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autisticlancemcclain · 5 months

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Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

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heeliopheelia · 11 months

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"i've missed you" (jungwon x reader)

genre: fluff word count: 0.6k requested by @i-am-confused-about-life <3

a/n: it's drabble time!! thought i'm not gonna post tonight but oh well 💀 dropping a little shorter one but i hope you guys like it just as much <3

What Jungwon has learnt throughout the entire two years you've been together is that you turn into a light sleeper whenever he's not around. So the turned off lights are enough for him to know that he needs to keep quiet and walk around on his toes. He quietly closes the door behind him, then sets his suitcase right next to the staircase.

Unpacking can wait couple hours more. All that he needs right now is to finally fall asleep with your body curled up next to his – the beloved feeling that he's been deprived of for two months as he's been away on a tour.

He walks up the stairs and pushes the tilted door of your shared bedroom open only to be met with a sight of you asleep. The dim moonlight peaking through the curtains lets him distinguish the way that your face gets smothered by a pillow in the dark, and he feels a smile creeping up on his face almost in an instant.

One look at you is enough to make him feel at home.

Stirring in your sleep, you feel a pair of all too familiar arms wrapping around your middle. The scent, your favorite scent in the entire world, of your boyfriend's cologne engulfs you warmly and you feel a sting of giddiness waking you out of your sleep.

"Won?" You ask groggily, turning around in his tight hold. The second that your eyes meet his sparkly ones, you let a tired grin spread your lips widely and you throw yourself on his neck, pulling him closely to your body. "You're home!"

Your breath tickles his neck but he would rather die than to find it in himself to complain about any of that that – not after he's been missing you like crazy for such a long time. So he nuzzles his head in your shoulder instead.

"Hi, love. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

You smack his arm lightly before going back to squeezing the life out of him. "I'm glad you did. Wanna greet you properly," you mumble in his neck, fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head. He hums before pressing his warm lips to your temple. "You're early, though. Thought you were supposed to come in the evening?"

"We took an earlier flight. Couldn't wait to get home to you. See your pretty face again."

His hands caress your skin ever so gently, the touch nearly lulling you back to sleep. So before your eyes close back again, you tighten your arms around him and whisper a small "I've missed you" with a voice full of emotion.

Jungwon runs his fingers through your hair, carefully untangling whatever knots have created at the ends of your locks. He's well aware you're seconds away from drifting away again but he doesn't mind that at all. Because now he has you in his arms again – his love, his sunshine, and he relishes in the relief as his heart full of longing finally feels almost hundred pounds lighter.

"I've missed you too. So fucking much," he whispers back, letting his lips linger over your cheek after he places a kiss upon it. His nose gently nudges yours before he pulls you impossibly close to his chest and eventually allows his heavy eyelids to flutter shut.

With your body flush to his and the faint sound of your breathing soothing him as well as a lullaby, Jungwon knows he'll finally get a good night's sleep after two months of tossing restlessly in the hotel beds.

"I'm taking you with me the next time," he mumbles into your hair, not even sure if you're listening or if you're already fast asleep but he keeps talking, "I don't care, from now on I'm taking you anywhere I go. Couldn't deal without you for so long again."

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @venividibitchin @ramenoil @jenjnk

#carly's 1k event ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა #1k event: requests ✎#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon

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orphicdreamers-wp · 5 months

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Girl Of My Dreams — Mat Barzal

Summary: In which Mat Barzal inadvertently falls for the oldest Hughes sibling and her brothers aren’t happy.

Content Warning; Taylor swift 1989 isn’t by Tay(its by reader) Mentions of University of Alabama (reader went there) Trevor Zegras being hopelessly in love with reader. Readers social media face claim is Addison Rae bc idc she’d clear as a WAG for a athlete.

Pairing: Mat Barzal x Hughes! Reader.

Mat would be lying if he said he didn’t sneak glances at the announcers box after meeting you. You had been carrying a plate of food and two margaritas to your booth where your friends sat. Tito had made a joke about you seeming familiar then the pair heard your voice and knew, “Alright now, eat up because y’all are bumming me out.” Mat’s jaw slacked, “He’d known that the Islanders had gotten a new game announcer who was a girl but he wouldn’t have known it was you. You were effortlessly stunning, you had captivated the attention of every straight man in the bar. Mat had approached you as you sat at the bar, “I’m Mat, can I buy you a drink?”

You grinned and spoke, southern accent slipping out, “I’m Y/N, I mean Barzy after the way you played last game? You better buy me a drink. ‘Yknow how many hate comments my broadcast got?” Mat grinned as the bartender approached you, “Another Corona Light and whatever she’s having on me.” You grinned sheepishly, “I’m fucking with you. I’ve heard worse.” Mat grinned, “So now would probably be a shitty time to ask you out?” You smiled at him, “Maybe not.” Mat smiled, “If I may, your not from New York are you? Where are you from?” You grinned, “I grew up in Toronto with my 3 younger brothers and moved to Alabama for college and been in New York for a few months now.” Mat grinned, “Well welcome to New York beautiful.” That was a year and a half ago. You still hadn’t told your brothers who your boyfriend was, just that his name was Mathew. Until your album release came creeping in and you wanted to go public with Mat.

Instagram

ynhughes; my album ‘1997’ is now streaming! thank you for all your support(especially the bf, ‘slut’ and ‘suburban legends’ are 4 us)

barzal97: celebrating you is my favorite pastime. i have never met someone who people gravitate towards more than you. you are by far the most wonderfully amazing woman i know. it is a privilege to say i love you🤎 this past year or so has changed my life. you make living easy and so so much better. i can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.

trevorzegras: alexa play that should be me💔💔

ynhughes: forever in awe of you mathew barzal. amazed a gal like me is lucky enough to be adored by you🤎

oliviarodrigo; THEY HIT THE PENTAGON!! @conangray

>conangray; told you it was them i saw at radio music hall!

ny_islanders; our roman empire is all the sweet posts for to y/n today🥹🥹

sydneyemartin: brb crying. the purest people in the world. so grateful my girls get to grow up seeing a love this pure that isn’t their parents.

