#i know she's just trying to push farida away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themidnight-ghost · 3 years

Text

I should tell you

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, are you dating Joanne Davidson?”

“Boss, I honestly don’t see an issue...” Kate trailed off as Ted massaged his temples.

“You don’t see an issue? She swears at her superiors, has affairs with her staff, shot an officer twice in the chest, set up a plot to kill you and replied with ‘no comment’ to almost every bloody question.”

The euphoria Kate Fleming felt around Joanne Davidson was extravagant. Even now, when they lie in bed together trying to come down from their high, Kate still felt energised. The DI rolled over to face her girlfriend, with the bedsheets pulled up to her neck and subtly smiled.

Kate ran her left hand through Jo’s hair and cupped her cheek with the other, “Morning, boss.”

Jo opened her eyes and grinned when she met Kate’s, “You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“I want to,” Kate replied honestly.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Jo simply said as she moved forward to kiss her girlfriend tenderly. No one would have expected that Kate Fleming and Jo Davidson would become a thing. Especially after Jo’s arrest. Heck, they didn’t even know if Jo would survive prison! Jo paused their kiss, and Kate looked unexpectedly at the DI, “You should probably tell Steve and Ted.”

The moment was ruined.

Kate tensed as she sat up, pulling the duvet with her and laughing when she pulled too hard, so Jo was left bare, “What?”

“I said-'' Davidson smirked as she deliberately rolled onto Kate’s chest, making her blush, “You should tell Steve and Ted. You may not be related, but they’re your friends.”

“What if I don’t want to tell Steve?” Kate challenged with a whisper, not looking away from Jo's eyes.

“You can look at my tits, Kate. I don't mind.”

“JO!” Kate profusely blushed and shoved her ex-boss to the side,

Jo snickered and leant back into the DI for a cuddle, “It isn’t like you haven’t seen them before.”

“But seriously,” Kate hummed when she went back to being serious, “Steve will support it; I know he will. But Ted? I don’t want to tell. He might not like it.”

“But he threw confetti at that proposing gay couple?”

“That’s different. Not only am I his colleague, but I’m also dating a woman who committed multiple offences to the law and it’ll be awkward, especially in a work setting.”

“Yeah, I still feel a little guilty for that,” Jo confessed.

“You shouldn’t. It was shitty, but you did it because Pilkinton had a gun to your head and somehow made things right, but,” Kate hesitated and wrapped an arm around Jo’s torso, “that still doesn’t change what happened.”

“Steve’s your best friend, and from what I can tell, you’ve known Ted for a good while.” Jo gently kissed Kate’s jaw before shuffling away, allowing the DI to go downstairs.

“I might.” Kate smiled as she grabbed her underwear and a towel from the floor, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Kate.”

Both women had been dating for a significant amount of time. Their story started when Jo broke up with Farida, and the two started getting close. After that, there had been a series of unofficial dates, secret glances, handholding, confessions and a memorable car getaway. Kate was embarrassed that it took her so long to come to terms with her feelings.

The night when Kate shot Pilkinton was definitely memorable but for all the wrong reasons. Kate couldn’t care less that she’d shot an officer; the only thing she cared about was saving Jo and getting them far away from town. She was looking forward to a life of peace without bent coppers lurking around corners and getting married to the woman she loved. That being said, Kate didn’t confess her love until Jo was in prison.

Finally arriving at work, Kate scanned her ID and headed straight for Ted’s office.

“Morning, Kate.” Hastings didn’t look up from his computer.

Tapping her on the shoulder, Steve approached with two cups of coffee from behind, “The Gaffer thinks he’s found something worth looking at.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? What’s it relating to?”

“Our friend, Jo Davidson.”

Kate’s heart dropped to the floor. Was it bad? Who was she kidding? Of course, it was going to be bad.

“I don’t want to make any sudden moves,” Ted admired his coffee, “Let’s just wait it out.”

Steve knew that Kate had some sort of soft spot for Jo. He didn’t know the details of their relationship but was aware they were close,

“Has she mentioned anything to you since she was released?”

Kate shook her head.

“Strange.” Hastings began, “I was quite hoping we’d seen the last of her. The poor girl’s been through enough as it is.”

Kate picked her fingernails, and her stomach churned over, “Can I confess something?”

“Of course…” Hastings folded his arms and leaned across the desk, gesturing for Kate to take a seat.

“Do you want me out?” DI Arnott hesitated.

“It’s alright, Steve. I need to tell both of you anyway.”

“I’ve been seeing someone,” A beat, “romantically.”

The confession slipped out, and jumping the first hurdle was surprisingly easy, but unfortunately, it wasn’t as straightforward as that.

The Gaffer corrected his posture, and Steve cocked his head, “Oh? For how long?”

“About 4 months.”

Steve looked slightly hurt, “And you never told me?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Kate replied sheepishly.

Steve and Ted weren’t blood-related, but Kate still viewed them as her family. One of Kate’s strongest memories was when Steve slept on her sofa bed every night after her husband left.

“What’s his name?”

Another hurdle appeared that Kate had to somehow jump over - the gay hurdle. Until she met Jo, Kate never imagined herself to be bisexual. The haircut had always been misleading until now.

“He’s a she.” Kate wouldn’t say she was scared of her boss, but she certainly valued his approval and Catholic beliefs.

Ted paused to think this over before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes, and smiling. The smile grew, and a flower of hope blossomed in the DI’s chest. Steve was grinning at both reactions and patted Kate reassuringly on the shoulder.

“I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to tell us,” Steve spoke for them.

“Does this mean you’re okay with this?” Kate didn’t know why she needed an answer, but she would feel even better with confirmation.

“It’s your life, of course, we are! Now, who is she?”

“Okay, okay”, Kate could burst with excitement! Even though they didn’t know it was Jo, Kate could still describe her lover in perfect detail. “She has short, dark brown hair, which has a subtle wave at the end. She is pretty pale, so in the sun, her freckles come out, but you won’t see them unless you’re super close! Her cheeks are always red because she is somehow always blushing!” Kate continued to gush, “Her eyes are brown, and her favourite colour is blue! She was also a police officer-”

“You told them yet?” Jo Davidson leaned in the doorway with a giant grin plastered on her face, “or are you just going to keep describing my facial features?”

Silence.

Jo stopped as she realised what she’d said.

Kate looked between Jo, Steve and Ted. She loved her ex-boss, but she really needs to learn to read a situation.

Steve and Ted simultaneously looked between Kate and Jo. Their brains slowly put the puzzle together in an organised fashion. The hair, the skin, the blush, the eyes and finally, the favourite colour.

The history hurdle.

The grinding of Ted’s chair against the floor wasn’t enough to pierce the tension between the group. Kate ushered her girlfriend into the office, closing the door, taking her hand and cautiously walking over to Steve and Ted.

“Jo, this is Steve. Steve, this is Jo.” Kate introduced them, and Jo waved shily. “Jo, this is Ted, Ted this is-”

“I know who Jo Davidson is.” Ted’s voice was a deadly monotone. “How did you even get in?”

“I walked through the door.” The awkwardness had obviously got to the former SIO, who proceeded to bite her lip as she glanced around the room, eyeing the wall with great curiosity.

“Davidson.” Jo’s head snapped back to the situation as Hastings addressed her. “Are you dating one of my officers?”

“Well-” Jo didn’t know what to say, and thankfully, Ted didn’t want to hear it.

“Katherine Laura Fleming.” Kate flinched at the use of her full name.

“Your middle name is Laura?” Jo tentatively asked before Ted shut her off. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, are you dating Joanne Davidson?”

“Boss, I honestly don’t see an issue...” Kate trailed off as the Gaffer rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t see an issue?” Ted tried hard to keep his composure, “She swears at her superiors, has affairs with her staff, shot an officer twice in the chest, set up a plot to kill you and replied with ‘no comment’ to almost every bloody question.”

“She also commanded multiple armed officers, is super observant, tactically agile, Scottish and be honest: we all know I was the one who shot Ryan Pilkinton.”

Steve sniggered. “I just can’t believe you both.”

“After everything, she's done? I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled.” Ted corrected.

“You’re not mad?” Kate pushed,

“I'm not mad, but I’m seriously debating whether I should fire you for stupidity. You said it’s been going on for 2 or 3 months, but when did it even start?”

“Jo and I have been shagging on the sly for months.” Jo snickered at Kate’s comment, “But for me, it started in the getaway car and when Jo went to prison. I always felt different about her, but it only hit me when I thought I’d lose her for good.”

Kate’s sentence pulled on Jo’s heartstrings as she remembered the recent events. Throughout her short time in prison and working on Operation Lighthouse, Kate had been her friend and colleague. She cared for Jo more than anyone else in her life and Kate was the only person to make an effort and ask about her day. Overwhelmed, the smaller woman buried her head in Kate’s shoulder, forgetting all about the angry Ted Hastings. Kate kissed Jo’s forehead and smiled fondly down at her.

Both Steve and Ted thought they knew exactly how Jo Davidson worked, especially after interviewing Farida they pictured her as a manipulative, self-centred psychopath. The recent interview didn’t exactly change their opinions either. But this was different. It wasn’t normal for anyone to see Jo vulnerable, but it looked easy when she was with Kate. Jo relaxed, her shoulders dropped, breathing steady, eyes shut with a gentle smile. And in the years Steve had known Kate, he had never seen her blush as much as she did now or look at someone with so much compassion and… love?

“Just so you know, we don’t care that you’re gay, mate. And we shouldn’t care who you date either. I think it was just a shock for Hastings here.” Steve patted his boss on the back.

“It was a shock to me too.” Jo finally addressed the room, “I thought I was done. Mentally, physically and romantically.”

“I should apologise for my words,” Ted replied sheepishly, “I have nothing against anyone, but as you can tell, I’m still a little prickly.”

Jo awkwardly picked down the skin on her fingers, “I don’t blame you, sir.” It was still a little awkward between the trio, and Ted was determined to settle things, “I didn’t get a chance to mention it, but I’m impressed with your knowledge of the law, especially in that interview.”

Kate proudly squeezed Jo’s arm, “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” Ted continued, “I can’t let you back on the force-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that: I’m done with police work altogether.” Jo looked fondly at Kate, “I just want to focus on my life and what I have left.”

“Wise words.” Steve nodded, “Can I get anyone another coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

“Same here.”

Steve headed towards the door, gesturing Kate to follow.

“Is it wise to leave them there alone?” Kate jogged after her colleague.

Steve grinned, “Let them talk about rules for a while; I’d rather know all about this new development!” he playfully nudged Kate’s arm and jumped for joy when they were at the coffee machine and out of sight.

“You gonna calm down now?” Kate chucked before looking serious, “By the way, what did you find out about Jo? Should I be worried?”

“Go no! There was a small break in around your apartment. We checked the security cameras and noticed Jo Davidson walking past and holding hands with…” Steve dragged out the answer before pointing to DI Fleming, “you.” Kate turned pale as Steve continued, “I had my suspicions, and we intended to mention it today, see if we could get a reaction. Guess I didn’t even have to try, mate.”

☁️ First ever Flemson fic, fist time watching Line of Duty - that ending was NOT IT (expect a 4000 word alternate ending fic soon) if you read this, thank you x ☁️

#flemson #jo davidson #joanne davidson #katherine fleming #kate fleming #ted hastings #steve artnott #jo x kate #jo davidson x kate fleming #line of duty #line of duty season 6 #kelly macdonald #vicky mcclure #coming out #LOD #bbc

21 notes · View notes

dove-actually · 4 years

Photo

“Silver Goddess curse and cut you,” she snarled under her breath. Rather than turn into a supple ball, the dough stretched between her fingers in long, disgusting strings. She had no idea what she was doing wrong.

