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lucreziasredwyne · 1 month ago

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∞

lucrezia’s lips curved into a small, fond smile as she leaned forward, her hands resting delicately on her knees. the soft scent of lavender and orange blossom wafted from the gardens around them, mingling with the sweetness of honeyed baklava. the arbor’s sun-dappled courtyard shimmered with a golden warmth, yet her heart felt heavy for her friend.

“habibti,” she began, her voice soft but steady, her hand resting upon her heart as though she were speaking nothing but the whole truth under the subjection of an oath. an absentminded movement of genuine earnestness. "do not be excusing yourself for talking. you haven't a clue how much i have needed this!" she reached forward to rub her friend's forearm, a genuine sense of relief in her words. "you can come as many times as you need. truly. you are welcome here." she reassured, dropping her hand.

“you’ve always been more than the roles you’ve worn. more than the titles or the expectations. you were always the one who saw the world not as it was but as it should be. even now, i see that spark in you, even if you can’t.” back when orange sunsets and red squirrels were what made her the happiest; back when three months of a year were the highlight of it all, when she would live for the hope of it all.

"i remember hearing you argue with the boys like it was yesterday. do you not remember the day you told tirius rowan to stop talking over us?" she asked, a slight twinkle in her hazel hues; back when it were ayca who did most of the arguing for them both. she had appreciated it then, wished to be like her then. it was only in the years that passed did lucrezia redwyne take some solace and comfort in who she was as a person.

her gaze drifted to the fountain, its rhythmic cascade soothing yet melancholic, a mirror to the conversation between them. she moved to “you’re right, the war stole so much from us,” she admitted, her voice faltering for a moment. “it took our innocence, our delusions. it left us questioning who we are, years later. i’ve felt it too, more than i care to admit. i'll admit to you tenfold, if it tells you that you are not wrong for thinking such things." she uttered, slipping the sandals from her soles and dipping her feet into the fountain.

what comes next, ayca asked. there was a strand of lucrezia's curled hair as she let out a small sigh, almost a huff. as though she were trying to think of some sort of philosophical response; it did not take long before a smile stretched across her lips. "you know...i think we just live, ayca." she responded, her tone and her voice juxtaposing the somberness of the conversation."for those who aren't, and for the will of those we will never be able to understand until we ask them in the next life, inshallah." it was in small moments like this that such short answers alluded to the influence a partner had on her, the ability to just sometimes accept things were the way they were.

"you don’t have to figure it all out right now. maybe what comes next isn’t about finding some grand purpose but rediscovering the small pieces of yourself—the ones that make you laugh, the ones that make you feel alive.” she paused, the sounds of her gold jewelry against her wrist softly ringing out alongside the sounds of a fountain. "have you been doing your painting recently? why do you not try to see if your work can be spread, network with other artists. i have connections within the reach should you wish, gael hightower works extensively on it. even the king."

the lady of seagard turned her gaze from the fountain to lucrezia, her lips curving into a soft, almost hesitant smile. the weight of the question hung in the air between them, a gentle nudge that she couldn’t ignore. she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her hand instinctively brushing against the cool stone of the bench beside her, grounding herself.

“i’m not sure i know the answer myself,” she admitted, her voice carrying the quiet honesty she rarely allowed. “when I suggested coming back with you, i told myself it was to see you, the boys, to spend time in a place that’s always felt like a second home. and, of course, that’s true.” she paused, her fingers trailing the edge of the goblet she’d set aside. “but maybe… maybe it’s more than that.”

her eyes flickered back to the fountain, the water’s rhythm almost hypnotic. “the arbor has always been a sanctuary. a place where life felt simple, safe, even magical. perhaps i thought that coming here, i could feel some of that again. that i could… i don’t know, find a piece of myself I seem to have lost somewhere along the way.” her smile faltered slightly, her voice growing quieter. “the war took so much from us, lu. more than i think either of us realized at the time.”

her chestnut tresses framed her face as she turned toward her friend, her gaze steady but distant, as though looking at something only she could see. “i’ve been so many things, lu. a daughter, a wife, a lady of my house. and now… now i’m not sure what i am anymore.” her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cloak, a rare display of restlessness from someone usually so composed. “after the war, after losing him…” she swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat, but she pressed on. “i keep wondering who i’m supposed to be now. what comes next. and the truth is, i don’t know.”