>ynhughes: we adore your girls more than words can express.

_quinnhughes: my biggest inspiration is out here killing it. in awe of you everyday sissy🥹 thank you for being my best friend from day 1

ynhughes: in a puddle of tears quinny. thank you for always being on my side, even when im wrong.

sabrinacarpenter; hockey players making me ugly sob wasn’t on my 2023 bingo card

elhughes; my first babies🥹 extremely emotional over you all today

>_quinnhughes: we love you momma💕

jackhughes: 1997 reasons to love my meanie head sister, i guess her bf’s alright

ynhughes: i love you little brat, come visit me and mat!!

>jackhughes: will do, sissy🫡

trevorzegras: i can’t believe she won’t date me 😞😞

>ynhughes: buck up z, your way too young for me. perfect age for @sabrinacarpenter tho!

lukehughes: the worlds best big sister came out with the best album to date

ynhughes; really feeling the hughes love train today, i need to plan for all of us to be together soon! so y’all can meet Mat!

etnow; this just in; the Hughes brothers have brought tears to my eyes supporting their sister

barzal97: the third picture is actually the most accurate representation of your sister now

>lukehughes; always messing with those darn cats! even if they are on the side of the street.

#hockey player x reader #fanfic #hockey #nhl #nhl fanfiction #social media #jack hughes x reader #jack x reader #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal #hughes sister #1989 taylor's version #music #addison rae

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zvaigzdelasas · 7 months

Text

Booker Prize-winning Indian author Arundhati Roy could be prosecuted for allegedly seditious comments made over a decade ago, after a top official in Delhi said there was enough evidence to lay charges.

Roy rose to international prominence for her novels, including 1997 Booker Prize winner “The God of Small Things,” but has also published two collections of political writing andlongbeen an outspoken critic of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.[...]

Earlier this month, police in New Delhi raided the homes of prominent journalists linked to a left-leaning news organization known for its scrutiny of the Indian government. Police said they had arrested the outlet’s editor and a colleague as part of an ongoing investigation in connection with India’s Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, or UAPA, an anti-terror law that critics describe as “draconian.”[...]

The case was filed in 2010 over comments Roy made at a conference on Kashmir called “Azadi – the Only Way Ahead” – “azadi” means freedom or liberation and is often used as a slogan for the Kashmiri independence movement.[...]

In her 2010 speech,posted online, Roy spoke about Kashmiri efforts to seek justice, in part for the mass exodus of Hindus from Muslim-majority Kashmir in the early 1990s amid increasing violence.

12 Oct 23

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nucifraga · 5 months

Text

so... who was going to tell me that my estimates of the tma characters' ages was WAYYY off??

and i know jonny probably meant it to be that way so that there'd be leeway for creative interpretation of the characters and all, but my brain wants them pinned down. so. here's a mini-list/research rant of my favs. presently the list consists of:

Jonathan Sims

Martin Blackwood

Sasha James

Timothy Stoker

Mike Crew !

Oliver Banks

Michael Shelley

Gerard Keay

Three disclaimers – (i) The TMA timeline is a trainwreck. Many assumptions have been made. At least half of them are probably wrong (especially where University is used as an age marker) and also my maths ability sucks because I haven’t done maths in two years, so where there are glaring issues, so feel free to correct me and I will edit accordingly :’) (ii) This is by no means definite. See above. Honestly, attempting to decipher them feels like trying to understand the Spiral. But I’m doing it anyway, because as both a fanfic writer and an academic, I want to at least try. (iii) SPOILER WARNING!! SO MANY SPOILERS! I think the only seaosn that isn't spoiled is maybeeee S5 ???

With that, let's go! [Ages are approximate & as-of 2016 / S1]

Jonathan Sims Age: 28 Birth year: 1987-1988 There seems to be a general consensus on this one. MAG81 appears to be one of the key clues here – ‘Jon says that he was about 8 during the events of the statement and that it happened a year or two after Leitner's library ended, which was in 1994. So he's born around 1987-88.’ [source: reddit]Of note is the fact that he lied about his age and pretended to be older, which is hilarious, and leads me to believe that he’s the youngest of the Archives crew – or at least, near there.

Martin Blackwood Age: 28-ish Birth year: 1988 Has worked for the Institute since at least 2009. He’s lied about having a Master’s in parapsychology, so is likely old enough to feasibly be able to have one. As all institute staff have to at least have a Master’s in something archive-related (iirc), all of them must hence be at least 22/23, assuming the Master’s courses are 1 year long. Jonny has, however, stated that Martin is either a bit older or a bit younger than Jon, and I’m tempted to believe it’s the former (see above).

Sasha James Age: 28-34, 30-ish? Birth year: 1981-1987 There’s like, nothing on Sasha. I’m assuming she’s at least older than Jon, because that might be why he began faking his age. The only possible marker would be that Sasha’s worked in Artefact Storage (for 3 months), Research (for longer, I assume) and long enough in Archives to be considered as Gertrude’s likely successor. So, definitely more qualified, and also older than Jon.

Timothy Stoker Age: 30-ish Birth year: 1986? Tim has a degree in Anthropology from Trinity College (I assume this to be Oxbridge, rather than Ireland or something, since he resides in London), and spent 5 years working at a publishing firm. This puts him at 26 (18+3+5) in 2013 when Danny was taken. As he says he began working for the Institute shortly after, I would assume that this is when he stopped working for the firm. I’ve added a bit of buffer because nobody’s birthdays are given, ever, and also there might have been a bit of time between leaving university and joining the firm and/or leaving the firm and finding the Institute. So – 30.

