, than it would be to produce one for TV.  

And then we come to seasons 6 and 7 – the 2-part AU longfic, stuffed full of OCs, loosely connected to the “science” of the original show, and heavily reliant on memory-bending time travel as a plot device.

As season 6 airs, the audience hasn’t really had a chance to process all the radical changes from season 5, and already we have a Marper child running around furthering the plot, and Octavia walks into the Green Flash from Pirates of the Caribbean and walks back out with a personality transplant.

Meanwhile, Clarke gets an actual personality transplant, and it takes even the people closest to her a concerningly long time to notice. Now, if I’d read that in a fic, the writer might’ve taken care to remind me as a reader – particularly after a long hiatus between seasons – that with the exception of Madi none of Clarke’s friends have seen her for more than a couple of weeks in 6 years, so them not noticing for a while that she’s behaving strangely isn’t really all that strange. But on TV, I don’t get to see Gaia’s thoughts when Clarke lets Madi go to school despite the danger – Tati Gabrielle’s facial expressions can only do so much to make up the difference. Because the time spent apart was not (and really could not be, based on the structure of the show) properly acknowledged on screen, scenes like that one leave audiences floundering and pointing out bad writing.

Having watched 7x02 The Garden, I think if I went back and watched season 6 after Octavia returns from the Anomaly, her conduct – especially around Bellamy – would make a lot more sense. (That was the plan for this weekend actually – but my damn Wi-Fi conked out…) However at the time it just seemed weird and unnatural. Had it been the only example of off-screen or asynchronous character development, it would have been a lot easier to swallow. However, season 5 happened, meaning both that I was still getting used to all of the new dynamics and that I had a higher standard for Octavia’s off-screen development, because we got enough bunker flashbacks that I felt like I at least understood Blodreina.

What would have made the whole thing make a lot more sense a year ago would have been if the hair and makeup department had made an effort to make her look older, so that we could see time had passed for her. Now, Marie is 33 in real life, and so was the Octavia who figured out that up is down and got Davy Jones Locker to send her back ran out of the Anomaly, so yes, that is what an actual 33-year-old looks like, and the media has distorted my perception of age. But from an audience perspective, I saw an actress playing a 23-year-old go in, and the same actress playing the same 23-year-old come out.

Gabriel pointed out that her hair was longer, but that only accounted for a few months of time. Since she went in looking dirty, wounded and exhausted, and came out clean, healthy and energetic, she could have passed for younger before I would have thought she was older. (In fact, I want to say there was a theory circulating at that time that the Octavia who came out of the Anomaly was actually a younger version of herself, and she was missing memories because she’d never formed them. I don’t remember whose theory this was though. If you know or if it’s your content I’m referencing please feel free to let me know and I’ll edit!)

In addition, the shifting loyalties in Wonkru near the end of season 5 complicated the character situation – in season 6, the majority of Wonkru peeps (lookin’ at you, Miller and Indra) switched over to the commander’s side. While Indra didn’t really have enough screen time to express an opinion about Octavia, Miller was very clear in season 6 that she was anathema now – which although that was probably a semi-reasonable step for his character, it just felt like someone took his Bellamy-and-or-Clarke-following season 1-4 character and popped it into his season 6 costume without taking the time to address the road he took to get there.

Post-lockerAnomaly Octavia had to face and slay her demons. (Grumbles and links the interested reader to this POST from @osleyakomwonkru regarding that horseshit.) Afterwards, she shows a major shift in personality, particularly towards her brother. Because we as the audience wouldn’t see her time on skyring for about year in real time (or learn that she was ten years older and therefore a lot more mature, the chemical changes of which would account for at least some of the difference even if she couldn’t remember anything else) we had no choice but to associate her change with the slaying of Blodreina, which seemed like a ham-fisted way of forcing her a quick and slick redemption arc and prepping The Blake Siblings to go back to being ride-or-die for each other in season 7.

Raven’s season 6 personality was also radically different from her 1-5 development – while I understand her having a remaining beef with Clarke and being emotional due to Shaw’s death (RIP!) the fact that the writing in season 6 reduced her to the nagging shrew trope until they needed her to do a coding deus ex machina just added to the feeling that I was watching someone take the characters around, change them to their own preferences (even if that preference was to push some into the background and make them tools for the B-plot) and toss them into an AU story. Which I could have enjoyed more if I had been reading it and therefore seeing inside the characters’ heads – and if I hadn’t paid for the privilege with ad revenue instead of voluntary clicks of the kudos/like/reblog/comment buttons.