What did temple laws recommend, when one was in crisis? Focus on the present, and find something to be thankful for.

Tavia decided to be thankful that she only had to serve kitchen rotation twice a year.

______________________

Sadly can’t share any Knight Errant fluff right now (SORRY), but here’s some (relative) fluff for my Mysterious Short Story, because this is a lovely event and also I need to redeem myself for all the angst ;)

Mysterious Short Story Fluff - “Thankful” - 1400 words

Seven years, and she still couldn’t manage the damned baking.

Tavia closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feel of wet gunk sticking to her skin. One moment at a time. The Harvest Temple had taught her much about patience. When she’d first joined, a task as onerous as this would’ve made her toss the disgusting goop in the trash and yell at the kitchen sisters. But time had soothed her temper, molded it into something less volatile.

Now, she only fantasized about yelling. And she hadn’t angrily smashed any bowls in over a year.

Tavia sighed. She’d been no easy novice, but the Harvest Mother had taken her anyway, and put up with her until the rage and fear and sorrow had faded enough to let her settle. The least she could do in return is produce some passable damned dinner rolls.

Except apparently, she couldn’t.

“Silver Goddess curse and cut you.” She snarled under her breath as, rather than turn into a supple ball, the dough stretched between her fingers in long, disgusting strings. She had no idea what she was doing wrong.

What did temple laws recommend, when one was in crisis? Focus on the present, and find something to be thankful for.

Tavia decided to be thankful that she only had to serve kitchen rotation twice a year.

Grumbling, she sunk her hands into the sticky sludge. How did Sister Ama make it look so easy? Her dough turned smooth and pliable, molding as though by magic into crescents and rolls and braids, that went into the oven and emerged golden and divine.

“Add flour to aid kneading,” Tavia rehearsed to herself, and plopped a goop-coated hand into the flower bowl. White dust flew into her face, making her cough. “Frost and lightning!”

A polite cough by the door made her jump, and she swiveled and growled: “I’m not done yet!” The sisters on table-setting duty could damned well wait until the nightmare rolls were in the oven, before coming around to poke about the kitchen.

But rather than Ludmilla and Farida, a stranger stood in the doorway. Tall, with curly black hair cut short, and the broad cheekbones and winter-pox spots typical to the Irissi people of the southern provinces, she made a startling sight. Tavia hadn’t seen many Irissi this far north.

One moment at a time, she reminded herself. Just because the Irissi had chased her with blades and torches through the halls of her own palace, didn’t mean this woman meant her harm. Tavia was just a harvest sister, now. The fears and enmities of her past belonged outside the temple walls.

“I’m sorry,” said the stranger, with a smile that left dimples in her faintly-spotted cheeks. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sister Vania sent me to assist—well, I sort of sent myself.” She chuckled and, pushing up the sleeves of her brown habit, she reached for one of the aprons on the hook. “The schedule had me on delivery duties, but with this blizzard, we’ve no deliveries in or out, so I thought I might be helpful elsewhere. I like a nice warm kitchen, so I asked if I could lend a hand here...”

And Sister Vania, who as the Harvest Mother’s right hand had been charge of scheduling duties for years, would know precisely where in the kitchens a hand would be most needed.

“I’m Arice—or Sister Arice now, right? Oh.” She’d held out a hand, but, spotting the globs of mucilaginous dough stuck to Tavia’s fingers, she laughed. “This keeps happening. Yesterday I met Sister Marine while she was cleaning muck from the stables. I suppose it won’t be a problem once I’ve met everyone...”

Tavia blinked, a little dazed. She’d forgotten how much Irissi liked conversation. There was a reason they were overrepresented in the kingdom’s diplomatic and ambassadorial ranks.

The woman—Arice—wore a white band around her collar, marking her as a new initiate. Tavia didn’t remember her from the initiation ceremony; but there had been several sisters ending their year-long novitiate, and Tavia always kept to the back of the room, during these things, rehearsing poems backwards to distract herself from the crowd.

She didn’t want a conversation, let alone with someone who wore the face of her old nightmares. But temple life had taught her that she couldn’t control what she had to deal with; she could only control her reactions. She gave a brief nod.

“I’m Sister Anatavi. I’m…working on the bread.” And, peeling some gunk off her palm, she focused on the bowl again, giving it a firm stir with the wooden spoon. I have no idea what I’m doing.

She could feel the Irissi woman’s gaze. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away. That worked well enough with most sisters. Tavia preferred her solitude, for a multitude of reasons.

With unexpected company, her task became even more straining. She gritted her teeth and scraped the thready paste off the sides of the bowl, trying to ignore how it clung to her skin and stuck between her fingers. Breathe and think of something to be thankful for. Her nerves seemed to have suddenly turned a hundred times more sensitive. She could feel the damned goop all the way to her elbows, sticky and moist, and despite her efforts, her fingers clenched into rigid fists.

Breathe.

Fortunately, she had ample experience keeping her head on the task at hand, despite distractions and adversity. One moment at a time…

“Would you mind if I did that?” Arice walked around the large table, putting it around the two of them, and reached her hands across. “I love kneading dough. Reminds me of home. And I think your hands might be too small for that bowl, so it’s taking you more effort than it should.”

Tavia shot her an incredulous look. The Irissi woman met it with an open smile.

“No, really. That’s what my aunt used to tell me, and she was a baker. Baking always reminds me of her—especially the kneading part, that was her favorite.”

Tavia scoffed. The aunt must’ve been a madwoman.

She hesitated, hands over the bowl, then slowly slid it across the table to Sister Arice. “If you prefer.”

“Thank you,” said the Irissi woman happily—and earnestly—and she dipped her hands into the wash bowl to clean them, then plunged into the dough with a satisfied huff.

“My hands are not small,” muttered Tavia, pulling the wash bowl over to rinse herself. But she was no fool: eccentric aunt and home memories aside, Sister Arice had seen her struggling and offered relief. That was…kind. The woman seemed the type to honestly want to help people, and Tavia could hardly begrudge her that, even if accepting the kindness felt a little awkward.

When she looked up again, the stringy nightmare dough had become a neat ball, and Sister Arice was in the process of transferring it to the flour-powdered table.

“I don’t believe it.” Tavia shook her head. Plainly, she’d never learn this skill.

The Irissi woman grinned. “Just the right hands, is all. You know, my aunt used to have this special stirring hook she used to mix the flour and everything—she hated getting the sticky stuff all over her hands, so she just used the hook ‘til the dough turned softer. When the weather turns and I go out on deliveries, I’ll ask about, see if anyone nearby can fashion one for us. My aunt truly swore by it…”

Tavia sighed. The Irissi truly loved conversation.

“Thank you,” she said, because this was the second kindness Sister Arice had offered in just as many minutes, and there was only so much Tavia could pretend not to notice. “I’m sure Sister Ama will appreciate any novel additions to her…arsenal.”

Sister Arice started laughing. “Arsenal. I like that.” She folded the dough, turned it, and pressed down. “Though, if we’re talking arsenals, I propose Sister Nani’s gardening tools. The temple could hold off a horde of bloodthirsty invaders, with just the contents of her summer shed….!”

Tavia nodded and began moving dirty dishes to the sink. She couldn’t offer the fun conversation Arice plainly wanted—but she was still on kitchen duty, and being polite to someone who’d just shown her kindness was a duty, too, and she had no intention of failing in either. She tidied up quietly, nodding and grunting her replies, and by the time the bread finally went into the oven, she decided she didn’t mind this chatty Irissi woman, with her broad shoulders and her big smile.

Arice stayed on kitchen duty with her the rest of the week, and Tavia found something new to be thankful for.

#writeblr #short story #creative writing #fantasy #fluffcember #wlw #dovewrites #mysterious short story #i need to pick a name for this but there's a big spoiler in the title..

8 notes · View notes

letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked · 6 years

Text

Words On My Skin Part 16

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Soulmate AU)

A/N: Sorry this took so long! If you guys read my updates, you would have seen that my WIFI has been down for most of the week! Honestly, Century Link can just… burn in hell... They came today to ‘fix’ stuff, and NOPE! Not fixed. Using my mobile hotspot to post, and it’s slow af!

*This part is a filler, but has important information!*

Warnings: Bucky holding a baby... *heart eyes*

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

“Alright, kid. Work with me, here.” You huffed out, for the third time, trying to wrangle the squirming baby – Farida’s son, Ilyas – into a good position to burp him. The burp cloth covered the whole left side of your shirt and shoulder, since you’d made the rookie mistake of not wearing it, once before. “You’re going to start getting pretty pissed off, if that burp doesn’t come out, soon.”

The little guy squirmed in response, a little whine squeaking out as he tried to burrow is face into the burp cloth.

You were tasked with the job of babysitting Ilyas, while Farida and her husband went to some work party on the Upper East Side, since Farida had texted you – freaking out that the party was last-minute, and they didn’t have anyone to watch him. She’d begged you to babysit, remembering how good you were with children when you’d met her family back in college, and you’d agreed with the condition that it was in the compound – since you were still technically working, and had mountains of paperwork to do.

She’d been so thankful that she’d brought you a succulent to put on your desk – the cactus with the red ball on top that you had to Google how to take care of – and a giant container of her mom’s recipe of a fish curry. She’d even gone as far as wearing the silky, floral scarf you’d sent her from when you’d shopped with Wanda at some name brand store – claiming it was so nice, she was going to wear it with her black dress to the work party.

“Knock, knock.” You heard from the doorway, just as Ilyas let out a large belch from your consistent patting on his back.

Perfect timing!

Glancing up, you grinned at Bucky – who was coming in with a large bag of take-out and a drink tray, “You’re my savior, right now. I’m starving.”

He startled, glancing down at the little boy who was currently spitting up on the burp rag placed over your chest. You picked a bad day to wear a white blouse. “Who’s this?”

“Farida’s son, Ilyas.” You laughed, wiping the baby’s mouth and turning him around so he could stare at Bucky and bang his slobbery hands on your desk. “She asked me to watch him while her and her husband go to some party for his work, or something. You missed Claire, by the way. Caleb brought her in and she played with the baby, while I finished typing up some forms for the new recruits.”

“Thank god I missed the two of you, together.” He snorted, plopping down in the chair and unpacking the food. “Last time, you both ganged up on me and stuck a bunch of magnets on my arm.” He passed you your container of French fries, stealing one from the open container and popping it in his mouth as he opened more containers. When he was done chewing, he continued, “Also, I had to take a dish scrubber to my hand, because the slime you guys were making got stuck between the plates of my fingers.”

“Poor you.” You giggled, shifting the food away from Ilyas’s reach, and opening the container that housed your sandwich. “You had fun, don’t even whine.”

“Maybe so,” He pointed his fork at you, leaning back in the chair and running his free hand through his tangled hair, “but you and Claire like to scheme when you’re together. It’s dangerous.”

You rolled your eyes, remembering when you and Claire kept sneaking up on Bucky – who probably knew exactly what you were up to, due to his insane hearing – and sticking magnets on him. Until, finally, he’d just grumbled and stuck out his arm for you and Claire to mess around with. Claire had a lot of questions, while playing with some letter magnets and spelling out names.

Anyways, he’d gotten you back on the mats, later…

Okay, that sounds dirty.

He made you do a lot of cardio.

…Still sounds dirty.

Jesus Christ.