Okay that’s the core staff, onto my other favs.

Michael 'Mike' Crew Age: 37-ish Birth year: ~1979 My #1 avatar! I did a double-take after I worked out his entire timeline, but here’s the highlights: He was a uni student during late 1997-early 1998 when he went looking for Ex Altiora in Lion Books. I’m assuming he was a first year, because generally uni students stay in the sameish area for the whole course and I don’t see him missing out on an opportunity to Leitner-hunt just because the store was in a slightly out-of-the-way part of town. So! This puts his birthdate at around 1979-1980.

Oliver Banks Age: 28-ish Birth year: ~1987 Oliver Banks’ timeline during & post-Uni makes NO SENSE. Fortunately, we do know that he moved to London around 2005 to do his undergraduate degree at the London School of Economics. Which puts him at around 18 in 2005, and his birth year can be worked out from there. Quick rant about Oliver’s timeline: Oliver is working at Barclays by 2007, and he was recruited after graduating. Which means he both began and subsequently completed his undergraduate degree between 2005 and 2007. That’s literally impossible for a standard 3 year course. Plus, by around 2007, he’s been working for nearly a year at Barclays, so he started in 2006… so apparently he began his degree and completed it in under a year, since the academic year starts in September??

Michael Shelley / Michael the Distortion Age: 31 / 49 / early 50s (but canonically 92 at all points in the timeline) Birth year: ??? I didn’t do the research on this one, so here’s my source because I don’t think there’s any more I can add.This mess is truly Spiral-worthy, which could have been intended, but also may just be the TMA timeline wonkiness at work. There’s also been some speculation that he was hired at even younger than 18, but equally it’s possible that he was hired older, which puts his age squarely into the [I don’t have a fucking clue] range.

Gerard Keay Age: technically 32 Birth year: ~1984 Gerry was born in the 80s, and given that the above source states he was in his ‘late teens’ in 2002, this tracks. Making the assumption that he’s 18 in 2002, I’m going to place his birth year at around 1984. However, he died in 2014 (I’m assuming late-2014, given that he had time to encounter Leitner in London & travel a bit with Gertrude before his death) in the USA, putting him at around 30 at the age of his death. Since he’s dead, he doesn’t really age, but he is ‘aware’ enough to be in existential pain so I’m going to go with Descartes on this one and say he’s ‘alive’ enough to continue counting his years of existence. Poor guy. Doesn’t even get to actually die til August 2017 either.

Part 2 ft. the 4 Grandpas of the Apocalypse here

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avalordream · 11 days

Text

Prompt: Imagine you get isekaied in Our Life. Only thing is that you wake up as a child and remember everything. You can only save at this point but you can still access the save and load menu and see your previous runs.

Meanwhile your precious neighbor is slowly becoming self aware, getting deja vu with every passing second- as if this has all happened before...

A/N: A few days after I posted this- a few other thoughts came to mind- SO HERE IS MY ATTEMPT AT VOCALIZING THEM

You’re keenly aware of how small and tiny you are the moment you wake up.

For the first few days, you started to acclimate to…the family home.

It wasn’t YOUR family though. It never was. It was MC’s. Not your’s.

You could project all you wanted onto MC but it was never your family or your life to experience. It was theirs.

Even so, you quickly found yourself missing the life you were used to. More specifically:

The cuisine.

It was hard not to draw suspicion to the fact that you were craving different food genres aside from Mom’s Pamela’s mac and cheese and cheeseburgers.

Ma’s Noelani’s Hawaiian food helped quite a bit to hold you over as you started to ponder over how to approach it.

Kind of hard to bring it up to your MC’s parents that you wanted Asian/Middle eastern/Indian/Pakistani/Mexican/etc food when there was none of that for miles around

For the time being, you had to quietly hint and nudge their thoughts into that direction but not enough to make them suspicious. Noelani obviously had her suspicions about Cove getting into the house from Step 2-3 but never brought it up once. From what you could tell, she was scary observant

Another issue was how clumsy your new body was.

Your mind might be able to remember how to do everyday tasks like writing and such but this tiny body didn’t have the muscle memory to match it

Much to Liz’s dismay, you spent quite a bit of your time forcing your hands and legs to train to do things your adult body could do in a snap

Time wise- technology was a huge sucker punch. It made you feel bad for taking your own devices for granted.

That being said, self learning everything was going to be hard without a phone or computer on hand, especially knowing that you’d have to go through the cursed education system all over again- but most likely much harder

There had to be a reason older folk complained about it, right?...

Your MC’s birthday was the same as your own, just that the birth year is 1997. That being said, the current year was 2006… Funny. You were only two in 2006…

…

Back to self learning, you tried to practice what you considered basic math long after everyone had fallen asleep

Usually, your day was filled with entertaining Shiloh and Liz, playing in the park or going along with whatever Liz said. Judging by the giant for sale sign across the street and the date, you figured out that you got isekaied roughly at least a month or two before Cove and Mr. Holden would move in.

Who knew how that would go now that you weren’t subjected to just three choices?

Even after playing around, your body was exhausted and your baby mind was just as pooped out.

The first few days you would wake up early as children do and tried doing your math and remembering as much as you could at that time

Yeah, Liz nearly gave you a heart attack after she barged in and you had to play it off as you scribbling absolute nonsense cause you were bored

After that near collision, you changed your prep time to being at night. Sure, you woke up to Liz shaking you and not getting enough sleep in the morning, but you needed to refresh your memory the best you could

You couldn’t do it every night though and did your best to keep some sort of schedule so you wouldn’t forget - and worry your MC’s moms

They noticed the first few times of how sleepy you’d be when you’d wake up later than usual - granted if Liz didn’t wake you up - and a few nights after, you nearly got caught right in the middle of your review.