Another issue with time skip relationship is exposition for the lesser known characters’ backstories. Both seasons 6 and 7 have so far had dramatic character mother death reveals that were conveniently not told to their most important people specifically because the appropriate time to tell those stories would have been during the offscreen time skips. I will (grudgingly) accept Echo, an adult making a conscious (and familiar) decision to change up her personality to fit into and survive within her environment, choosing not to tell a traumatic story that reminds her of her past. (She’s my next meta – stay tuned!)

I will not in a million years, however, believe that the Clarke Griffin who I watched for four seasons be set up as the blatantly obvious “compassionate mom-friend protagonist” adopted a traumatized 6-year-old, moved into said child’s village, burned or buried the bodies of everyone who lived there, and never ever brought up the child’s dead birth parents.

No way. The ONLY reason that could have possibly been scripted in that way was because that conversation needed to be there for plot reasons and the appropriate time for it to have been had was during the 6 years they spent off screen. Similarly, while (again) I’ll buy that Echo chose not to talk about her mom’s death with Bellamy before he decided to be a dick about it, I fully believe that the timing of that conversation was only there because if it had occurred on the ring where it would have been more appropriate, the audience would have missed it.

Now, picture this: if the scene with Madi had been in a written fanfic, Clarke could have said “you didn’t lose me,” Madi could have said “I didn’t mean you,” and Clarke could have remembered Madi telling her the story of her birth mom dying in her arms. Then Clarke could have mentally made the decision that she didn’t want Madi to relive that in an attempt to empathize with her, and she makes an effort to convince her that she’s fine. In just 2 or 3 paragraphs a written story could have effectively conveyed both the exposition and the emotional beats of the scene, concluding with Clarke making a (maybe misguided but still sweet) attempt to be a good mom by not dredging that up for Madi (or something – I’m not defending the crappy and inconsistent writing of Clarke’s parenting we’ve on screen so far).

Moving right along, we had a lovely flashback montage of Hope and Dev, which was sufficient to make me (and several of the tumblrs I follow) care about Dev at least enough to be saddened by his death. However, what we didn’t get was a damn crumb of flashback showing Orlando and Anomalykru developing any kind of familial relationship between him agreeing to train them, and whatever dynamic we were supposed to pick up on at the end of that episode. I got a little protective big sister vibe from Echo and Hope but that’s it. They apparently expended their allotment of emotion-inducing flashbacks on the dead guy, and failed entirely to make me give a shit about (as it turned out) the next dead guy.

Now we’re going into an episode with Octavia on (presumably) Bardo in the promo, so I’m guessing we get to see her skyring-self link up with her return-to-Gabriel-with-clean-hair self. As least with Octavia’s jumping storyline it seems like the writers have consistently made some kind of effort to fill in the blanks.

But we’re also looking at the rest of the season where Echo, Gabriel, Hope, oh hi Jordan I forgot about you again, Diyoza, Octavia, and probably Bellamy and Hoth!Kru (AKA team let’s follow Raven onto a strange planet without putting on suits or having an exit strategy, yay!) have all experienced asynchronous development over periods of multiple years. Given the show’s track record from seasons 5 and 6, I strongly suspect that this won’t be handled any better, meaning that the final season of this show is going to try not only to resolve all the plot points, but to toss in a bunch MORE offscreen character development and hope we catch on.

Beyond character development jumps, we also have Raven and Murphy losing their seasons 1-5 development in season 6 only to have to re-learn and re-change back to who they already were in seasons 4 and 5. Murphy learned to value his spacekru family and stop putting himself first 100% of the time, and yet his arc in season 6 happened. Raven has always been involved in the big life-or-death decisions, and had her being-the-bad-guy moment in season 4 with the rationing, but as we saw in 7x03 the writers really wanted to… redo all of that for her? The girl blew up a bridge full of guys and flash-fried a 300-person army when she was 18; blood on her hands may not be fun but what’s with seasons 6 and 7 acting like it’s something new?

While I’m aware that Jason said his seasons are individual movies (don’t admit that you’re bad at continuity buddy ‘cause that’s what it sounds like) seasons 1-5 and 6&7 are clearly telling separate stories (or 1-4, 5, 6-7 if you prefer). The trouble with 6&7 is that unlike seasons 1-4 (and sort-of 5) we no longer know the characters. Every time someone sits still too long, character-development wise, plot comes along and hits the reset button, tosses them into a wormhole for a couple of years and they come back with the same face but no continuity. It was difficult enough to deal with in season 5 – between 6 and 7 I just can’t keep up. (Even writing this meta, I have to keep going back because I remembered another character who fell into this trap.)