“You’re good with him.” Bucky commented, staring at you while you shifted Ilyas around and brushed your hands over his dark hair, “I’ve never seen you with any other children but Claire… When did you become the baby whisperer?”

“I’m not sure that I am.” You smiled, while the baby played with the buttons on your shirt and laid his head on your chest, chewing on his tongue. “I babysat a couple times when I was in middle school and high school… but that was only for my friend’s little sister, when I wasn’t working at the coffee shop.”

“How’d you work at the coffee shop without your mom findin’ out?”

“I was supposed to be making the money by tutoring, but I worked a few towns away, instead.” You nabbed a fry from the container, taking a small bite. It had been a really small coffee shop, one that made specialty drinks but wasn’t popular enough to draw the attention of your parents. There was a slight suspicion that your father knew you were working, having seen your apron in your car once, but he never said a word. Your mother was the one who would’ve had a cow, anyways… and that she did. “I worked on the weekends, early in the morning. I left before my parents were awake and stashed my money in a safe in my closet. Our housekeeper was the only one who knew that I had a stash of money, but she never said anything. She covered for me, a lot… Until my mom found out I was working and forced me to quit.”

“You had a housekeeper?” He asked in surprise, eyebrows almost shooting up to his dark hairline. His dark hair was brushing into his face, which blocked the view a bit. “How big was the house?”

“My parents are pretty loaded.” You shrugged, the usual feeling of disdain in your chest. “They’re the stereotypical rich type. We had hired help, my parents travelled a lot, and we were part of country clubs… all that.” You grabbed your water, taking a sip and pushing back all the memories of forced tutors, forced dates, forced friendships, and diets. “I hated it. Everyone was so… awful.”

“What about other family?” He handed stole another fry from your container, replacing it with the pickles from his burger. “You don’t talk about them much.”

“My grandparents are kind of spread out around the world. I’ve never actually met them.” Ilyas shifted in your arms, pressing his cheek against your chest as his eyes started to droop heavily. “My mom’s parents lived in London for a long time, but I’m not sure where they are, now. I haven’t heard from them in years. I think they’re divorced, now.” You furrowed your brows, trying to remember where your mom’s sister lived. “I think my aunt lives in Paris, or something… I don’t know.”

“What about your dad’s side?”

“My dad was born in South Africa, actually.” You smiled, remembering the story that your dad used to tell you, back in the day. “His parents loved to travel the world, but when my grandma got pregnant, they slowed down for a while. They ended up in an accident, and my dad was born in… I can’t remember where… Close to the coast, I think.” God, it had been so long since you’d heard the story. “The accident was pretty bad, but one of the doctors saved my grandmother and my dad. They named my dad after him. Bokamoso. His friends call him ‘Bo’, though.” You rolled your eyes. “Apparently, they think his name is ‘too hard to pronounce’… which is completely stupid. I like the name.”

“When did they move to America?”

“My dad’s lived in America since he was young, but my mom didn’t move here until college. It’s where they met.”

That one took some prying, because they – surprisingly – met at a giant, booze-fest party. Your mother refused to tell you the story, deeming it inappropriate for her child to know, but your father told you the story – once you got a few beers him.

They’d gotten hammered, rolled around in a ditch for a few hours, and started dating by the next week.

You chose to forget the gory details that you’d received with your father’s colorful storytelling.

“We lived in California after I started middle school, because my mom wanted me to get a decent education and not fall behind from moving, like she almost did.” You finished your last french-fry, moving on to the pickles that Bucky had given you off his burger. “They continued to travel, but I was left home with the nanny.”

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?” He suddenly asked, cleaning up some of the mess on your desk with a small smirk lifting his cheeks.

“I don’t… I don’t really know…” With a frown, you handed him your empty container that used to contain your sandwich, dinking some more water before continuing, “I think I’d like to see where my parents are from… Or, maybe, see what Rome looks like.”

“Why Rome?”

“The history is interesting.” Gently, you moved the baby into his car seat, placing his soft blanket over his sleeping body as he twitched once – giving you a mild heart-attack – and fell back into his deep slumber. “What about you? Where would you go?”

“Wakanda.” He grinned, playing with the plates on his vibranium fingers as he talked, “I know I’ve already been there, but I only got to be there for a year or two… I miss it. There’s a lot of cool things to learn. The people in Wakanda were the first people to treat me like ‘Bucky Barnes’, instead of ‘The Winter Soldier’. Especially after I got my trigger words removed.”

“Shuri is the one who did that, right?” The kid who sends him all the memes and funny videos. “She removed them?”

He nodded, glancing up with a large grin. God, he had such a cute smile… “She also made the arm your so obsessed with.”

He had a point. You were kind of obsessed.

“I happen to think it’s awesome. Who doesn’t want a soulmate with a vibranium arm to stick magnets on?” You teased, stacking your paperwork into little ‘done’ and ‘not done’ piles. “Regular arms are boring.”

Glancing down at his phone with a snort, he pulled something up on his phone and showed it to you. It was the ‘notes’ in his phone, with little random reminders and memories saved in them. “I don’t remember much of my own past, but I did remember something that I’ve been thinking about since I saw you holding Ilyas.”

“You don’t have a love-child out there, do you?” You snorted, tone joking. “I heard about your wild times in the thirties and forties. You got all the ladies.”

“If there are, I don’t know about them.” He rolled his eyes, shoving the phone back in his sweatshirt pocket with a small smile. “Anyways, I still have a lot of missing pieces, but there was a random memory that came back when I was in Wakanda. I saw a woman feeding her baby, and it reminded me of when our neighbor had a little one. My sister, Rebecca, used to babysit for the neighbor and bring the baby back into our apartment. I think I helped a few times, but I was more concerned about going out with my friends and datin’ pretty dames.”

“Too bad for all the ladies in this century.” You leaned forward, snatching Bucky’s to-go cup full of pop and taking a sip of the carbonated, sugary, delicious liquid. God, how long has it been since you’ve indulged in sugary drinks? Yesterday, Y/n. Yesterday. Calm down. “You’re taken.”

“That I am.” He raised an eyebrow at you, unamused at the theft. “I was going to drink that, you know.”

“Mine, now.” You grinned, holding the pop close to your chest so he couldn’t steal it back. “Sucks to suck.”

“So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” His face switched into a neutral look, not betraying any emotion – though, his anxiety spiked slightly through the bond. “We kind of talked a little about it, but… what… What did you and Natasha exactly talk about, the other day? Is she going to be nicer to you?”

Oh… Ugh.

Did you really need to dive back into this topic?

“Yeah… She, uh, she said that she was jealous.” There was a faint twitch in his eyebrow at your words, but his face remained neutral, so you continued, “She told me that you were sleeping together before we got together, but you ended it.” You took another sip of the bubbly liquid, wishing that the cold coke would wash down the awkward feeling in your chest. A lump was starting to form, and images of the two of them together were starting to flash in the back of your mind, but you forced yourself not to react. You were going to be mature about this. You were going to act like the adult that you were, and not freak out. It was before you. “She said that she really liked you and she was jealous, that’s why she was a little… standoffish.”

“A little?” He snorted, lips lifting slightly. His eyes still held no emotion, but you didn’t need to look at him to know how he was feeling. You could feel it, yourself. Anxiety, mixed with a slight anger, and a dash of annoyance. “So… We never really talked about how you took the news. We kinda’ brushed over it.”

“What do you want me to say?” You leaned back in your chair, inhaling through your nose and closing your eyes for a moment, wishing that this moment would end. “I wish that it had been you who told me… though, I understand why you didn’t. It’s really none of my business, anyways. I just… didn’t like hearing it from her.”

“I didn’t want to tell you, because… well… I didn’t know how to bring it up, first of all.” You saw his adam’s apple bob when you finally lifted your lids to look at him. He was starting to trace the plates along his palm, again, which he did when he was nervous. “I didn’t think it was something you’d want to know.”

“It’s really not. That’s why I understand you not telling me.” Glancing down at your cellphone, you realized how late it was starting to get. The lights on that side of the compound were bright enough that you wouldn’t have even noticed through your office window that the sun had already set. “I just… I didn’t like hearing it come from her mouth. Especially the way she said it.”

His body went ridged, “How did she say it?”

“I’d rather not-”

“How did she say it?” He repeated, eyes tightening in anger. His voice didn’t raise in volume, but the annoyance he was feeling bled into his tone – which felt just like yelling. “Was she rude about it? Do I need to talk to her about it? What’d she say?”

“Bucky. Calm down, okay?” You snapped, crossing your arms and looking away, refusing to make eye contact. “It was as if she was trying to pick a fight, but I didn’t fight with her. It wasn’t anything bad. It’s over, and we’re fine. I’d rather drop it, please.”

The room was quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being your breathing and Ilyas’s quiet snores from his car seat. You could faintly hear footsteps from outside your office, and the quiet chatter of agents walking down the hallway, but the room was awkwardly silent.

Which you were awful at handling awkward silences.

You squirmed in your seat, fingers tracing along the hemline of your pencil skirt and glancing down at your freshly painted toes, which were visible since you’d taken your heels off hours ago.

God, someone say something!

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long, because he exploded.

“I just don’t get it!” He sprung up from his chair, and you flinched – though he didn’t notice, because he was too busy pacing the length of your office, from one side to the other. “Why the hell does she pick now to talk to you about it? Why the hell didn’t she talk about this months ago?” He stopped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “She still won’t even talk to me unless it’s work related. We used to be friends!”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

You raised an eyebrow, not moving from your position in your chair, but glancing over at the sleeping baby, praying that he didn’t startle awake at Bucky’s little drama-show.

He continued to rant, frustration ebbing into your chest from the bond, and bleeding into your own feelings – but you didn’t say a word. You just watched him, eyes moving back and forth as he paced like a caged lion, anger coming off him in waves. You were listening to him, and you understood his frustration… but it was a little awkward, you had to admit.

“Are you done?” You finally spoke, as he halted his pacing, opting to cross his arms and stand by your window, watching agents bustle around the grounds like he was judging each and every person down there. “Bucky?”

His shoulders sagged, but he continued to stare out the window. “I just… Since I’ve gotten parts of myself back, I’ve realized just how few friends I really have. I lost most of them to the war, and old age.” A pang of sadness – from your end of the bond and his – tightened in your chest. “There are so few people in my life that I care about, and I don’t want to lose anyone in my new life. I already lost too many people I care about.”

“…and you don’t want to lose Natasha, too?” You supplied, voice quiet and calming, though you were entirely heartbroken for your soulmate. You stood, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his middle, resting your forehead on his back. His arms moved so he could rest them along yours, and you felt his breathing begin to even out. You waited until he was fully calm to continue, “I’m sorry.”

A breathy chuckle escaped his lips, and you felt the muscles in his abdomen clench with each little chuckle. “Why the hell are you apologizing, sweetheart?”

“I just… I don’t like that you’ve lost so much.” You sighed, snuggling into the warmth of his back and twisting your hand so you could entwine your fingers. “Breaks my heart.”

He pulled you around, so you were snuggled into his chest instead; and he could wrap his arms around you, tightly. You shifted your arms, wrapping them around his neck and tightly pulling him close. You wanted to wrap him in your arms forever, until all negative feelings in that man were gone. He didn’t deserve it. He’d had nothing but loss since HYDRA. Too long had HYDRA stripped him of his life, his body, and mind. He deserved so much better.

You breathed in his smell, warmth chasing away all the negativity in the bond, leaving you calm and content with staying in his arms for the rest of your life. You listened to his heartbeat slow to a regular pace, his breathing back to normal. You felt the warmth of his breath on the crown of your head, as his face pressed into your hair, breathing you in just as much as you were breathing him in.