Pam was more sneaky than Noelani, so you should’ve seen this coming- but even so, you had everything spread out on your rug when you just barely heard her footsteps come to your MC’s door

You had enough time to shove everything underneath your bed - your room was messy enough but better safe than sorry - and quickly dive under the covers before you heard your door open with the softest of clicks

She was around for a good while before you heard the door close again but you didn’t relax until you were sure her footsteps went back to the master bedroom

After that, you were much more careful about how long you spent studying and when. You haven’t been caught since.

Occasionally, you’d have to sneak in your MC’s parent’s room to grab any books that you needed. Good thing Noelani was a book nerd.

You did have to be careful about your self learning- you didn’t want them getting any suspicions that their kid was suddenly…different out of nowhere.

You had no idea what MC was like as a kid before the events of Our Life so you tried your best to piece together what you could

Speaking of, there were a bunch of things you quickly realized about Our Life, one of which is that game didn’t go over nearly everything that MC went through, let alone before Cove came or others that it only touched on briefly

For example, the tourists that came and went every year happened to be close friends of Pamela’s from her time in university, hence why they were so friendly to you and Liz in particular.

It was also why they knew how to… handle your ever changing moods. At least-

That’s what it looked like to them.

To you- it was because you had to battle MC’s initial responses to these scenarios.

Go figure, this body still had its fair share of emotions inside of it, leaving you to figure out if this sharp pang of fear or worry was your own or not.

It left you second guessing everything you did, especially when you’d be up at night, studying and practicing your writing

It seriously irked you, knowing your writing was sloppy even though you knew this body couldn’t help it. It didn’t make seeing your scrappy writing less frustrating though

Despite how much you tried to hide how YOU felt, not MC, Noelani still picked up on the small shifts in your behavior.

One of these being the irritation you harbored for your writing.

Speaking of emotions, you found your body easily overwhelmed by any stronger ones- your own irritation making you cry- an alien feeling and one that took even you by surprise.

Worse part? The first time happened was in front of Noelani when she tried to help you practice your penmanship

Naturally, she tried to comfort you MC by trying to console you, saying it’d be better with practice and wiping away your tears but no matter how YOU tried, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing

It wasn’t until much later that you realized that MC’s tiny self had their own limits and by pushing those adult feelings and expectations that YOU had onto it sent it into a messy overdrive.

After that, you had learned to slow down- the world wasn’t ending…even if it felt like it.

…

The nail in the coffin for you that made YOU cry. Not MC’s body: Your dreams started to resemble parts of your life.

You’d dream that you were back at your desk job or filling out mundane paperwork but no matter how boring it’d be, it was YOUR life.

The one YOU were used to and familiar with

You’d always feel so relieved to be back where you were supposed to, whether you were happy with that life or not

It was that feeling of having all your choices in your hand and being in control of where you wanted to go, if that made sense.

Nobody made those choices for you except well…you.

Only to have that feeling of familiarity ripped away once you registered Liz waking you up to play while “Ma and Mom snooze the day away!”

…

You just want to go home…

To YOUR home…

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return-to-ravenbrooks · 25 days

Text

Return to Ravenbrooks:

Biography

Entry 3

Name: Maritza Esposito

Date of Birth: 1997

Gender: F

Current Address: 910 Friendly Court

Height: 5'5

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Green

Key features: Shaved head, prosthetic leg, custom-made bat

Role: Defender

Abilities: Boxing, strength, speed

Occupation: [REDACTED]

Status: Fair

Biography:

If I had a nickel for every time a little argument or scuffle emerged between Nicky and anyone else in the newly formed "Ravenbrooks Investigation Club" I could get one of those nice professional metal bats. Maybe then I could practice my swinging instead of just sitting back and kicking my legs on the arm of Trinity's couch while they scuffed.

Usually, it was nothing. Stress boiled into anger and frustration. Usually, some yelling and gritted teeth and nothing more.

But today wasn't a nothing more day. Today things began to get heated again. Trinity brought up going into the old house again. The stress of investigating must've been getting to her like it's getting to all of us because she shoves him, hard. His head hit the wall hard enough that the thud made us wince. I jerked upwards out of my seat. If it'd been a few months ago I wouldn't have. Nicky had a hard time forming a proper fist, let alone throwing a punch. He was a flighter, not a fighter. But now? I don't know if that strength had the real temper behind it to do anything, but if somehow someway this did get violent?

I didn't have to take a full step before something distracted all of us.

Knocking.

The lot of us exchanged glances. Trinity's parents wouldn't have knocked on their own front door, and they, like most of the parents in Ravenbrooks were away at parent-teacher night.

I leaned toward the living room window, peeking out at the front step. I have to close the curtain and open them again, then again. Like somehow that'll make the familiar face change into someone else.

"...Who is it?" Trinity asks finally.

"A boy and-" I stop, having to think my words out carefully, "...The Carrion's kid..." I mumbled. The words are meaningless to her ears, but I can feel Enzo's eyes widen.

Ivan was the one who opened the door at last, and without a word, the two boys rushed in. They looked awful. An all too familiar level of awful. The taller boy, whose head was decorated with strawberry-blonde hair tangled with sticks and leaves, and what I slowly realize is blood. It's smeared across his face and around tear-stained eyes. His name is Damien, I think, but out of the two of them, it's the boy he's gripping tightly I'm focused on.