she shook her head slightly, the movement dispelling some of the heaviness. “maybe that’s why i came back. to feel like myself again, even for just a little while. to be reminded of the parts of me that aren’t tied to loss or duty. the parts that laugh and tease and throw grapes at our friends.” she tilted her head, now studying the other's face with a small, mischievous smile creeping back onto her lips. “though, to be fair,” she began, her tone turning playful, “if i were going to dump my existential crisis on anyone, it would always be you."

ayca leaned back slightly, crossing her arms with a feigned air of seriousness. “but if i really wanted to make it up to you, maybe i should help out around here. what do you think—me, stomping grapes in the vineyards? or would you prefer i chase your boys around until they’ve exhausted their infinite energy? i’m not above bribing them with baklava to behave, you know. does little callum have teeth yet?"

her laugh bubbled up, warm and light, breaking the tension she’d inadvertently created. she reached for another piece of baklava, holding it up like a peace offering. “forgive me, lu. i promise I’ll balance all this brooding with enough antics to keep you entertained.”

#c: ayca #ayca 002 #my girlies

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tamamita · 3 years ago

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Hey, i just felt like dropping by to say that besodes the Korn (sigh) post that is my price for following ur blog, i genuinely love this a lot. I mean, I'm sunni muslim, and learning the subtle differences between sunni and shi'a practices are actually incredibly fascinating and awesome. You also drop amazing history facts that even i didnt know and your boiling hatred for france makes my day :D Hope ur havin a good one

Thank you, habibi

May Allah guide you to love Korn Gohan, inshallah <3

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too-gay-for-marvel · 5 years ago

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it started slow

a/n: im alive! for now! im getting my shit together again so i SHOULD be a little more regular with my writing inshallah. also, i think at this point yall should know that if you send a request, theres a 90% chance itll turn into a oneshot and,,,,,, im not sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

Request: Bonjour, love I was wondering if you can do a Natasha X reader, where they get into a big fight because Nat has been spending more time with Carol, And after their fight the reader leaves, and Natasha's mad but Carol tells her that she has been spending way to much time with her. But can it have a good ending. Thank you

Word Count: 2231

Warnings: none

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

It started off with training.

Everyone trained with each other, it was nothing new. Sometimes you would train with Nat and sometimes you wouldn’t, it was just the luck of the draw. It wouldn’t hurt your feelings because at the end of the day, you were still a professional. Maybe you preferred training with Nat, but you weren’t unreasonable.

But the amount of times Nat “happened” to get paired with Carol for training was suspicious.

You had brought it up to her one night at dinner. Just a simple “you’ve been training with Carol a lot lately.” You weren’t trying to stir shit, but maybe you had sounded a little too accusing. But Nat just brushed it off, said it was on Fury’s orders. And who were you to argue against Fury? So what if Nat was training with Carol every morning, maybe it was for the best.

Then it carried on into the afternoons.

You would never tell Nat not to hang out with other people. Past experience had led you down that rabbit hole and there was no way on hell you would do that to someone else. Besides, you were ecstatic that Nat had other people to hang out with because she needed some fun in her life.

So Nat would end up going to lunch with Carol almost every other day, and you would send Nat a quick smile and tell her to have fun. Maybe those lunches went long sometimes and you wouldn’t see Nat again until the evenings. It was fine. It just meant she was having fun, right? Sure, it was taking away some of the only free time you two had, but it was fine.

But then it continued into the evenings and that was the last straw.

Sometimes Nat wouldn’t come back until ungodly hours of the night, or she wouldn’t even come back at all. You weren’t going to accuse her of cheating because, first and foremost, you trusted her with everything in your being. But it still hurt that she was spending her rare free time with someone that wasn’t you.

Now, you didn’t think yourself an unreasonable person. You didn’t think yourself a controlling person either. All of you had jobs to do, and if you weren’t a cohesive unit then things were going to go wrong. That was how the job had always been, and it wouldn’t change. That being said, you didn’t think it was such an awful thing to miss your girlfriend.