“You make it better.” He finally murmured, his voice vibrating through his chest, and the side of your face tingled. “You make me better.”

You hummed, pulling back slightly when you heard a small whine coming from the car seat. Baby’s awake. You shifted so your hands were cupping his face, fingertips lightly pressed against his bearded jaw as you looked up into his ice-blue eyes, which gleamed with adoration. “You should talk to Natasha, okay? Tell her that you don’t want to lose her friendship.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as the baby’s whines morphed into shrill cries. “Okay… I will.”

“Good.” You smiled, sliding your hands down to his chest, before detangling yourself to pick up the angry child. Spotting the next day’s itinerary, you cursed under your breath. “Oh, I forgot. You have a haircut, tomorrow morning. The whole team have hair appointments, before the show.”

“Do I have to do another stupid interview?” Bucky grumbled, moving back to his chair as you grabbed a bottle from the little cooler to heat up in the hot water of your sink. He held out his arms, taking the pissed off baby while you scurried to warm the bottle quickly. “The last thing I want to do is another one of those shows where they sit you in a chair, in front of an audience, and ask you a million personal questions.” He shifted the baby into the crook of his flesh arm, trying not to use his metal arm; though, that was all the baby was concerned with, once he noticed it. “Makes me feel like I’m back in Dr. Collins’s office. I hate it.”

“Well, everyone’s doing it.” You replied, exiting the bathroom with a bowl of hot water from the sink, and sticking the capped bottle in the bowl to heat it up. “You have more fans, than haters, anyways.”

“No, I don’t.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gave in and let Ilyas play with his hand, careful that the baby didn’t try to stick Bucky’s metal fingers in his mouth. Wow, he looked damn good holding a baby. Shut up, hormones. “I’m pretty sure that the majority still think I’m a terrorist.”

“You’ve proven that you’re willing to get better.” You insisted, finishing organizing your papers, before nabbing your phone and quickly snapping a photo of Bucky before he could protest. You had to document the first time you’ve ever seen the man holding a baby. It was hot. “Anyways, have you looked at social media? I don’t see as many trolls on your posts, anymore. If anything, it’s a bunch of horny people wondering what else you can do with that metal arm.”

His eyes widened, choking a little as his cheeks tinging red in embarrassment. He looked absolutely horrified. “What?”

“Oh, my god.” You laughed loudly, shaking your head as you grabbed the bottle from the bowl and passed it to Bucky, “You need to read the comments, more. They’re hilarious.”

“You read the comments?” He grimaced, adjusting the baby so he could feed him. He glanced at his phone like it was diseased, “Are they on the pictures of you and I, too?”

“Unfortunately.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone off the desk and scrolling through some of the pictures on your profile. You hadn’t had many photos before your time at the compound, but there were a couple new ones. Mostly of Bucky, Wanda, or food. There was one that Tony had taken of himself when you’d left your phone unattended, with the caption ‘#blessed to be hacked by Iron Man, himself. -TS’. “Honestly, I think people mostly follow my social media to catch a glimpse of you or the team… Though, I don’t really post much else. Maybe some food pictures.”

“Mine’s not much different.” He stood, passing you the baby and setting the empty bottle on the desk. “Are you done with your work?”

“Why? What do you have in mind?” You raised an eyebrow, grabbing the rag to quickly burp the baby before you left your office. “Can I wear sweatpants?”

“Netflix marathon, sweat pants, and popcorn?”

“I’m in.”

Part 17

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

Forever tags are open, but WOMS tags are closed!

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

FOREVER TAGS: (OPEN)

@bettercallsabs @itsanerdlife @luckynumber1213@sassyandclassyx @mrsnegan25 @impossiblepizzapeace @glitterquadricorn @pigwidgexn @iamnothereimnotlistening @saltymaddiee @ladyxred @pabegay1 @kgbrenner@nataliehasgrace @mellorine-paprika @i-just-wanna-run-hell@igiveupicantthinkofausername @goshdarnitthatsalongname @trashimaginezblog @ssweet-empowerment @thefridgeismybestie@wildefire @httpmcrvel @geeksareunique @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @breezy1415 @saltyy-fresh @artemis521 @usetheforce3434@aparadoxsstuff @iamwarrenspeace @gaining-confidence-for-life@come-with-me-and-imagine @courtneychicken@impalatobakerstreet @tbetz0341 @softlysgtbarnes @castellandiangelo @churchs-little-girl @sophiealiice @jurassicjosie @punkrockhufflefluff @thatoneboredkidhelp @riseabovetheexpectations @revivedrumble @cordelia-sagewright @readeity @fuckthatfeeling @greeneyedsuccubunny@theglowstickofdestiny @krazyk99 @demonspawn2468 @randomfangirl101things @iamzion-therealhabesha @wildlingsandcoffee @the-criminal-soldier @purpstraw@wordlesscaptain @a–1–1–3 @pheonixfoundation @xxxunluvablexxx @ilovetvshowsblog @bojabee @me-myself-and-i-4-the-win @karanliginkizilovato @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @whoissebby @bojabee @fireismysafety @pizzarollpatrol @yourwonderbelle @julzdec @magnitude101999 @slytherinsforlife@littlemissporter @littlenugget8544 @mdgrdians @emiliehelstrom @callyourlawyers @imregnirbhsa @call-me-myrtle @vivid-fairy

WORDS ON MY SKIN: (CLOSED)

@fangirlinacoffeeshopweshare @lucky-fic-recs @artemis521@darkheartvamp @buckyflippinbarnes @sawdustandsugar@lovemarvelousfics @jadepc @importanttimemachinenerd@sebtrashcan-stan @markusstraya @redcresent @bookdragonhere @shitty-imagines-95 @901seconds @slender–spirit @loving-life-my-way @wantingtobekorra @sebastianstandoms @polarbearnamedpanda @learisa @1stladyofhell @lovemarvelousfics @bowties-and-wallflowers @fandoms-who@writing-in-winter @bitchy-ginger-1 @vechkinfan @amidblogger @iamwhoidecidetobe @winterquicksilver @bluethingsandmagic @ineedsleep-help @beckieandhertardis @mala-firebringer @this-is-happening @rosep16 @lovethroughthemiles @carrietoddrick @reallyfuckingangrylatina @vxidnik @attentionseekingprincess @charlotteannvogt @marvelouspottering @buckyssxxhair @absolukeyrh @tiasun897 @youtxbemusic @viioletdelights @part-time-patronus @falloutboywifey @drinkingwhileblogging @scarecrowsragdoll @elizabeth-rose771 @unicorntroope r@avenisselina @growingupnrealizing @rainbowkisses31 @darkblueeyedperson @buckysrcse @ani808 @cutiepiemimi13 @mariekoukie6661 @embarrassinqly @sweetboybucky @bookluver01 @yellow–springs @mad4oak @emilylovesmusic14@fallenaristocat @niall2017 @imfuckingnoone @classy-sassy-enjolrassy @aekr @idakohlen @tildaharoldsegna @coffee-laced-with-poison @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @iamtrashsry @lanavintagez @meganpringles8 @ptvrnike @lynnskata @introverted03tiff@musicfreak180 @4-a-m @thorslovechild @n7siha @fadingculturemuffin @stonecold-witharmheart @bucky-to-my-barnes @zombienaomi @uwu-sebastianstan @the-crime-fighting-spider @maddieisaacs @solarbarnes @adrd-n @i-know-i-can@dafnouche @jujurandy @angieptt @bringmetoawonderland @same–old-shit @hiorheybitch @yeeehet-yet @poodielover @alexrsa @buckybarneshairpullingkink @mybabys-gunsnroses @maddan-1518 @justbigthoughts @destielwinchester09 @cloudedbreath @watchoutforfrostbite @oxygennotincluded @danielabetancourth @willowtree420 @alitav99 @daynight-dreamer-stuff

770 notes · View notes

fireintheforest · 5 years

Text

Theories

Amara was a young Redguard woman whose hair was always tied back with a scarf or ribbons to keep it out of the way. That Fredas, it was set free to cascade down her back in the usual curly way, with a crimson band pulling it away from her smooth mahogany skin. She pushed a stray hair aside as she reached Saufinril’s room and knocked a couple times, waiting for someone to tell her to come in. When she heard nothing, she repeated the knocking.

“Hey, Saufinril?” she asked, then entered, “Sorry to barge, but do you think you can-” she stopped when she saw the room empty.

“Yeah, he’s not there.” Muraz said, behind her.

“Had any errands to do? Or a job or something?” she asked, turning to him

“Probably, you know I don’t pay mind to that.” Muraz said as he shrugged, rolling his eyes carelessly. However, he mouthed a quick “Wait til I tell you!” with widened eyes before returning to a nonchalant tone, remarking “I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s back.”

Amara arched her eyebrow, but nonetheless replied “Swift.” And entered the room, followed by Muraz, who closed the door.

“So, what happened?” she asked, “Did he get arrested, like that time in Silvenar?”

“Shh! Sauf-I heard it at night. I was on my way upstairs to ask mother about Riza’s number and I heard Saufinril and Lillandril talking, oh you should’ve heard! There’s these whispers, and Saufinril talked and talked but he sounded, he sounded so unsure and then there’d be a silence and Lillandril would speak a phrase or two, and it went on like that for a while. I didn’t pay it much mind until this morning when I came to throw water at him for taking my ring but he was gone!” Muraz whispered

“And?” Amara asked, “What was it about?”

“Who knows? You know I don’t speak Altmeris”

“Oh for oblivion’s sake!” Amara sighed, “The one time we need it the most!”

“It’s not- nevermind. The point is, it was a long, serious conversation and next thing we know? He’s gone.”

Amara looked around the room, biting her nail on her thumb.

“Whaddya think happened?” she asked, her voice volume lower.

“I know- and you didn’t hear this from me- that he had this little paramour, some Bosmer. He asked for his hand-”

“NO!”

“SHH! But yes. I think they had to keep the relationship hidden because he was acting all suspicious about Lillandril or Rialas seeing them. I think Rialas knew but didn’t approve because he’s wary of this new mer, so he called it out and Saufinril broke up with him. What if the rejected lover did something to him?”

“Saufinril knows how to take care of himself. Plus it doesn’t explain the conversation.”

“It does if he had to go into hiding?”

“Maybe he just had to return to Cyrodiil? He did say he’d stay for a bit here and then he had to go back.”

“Right after the breakup? And with how serious it sounded? Doesn’t make sense. Allow me to tell you a more rational theory: Lillandril found out via Rialas and told Saufinril that this was a crazy idea and disapproved along with Rialas. They had the conversation, which was probably Saufinril trying to explain his love and Lillandril just refuting it. Saufinril saw that this was going nowhere and he ran away. Never to return. Because that sweet dear lover actually murdered him and took all his gold and his hair. His ghost will roam the crime scene, restless, until someone brings him the head of his betrayer and whispers that he’s free.” He whispered this last part solemnly, his eyes wide. Amara arched her eyebrow.

“This is the last time I let you read my ‘Tales of Farida’ book, are you listening to yourself?” she smacked him on the shoulder, “That made no sense, Saufinril leaving forever? Getting killed by some douche?”

“Hey! Fine. But he always tells us when he returns to Cyrodiil, so he’s not there.”

“Maybe he got called for a job and he had to leave soon. I mean, look at his room. He’s not the tidiest but this level of mess isn’t him either. He packed quickly.”

“A job where he had to talk somberly to Lillandril? Hardly.”

“Well, Lillandril has a lot of experience. Maybe he went for advice.”