He looks different without the thick black eyeshadow and old all-black clothes. Instead, the boy's face is covered in bruises, scratches, and blood. His left eye is swollen shut and there's blood dripping from his mouth. He's dressed in shredded brown shorts and a hoodie much too big for his frame. I can only assume it was Damien's.

No one wanted to take the time to explain the Carrion family to Trinity. It felt dumb and unnecessary. What good was 'Hey did you know there's ANOTHER weirdo family in Ravenbrooks?' What help was it to talk about Lucy Yi's funeral, and the boy from the rich old family who stood up in front of a crowd of sobbing adults and talked about how graceful her corpse looked?

Dad interviewed his parents after it happened, or tried to at least. Apparently, they slammed the door in his face, violently. Stopped showing their faces in public. "I'd be a shut-in two if my creepy son ruined my family name" he muttered angrily after the fact. Hard cut-offs from rich snobs were an annoying barricade to reporters everywhere.

There's such a long period of silence. Empty cold silence and Trinity got out a first aid kit. Enzo cleared his throat finally, but didn't speak.

"...What happened to you, Zach?" I looked up from my spot on the couch. I was surprised to see Nicky speaking, his arms crossed anxiously over his chest. There was almost an heir of demand in his question. Like he of all people was owed an answer. I fought the urge to scoff.

"We... I-" Zach's lip trembled, showing off how busted it up was. If it weren't for the nature of the town, I would've thought he was mugged. His trembles turned into violent sobs again. Damien, who was seemingly deep in thought until now, was snapped into reality by this.

"...Can we trust you guys not to tell anyone?" Damien asked. We all exchanged glances suspiciously, and worriedly, then nodded. He took a long breath. "We were having a sleepover at my house." He said quietly, chewing his lip like he was preparing his words. "I- I don't know if my parents put something in our food or what, but for some reason, we were feeling really tired before the sun had even set, so we went to bed. By some miracle I woke up maybe an hour later and- he was gone... so was my parent's car."

He sat there for a minute like that was enough explanation for their busted-up state.

"...and then?" I prodded. His eyes snapped to me, blinking and chewing his lips in the unsure thinking way again.

"Oh- uh... right. Well-... listen. You- you guys really can't tell anyone about this. Please." He pled.

"We won't," Trinity promised again, this time aloud. She ripped the end of the bandage on his arm, tying it off.

"Well- I'd been getting suspicious of my parents, they always get weird and clingy when Zach visits, and other times they'll disappear for the whole night- so- so I put a tracker on their car." He inhaled after the reveal. Silence again. "...and- I followed the car to the old weather station."

Even breathing seemed to stop in silence as he described the scene to us, the weird tunnel, and the people in robes, two of whom he said he recognized as his parents. Who else could've brought Zach there?

"...what were they doing?" Trinity asked nervously.

"I don't know for sure, something about attempting to 'repeat the steps'. All I know is the group went from quiet and mysterious to- really violent." Zach began to sob again.

"A pit..." he whispered between large tears that matched his wide blue-grey eyes. "Th-they wanted to push me into a pit..."

"I grabbed whatever I could get my hands on around me, I think it was a metal rod from some piece of old machinery. I swung it at their heads. Then there was this- flash of blinding light and- I don't remember much of what happened next..." he admitted. "All I remember is that as soon as I could reach him I grabbed Zach's hand and ran through the forest. We didn't stop to breathe until we saw your house." He looked at Trinity. "You guys are the ones investigating 'whatever evil crap this town is built on' after all, aren't you?" Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nicky's shoulders raise awkwardly as he rubbed his arm.

The last time I checked, helping the hippy kid whose parents are, apparently, attempted child murderers and the creepy boy whose dad gives money to crows wasn't in the club's mission statement. But there was this spark in Trinity's eyes. It reminded me of the spark she'd gotten months ago, standing infront of Peterson's house in the middle of the night.

"it's us, or it's nobody."

#return to ravenbrooks #hello neighbor return to ravenbrooks #rtrb #hello neighbor au #hello neighbor #drawing #artwork #maritza esposito #artists on tumblr #digital illustration #hello neighbor story

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upat4amwiththemoon · 1 year

Note

If you are taking requests. May I request Amelia X reader. Reader is her ex but they broke off( private practise , worked with Addison and all ). But reader left maybe to work abroad or the military. Fast forward now reader returns to Grey's Addison called them in , old flame,sparks . reader was always her safe place but they grew apart and had to grow(get sober). Just want Amelia to be happy, idk what the heck happened to Kai :((( I'm sorry if it's too much or silly feel free to if ore.

Somebody that I used to know

Summary: Even though years change people, the love for them stays the same.

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x female!reader

Warnings: my medical knowledge is zero, talk of addiction, Scout doesn’t exist

Word count: 1997

a/n: Amelia deserves so much better

masterlists | guidelines

Addison walks towards the break room, hoping to find Amelia there before it’s too late. She walks into the room, luckily seeing the youngest Shepherd sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, talking with Maggie Pierce. “Amelia, could I talk to you for a minute?” She says right away, skipping the pleasantries.

With a look, Amelia stands up. “Sure.” She chuckles quietly, slightly nervous. “What’s up?” She asks after Maggie leaves to room for the two.

“I called Doctor Y/L/N here to help me with a patient of mine, she’s arriving today.” She tells, trying to gauge what Amelia’s thoughts are about seeing her ex again. “I wanted to tell you before she’s here.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me.” And with that Amelia leaves the room. Addison sighs, rubbing her forehead. Suddenly she isn’t too sure if she did the right thing, but she really needs Y/N here, she’s the best in her field. She just has to hope everything goes smoothly.

“Addison!” Y/N’s voice calls out excitedly.