So when Nat came home at 3:34am (because you were both supposed to have a night in), you weren’t in the mood to compromise.

“It’s late,” Nat had said when she noticed you sitting at the kitchen table, four empty coffee cups scattered around you and another in your hands.

“Wasn’t sure you’d noticed,” you said, barely louder than a whisper.

“Why are you still up?” Nat asked as she took her boots off and hung up her coat. Like she hadn’t been gone all day and missed another date night.

“I was supposed to have a movie night with my girlfriend,” you said a little louder, “maybe you know where she was.”

Nat froze for the smallest fraction of a moment. If you hadn’t known her for as long as you had, you wouldn’t have even noticed it. Maybe you shouldn’t have noticed it. You should have just ignored it and let Nat lie her way out of whatever was going on because it would be easier. And just as quickly as it had happened, it ended.

“She was with Carol,” she said simply before leaning against the counter that she had moved to.

“What a surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always with Carol.”

“I am not,” Nat defended, and you could see the defiance in her eyes. The belief that she was right and there was no possibility of her being wrong. A look you absolutely adored when it wasn’t directed at you.

You didn’t want to get mad. Your whole life had consisted of keeping your cool in these tense moments. It should have been easy to stay calm under pressure. But the way Nat stood with her arms crossed defensively over her chest and the way she tried to appear nonchalant in her stance pissed you off. How could she not see it?

Did she think you were blind?

“When was the last time we had a lunch date?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Last week,” Nat shrugged.

“Two months ago,” you corrected.

“Then I’ll take you tomorrow.”

“I’m going on a mission tomorrow,” you shot back, your voice raised just enough to send a message. “You would know if you weren’t always with Carol.”

“What do you have against her?”

“Nothing!” You finally shouted as you shoved your chair back and stood up. “I have nothing against Carol! You deserve friends and people that love to spend time with you! But I have everything against you treating me like your second choice.”

Nat opened her mouth to argue, but you shot her a look that shut her up.

“I don’t care how often you hang out with friends, because it’s important,” you reiterated, “but I will not be second best in my own goddamn relationship.”

Nat continued to stare with that unreadable expression that you still had yet to understand. And it didn’t make you mad like you thought it would, no. No, actually, it made you sad. Sad because after telling your girlfriend that you felt like second best, she had nothing to say. She didn’t bat an eye.

And you couldn’t argue with that, could you?

No, you couldn’t. So you walked past Nat, grabbed your coat and keys, and left.

----------

Natasha didn’t move from her spot for almost 10 minutes after you left the Compound apartment. She hadn’t considered it “storming out,” but you had certainly left in a hurry. And right after you had shut the door the gears in her brain had started turning. You were wrong, she hadn’t treated you as second best.

Right?

No, of course she hadn’t.

Had she?

With a frustrated sigh, Natasha turned and grabbed her coat and left, making her way to the gym. If the past had taught her anything, Carol would still be there. Which would be great because then they could work out some anger and maybe even get a bit of advice. Not that Carol was good with relationship advice, but who else could Natasha ask?

I don’t treat you as second best, we do things all the time, Natasha thought as she walked down the sidewalk, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat.

I always come home to you, isn’t that enough? She crossed the street without looking, knowing that the cars would screech to a halt if need be.

There’s no way it’s been two months since our last lunch date. The coffee shop you both frequented passed by without so much as a glance from Natasha.

If I really treated you so bad, why didn’t you tell me sooner?

The doors to the gym posed no obstacle as Natasha shouldered them open and trudged inside. She had started the walk with a mission, a dedication to work out her frustration, but now that she had made it to her destination… now her chest felt constricted.

“Didn’t you go home?”

Natasha looked up from the hole she had subconsciously been staring into the floor and saw Carol wiping the nonexistent sweat from her neck. She had been training with Danvers long enough to know it was almost impossible for her to sweat. Damn enhancements.

“Had too much energy,” Natasha said as she shrugged her coat off and dropped it onto a bench.

“You sure?” Carol asked, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her voice. But Natasha still didn’t turn around and instead worked on wrapping her wrists.

“Absolutely. On the mat, Danvers.”