Now if a fanfic writer had done the exact same thing – same plot, same time skips, same organization – it would have played out completely different to the readers. We could have gotten to see inside the character’s minds when they arrived back on screen, seeing things with new, older eyes. We could have had minimally invasive flashbacks to show important exposition (like the disaster that was the conversation about Madi’s mom) and verbal descriptions to point out differences like Octavia’s ten-years-older body. Additionally, the plots of seasons 6 and 7 are so different yet full of overdone callbacks to the earlier seasons – if a fan was writing their own AU story but still wanted some of the trappings of the original plot I’d get it, but on a TV show written by the same people it just feels like they ran out of ideas.

Watching seasons 6 and 7 is exactly like watching fanfiction would be – but without the written and fan-made advantages of fanfiction, they fall flat.

*I do like season 7 better than season 6 because the content of the individual episodes containing Murphy/Emori/Raven and Octavia/Diyoza/bbyHope was still enjoyable content, so 2 out of 4 I have liked so far, despite this very very long rant I’ve just written explaining why as a whole I rather hate the season overall.

[ashfountainfanfics]

“This is ridiculous,” Mike sighs in exasperation, “my friends and I had nothing to do with any of this.”

The detective at the other end of the table doesn’t seem to accept this. She’s a recent transplant from another state. Most of the Derry police department leaves Mike be, summing up his interest in police matters as a side effect of his fascination with Derry history. She doesn’t seem to be interested in giving that same assumption.

“You keep saying that,” she pushes, “but I think it’s strange that you show up to all the crime scenes and that two of your friends harassed one of the victims. Not to mention that Henry Bowers was found dead under your place of residency.”

Mike is growing more and more frustrated. It was surreal when the police showed up at dinner last night. The Losers Club plus the small group of cops nearly overwhelmed the small Italian place they’d been enjoying.

Bev, Ben, and Eddie are sitting in the lobby while Richie and Bill are in cuffs. Mike is somewhere between the two options or so he figures. He’s not sure he likes those odds.

Detective Lopez fixes him with a look that lacks any hint of retreat or gentility. She’s a no nonsense kind of woman. Her curly, dark hair is cropped in a pixie cut and her face is bare and set in a deadpan expression. Her blouse is a gray button up and the lanyard of her badge is tucked under her collar.

“It’s a small town,” Mike responds, “coincidences are everywhere.”

“Nothing is ever just a coincidence. Did you know Mr. Bowers?”

Mike calmly explains how Henry Bowers was the resident bully when they were children. How often that bullying went past simple pranks and low grade violence. To stop at calling Henry a bully was like trying to call Ted Bundy just an unfortunate date.

“You can ask Ben about his scar, that should give you a clue.”

“I understand that Mr Bowers had a history of violence and mental illness-“

“Being an angry white boy is not a mental illness,” Mike points out.

“Agreed,” Detective Lopez says flatly, “but that isn’t my point. My point is that several children and a man named Adrian Melon are dead and the escape of Mr. Bowers does not correlate with those deaths.”

“It doesn’t correlate with the arrival of my friends either. They weren’t here.”

“But you were.”

Mike is taken aback by the remark. All this time he’s been keeping watch, dreading the day that Derry needed saving but looking to save it nonetheless. Not that this town ever gifted him much beyond tolerance. He has no adult friends here, no significant others, only a series of routine faces that note his presence. Derry, Maine isn’t friendly or good. It’s not even scenic but he wanted to save it anyway. His jaw tightens.

“Of course I was here. I live in Derry. I’ve lived here most of my life, where else would I be?”

“You didn’t know these kids. You didn’t know Adrian Melon. Why did you visit the crime scenes? What business did you have being there?”

Detective Lopez is standing over him now with her hands planted on the table. She does this all calmly with very direct body movements. She never lets her frustration get to her. She harnesses it into orderly conduct and in a way it’s terrifying.

But she’s an outsider without all the facts. You can tell she comes from a big city by her demeanor and her thought process. Often a crime is committed by someone close to the victim or someone that makes themselves close. Contrary to the movies, the person most likely to kill you is the one in plain sight and right next to you. Monsters that hide in the dark and stalk you like prey aren’t the norm.

Mike is glad that he and his friends got rid of that norm for Derry.

“Detective Lopez? Have you ever seen someone die-“

“Of course I have. I’m a homicide detective.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Mike insists, “I was asking if you’ve ever seen someone die when you were a child?”

This gives her pause. Her elbows soften the smallest amount and her hesitancy is plain to Mike. She doesn’t sit. There’s no way she’s backing down that quickly but it’s clear she’s listening.

“I can’t say I have, why?”

“If you take the time to look into me a bit more you’ll know that my parents died in a fire and I was in the other room. I was too little to help them. I couldn’t save them.”

Now Detective Lopez sits down. Her posture is unnaturally straight and her gaze is still unwavering. This is either the best she can do to convey being receptive or it’s the most she’s willing to give.