The red head turns around to see her doctor friend walking towards her with a bright smile. “Hey, stranger.” Addison laughs, meeting her half way to hug her. “I’m so glad to finally see you. How was the world?” She pulls away, her hands on Y/N’s shoulders to see how much she has changed over the years.

“The world was good.” Y/N decided to leave the practice in Los Angeles to join the Doctors Without Borders, traveling all over the world with them. “How’s Seattle? I didn’t think you’d come back here.” She looks around the hospital. This isn’t her first time in Grey Sloan Memorial, but it has been a long time since she was last here.

“Seattle is good. You know I go where babies need me, and this baby needs us both.” She nods her head forward, so they start walking. “The baby is two months old and his heart is incredibly weak. He won’t survive without a donor heart, but getting a heart that small will take too much time.”

“That’s where I come in.”

“That’s where you come in.” Addison smiles, she missed working with her. “His heart could become strong enough, if you fixed the veins around it.” They walk into a room full of pictures of the baby’s heart and veins.

Y/N looks through the pictures, at times picking one of them up to see it closer. The heart is compromised, and the baby won’t survive long if they do nothing, but the surgery Addison is talking about is incredibly risky. Fortunately, Y/N is a risk taker.

“I can do it,” she states, “but I’m gonna need a lot of help. His vitals need to be monitored closely.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Addison nods. “I’ll get you anything you need.” She pauses for a moment, contemplating on saying anything. “Amelia is here, you know? Incase you wanted to talk to her.”

“Oh.” Y/N clears her throat, cleaning up the pictures into a neat pile so she wouldn’t have to look at Addison staring at her. “I didn’t know that.” She mumbles.

The now silent and tense atmosphere of the room makes Addison question whether she made the right decision. Amelia is one of the most important people in her life, she’s her sister, but she also cares about Y/N a lot. Their relationship didn’t really end on the best terms, mostly because of Amelia’s addiction, but the relationship itself was good. They both were happiest Addison has ever seen when they were together.

“I’ll make a surgery plan and then get back to you, okay?” Y/N states, not waiting for Addison to answer as she leaves the room.

Her mind is all over the place, which makes her walk through the hallways with less attention than usually, though she does greet the familiar faces going past her. However, she doesn’t notice the person walking right towards her with the same state of mind. So, they crash into each other.

All the pictures Y/N was holding fly to the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She grumbles, kneeling down to gather them.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice makes her head snap up. Amelia is standing over her, an indescribable look on her face. The exes stare at each other in silence, both unsure what to do. They both knew of the others presence in the hospital, but they didn’t think they’d bump into each other, at least not yet.

Her breath hitches as she looks over Amelia’s face. As much as she doesn’t like admitting it, she missed her. “Amy.” With a mumble, Y/N stands up, dusting off her scrubs.

“Amelia, no one calls me Amy anymore.” She says with a small smile. Y/N just nods, putting it to her mind. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah.”

Amelia scratches the back of her neck. “So, Addison called you.”

“She did.” The pictures are starting to crease in her grip. “There’s a..baby, obviously, uhm, and she needed help.” She clears her throat, looking around for an exit. “I actually have to make a surgery plan for tomorrow, so, I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Going to walk past Amelia, she stops once a hand takes hold of her arm. “Could we talk? Just the two of us, later today.”

The ask makes Y/N hesitant, but the way Amelia is looking at her makes her give in. “Okay.”

“Awesome,” a smile spreads on Amelia’s face, “coffee, after work?”

“I’ll see you then.” She lets go and Y/N walks away, Amelia’s eyes never leaving her back.

Amelia paces around the lobby of the hospital, her mind racing a mile a minute. She has always considered Y/N her biggest love, maybe even soulmate, if she truly believes in them. Seeing her again has brought the feelings back to the surface and she isn’t sure what to do with them.

Her thoughts come to a halt when she notices Y/N walking towards her. Instead of her scrubs, she’s now wearing her everyday clothes. She looks just as beautiful as she did all those years ago. And she decides to tell her so, “you look beautiful.” Y/N hums with a slight smile, her cheeks turn warm, but she pays no mind to it. “There’s a small cafe down the street.”

“Let’s go then.” As they walk side by side, Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, looking down at the pavement. The silence is uncomfortable and they desperately want to break it, but neither of them know what’s appropriate to say in a situation like this. “How have you been?” Y/N decodes to ask, glancing at Amelia.

“Better. A lot better actually. I’ve been sober for a long time, though it’s still hard sometimes. I got two new sisters, sort of,” she chuckles, “Meredith and Maggie. And I’m the head of neuro department.”

“I heard about Derek. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Amelia sighs. “It’s okay.” She opens the door of the cafe for Y/N before stepping inside herself. At the counter, they order their coffees, and when it comes time to pay, Amelia pushes Y/N’s hand away from the machine. “My treat.” She pays both of their coffees.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” They move to the other side pf the counter to wait for their coffees. “It’s the least I can do after,” she pauses, “everything.”

“It wasn’t completely your fault.” She looks away from her. “You were going through a tough time.”

“That’s no excuse. I hurt you and drove away one of the best things in my life.”

Being one of the best things in her life sounds like an exaggeration, but the sincerity in Amelia’s eyes makes her believe she really means it. “You’re also important to me.” Before the conversation van keep on going, the barista shouts their names. They take their coffees and find a quiet corner place to sit.

“So, what have you been doing all there years?”

“I moved around with Doctors Without Borders.” Y/N sips her drink. “Also studied a bit on the side.”

“And your love life?”

If Amelia was anything, she was blunt. If she wanted know something, she’d ask, Y/N usually liked her unfiltered talk. “Love life, huh?” She giggles with a shake of her head. “There were some flings and one time things, you know, to release stress I suppose. But nothing that stayed.” Amelia listens intently while she drinks her coffee. “And you?”