She didn’t look up, knowing that Carol would meet her on the mat even if she wasn’t really sure about it. But they both met in the middle and Natasha finally looked up to see a look in Carol’s eyes. A look that Natasha knew meant Carol was not happy with her. But she knew there was no chance she would actually be called out on it.

With that being said, the both of them started sparring.

Something was off with the way Carol was fighting though, and no matter how much Natasha goaded her, it didn’t change. All she wanted was to get hit so hard that she could try to make sense of what you had said to her earlier. Maybe if Carol knocked her senseless then your argument would be logical.

“Nat,” Carol said after a lull, “go home.”

“A few more rounds,” Natasha shrugged before going at Carol again.

Only Carol took it seriously this time.

Now, Natasha was a master at hand-to-hand combat, there was no question about it. But when compared to the power of an infinity stone? It wasn’t fair; still surprising though. So when Natasha was slammed down onto the mat with Carol’s knee pressing against her chest, she was shocked.

And pissed.

“The fuck, Danvers?”

“You’re never home anymore,” Carol accused as she leaned down to be closer to Natasha’s face. “Go home.”

“It’s fine,” she shot back before trying to push Carol’s knee off. But she wasn’t kidding around and was using all her power to force Natasha to listen.

“When was the last time you took Y/N on a date?”

“None of your business,” Natasha said, but her heart started racing at the question.

“You’re always with me,” Carol accused again. “You need to go home.”

“Y/N’s not even at home,” Natasha admitted, shocking the both of them. “So what’s the point?”

The look Carol gave her was almost insulting. But she removed her knee nonetheless and helped her up to her feet. And the look she continued to receive forced Natasha to face things she didn’t want to because if Carol was giving her that look, then the odds of Natasha being wrong were… pretty high.

“Go home and wait,” Carol said with a pitied smile. “Trust me.”

And with that, Carol left. Didn’t even wait for Natasha to give confirmation that she would listen to the advice, but she didn’t need to. They both knew Natasha would listen because, if she were being honest with herself, Carol had managed to stay with Maria for years.

Maybe the air force had been good for something.

----------

It was weird to come home after so long apart. You and Nat would separate because of missions, obviously, but this… this was different. You hadn’t parted with a kiss and a warning to be careful. It was silence and fear and frustration all balled up in your stomach, and the distance had only made it worse.

You shouldn’t have been gone for so long, but you were too upset. Right after you had left and gotten back from your mission, you had called Fury to tell him you would be gone for a few weeks and that you needed space. Of course he had listened, but part of you had wished he would have made you stay. If you had stayed, you would have been able to force Nat to talk to you.

Because she was wrong and she needed to know, her pride be damned.

But after five weeks of a mission and cooling off, no one had called and instead of giving you time to calm down, it just made you more upset. So that was what led to you putting your key in the lock to your apartment once again. Part of you hoped Nat was in there.

The other part hoped she wasn’t.

“Oh thank god.”

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist the moment you opened the apartment door. The force of the collision was almost enough to knock you off your feet, but you managed to keep your footing. And just like that, with those familiar arms wrapped around you, your heart felt like it was home again.

“You were right,” Nat said quickly once you wrapped your arms around her shoulders in return. “You were right and I’m sorry.”

You pulled back just enough to be able to look her in the eyes. After so long together, you would know if she was telling the truth based on the look in her eyes. There was nothing but regret, sorrow, maybe a bit of fear. But most importantly, you saw truth.

“How long did it take you to admit that to yourself?” You asked her with a raised brow.

“I-,” she paused, her eyes flickering between yours. “A few hours.”

“That quickly?”

“Carol beat it into me,” Nat admitted, and your facade finally broke.

“You’re an idiot,” you chuckled before leaning down and leaving a light kiss on her lips.

“Your idiot,” she mumbled against your lips before moving forward for another kiss, this one deeper than the first.

You know you both needed to talk about it. A kiss and an “I’m sorry” wouldn’t be all it took, especially if there wasn’t a real understanding of what had gone wrong. But you could talk about it in the morning.

Right now, you needed to feel home again.