“Can you imagine the sort of impact that has? I couldn’t even put down a sheep on the farm I grew up on. The idea of causing harm to anyone or anything, indirect or necessary or otherwise, still makes me sick. So please, Detective Lopez, don’t insult me with what you’re trying to infer.”

“Be blunt then. What were you doing?”

“Trying to see if there was a way to stop it. If you look at our history, you’ll see there’s a pattern. Every 27 years since the town was formed, a stretch of terrible things happen. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. Longer than my family’s been in Derry.

I thought maybe if I could pay attention for the next phase I could find the connection. I could save them.”

Mike can see that she’s regarding him as an absolute looney but Mike hopes it’s the harmless kind. She can picture him tinfoil hat and all if it means she doesn’t see him as a murderer.

“And what did you find?”

Mike decides that this is as good a time as any to tell one last lie. It’s not like she’d understand the truth of the matter. She’s the type to only accept hard facts and indisputable evidence. There isn’t anything he can show her to back the truth. Nothing but a lot of rubble on Neibolt street.

“I found nothing. Whatever makes this town the way it is, it’s not for me to understand.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Pennywise was just a part of what made Derry the way it is. Its death isn’t going to cure Derry of its bigotry overnight. There will still be small minded people, violent people. Mike will never understand that.

“So you’re giving up? Just like that?”

“I almost died because a literal living relic of my past broke out of an insane asylum and tried to kill me. I think that’s a sufficient wake up call that I’ve wasted too much time on this town and my own baggage.”

Mike can’t tell if she’s buying it or not. Detective Lopez gives away nothing. She’s an absolute professional to the core. Mike respects that. Derry could use someone on the force who can’t be swayed.

“I may need you to call you back in to corroborate a few stories so don’t skip town,” she gives him a curt nod, “You’re free to go.”

Detective Lopez opens the door to Mike’s freedom. Mike has a feeling that the others have been given similar instructions or that they will be given them. He wonders briefly if they should have thought ahead to confirm a set story with each other but he thinks better of it. None of the Losers are crazy enough to tell the truth.

“Hanlon, wait,” the detective stops him as soon as he’s out of the door frame, “tell your comedian friend that making jokes isn’t going to work with me. It’s not endearing and he’s digging a much bigger hole for himself.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, trying to get him to stop is a joke in and of itself.”

—-

“Her first name is Jennifer!” Richie shouts as if wounded, “Last name Lopez! What did you want me to do?”

Richie can tell that his lawyer is not amused. His voice sounds really far away and it is. He’s driving to Derry as fast as he can.

“Richie, this isn’t your usual legal trouble. This isn’t stolen material or a damaged room-“

“That was one time and I was still a baby! How was I supposed to know what ecstasy looks like? You’re about to see the podunk town I grew up in, man.”

“They’re talking homicide!”

“I still cry over Bambi, for fuck’s sake. Do you seriously think I’d kill anyone for fun?”

“Of course not.”

Roger Clemming has been Richie’s lawyer since the start of his career. He’s a cousin of his manager and normally Roger has no qualms about representing Richie. Most of his legal cases aren’t even his; the man doesn’t write his own stand up so he can’t exactly be held responsible if it’s stolen. Richie Tozier is an easy client.

“I didn’t even mean to kill him. He had Mike and it was clear that old Bowers was totally batshit. I reacted. I don’t know.”

“So we have a witness. That’s good. The more witnesses the better. I just wish you hadn’t pissed off the Detective.”

“Yeah yeah I’m an asshole but I didn’t say anything about the case. And I stayed away from ass jokes!”

“I’m sure that’s what will save you.”

The Derry police station is not a big place. The holding cell is visible to the front lobby and there’s only two private rooms; the sheriff’s office and an interrogation room. Richie can see Eddie, his arms crossed and his face looking like he bit into a lemon.

Stressed out, Eddie spaghetti? You’re not on this end of the station.

“Be honest with me, Roger, am I going to jail or not?” Richie clings to a rare moment of seriousness.

“You defended someone from an escaped convict. If you sit back and don’t make an ass out of yourself we may not even go to court.”

Richie sighs and he wishes he could telepathically share this news with Eddie. He stares down Eddie in the hopes that somehow they do share a psychic link. Eddie remains pissed at some very specific wall instead.

“And, uh, my friend? Bill?”

“I’m not sure a trial can be avoided on that, but as long as there’s no physical evidence then the best they’ve got is circumstantial with no real motive. They’ll be grasping at straws if they charge him. Dead kids do make for angry parents though and sometimes they’ll pull a guy to trial because they’ve got no one else to blame.”

“So 50/50 chance?”