She shrugs. “There was Link and Kai, but just like every relationship I have had, they ended with someone’s heart broken.” Amelia has a grin on her face. She has already gotten over the past two relationships, but it’s still disheartening to have failed relationships.

“Hm, you’ll find your person.”

“Maybe,” Amelia keeps eye contact with Y/N, “I really hope so.”

Looking down, Y/N taps the mug in front of her with her nails, all the feelings around them getting overwhelming. “Listen,” she changes the subject, “could you be in the surgery tomorrow? I need someone to monitor her brain activity, and you are the best there is.” She lifts her head to give Amelia a teasing look. “Or at least you used to be. Have you gotten worse over the years?”

“Worse? Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m better than ever.” Amelia answers to the teasing look with a challenging look of her own. “What I’m hearing is, you need my help because you aren’t in the best shape.” Her elbows are leaning against the table.

“Oh, wow.” Y/N crosses her arms. “Your ego is still sky high.”

Amelia laughs, which Y/N giggle as well.

The surgery has been going on for six hours already, and the whole room is tense. Amelia and Addison are monitoring the baby’s health, while Y/N is rerouting the veins near the heart. The surgery is already nearing its end, but there’s still things to do.

Y/N lets out a sigh, shaking her hand to ease the pain in her wrist. It has stayed on one position for a long time. She can feel multiple pairs of eyes on the side of her head, there’s an audience in the viewing room. This is an once in a lifetime surgery after all. Double checking everything she has done, Y/N lifts her head to her friends. “Are his vitals good?” The two nod. “Alright, we’re ready to close.” She says shakily, not ready to relax just yet. But she can feel the relief coursing through the room.

The sutures closing the opening on the baby’s chest don’t take long, as the wound isn’t as big as on an adult. The moment the last suture is on its place, people in the viewing room start cheering, so do the doctors in the operation room. Addison and one other doctor take the baby to NICU, not before thanking Y/N though.

Walking out of the room, Y/N slumps down to a chair, taking off her scrub cap. Amelia sits down next to her. “Watching you work is seriously magnificent.”

Y/N laughs, “you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” Amelia throws her arm around Y/N’s shoulders, giving her a side hug. “You’re incredibly and I love you.” Y/N turns to look at her. “Give me another chance? Go on a date with me?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” Amelia grins widely.

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles too, her heart beating a hundred miles. She isn’t sure if it’s from the surgery she just did, or the fact that Amelia is looking at her like she’s the only person she cares about.

Amelia nods, feeling like she just won the lottery. “I’ll pick you up at eight, wear something pretty.” She kisses her cheek before walking off, going straight to Addison to tell the good news.

#grey’s anatomy fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #grey’s anatomy imagine #grey’s anatomy #amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd x you #amelia shepherd x fem!reader #amelia shepherd x female!reader #amelia shepherd x y/n #amelia shepherd imagine #amelia shepherd fanfic #addison montgomery #platonic addison montgomery x reader #private practice #amelia shepherd x addison montgomery #fluff

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artificialsilkgirl · 5 months

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what are some of your fav movies? do u have any recommendations?

I answered a similar question sometime last year so I'll try to avoid repeat recommendations (will bold favorites) but my so-called top four (horrible Letterboxd term) are The Piano Teacher, American Psycho, Resurrection of the Little Match Girl, & Velvet Goldmine. Would add Mulholland Drive and Videodrome maybe hehe. I've only watched two movies this year so far but enjoyed both: Cure (1997) & Night and Day (2008) and I really don't care about anything released in the last ten years.

I mostly like movies about weird sex freaks. I'm a fan of Satô's gay pinku—I've seen The Fetist (1998) and Muscle (1989) but want to get to the others (Bondage Ecstasy, Hunters' Sense of Touch, & Temptation of the Mask) soon. I like what I've seen of Hal Hartley, I've watched Surviving Desire (1992), Amateur (1994), & Flirt (1995). Of course I love my Jang Sunwoo... aforementioned Little Match Girl (2002), Lies (1999), Timeless Bottomless Bad Movie (1997), The Age of Success (1988), & To You, from Me (1994) ..... Wat else.. Sleepwalk (1986), Metropolitan (1990), 301/302 (1995), Romance (1999)... enjoy 80s/90s erotic thrillers (De Palma's are good...Body Double & Dressed to Kill)

Hopefully will watch enough this month to warrant another monthly film rec post

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scotianostra · 2 months

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Happy birthday Robert Carlyle, born in Maryhill, Glasgow April 14th 1961.

Bobby was brought up in Glasgow, the son of Elizabeth, a bus company employee, and Joseph Carlyle, a painter and decorator. His mother left when Carlyle was four years old and his dad looked after him from then. He left school at the age of 16 without any qualifications and worked for his father as a painter and decorator; however, he continued his education by attending night classes at Cardonald College in Glasgow.

Carlyle became involved in drama at the Glasgow Arts Centre at the age of 21 (having been inspired by reading Arthur Miller's The Crucible), and subsequently graduated from the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. In 1991, he and four friends founded a theatre company, Raindog (named after Tom Waits' album "Rain Dog," one of Carlyle's favorites) (a company dedicated to innovative work then, which is now primarily involved in television and film work), and guest starred in The Bill. The same year he starred in his first movie, Riff-Raff, directed by Ken Loach.

I first noticed Carlyle in the excellent ITV series Cracker, as murderer Albert "Albie" Kinsella, it wasn't long after this he had a series of his own with Hamish McBeth, the dope smoking village bobby in a quiet Scottish town on the west coast, the series ran for three seasons from 1995 to 1997.