“Maybe…or, someone is blackmailing the Den owners and Lillandril sent Saufinril. And he succeeded, but he was seen and had to leg it.”

“Have you seen any ‘Wanted’ posters of him?”

“No. Not yet, who knows? OH! Maybe he had someone else other than the Bosmer. He broke up with whatshisface because he said he wasn’t ready for marriage. Maybe that was a lie, maybe the one he wanted to marry wasn’t that mer and he ran away with him.”

“Muraz, no.”

“What other theory could it be?! He would’ve said goodbye otherwise, he always does!”

“Well, we can ask him whe he comes back!” Amara replied, sitting on Saufinril’s bed. Muraz copied her, sitting by her side.

“…what if he doesn’t come back, though?” he asked. Amara shook her head.

“He always does. Don’t think like that. Even the time in Silvenar, remember? He was late four days, we were worried he’d died, but it turns out he was just serving some time.”

“Fine, but let’s say he doesn’t this time? I mean, why would he leave like that, without telling us? Just all quiet and packing at night and leaving?”

“I don’t know. You can always ask Lillandril. Speaking of, why haven’t you asked him?” “YOU ask him. I, uh, sort of did something yesterday.”

“What did-no, nevermind. I don’t want to know. You are so lucky Saufinril covers your ass with every stunt you pull.”

“Indeed.” They sat silently for a bit, observing their friend’s room, until Muraz spoke again.

“He got taken by the Daedra. Or by a cult. No, he joined the cult.”

“Really? Him joining a cult? You know he’d never do that, right? He’s done some stupid things like jumping from the roof to the ground but that’s something he’d never do.”

“He saw something and went insane. His job turned him paranoid, Lillandril tried to talk him out of some self-induced delusion of a murder conspiracy on him but was unsuccessful and now he’s running around Valenwood out of his mind.”

“That’s chapter 5 of my ‘Tales of Farida’.”

“Saufinril is actually married, never told us, his husband came and he had to flee because that marriage had gone sour and brought terrible memories. But the husband followed, Saufinril had to warn Lillandril, and while running away the husband caught up on him and they had a terrible fight we’ll never find out about. Both of their ghosts will continue to fight each other in the forest for the rest of time.”

“Chapter 9”

“He left us to become a bard.”

Amara opened her mouth, then carefully closed it as she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. Then she asked, “No. Dancer, maybe. He does dance. But bard…I can’t see it.”

“I can. A zither. And he’ll sing those depressing songs he likes.”

“No, I still can’t see it.”

“I can. But fine, I’m willing to bet Saufinril had to run away.”

“I say he just had to leave quickly to Cyrodiil. 25 Septims.”

“Deal.” Muraz stretched, then stood up, “What are you doing here, anyways?”

“Hm? Oh, I was going to ask him if he could go pick up a comb I’d ordered some days ago, down at the market. And since he’s not around, do you mind going for it?” she stood up as well.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Amasi got me the second part of ‘Tales of Farida’, I’ll let you read it first.”

“There’s a second part?! By Y’ffre, done! That thing-”

“Comb”

“-will be here in twenty seconds, on my mother it will be here!” he left swiftly the room. Amara straightened her skirt, looked around the room once more, and then followed the orsimer out.

#fourth era sau #in which Sau's friends are conspiracy theorists and try to guess why he's gone #hi guys!#The hiatus is over I guess hehe #I'm back to writing #orsimer #redguard #bosmer #altmer #tesblr #tes

3 notes · View notes

jaxdcnn-blog · 7 years

Photo

⟩ — ❛ BOILING POINT :: SELF PARA !

laughter, even the question of singing heard in the distance. eight figures standing around fire and all jackson dunn could consider was--- is this my friday night now? doing something unaccountably good. he told himself time and time again, the only way to evoke change was the rip the poison from the hands and give it back to the people. burn it to the ground or watch it bleed dry. put heads upon spikes and pray that the men around them get the message.

his skin felt hot standing so close to the flame. he swore just a few seconds ago it wasn’t so huge. it was like burning a pile of furniture upstate back home. except, there was no furniture, and they weren’t upstate. anarchy. chaos. screaming men and chiming women who danced at the feet of what they believed was good. jackson just looked on and thought of a mother who wouldn’t be able to work. a teenager just trying to earn money for their first car. a retired teacher getting extra money to make up for their shit retirement plan. god bless the government, right?

jax took a step forward, he could feel the fire. he could feel it under his skin. it burned. capitalism, the unrepresented poor; everything came crashing down to this moment. they were the fire. this building was what they were eating up. if jax just walked closer maybe he could understand---

“ jackson dunn ! ” a pound shook him from his thoughts. looking up, the woman in the robe had a stern face, which only lasted a moment before it softened. “ listen, kid. we don’t want to ruin the rest of your life. you got stuck in a pretty bad spot with some pretty bad people. you didn’t start the fire. you didn’t even plan it. you were just there. “ she leans forward, quirked eyebrow. “ you get this one chance--- you can make yourself better, or do something stupid again and end up in prison. it’s all up to you. “ she sits back, looking over her papers. “ two years probation. “ slamming down the gavel, jax jumps at the sound, feeling the clasp on his shoulder from his lawyer; an old friend from high school his mother had.

jax barely remembered him. he moved to san diego for law school before jax even started the first grade. nice guy. jackson wonders if they weren’t just friends. if maybe he was doing this for emily dunn rather than him. his mother told him not to care, jax just doesn’t want his mother’s debts to be in his name.

“ nice work, jack. you hungry? “ the name rings true to just how long it’s been and he stands from his seat, turning around to look for his mom.

“ please don’t call me that. “ he says softly, his hands sweaty from having to listen to the case. all that nerve wracking information. jax doesn’t even know what his friends got. they’ve all been kept apart--- which was their call. and a good one at that.

jackson steps over the railing, not bothering with the proper entryway, to meet his mother halfway. from her tall, gangly crying body, he wraps his arms around her tightly, his face tucked into her shoulder. for the first time in a long time, jackson cried, in the courtroom, where he was granted freedom. he pushed the boundaries too far and had his taste of a life he didn’t want.

his mother rubs her hand over his back, his body trembling as the blouse gets clenched in his fingers. she hushes him quietly as he weeps, collecting herself quickly so she could be there for her son. rocking him gently, she whispers to him softly. “ it’s okay, baby. it’s okay. it’s all over now. “ soothing words he hasn’t heard since the funeral. words she hasn’t dealt since the last time he wept on her shoulder.

“ let’s get out of here. okay? “ she slowly pulls away from her son, wiping away the wetness from his cheek. “ we can get something to eat. i know you haven’t touched anything in days. “

it’s a moment he hasn’t had since he was a child. using the back of his hand to wipe his cheek after her, nodding with pouting lips at her words. it reminds him of being a kid, crying at the kitchen table and her telling him all would be fine, and handing him lunch. jax doesn’t get this fragile around anyone, really. except emily dunn.

consuming like a vaccum cleaner, jax had cleaned his plate in a matter of minutes. his mother suggested he pick bottomless pancakes and now he understood why. by the third plate he finally slowed down and his mother caught up to him, still on her first. he listened to her intently go on about their plans from now on. he always listened to her. no right mind would allow him to tune her out. she’d have his head.

“ i’m going to stay for another two weeks. “ she said plainly, and jackson set down his fork.

“ what? mom, you can’t. what about work? you can’t put your life on hold for me. “ he shook his head, his palms still sweaty from this morning, wiping across his jeans. “ i won't allow that. “

she laughs, shaking her head as she cuts another piece of her pancake off. “ well, it’s not your call to make. and thankfully, i barely have a life to begin with. i haven’t taken any vacation days and the ladies owe me this. you think i’m leaving your ass the second you’re let off? for fuck’s sake, jackson, you have four shirts and two pairs of pants. everything you own fits into your backpack. when i came here, you were living on the street and rolling around with a bunch of west coast cockroaches. “

emily dunn rarely called people cockroaches. they were worse than pigeons, and even below rats. she would always say; there’s a special place in hell for roaches. it didn’t help she hated california and all the west coast pricks around her. she was a new york girl through and through. this place made her skin crawl.

but she had a point. his life was in shambles and the second he tried to fix it, he ran himself into the ground with self loathing and trouble. he needed her help to get his life in the right direction.

chewing on the fluffy pancake, she points his fork in his direction. “ so after this, we’re going to mall, i’m buying you some clothes. while we’re there, you’re going to pick up some job applications. “

“ i already have a job. “ his eyebrows furrowed, hands folded together in his lap.

“ i know. you’re getting a second one. “ this wasn’t a choice. these were his mother’s terms. ones he would abide to more than he would to his probation officer. she’d have his ass, and he knew to respect that. “ we’ll start looking for apartments tomorrow. i don’t care if you live in a pantry, you’re going to have a home by the time i leave. “

“ yes, ma’am. “ he nodded, picking his fork back up. another large chunk of pancakes is shoved into his mouth.

just as the conversation was rapping up, their server comes back with the coffee pot. her hair is long, brown, and tied back. she wears a cheery smile but he can tell she doesn’t mean it. it reminds him of the woman across the table when she was young--- when they were just kids. a little more curved, definite bags from under her eyes. her hip look perpetually popped, probably from balancing a child over it for so long. she looks like someone with a life beyond this one. she looks like someone who is just trying to make it through ‘til tomorrow.

jax slides his mug across the table, giving her a smile--- genuine too, in hopes that she’ll return it back. and seeing that that smile was returned, he felt that fire in his skin return. set ablaze, he saw what he was hoping to see engulfed in the flames. right as she walked away, coffee pot in hand. he could see clearly now what the world was trying to tell him;

in the darkest of nights, where he’s certain evil lurks, the solution is to not cure fire with fire. as much as he wishes it not the case, you need evil in order to keep the world going. the great consumer mind--- that which kept this establishment alive, was the sole reason a mother had a job. it was the reason for the kid in the back learning to cook, with dreams of becoming a chef.

his fire was not for his cause. it was selfish. a one-sided cause only meant to fuel himself and his anger. what good was it if he only used it to hurt? he told the world he’d never harm with his fists again, but that didn’t exempt him from what his hands did elsewhere.

the past was all but that--- the past. his chest ached so much for it, and he wanted that to end. but what good was wanting it to end if he didn’t let it go? all the way to the beginning--- his father, mandy, the endless girls who stepped on him in high school, the pain he caused farida, blaise and her tyraids; what good was all of it if he didn’t take the evil, and see what it did for the good?

“ jackson? “ a snap of fingers in his face and he’s pulled away again for the second time today. “ you sure are spacey today. you should drink more water. “

he snorts at her comment, taking the glass as suggested. “ noted, “ and he took a long sip.

the journey to freedom would be a long, but rewarding one. he feels a weight lifted from his chest already. “ i love you, mom. “ he says after he sets down his glass, smiling. “ i appreciate all you’ve done for me. “

she looks up from her plate, about to take a bite before she sets the fork down, reaching over to pat his forearm. “ i love you too, jackson. nothing in this world could tear me away from you. you’re my son. my only one, too. i want you to be happy and successful. i’m going to do what i can to make sure you get there. “

he knew there wasn’t an ounce in her lying about that. “ thank you. “ he nods, wiping his hands across his jeans again.

she pulls away, taking the bite from her pancakes she didn’t hadn’t before. “ you’re going to start showering more, too, you know. you always look like you crawled out of the trash. how are you going to get a girlfriend like that? “

he laughs, sitting back in the booth, picking at his pancake. “ you’d be surprised, mom. some girls like that. “

she hums, rolling her eyes. “ hard to believe. “

he missed her more than anything.