“40/60 of an arrest being made and I can’t begin to estimate the odds on him being found guilty. That all comes down to the kind of town your Derry, Maine.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Richie groans and buries his face into his free hand.

“Watch it, Tozier,” the nearby cop warns him.

Richie apologizes and feigns composure.

“Sorry kid,” Roger’s using his turn signal given the soft ticking in the background, “I’ll do my best but I make no promises.”

Richie mutters a sentiment of gratitude before hanging up. It would still be the better part of a day and a half before his representation gets here. Technically he’s not even sure if Bill wants Roger to represent him but Richie figures it couldn’t hurt to arrange it. After all, do either of them really want to trust whatever a Derry lawyer looks like?

---

Bill settles in for the night. To be honest, he’s slept in far more uncomfortable places than a holding cell. He wasn’t always a big famous writer. He remembers when he had to sleep in his shitty, used Toyota back in the early days. Now he’s got two houses, a celebrity wife, and a second movie deal. None of which he’s particularly sure he wants anymore.

It’s startling how unconcerned Bill is about the charge against him. He’s been taken in on suspicion of murder but Bill knows damn well he didn’t kill that kid and Detective Lopez doesn’t have much of anything on him except that he was seen yelling at the child earlier at the day and had been spotted at the carnival. 

Bill didn’t want to seem entirely unhelpful though despite knowing they were never going to catch what killed that boy. He offered an account of what he thought was an animal attack but it was difficult to make out. Richie’s lawyer probably won’t like that he talked without him present but Bill doesn’t really care.

Bill blamed the yelling on a mental breakdown. His hometown memories were complicated and a failing marriage and work pressure wasn’t helping. When he saw a kid about Georgie’s age living in his old house, he lost it. It was easy to sell this because it wasn’t really a lie. Detective Lopez did make a comment to Bill about how childhood trauma seems very convenient in this town but Bill didn’t know how to respond outside of confusion.

“All right, everyone,” a tired cop announces into the lobby, “Y’all should get yourselves to bed. Visiting hours are over.”

The other members of the Loser’s Club are essentially draped across each other in the lobby and half asleep already. Ben is in the middle like some sort of handsome centerpiece. He has an arm over Beverly and Mike is leaning on his free shoulder. Meanwhile, Eddie is sitting on the floor at Ben’s feet looking tense and irritated.

They gather themselves up except for Eddie who continues to sit on the floor.

“Eddie, honey,” Beverly says softy, “it’s time to go.”

“Richie and Bill didn’t do anything wrong. I will leave when they do.”

Bill chuckles a bit at this and looks over to Richie on the other side of the holding cell. The look on his face gives him pause because it’s not what he was expecting. Eddie looks genuinely frightened in here. He’s also watching Eddie as if looking at the last boat on a sinking ship; one that’s just too far out of reach. Bill isn’t sure what to make of that.

“They’ll be okay,” Mike assures the sulking man on the floor, “I know these cops. They’re decent.”

Eddie doesn’t respond.

“Sweetie,” Bev is getting a hint of irritation to her voice, “we can come back in the morning.”

“I refuse to get up. This is a protest.”

Bev sighs and looks to Ben.

“We’re going to have to force him.”

“Force him?” Ben asks back incredulously, “Force him how?”

“Ben, he weighs 90 pounds soaking wet, what do you think?”

“Oh Lord,” Mike immediately understands the implication.

Ben thinks about it for a second and it dawns on him the same exact time it dawns on Eddie. Ben is briefly horrified by the idea.

“You wouldn’t” Eddie challenges him.

Ben looks helplessly at Bev who shrugs as if to say that there’s no other way. Eddie recoils as Ben clearly accepts his orders and approaches Eddie with strong arms ready to lift him. His stance is that of someone attempting to capture a wild animal.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking touch me!” Eddie screams while rapidly kicking his legs to slide away.

Bill again turns to get Richie’s reaction to all this. He’s pleased to see Richie desperately stifling a chuckle. The cop stationed here for the evening seems to be frozen in disbelief as one grown man is trying to catch another and that other fully grown adult man is essentially crab scuttling his way to safety.

On reflex, Eddie sends a hard kick and gets Ben right in the shin. Ben stops his pursuit to cradle it.

“Eddie! What the hell!?” Bev scolds him.

“Now that’s enough!” the cop finally sees fit to reanimate, “I’ve seen some bull shit in my day but I won’t have a brawl in the station! Sort yourself out or I’ll put you in holding! Got it?”

Eddie gets up from the floor.

“Oh no,” Richie says quietly.

Bill’s confused but looks back to the scene playing out before him. Eddie looks apologetic and humbly confronts Ben.

“Sorry, Ben” he says meekly.