Since then Robert Carlyle has been able to pick and choose his roles, his films include, The World is Not Enough, Plunkett & Macleane, Ravenous, 28 Weeks later and of course as Francis "Franco" Begbie in the two Trainspotting films.

On the small screen we have seen him in as the title role in Adolf : The Rise of Evil, Human Trafficking and The Last Enemy on this side of the Atlantic, in the US he has starred in the TV movie 24, SGU Stargate Universe and the continuing Once Upon a Time..

The third season of British political thriller-drama COBRA is due on our screens in the coming months

Recently we saw the TV series of the popular film, The Full Monty, which surprised me of how good it was. In February Carlyle commented on X/Titter about a Simpsons episode Ae Bonny Romance, which aired last December. In one scene, audiences are shown an airline called “Planespotting”, with the plane including a picture of Carlyle’s character Begbie on its tail! Robbert tweeted "My life is complete.." As well as the nod, the episode featured the voices of actors Karen Gillan, David Tennant and Paul Higgins.

Robbiewas lastsen in the movvie, The Performance about an American Jew and gifted tap dancer while on tour in Europe, Harold and the rest of his troupe are scouted by a German attaché who leads the troupe to an exclusive performance for Hitler himself. Next up is a mini-series Toxic Town about the tragic toxic waste case in the East Midlands and three mothers fighting for the justice for the rates of upper limb defects in babies born in Corby were subsequently found to be three times higher than those of children born.

#scotland #scottish #history #actor #happy birthday

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gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley · 11 months

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Letters to G. Weasley. [g.w. x reader]

Inspired by Letters to Milena.

You left me in that beautiful heap of dazzles and brilliance; your recalcitrance with your brother— just to send a message.

Do you know how I felt when I saw what you left in the sky on the morning of my NEWTS; your farewell to Hogwarts while we were all stuck under the authoritarian regime of that daft pink woman.

I was so, so, so devastated.

I spent my nights crying, you git. You didn't tell me you were leaving.

- Y/N, May 14, 1996.

***

Dear George,

I've come to peace with you after ignoring all your owls. Yes, I'm writing back to you. Yes, I've decided to address you, unlike my last letter, if you still have it.

Even though I dearly, passionately, and remarkably hate you; I still miss your voice.

I've graduated from Hogwarts and I'm joining the Ministry. Has your shop been doing well? Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, was it? Never mind that I'll get straight to the point. No more preamble.

I'd like to see you, if you'd wish to, of course. I've moved on from that undesirable spring.

I fully understand if you wish not to. You can be a man of deep-seated grudges, after all.

I'll leave it up to you, and I most favourably look forward to your reply.

Yours,

Y/N, June 21, 1997

***

George.

It's been a rough month. I know it's been tougher for you, too. Is your ear, or lack thereof, okay? From what I understand from your letter, you're currently hiding in Sirius Black's family's manor with The Order, and the Burrow's gone? I cannot fathom this.

The Dark Lord, Cedric's death in 6th year, I thought it was all a nightmare. Now it's very much real. Please, take care of yourself. It's been hectic here in the Ministry. I've been drinking Pepper-Up potions every two days just to feel alive.

Please, please, please, I cannot stress this enough, take care of yourself.

I love you.

Yours,

Y/N, August 2, 1997.

***

George.

Please, let me join The Order. I know I can handle it. I want to, I need to, join the battle against Voldemort. Let me help.

He took away everything we've loved dearly. It's only a matter of time until he strikes all of us down.

Please, reply as soon as you can.

I love you dearly.

Yours,

Y/N, August 14, 1997.

***

George Weasley.

With your lack of response, I'm going to assume you're not letting me join The Order. Or are you dead?

For the love of Merlin, let me in. I need to know you're okay. I spent nights thinking of the worst possible scenarios; what if you've all been found by Voldemort? What if I never get to see you again?

Please, at least reply. Even one single word. Anything, just to know you're alive.

I know the Ministry's hot on Potter's tail right now, so if you ever read this, please send my regards to him. I've seen the way Fudge hides away in his office. The man's out of his mind, rambling about how Voldemort isn't back.

Diagon Alley shut down. Ollivander's gone. Your shop's... Seen better days.

Oh, how I wish to go back to halcyon days. Reply, please.

I love you.

Yours,

Y/N, August 29, 1997.

***

My dearest, George,

As soon as Errol came swooping by my window, I got up, drank my milk, and wrote to you.

I understand why you won't let me join, it's dangerous. I understand completely. But please, don't leave me in the dark. It's been two months since I last saw you, don't you think I at least deserve to know what's happening?

Merlin, you lost an ear. You're just like that Muggle painter, don't you know? I don't want to lose you spiralling in the raging sea of war.

It isn't easy for anyone right now, and I understand you're just trying to get by. Apropos of your nightmares, I'll send you Dreamless Sleep potions by Owl soon. I've brewed them a few months prior because I, too, have been plagued with nightmares.

The world's in a dark place right now. Please, take care of yourself.

I love you.

Yours,

Y/N, September 2, 1997.

***

Dearest George,

Amidst the never-ending darkness, I got myself a cat. She's a chubby ginger tabby cat, and in the envelope is a picture of us together. I've recently taken up Muggle photography to get my mind off things; though Muggle cameras aren't as capable as magical cameras, they have this certain charm to them. They remind me a lot of you, actually.

The cat's still unnamed, so I'm leaving the task of naming her to you.

How are the potions? Are they helping? You didn't mention them in your letter, so I thought to ask you.

I miss you, dearly. Come home soon.

Yours,

Y/N, October 14, 1997.

***

George.

Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you're alive.

News of Death Eater attacks are all over the Prophet. I'm still safe and sound, but where are you?

Word is going around in the Ministry that a second wizarding war may break out any time soon.

Please.

Write back.