#⟨ .:｡✖ ⋅ ⋆ — ❛ development .#//#ok i wasn't telling everyone what this development was #bc this would do it far better than me #so here u go #this is what's been going on w jax #tw fire #just in case #(also note this is basically his secret so this is unknown to all characters)

18 notes · View notes

fromhollywoodtobollywood · 7 years

Photo

Alright, people my first Bollywood movie is...

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998) dir. Karan Johar

This movie is...a lot of things. It is three hours long so lots of shit goes down. I struggle trying to fit this in to a typical 3-Act Hollywood screenplay structure because it feels like two movies in one. If it were released in the US, the second half would be released a year later as a sequel to the first. But I digress...Let’s begin.

The story opens with Rahul (Shah Rukh Khan) and his wife, Tina (Rani Mukerji). They are in love! They are married! They are having a baby! It’s a girl! But tragedy strikes. Shortly after Tina gives birth, a doctor informs Rahul that she is suffering from severe internal bleeding. Internal bleeding that she somehow knew was going to happen? I’m pretty sure that’s not how internal bleeding works. Anyway, even though this woman is “profusely bleeding” (doctor’s words) on the inside, she still has the composure and stamina to say proper goodbyes to her husband and write a series of letters to her baby daughter (to be given to her each year on her birthday). I realize if I don’t suspend my disbelief, I may not get though the first 20 minutes of this movie. But seriously, they can’t find a medical consultant in India? I’m Indian, and I can name five MDs in my family. Back to the story: Tina makes her husband promise two things: One, that he will never cry because he looks ugly when he does. That’s going to be fantastic for his toxic sense of masculinity. And two: That they name their baby daughter Anjali. It’s a perfectly normal promise and a cute name. Anyway, she dies, he ugly-cries and we are transported to...

MUMBAI, 8 Years Later (I’m assuming this is 1998 based on the year the film was released)

Anjali (Sana Saeed) is now a super-cute kid on the eve of her 8th birthday. While it’s never established what Rahul does for a living, he’s pretty loaded by any standard. 8-year-old Anjali has a camcorder in her room and her own TV with MTV India. In her spare time, she pretends to be an MTV VJ like Neelam. Anjali speaks a charming mixture of Hindi and English that she clearly learned from MTV. She says things like “I’ll be back next week: Same time, same place.” Anjali loves chocolates and wants to be a VJ when she grows up. The character of Anjali is approximately my age so by the time she’s old enough, MTV won’t have VJs, it’ll just be Teen Moms. BUT ANYWAY, she leaves the house to meet her dad on a bridge and this is where things get a little...freudian. Her father is two hours late to meet her (so this little kid has been standing alone in the middle of Mumbai for two hours). When he sees her, he tries to win back her good graces with flowers, chocolates, and a teddy bear like a fuckboy who forgot it was Valentine’s Day and ran to CVS. In this moment, his daughter says she is “tired” of having to be his daughter and his wife (because she picks out his clothes). He responds with “Well, if I have to be your mom AND dad, then you can...” He doesn’t finish the thought because it’s creepy as fuck. But they quickly apologize, do a cute handshake thing, and head home. At home they run in to Grandma (Farida Jalal) who is leading a Hindu Bahjan group of older ladies. She is very pious and has the same shruti machine as my grandmother. Anjali runs in and greets her Grandmother with a TOTALLY APPROPRIATE “Hi, sexy!” greeting. If I had done this to my grandmother (during bhajans, no less) she would have smacked me. Seriously, why is this kid allowed to have MTV in her room?

We then see a speech competition at Anjali’s school where kids are given a random word and have to speak extemporaneously on that subject for one minute. It’s weird but at this point, not the strangest thing that’s happened in this movie. Anjali is pitted against a girl named Jasminder (like ‘Bend it Like Beckham”!) and of COURSE the word Anjali gets is “Mother.” She begins to cry on stage when her dad steps on stage and basically does her speech for her because she is sad. The audience thinks this is adorable and he gets a standing ovation. We return to Rahul’s mansion where he plays basketball inside near one of those Beyoncé hair fans. This house is off the chain. His mother implores him to get re-married for the sake of his happiness and Anjali’s. Rahul insists that love and marriage are something that only happen once in a lifetime. He also says Anjali is alright because she has the letters from her mother. Sure. Because a birthday letter totally makes up for not having a mom.

The next morning, Anjali awakes on her birthday in her truly spectacular bedroom (seriously, what does Rahul do for a living?) and runs down stairs to a stack of presents that would make Dudley Dursley jealous. She pushes all the presents aside to find the letter from her mother. In a voice over, her mother says that this year’s letter will be different from the past. This year, her mother is going to tell her a story about Rahul, Tina, and someone named Anjali. Hashtag, intrigue.

FLASHBACK to Xavier College in the late 1980s

Rahul (still Shah Rukh Khan…they didn’t pull a Chandler Bing/Zac Efron thing here) is playing basketball flirtatiously with a young woman named…Anjali (Kajol.) OG Anjali is smart, funny, and a fantastic athlete (although nothing they do resembles real basketball). However, we KNOW she can’t be taken seriously as a love interest for Rahul because she has short hair and dresses like a combination of Sporty Spice and Dennis the Menace.

A few words about the fashion choices in this film: Although this is supposed to be the 1980s, everyone is dressed like it’s the late 90s. Rahul runs around campus in that GAP sweatshirt and Ralph Lauren rugby shirts that were ubiquitous in the late 1990s. OG Anjali wears a lot of cute but anachronistic, DKNY, Adidas, and Nike separates. No one wears a mullet, no one has feathered/permed hair, nobody’s jeans are acid washed. I have no problem with flashbacks in movies but the fashion and hairstyling make it seem like this is still 1998. Also, does Bollywood have a pass when it comes to showing licensed products and characters? So far I’ve seen a Tweety Bird, a Coke logo, a Pepsi machine, and a background character carrying a Mickey Mouse binder. It doesn’t feel like intentional product placement and I wonder how they got away with this.

Back to OG Anjali and Rahul. While they play “basketball” one accuses the other of cheating and they get in a fight. This brings us to our first SONG AND DANCE BREAK. Honestly, this is why I signed up for watching Bollywood movies. Unfortunately, there are no subtitles for the songs so I can only guess what they are about based on context clues. This one appears to be about Rahul and Anjali’s basketball fight which happened in private but is discussed on the campus radio station. So Anjali dances with her friends, Rahul dances with his and by the end of the song, they are friends again. The song has a fun beat and the choreography is pretty on point. This is probably the second most musically talented school after East High (What team? WILDCATS!). This song would have worked really well as a stand-alone music video and single but of course, this is Bollywood/India so a song can't just be a song.

We return to campus as usual where the principal (Anupam Kher) is waging a war on short skirts. Meanwhile, he ogles a particularly attractive member of the faculty (and so do the male students). I want to take this moment to say that while Hollywood films aren’t always *great* in regards to how they treat the female body, there is something particularly noxious about the male gaze in this film. Sexually objectifying a student or a teacher is just a fun, quirky thing the men in this movie do. It’s especially troubling to think about how Bollywood portrayals of this type of harassment influence Indian gender politics. If anyone has a suggestion for a Bollywood movie where women are visually treated with respect, please let me know. BUT ANYWAY, the actor who plays the principal is actually someone I recognized from playing the dad in “Bend it Like Beckham” and the dad in “Bride and Prejudice.” When I looked him up on IMDB, I learned he is probably the most prolific working actor in the world. Dude has THREE HUNDRED AND NINETY ONE acting credits to his name. Congrats on the career, man. He is happily talking to OG Anjali, a good student and a “good girl” who doesn’t wear short skirts like “other girls” (kill me, please). Principal Malhotra mentions that his daughter (who lives in London but somehow goes to Oxford) is going to do her final year of college at Xavier.

When we meet Principal Malhotra’s daughter she is none other than Tina, (Rani Mukerji) Little Anjali’s mom. We can tell Rahul is into her because there is music and he stops flirting with another woman when she walks in the room. We all know he eventually marries her and fathers her child so this meet-cute is a little anti-climactic. The real magic happens when OG Anjali meets Tina. Seriously, these two share some LOOKS and have some palpable sexual chemistry. If homosexuality weren’t literally a crime in India, I’d like to see these two in a rom com about how they fall in love and scam Shah Rukh Khan for his sperm so they can raise their daughter away from the ever-present male gaze. They have more chemistry with each other than either of them has with Rahul. I’m shipping this so hard and it’s not going to happen.

On campus, Tina faces a very specific form of harassment. Since she dresses modestly, is conventionally attractive, and the principal’s daughter, she is not openly catcalled the way other female students are but Rahul and his bros (in a pretty shitty flirting attempt) ask her to “prove” she’s “Indian enough” by singing in Hindi. Apparently, because she lives in the UK, that means she’s westernized and no longer “Indian.” There is so much wrong with this that I simply cannot. Sorry, that’s the westernized white girl in me talking. In all seriousness, Rahul is supposed to be the campus Cassanova and his idea of flirting is making a woman publicly “prove” her cultural identity. It is hella problematic #notwoke. Tina slays her rendition her rendition of “Om Jai Jagdish Hare.” This is a song sung during Aarti at Hindu prayers. Even I, a culturally beige-washed American, know the chorus and a few verses of this song because if I didn’t sing a long and stay for Aarti, I didn’t get ladoo and ladoo is delicious.

Now we get to the structural problems with this script. A half an hour passes with that is pertinent to the plot of the film. There is a student talent show that is completely irrelevant to the overall plot of the film and simply another excuse for a song and dance. It’s a great song. If they played this at a party, I would not be mad. Tina, Rahul, and OG Anjali essentially improv a full performance and it goes over like gangbusters. It also seems to be an excuse to dress Tina and OG Anjali like 2/5ths of The Spice Girls. Tina is Posh. OG Anjali is a strange mixture of Sporty and Baby. Again, a fun song but would work better as a single. The title song of this film is set among the ruins of a Scottish castle (seriously). For all the shit Rahul gave Tina for going to school in the UK, he seems super content wearing his GAP sweatshirt while singing and dancing in the land of his colonialist oppressor. Sadly, the title song is the least catchy of the film and doesn’t seem to make much sense. Are they all having the same dream about Scotland? Is it a paid advertisement for popular athletic brands of the 1990s? Is it a political statement about India, Scotland, and British colonialism? Who the fuck knows.

We finally come to an important plot point. In an English class taught by the sexually subversive faculty member who wears miniskirts, the students are reading Romeo and Juliet. TANGENT: The professor’s notes on Romeo and Juliet are covered in pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. These are licensed images from the 1996 film. How did this get past Baz Luhrmann’s lawyers? Tangent aside, instead of asking the students specific questions about the text (or movie), she poses the super deep question: What is love? *insert “A Night at The Roxbury” reference here* Really? What is love? Poor Tina. She left Oxford for this? Rahul answers the question with the level of intellect and sophistication we come to expect from him. He says “love is friendship” causing both Tina and OG Anjali to believe that he is in love with his best friend, OG Anjali. We know this is not true because Tina and OG Anjali are the real love story of this movie. WHY ELSE WOULD SHE NAME HER DAUGHTER AFTER HER?