“It’s just my shin,” Ben responds, “It’ll bruise but it’s fine.”

“No, I’m sorry about this.”

Eddie uses his whole body to send a punch right into the side of Ben’s scruffy and very shocked face. Eddie’s fist retreats just as quickly as it had departed and he’s shaking out the pain of contact. Ben cups his cheek, obviously not very wounded. The man’s essentially built like a brick house for fuck’s sake. This does get the cop moving though.

Eddie is escorted into the holding cell with Bill and Richie. Richie looks in awe of Eddie either because he was so reckless or stupid Bill can’t figure which. He does have sneaking suspicion however that Eddie’s little stunt has more to do with Richie than with Bill himself.

Eddie is still pouting and sits square on the floor all over again.

“The little guy will be free to go after he cools down, unless you want to press charges,” the cop asks Ben.

“What? No. No… it’s fine.”

Mike quietly exits as quickly as possible. He’s clearly done with the nonsense that just played out. Bev and Ben stay behind a minute as Bev checks his cheek over again. Bill can make out the soft conversation they’re having but just barely. She’s apologizing for her plan, saying she didn’t think Eddie would fight that much.

“No no, it was a good idea,” Ben assures her.

Bill can see the way that comment washes over her. Ben was always full of a certain sincerity and purity that none of the other Losers ever really had. He’s soft and probably the only one of them that didn’t end up with a ridiculous amount of paranoia or cynicism. Bill doubts that Ben is unscathed but it looks like he at least had the good sense not to unleash his unknown trauma on anyone else.

Unlike Bill and his marriage to Audra.

It’s painfully clear to Bill right now just how much Audra looks like Beverly. They’ve got similar frames, similar facial structures and they’re both redheads. Granted, Audra’s red comes from a salon but it suits her as naturally as it does Bev. They could be sister’s.

‘Why can’t you be how I want you to be?’ Bill remembers saying to Audra not long before he took off to Derry. He’s disgusted with the comment now. He’s disgusted with the fact that he kissed Beverly and it meant more to him than his entire marriage. He’s disgusted with himself.

“See you in the morning, boys,” Bev waves to everyone in holding.

She doesn’t give Bill any special treatment. No lingering eye contact or wistful gaze. It’s as if she never had a crush on him at all, as if they’ve never shared anything. Before it always felt as if she was looking to Bill and now she’s looking at Ben.

Despite a sense of heartbreak, Bill takes comfort in that difference.

---

There’s only two beds in the holding cell. One of which is already taken up by Bill who is sound asleep. Eddie is still sitting on the floor and up against the wall. He watches for the cop to doze off. Sure enough, he’s starting to snore in his chair.

Eddie quietly and carefully scootches over to Richie. Richie’s been lying on other cot, entertaining himself with some sort of impromptu, silent puppet show. He breaks from it as he notices Eddie encroaching on his personal bubble.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers.

“Hi…” Richie answers.

Eddie isn’t sure of how to move forward. Originally he had mapped out exactly what to say after the gang’s celebratory dinner. He was going to apologize for kissing Richie, explain again that he had panicked. He would ask that they move forward from this and go back to normal. He wanted to reassure him that he is very alive and not going to die anytime soon too. He wanted to know how much it meant to him that Richie cared so much. He never knew he was that important to anyone.

Eddie did not plan on embracing his inner chaos and landing himself in a cell for the night. He still isn’t entirely sure what came over him in that moment. The idea of leaving just hit so hard and quickly that he couldn’t do it.

“I went to jail for you,” he glares at Richie.

Well that’s not a good start, Eddie mentally notes.

“I see this. I’ll file it under your list of uncharacteristically brave fuckery.”

“I mean that I want to talk. We need to talk.”

“Oh.”

There’s a pause between them. That pause grows into a prolonged period. That period slinks into awkward silence. Eddie is aware since he brought up the conversation that he should actually start it but his head is empty. All he can think about is how the stab wound in his cheek hurts and how flustered Richie looks.

“Look, man,” Richie gives in, “We don’t have to talk. I get it. You panicked. Case closed. Mystery solved. We both deserve a Scooby snack for that epic conclusion.”

Eddie realizes for the first time that Richie is hiding behind his humor. He feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner but his eyes are a dead give away. Richie is making more eye contact now than usual. It’s like he’s forcing himself to present a put together facade. He’s watching Eddie to make sure he believes it.

Eddie wonders if it might be prudent to look at Richie in a different light. In childhood, he was always just that asshole friend. He liked to pick on him but never past annoyance. You’d think trying to steer clear of Henry Bowers would have made Eddie resistant to a friendship built on teasing. In retrospect, Eddie’s not sure what did open him up to it. By all logical accounts, Richie shouldn’t mean much of anything to Eddie and vice versa.