#requests #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #my writing

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belphegor1982 · 5 years ago

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…it’s done. Finished. My monster Mummy fic, the one I started in 2003, started publishing in 2004, and left dormant since 2008 – I finally completed it o.O Weirdly (or not), this is the chapter which gave me the most trouble, if you don’t count chapters 16 and 17 (which took me 2 and 16 years to write, respectively). It was hard to say goodbye to this story and these characters, even though I knew I literally just had to get an idea for another story :-/

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters on Tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23)

Chapter 24: Departure (on AO3 here; on FFnet here)

London, September 1937

A little off Paddington Station, almost in Marylebone, was a small pub called the Stars and Crown, its red brick façade almost exactly similar to the others along the street. It was an unassuming little affair Jonathan liked to patronise every now and then, and not just because it happened to be situated not too far from his flat.

It was a balmy mid-September late afternoon and one of the double doors was wide open on the quiet street. Jonathan and Tom were seated by one of the stained-glass windows, drinking – G&T and a ginger beer, respectively – and talking. Jonathan, remembering the promise he’d made after blowing up Hamilton’s lorry, had bought the rounds.

But for small details like the mostly healed-over scratches on Tom’s hands, the old scar in Jonathan’s left palm, and all the subtler little ways the past two decades had changed them, they might as well have been twenty year old students again.

Well, apart from the subject of their conversation.

“I got off easy, if you ask me.”

“Nonsense. You were the only one who tried to fix this bloody disaster. It’s only fair that you didn’t… You know.”

“…Pay for my mistakes?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

Tom gulped a mouthful of ginger beer, still looking glum.

“I suppose – I know – I should be grateful I didn’t end up like Hamilton, at least.”

Jonathan winced.

Charles Hamilton had made it back to England in a slightly better state than he had made it out of the pyramid, but that wasn’t saying much. From what they had heard, he was lucid for about an hour a day, and that was it – and not very coherent at that. Which made the fact that he allegedly hung himself in his cell a week before his highly sensitive trial very suspicious indeed. The man didn’t appear capable of putting on his trousers on his own, let alone do anything as complex as a slipknot.

The Lord Chancellor’s Department had issued a statement half-heartedly lamenting Hamilton’s demise, the newspapers had stayed surprisingly quiet about it, and Evy had fumed for an entire fortnight. And that had been it. Hamilton had taken the gentleman’s way out. Case closed.

At least Gabriel Baine had been tried, convicted, and sent behind bars for a lengthy period of time. Jonathan didn’t particularly care where he was, as long as he could be elsewhere.

Baine had stated a few times that there hadn’t been anything personal about shooting and ordering his men to shoot Jonathan, Rick, and Tom. Jonathan had silently begged to differ. Baine’s shouts of “Kill them” followed by the sudden excruciating pain in his back, not to mention the confusion and terror as he fought not to die and lost, had felt pretty damn personal.

Tom stared into his glass for a while, then looked up with a brighter expression.

“But enough about this fiasco. How’s your family? I seem to remember your sister’s birthday was coming up, you were lookin’ for a present when we bumped into each other at that bazaar. Did you find one, in the end?”

Jonathan perked up. “I did, actually. Got her a signet ring. She seemed to like it.”

Now that memory he would treasure as long as he lived.

An inventory of his pockets had revealed a hodgepodge of small trinkets which he was still trying to trace. The little medallion with the amethyst cameo must be early Regency, stolen by the pygmy mummies from some unfortunate Napoleon soldier’s corpse; the lapis earring was probably from the Ramesside period (a few Rameses had sent their armies to find or reclaim Ahm Shere, Jonathan had found); the couple of gold and silver rings bearing the Roman SPQR were a little incongruous but easy to chalk up to Julius Caesar’s expedition. There were also some 4th Century Persian coins, proving Alexander the Great’s men had also reached Ahm Shere – the Oasis, anyway – and a number of little amulets from various Egyptian expeditions, mostly heart scarabs made of red and green jasper, copper, quartz, bronze, or gold. He hadn’t determined the nature of the green gemstone yet, saving it for last.

Jonathan had been so excited by his find that he hadn’t gambled a single object. Tracing their origins took time, but he had not even told Evy about it yet. Instead he had not only called on every scrap of expertise he had concerning treasure, but also on every book he could lay his hands on. Evy would have been very surprised – not to mention highly suspicious – if she learned how much time he had been spending at the British Library lately.