At this point, OG Anjali believes she has feelings for Rahul and becomes weepy-eyed. When she goes to him to confess her feelings in a wheat field (as one does), he greets her with a confession of love. He then retracts it without giving her a chance to respond and says he was just practicing for when he plans to tell Tina. This guy is the goddamned worst. Why are we supposed to like him, again? OG Anjali responds to this the way any intelligent, self-possessed woman would: By dropping out of college. Rahul and Tina are upset and try to get her to get off the train. She does not. Cool. Way to make a great life decision. Which brings us back to…

LITTLE ANJALI CRYING WHILE READING THIS IN A LETTER. Remember Little Anjali? It’s her birthday? She somehow managed to be a sweet kid despite being raised by MTV and a borderline negligent father. This is the halfway point in the film. Seriously, this shit is only half over.

It’s now up to Little Anjali to reunite her father and her namesake. She decides to play a word-association game she learned by watching MTV-India to get more background information on OG Anjali. This misguided little girl starts the game by jumping on her father’s back and asking him what word he thinks of when he thinks of the word “sexy”. She says this while on his back. The visual isn’t great. Rahul responds to the “sexy” prompt with the name of HIS MOTHER. This family needs some serious therapy or they are tip-toeing treacherously close to Greek Tragedy territory. Anyway, when she says “Anjali”, he responds with “Sharma” (OG Anajli’s last name). While this seems farfetched that he’d say her last name when his own daughter Anjali is being carried on his back, it’s is not even the most bizarre thing to happen in the last five minutes of this movie.

Little Anjali and the grandmother ask more questions about Anjali Sharma. Rahul says she was his best friend in college. He explains that OG Anjali “wasn’t like other girls” because she enjoyed sports and didn’t “wear make up or short skirts.” “She was one of the guys,” he explains with a smile. I’m starting to think that OG Anjali is just the Bollywood iteration of the Hollywood “cool girl.” I want to take this moment to say that not all American exports are good. Sure, we may have given the world Diet Coke and “Hamilton” but this concept of the female lead who is “not like other girls” is hashtag problematic as hell. “Not like other girls” implies that it is somehow better to be in the company of men and masculinity than it is to be among things and people deemed “feminine.” While it’s on the surface empowering, it’s underlying message is steeped in outdated and patriarchy perpetuating myths about gender. Additionally, no girl is like all “other girls” because women and girls make up 3.5 billion people worldwide. Each girl and woman has her own interests, passions, and opinions that make her unique. It makes me truly sad to see other cultures adopt this “not like other girls concept” and use it to propagate problematic gender norms in their own societies.

That last paragraph was brought to you by my Seven Sisters education. Back to Kuch Kuch Hota Hai- Rahul, his mother, and Little Anjali head back to Xavier College to see Tina’s father on the anniversary of her death. While there, they decide to look up Anjali Sharma. Principal Malhotra says that he knows someone who might be able to help. Rifat Bi, the housemother of the girls dormitory remembers every student and as it turns out is still in touch with Anjali.

A note about Rifat Bi: She is a devout Muslim woman and when she is introduced, the Muslim call to prayer is used as background music. I am ashamed to say that as an Indian-American raised in an increasingly Islamophobic society, I heard that music and got scared-like white lady walking through Compton scared. I thought some “Homeland” shit was about to go down. And I’m a liberal! I voted and volunteered for Hillary! But as ashamed as it made me feel to feel fear upon hearing “Allah u Akbar,” I used this as an opportunity to challenge my Islamophobic assumptions. Rifat is a helpful and kind woman who does what she can to help the Khanna family find OG Anjali. When she gets a phone call that OG Anjali is engaged, she tearfully tells the family the news. At this point, Little Anjali (instead of crying) puts on a hijab and sits on a prayer mat. Although this plot point is Kellyanne Conway level ridiculous, it’s actually a very earnest expression of interfaith prayer and a rare positive portrayal of Islam. While little Anjali prays, Rifat gets another phone call to say Anjali’s wedding has been postponed until December because of astrology.

So what has become of OG Anjali? Well, she’s engaged to an NRI (that’s Non-Resident Indian) who lives/works in London. Her fiancé is a man and I was a little bummed by that (sigh, India). OG Anjali now presents herself in a more traditionally feminine way. Now when we see her, her hair is long, her eyebrows threaded, and she is wearing…makeup. Granted, it is her engagement party but she doesn’t go back to wearing track pants or jeans for the rest of the film. I guess now that she has feminized herself in a traditionally Indian way, she’s the focal point of this second-half love triangle. Her fiancé, Aman Mehra (Salman Khan) seems like a cool dude and he and his bros have some sick dance moves. If Pinterest existed in India in 1998, pictures and video of this scene would have been a bigger wedding trend than mason jars. Aman is also infinitely more watchable, charismatic, and attractive than Shah Rukh Khan. He is not quite the match for OG Anjali that Tina was but she’s dead and nobody’s perfect.

OG Anjali wants to take some time while Aman goes back to London to teach singing/dancing to kids at a summer camp. Little Anjali finds out about this by calling the engagement venue and eavesdropping on the conversation OG Anjali and Aman have about the camp. With new knowledge about the summer camp, Anjali begs her dad to go. He says absolutely not because she has never shown any interest in singing or dancing. Really? This kid watches MTV all day Does Rahul know nothing about his kid? God, he’s the worst. Rahul leaves on an “Exporter’s Trip” (so he’s an “exporter”...is that a job? whatever) to London leaving Little Anjali in the care of her grandmother. While he is at the conference he runs in to Aman and there is a bit of confusion with the phones when both Anjalis call at the same time. The men share a laugh before telling the other “best of luck with your Anjali.” Get it? Because women are property!

Little Anjali and her grandmother use this opportunity to escape to OG Anjali’s summer camp. Gotta hand it to Little Anjali for enlisting adult help. If this were a Hollywood film, she would have stolen her dad’s credit card number (I’m looking at you, “Sleepless in Seattle”). Anjali and her grandmother head to the camp and it’s actually pretty cute. Mrs. Khanna schools the Anglophile camp director on colonialism and goes as far as to dismantle his portrait of Elizabeth I. Honestly, I’d like to watch a movie about an Indian grandmother dismantling colonialist symbols and taking back her power but alas, this is as fruitless as wishing for a queer romance in a Bollywood film. Meanwhile, Little Anjali meets her name sake while dressed like a “Dora the Explorer” cosplayer. Rahul (Parent of the Fucking Century) decides to use MTV to reach out to his daughter and says “Anjali, I miss you, please come home.” OG Anjali hears this and briefly thinks Rahul is talking about her. In that moment, she realizes Little Anjali is Tina and Rahul’s daughter. OG Anjali cries dramatically upon seeing the picture of Tina that Little Anjali sleeps with. Shortly after the identities are revealed, Little Anjali leaves a message for her father with the sound of her sneezing and he runs dramatically to the camp. Remember, this is the same man who left his child to wander the streets of Mumbai for two hours.

Rahul arrives at the camp while the children are singing “Ragupati Raghava Rajaram”-a song I sang every morning as a child. Unlike my childhood prayer, this song has a dance floor beat. I think you could probably play this at The Abbey in West Hollywood and it would be a hit. If I heard this version while sipping a G&T and talking to my new best friend about the red carpet at Cannes, I’d be weirded out in the best possible way. Rahul walks in just in time for ladoo (sweet timing, dude) and calls for Anjali. Both his daughter and his love interest respond-that’s not a Freudian nightmare at all. OG Anjali and share a cinematic moment. Rahul decides to just stay at the camp with his daughter and mother while they sing dance out some feelings of unrequited love and play “basketball.” Little Anjali is finally able to show off her singing and dancing skills. Girl has some skills. All that MTV has really paid off. All these background kids are seriously talented dancers. I can only imagine how good Disney Channel India is.

This is where things get *dramatic* again. OG Anjali remembers she is still engaged to Aman and leaves the camp in tears. A little boy in a turban who hasn’t talked before, cries and tells her not to leave. When Rahul sees OG Anjali leaving he hands her the scarf she was wearing the day she left college. Has he really had it this whole time? Also there are a ton of continuity errors with OG Anjali’s engagement ring-sometimes it’s garnet and others times it’s diamond. Is there no one whose job it is to check for these things? There are so many poor, unemployed people in India. Bollywood could solve a lot of problems if they hired some people to spot and avoid blatant continuity errors. Economics lecture aside, it starts to rain and who shows up but Aman saying he loves OG Anjali and is ready to get married because fuck astrology. Little Anjali and Rahul look distressed.

Little Anjali decides to try a little reverse psychology with Aman. She tells him that he is a very handsome man and could have any woman he would want. Why would he want to marry OG Anjali? God, she’s going to be a monstrous teenager. Aman (jokingly) goes along with what Little Anjali is saying. He says he is handsome and doesn’t have to settle for someone “dark and fat.” Way to reenforce colorism and body shaming, Bollywood. It’s not enough that this movie takes place in India and no one has a “dusky” complexion but let’s throw a little fat shaming in there as well. Nonetheless, Fair and Lovely ™ Aman says that he loves OG Anjali and is ready to get married.

At the wedding, OG Anjali can’t stop crying/thinking about Rahul and Little Anjali. When she comes down the stairs, Aman sees the distress in her face and lets her go. He tells her that he wants her to be happy even if it’s not with him. Besides, he says someone told him “he could have any woman he wants” and shoots Little Anjali a smile. This guy seems genuinely jazzed to be not getting married despite declaring his love in the rain just before this. Rahul and OG Anjali tearfully embrace and it’s assumed they end up together. Little Anjali cries tears of joy while wearing casual western wear. There is no way in hell I could have worn anything other than Indian clothes to someone’s fancy wedding. Little Anjali and Aman lead a pretty solid dance at the not wedding. A farfetched idea but hey, the choreography is on point-a pretty accurate description of the film as a whole.

#kuch kuch hota hai #bollywood #movie review #hollywood #indian #diaspora #american born desi

4 notes · View notes

beautyofthend · 3 years

Text

This isn’t relevant to Kate’s character so I don’t want to include it in my ~analysis~ but do think it’s worth pointing out.

I think the use of Farida, Lakewell and technically Buckells in S6 was vital in making the connection to S4. There are lots of similarities in both, it’s littered with parallels and references between both series. Steve’s back, injured during S4, is a big storyline throughout S6. And because of Gail Vella, we dig into Lakewell more.

But what really stood out to me is the similarities between Operation Trapdoor and Operation Lighthouse. Different murders, different MO’s but very similar main suspects, and both of whom are treated differently by the SIO.

Michael Farmer and Terry Boyle were both described as being vulnerable suspects, but Roz quite happily pins the murders on Michael Farmer (granted she was under pressure to solve the case so chose the best person that fit the role.) Jo on the other hand stands against wanting to frame Terry Boyle, she’s being told by outside sources to get him for the murder but she does her best to fight against that.

Similarly also, Kate is present at interviews involving both suspects. And at both occasions the suspect becomes agitated and both Jo and Roz see fit to end the interview (both knowing that if the suspects were pushed enough - by Kate - they would reveal more than they wanted).

But as previously mentioned, where Roz pursues Farmer as a suspect (in the beginning at least), Jo tries to deter away from Boyle as best she can (wanting Kate to make the connections and therefore save her etc) and I couldn’t help but think of Steve’s quote “Jo Davidson’s really just like you and me?” Because she is. She’s not bent - of course she’s not completely innocent but everything she did was out of coercion and control and because she couldn’t find a way out. She’d been bullied, belittled and controlled her entire life - she had no other choice than to follow orders.

Roz got herself into a much more trickier situation and everything she did only made the hole bigger and bigger until she couldn’t get out of it. Yes she was being pushed and backed into a corner in terms of her case but she created a personal dilemma for herself by murdering Ifield. She was bent, but only because of herself.