“Why do you do that?” he decides to approach it directly.

“I’m a comedian, Eds. Cracking a bad joke is as natural to me as breaking wind.”

Eddie could easily feed into this but he doesn’t want to. He physically sits up straighter and takes a calm breath in. It’s tempting to write Richie off as immature and continue down the rabbit hole of humor at Eddie’s expense but he refuses. Richie is keeping a secret of some kind which seems painfully obvious to Eddie now. If he’s ever going to move forward from recent events he’ll need to know what it is.

“What are hiding?” he leans in close.

Richie’s face loses all color. He stammers for a moment and Eddie is secretly pleased with himself. He’s so used to Richie getting at him that it is deeply satisfying for the tables to turn. Eddie tries not to stay in that mentality though. He wants answers not revenge.

“Bill’s the one with the stutter,” Eddie points out, “fess up. You’re hiding something from me and you’re using your crap jokes to do it. I won’t go to sleep until you tell me what’s going on.”

It seems a little overkill but Eddie is feeling the dramatics today. They saved each other’s lives earlier. They should be able to talk. Eddie debates their closeness as he waits for an answer. Sometimes it felt like they were the closest two people in the room and other times they were the furthest. Eddie wants to know why.

“I- uh,” Richie is sweating at the forehead, “I want to say first that- shit no. Okay, growing up I- fuck no that’s going to take forever.”

Eddie continues to glare down his friend. It’s not that he wants to force the truth out of him but rather his concern is growing. Showing Richie his soft side doesn’t come naturally though. So here he is trying to be a good friend but acting like a displeased asshole.

“Okay, here goes,” Richie takes in a breath of confidence, “Dinner.”

“...dinner?”

“Yes.”

“What about… dinner?” Eddie says bewildered before getting accusatory, “I swear to God, Rich, if this is a set up to a mom joke I’ll-“

“Dinner!” Richie says again a bit too loud.

The guard stirs. The two men freeze. A few seconds later a loud snore emerges. Eddie sighs in relief. He’s done just enough to end up in here. He doesn’t want to get in enough trouble to stay.

“You and me. Dinner. Us. Dinner. Together. Y’know, dinner?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and relaxes his shoulders. So it’s not a joke about his mom but a joke nonetheless.

“Oh. I get it. Ha ha, very funny. Like a date,” Eddie comments sarcastically.

“Yes.”

Richie isn’t grinning. He not casually avoiding eye contact either as he does with a usual set up. Instead he’s looking directly at Eddie with everything he’s got. It’s the ‘please believe me’ look from before but in an entirely different context. It’s sincere.

Jesus Christ, I think he fucking means it, Eddie panics.

“Okay,” he finds himself saying even as confused internal screaming fills his insides.

“Shit. Really?” Richie is as shocked as Eddie is.

“Yeah.”

“You’re going on a date.”

“Yes.”

“With me.”

“I guess.”

This is all on the premise that Richie is released in time for a date. He may end up in real jail. Then what would they do? A prison dinner date doesn’t have the most enticing ring to it.

Eddie feels like a part of him has detached from his own brain. Whatever his body is doing is past his control now. The surrealism of this unexpected direction broke him.

“Move over,” Eddie demands quietly.

Richie backs up as far as can, looking absolutely befuddled. Eddie climbs into the small space left on the cot. He’s tired. There’s only two cots and one is taken. It makes direct sense to share at least when you’re not entirely in your own body anyway.

Eddie remembers briefly about how the two of them would often share the hammock as kids. Eddie unceremoniously plopped himself in and fought for space so often that it became customary. He never did it to anyone but Richie though. He was the only one.

Richie braves putting an arm around Eddie and at first Eddie’s spine goes rigid. He’s not ready to think about this, not even sure if acting on it is right yet. He still feels far away from all this even as he Richie’s body heat cradles him.

Something about the way Richie’s hand cups the small of his stomach feels...good. Eddie’s body relaxes and he realizes how fucking exhausted he is. It’s been an exceptionally long 48 hours. A little shut eye and a cuddle isn’t so ludicrous. Even if it is with Richie Trashmouth Tozier.

“Just keep it in your pants,” Eddie yawns before falling asleep.

[nettheworldonfire]

And the winner is...

So after waiting a full hour to be seen, we have results, answers, next steps, and more appointments.

Official diagnosis - Advanced gastroenteropancreatic neuroendocrine tumor metastatic disease in the liver. Code name: Cancer.

The CT scan showed about 10-20 non-functioning (meaning not symptomatic) malignant, low-grade (5% on the ki-67) tumors in my liver, the largest two being a 5.1 cm lesion in my left lobe and a 4.6 cm lesion in my right lobe. Dr. Rose estimates that 30-50% of my liver is disease. I am not a candidate for a liver resection or transplant for a few reasons. First, since the tumors are all over my liver, and not just in one place - you’d need some sort of melon baller, leaving me with a Swiss cheese liver (which isn’t how liver resections work). Second, a transplant causes immunosuppression, which often leads to more rapid disease growth. Even with a new liver, metastatic disease would likely return. So seriously guys, stop trying to give me your organs. I’m cool.

The best course of action (and our plan) is a Lanreotide (brand name Somatuline) 120 mg injection, once every four weeks for(possibly)ever. I will begin treatment on March 9th. The most common side effects of Lanreotide are diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, headache, dizziness, abdominal pain, and a reaction at the injection site. Lanreotide has been known to cause hypothyroidism and diabetes, as well. Dr. Rose said that Imodium should help with most of the side effects, but if any of the more serious things happen, he’d send me to a specialist. Bloodwork will be run monthly to check for thyroid or blood sugar issues. If I get fatter, as a side effect of cancer, again, I’m going to be super pissed. I mean, come on universe. Getting thin is literally the ONLY benefit of cancer.

The Lanreotide injection will happen in Dr. Rose’s office in Nazareth Hospital. It should be a quick in and out thing (in the hip) and shouldn’t cause any immediate issues. I’m hopeful that since GI issues are pretty normal for me since the Whipple, that I won’t even notice the new side effects. Wishful thinking (for me and everyone else who has to share a home or work environment with me).

If after a few months, we can tell the Lanreotide isn’t working and the disease progresses, there are other medications that we may try, specifically Everolimus or Sunitinib, which both cause shitty side effects (I believe Dr. Rose said they make you feel like, “S-H-asterisk etc. you know what I mean...so we want to try to avoid that.”

In addition to the Lanreotide (which should keep the tumors from growing) he also wants me to do a liver embolization on both sides of my liver (two separate procedures). These procedures would be done by Dr. Feldstein at Nazareth, as well. He thinks we should plan for April, and then again one or two months later. Dr. Feldstein described the liver embolization as a tube going into the radial artery in my arm or groin and puffing out air to locate the artery “feeding” the tumors. Then, sending out tiny beads to block the artery and cut off their supply. Thus, devitalizing or killing (not removing or shrinking) the tumors. They would still be there, but would be dead and the CT scans would show necrosis.

The other next step is a Gallium Dototate scan - which is like a PET scan, using a radiopharmaceutical tracer to locate any other metastatic disease in my body. Apparently, this type of tracer loves a good NET and will latch on. The results of this scan will indicate if the cancer has further metastasized and if additional or different treatment is necessary. Lanreotide and embolization is considered an aggressive treatment for the NETs in my liver, assuming that’s the only place the cancer exists. This scan has to occur at Jefferson in Center City. Dr. Rose is hoping that his request for the scan gets approved and we get an appointment next week. Results of this scan should be available within 24 hours. That’s literally the best thing I heard today since waiting is the worst part of all of this.

Dr. Rose talked a lot about a study called the Clarinet study (nothing to do with the instrument) where patients with metastatic NET cancer have been being treated with Lanreotide alone. Half of the participants had no change in quality of life and no progression after 3.5 years (which is as far out as the study had followed, suggesting they could still have no progression years later). Dr. Rose believes it’s “a reasonable thing to be alive 10 years from now” so I asked him if he will still be practicing in ten years. He is 67 and said he has no plan for retirement (as long as they continue to let him work three days a week, which is what he will do next year). I still plan to get a second opinion at Penn with Dr. Teitelbaum, who Dr. Rose said he could call/text, despite not thinking she was necessarily an expert on NET cancer.

Dr. Rose said he has one NET mets patient who’s 9 years post diagnoses and another who is 35 (both ends of the spectrum) so that’s promising. I’d like to be alive, you know, for a little while.

In other news, Owen is traveling for work next week and will be gone Saturday night through Friday night, so that will be fun. And Olive officially has a 12-day boob-eviction notice. Wish us luck.

Fun fact - NET is the zebra of cancers (because it’s rare and doctors are taught, when you hear hooves think horses, not zebras), so Olive and I wore our zebra gear today.

* Dark side: Cancer. Forever.

* Bright side: There seems to be a solid plan and definite course of action that won’t make me super sick.

* Next steps:

Next week - Gallium Dototate scan (date TBD)

3/2/20 at 12:30 pm - bloodwork at Labcorp

3/9/20 at 11:30 am - Lanreotide injection

3/17/20 at 8:30 am - second opinion with Dr. Teitelbaum

* Factual, future-Sam as a cat GIF -