Jo and Roz are very similar, they both bring up the ‘Masons’ situation, Roz in terms of Ted and Jo in terms of Buckells. They were both incredibly strong women but were both vulnerable at the same time; Roz wanted to push her career forward after having to take a break to be a mother - she wanted/needed to prove herself, Jo had been bullied her whole life and just wanted to get out of her situation. They were both used for the benefit of other people but where Roz went along with it, Jo fought against it.

I don’t really know the point I’m trying to make but I do think it’s interesting and I love a good parallel.

#just ignore me lmao i’m venting my thoughts #line of duty #lod

24 notes · View notes

fireintheforest · 5 years

Text

Outside

“Have you thought of cutting your hair?” Amara asked, admiring the mother-of-pearl bracelet that Saufinril had given her. Saufinril, some steps away from her, was spreading the oil on his wet hair and raking it with his fingers, down to the tips. He turned slightly to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I guess it’s just so long, you know? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not at all.” Saufinril replied, grabbing a comb to spread the product more evenly, “It took one a long time to get here, one might as well keep it around for a while.”

“Is it usual for Altmer to have such a long hair?”

“Some do, as long as it’s tied back.”

“But you don’t tie it back when in the Den. Or sometimes out of it.”

“Mmm true.”

“What does Lillandril say about that?”

Saufinril’s voice changed to a deeper, grumpier one as he moved his hand in a theatrical manner, “ ‘Pah! You call that hair? Don’t tell one that’s what the Empire calls nowadays ‘fashionable’, looking like a lunatic with those locks out to get mingled. To call that hair. Hmph! Should one wish to, one could make tresses that shone like gold in the sunset. Pah!’ “ his voice changed to his usual pitch and tone as he turned his head to the side to comb it, “You know, the usual.”

Amara stopped looking at her bracelet to give Saufinril a look. “That sounded nothing like Lillandril.”

“One thinks one did a good job.” Saufinril put the comb down as Amara stood up, “So what happened here while one was gone?”

“Y’mean, the weeks you left or the days you slept?” “One didn’t sleep that long!”

Amara gave Saufinril an arched eyebrow as she tied her hair up. “My friend”, she began, “You came from that trip, did a round of greetings and small talks, then soaked in that bathtub for long enough that we thought you had drowned, then slept one whole day. I kept my eye on you these days, past that façade of you working at the Den like nothing happened, and I have not seen you eat more than once a day since you came back. Not to mention, this is the first day you’re going out since returning. So…” she arched both eyebrows again. Saufinril sighed and asked, “…both. Tell one.”

“Well,” Amara linked her arm with Saufinril’s as they both left his room and went down the hallway, then down the stairs, “My sister got me the second part of ‘Tales of Farida’, but Muraz has it now. My comb finally is done. Samin and Huuhna got in yet another fight for Mineron-”

“Really?”

“Yes really. It was so stupid. Especially because,” she looked around and then leaned closer to Saufinril, who neared her as well, almost bending completely to catch her whisper, “because he got Elisi pregnant.” She nodded at Saufinril’s wide eyes, “She told me herself.”

“Can we not do something about this guy?”

“You know not, he’s such a frequent client.” They went on to the exit, “Even if everyone rolls his eyes about this dumb love triangle.”

“It’s not even a love triangle, it’s the stupidest mess in Valenwood and for what? he’s a jerk.”

“Mhm.” Amara agreed as Saufinril opened the door for her. Both stepped out, heading to the market. Amara inhaled deeply and exhaled, a smile forming on her face.

“See? Isn’t it nice to be outside and socialize instead of mope around the room and not eat?”

“Get a life.” Saufinril teased, lightly bumping his shoulder with Amara’s as a smile peeked through, “One has eaten.”

“Oh? When was the last time?”

“When one…you know-”

“I mean a full meal, not some-some slices of cheese or bread and fish. An actual meal. And not just once a day.”

“…”

“I thought so. Let’s go left, I have a skirt to pick up.”

They made a detour to the seamstress alley, where Amara entered a store and made a beeline to the salesmer, who greeted her usual customer excitedly while Saufinril lingered outside. When it became clear to him that ‘picking up a skirt’ was code for ‘picking up a skirt and ordering twelve more’, he got in the shop to where Amara was comparing silks for pants and tapped her back gently.

“One is going to look around, probably to the Upper Level.”

“Sure. Oh! We can meet by this-there’s a new tavern I want to check. It’s by Dennaris’s shop, you can’t miss it. See you there, let’s see, three hours before sundown?”

“See you there, then.”

With the rendez-vous point assured, Saufinril stepped back out to the street and headed to the Upper Level, passing so many Bosmer chattering with their quick, bird-like tongue. And though the Bosmer that walked alongside stayed the same, the shape and size of stores and quality and quantity of the products changed until he recognized the Great Trunk Artisans Court. With the products put in display and merchants and businesspeople working on luring the customers, some bartering, others filling the sales, and most of them surrounded by people looking at what to buy, Saufinril felt for the first time a sense of ease. He quietly feasted in the tranquility of being the closest he could be to his Caste back in the Isles right now. That aside, he had to start looking. He had a vague idea of what he was looking for, but maybe when he saw it he’d know. He still had some coin left, and he knew a couple of points in this city where he could go get jobs to save up and return to Cyrodiil. Speaking of which, Dar-Shur was probably back, he could go and get the means necessary to send him a message now that he was in the commerce cour-

A swift force to his left side twisted his arm back and made him step to the side and look back to see who he had run into. The person he’d collided with, an Imperial man, also seemed to have felt the impact. ‘Man’ was employed to represent his race, however, since it seemed this human wasn’t older than 23. He had fiery red, almost orange hair, a pale face full of freckles and a deep-set scowl on his face.

“Hey! What’s your damn problem?!” he yelled, hands balling into fists. Yeah, he didn’t have the time to deal with this. Saufinril showed him his palms in a vague gesture of apology and turned, resuming his walk. That is, until he felt someone grab his arm and turn him by force back around. It was the ginger Imperial.

“I made you a question, freak! Who do you think you are?” Saufinril yanked his arm back, “Do you even know who I am??”

“Calm down, there was no big incident. It was an accident.” Saufinril replied coldly

“No big incident?? You ran into me, you asshole! On purpose!”

“How do you know it was on purpose? The street is full of people, you could’ve run into anyone at this point.”

“Anyone?” he pushed Saufinril, “You’re trying to piss me off!” No, you’re trying to piss ME off. Saufinril thought with gritted teeth as a crowd started to form around them.

“You think you’re so clever? Huh? So brave? I can’t hear you, wuss! Come to my face and apologize to me! You dirty knife ear!”

“One said,” Saufinril hissed, stepping closer to the Imperial as he immediately took three steps back and the two men that were accompanying him stepped forward, as if intervening. Saufinril either didn’t see them or didn’t care, “it was an accident. And one will not apologize to some whoreson! Now, is there anything else you want to talk about?” he asked sarcastically. The Imperial, at first, had seemed genuinely surprised that this Altmer had stepped towards him and used a hostile tone, but it was replaced back with the scowl. “You-” he took his hand to his sword, cueing Saufinril to summon magic to his hands.

“Step back, let’s not cause a scene in public.” One of the men that had been walking with the ginger interceded, stepping between the two. He had crows feet and a black beard with silver in it peeking here and there, and was evidently trying to calm down the heated tempers.

“How is one causing a scene, when he started it?” Saufinril snapped. In the back of his mind the weight of guilt settled on his stomach for talking back to someone that was just trying to fix this situation, but honestly he’d been holding back the indignation for too many weeks for him to swallow it back right now. The man seemed unbothered, as if Saufinril had asked that in the most polite of manners.

“I know. I know.” He said in a lower tone than before, then regained his previous volume and said, “We will get on our way. I suggest you do the same.”

He was still in public, and this man was obviously, as nice as he could be, on the redhead asshole’s side. And with Thalmor and city guards walking around here and there, yeah. This was the wisest choice. Besides he still had to get the present and meet Amara at the tavern, and she seemed really excited to get Saufinril to be outside. He wasn’t going to ruin her excitement to get him out with a fight. He took a deep breath to cool down, turning around once again to continue his way-

THUCK! Something hard hit him on the back of his head, yanking out an exclamation. When he turned around to see, the most obvious rock he’d ever seen was sitting nicely in front of him, as if waiting for Saufinril to notice. He just had to look up to see the ginger’s smug grin despite the bearded man’s scowl and the other man (one with tawny skin and a shaved head) look at Saufinril as if he were expecting a confrontation.

You know what? He waited for Amara, she can wait for him.

He immediately summoned the shield spell he needed on the left hand and the fire spell on his right. Both the tawny-skinned man and the one with the black beard drew out their swords as the ginger man stepped back, crossing his arms and keeping his smug smile. That’s alright. One quick firebolt, straight to his fucking face-

A strong hand grabbed his right one, as a stern voice with a familiar accent barked, “What is going on here?” And just like that, both of Saufinril’s spells disappeared, caused by the very blocking spell that the Thalmor agent holding him was using. The men sheathed their swords back and the ginger fuck was now openly giggling. A mix of loathing and dejection filled Saufinril as he shyly turned to look at the pair of yellow eyes that was glaring at him.

“It was…nothing.” He said. The Thalmor agent’s cold gaze remained on Saufinril.

“You were disturbing public peace.” He hissed, “Do you know the punishment for this?”

“Nothing else to watch, move.” The Thalmor agent’s partner, an especially tall mer for an Altmer, ordered, making the crowd disperse. She turned to Saufinril with displeasure, “You, move along! This is your first and final warning. You get caught again and we’re taking you to the Embassy to process you. Is that clear?”

“But-but-but one-”

“See how he was handled?” he could hear his ginger foe bragged as he walked away with his bodyguards, “I wasn’t even scared! You just have to show them who’s the boss.”

“Don’t stammer! Is that clear?” she snapped. Saufinril took another deep breath.

“Yes, serah.” He replied. Only then did the tall agent’s partner release him, adding a harsh “Don’t think this incident’s been forgotten.” Saufinril took two steps back, gave a brief head bow, then turned and continued walking. The indignation will die, he figured, when he puts his focus on his task at hand. It took him several hours and a visit to eight merchants but he finally found a white veined marble ink pot with quality ink in it, exactly (if not better than) what he was looking for. Thanking the merchant profusely after the purchase (after visiting eight merchants, the ninth with just what you need is just godsent), he headed at once to Dennaris’s shop. Amara said it was a new tavern, hard to miss. What he could see from this shop was the shadow puppet theatre that was playing an outdoors show, filled to the brim with children that were encouraging the protagonist and his Imga companion, some individuals and couples walking around…at last he saw the tavern, with open holes in the wall to allow for more ventilation. In a table by said windows, Amara had sat down and was waiting. Saufinril entered and headed at once where she was, making her perk up.

“There you are!”

“Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I just arrived. How’d it go? I got so many new things. Are you hungry?”

“Eh. You’re not going to believe what happened to one earlier…”

#fourth era sau #in which sau tried to pick up a fight lmfao #in which Amara is a good friend and Sau knows and tried to honor those nice feelings but #ultimately this fucker is going DOWN #altmer #Imperial #Bosmer #Redguard #tes #tesblr #fourth era #I was gonna name this 'Unleashed'#not to be confused by the Epica song from their 'Design your Universe' 2009 album #but I remembered Sau already has a memory named 'Unleashed' so I was going to call this 'gossip' since he and Amara indulge in this a lot #and they were gossiping at first and at the end of the memory #but you know what #'Outside' will do

1 note · View note