He had always enjoyed a good riddle. For some reason this one looked promising enough to justify doing some actual work for. Besides, having the artefacts authenticated meant he would be able to get a much better price selling them.

The only thing he had parted with was the (probable) Napoleon coin, the soft gold nibbled almost beyond recognition by the pygmy mummies’ teeth. Another look at it the morning after his resurrection had given him an idea.

Before they left the Medjai camp, Jonathan had obtained from Ardeth a sketch of Nefertiri’s personal cartouche and the address of a talented goldsmith in Cairo; once back in the city, he had wandered down to Kerdasa, the coin and the folded paper safe in the inside pocket of his (whole and clean) jacket.

Just before he reached the little shop, however, he heard a yelp and a startled cry, and was knocked off his feet by something large and hairy. His vision was filled by long camel’s lashes and lips drawn back on long yellow teeth in what Jonathan might have taken as a smile if he hadn’t known better.

Why did every single camel have to have such foul breath, he wondered.

“ʾAhlan1, Djem,” muttered Jonathan with a sigh that was half annoyance, and half amused resignation.

And was astonished when the camel immediately disappeared from view, replaced with a familiar face. Satiah’s big brown eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Oh, it’s you, bāša2. Hello,” she said with a smile.

Jonathan got up and dusted himself off, irritation quickly fading away. The jacket could survive a little dirt; besides, Satiah’s smile as she hung on to Djem’s bit had lost some of its previous shyness. Considering how fearful she had been the last time – and who could fault her for that, really – it almost made getting knocked over by a foul-smelling bag of hair and wind worth it.

“Good morning, Miss Satiah,” he said in Arabic, picking up his hat from the ground so he could salute her with a flourish. Her hand flew to her mouth to hide a giggle. “It’s a stroke of luck finding you, really. I wanted to thank you for your help the other day, and for, er…”

He reached his limits of the language, and finished in English, “I mean, thank you for returning my wallet to my sister. That was very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Satiah said in Arabic, her cheekbones a little pink. “I’m glad you and your friends got away from those men.”

Jonathan’s smile slipped a notch or two, but he rallied quickly enough.

“Yes,” he said just a little wryly, “we did, at that. In the end.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve just reached my destination,” he added, pointing to a door above which hung a sign saying something about gold in painted Arabic script, “so I’m going to wish you a—”

“You’re going to see Cousin Ashar?” Satiah interrupted, her eyes shining. Immediately afterwards she clamped both hands on her mouth and cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Small world, eh?”

She gave a small smile and led the way into the shop, stopping only to tie Djem to a post.

Ashar – the goldsmith Ardeth had recommended – was a tall, wiry man with a long face, his hair going grey at the temples. He welcomed Satiah warmly and sent her to the backroom to get what she came for. Before she closed the door, she gave Jonathan a little friendly wave, which he returned with a smile. Ashar gave him an odd but not hostile look, eyebrows raised.

Jonathan placed his order, left the coin, and was about to leave, when Ashar called him back, frowning slightly.

“You’re one of the O’Connells, aren’t you.”

Jonathan’s mouth opened and closed as though of its own accord.

“You could say that, yes,” he said finally. “Why?”

“Because word of the second raising of Anubis’ Army made it to Cairo recently.”

This time Jonathan’s mouth dropped open and remained like that for a handful of seconds. Ashar gave something that was almost a smile.

“Not all of us wear the ritual tattoos, you know.”

“I do know,” Jonathan articulated with only the slightest difficulty. Dr Hakim was a Medjai, and his face was devoid of any tattoo as well. Dr Bey had been the same, now that he thought of it. His gaze went to the door that led to the backroom. “Satiah, too…?”

“Yes. But her mother’s family has lived in Cairo for fifty years. The girl has never seen the desert. She will get good schooling and find a trade, inshallah3. The time for living legends is coming to an end.” Ashar looked at the cartouche Ardeth had drawn for reference. “I know what this says. Who the name belonged to. Your commission is either a hollow trinket or a great gift.”

Jonathan drew himself up and said, as dignified as he could, “I’m rather hoping for the latter.”

His own signet ring had been gambled and lost in some card game or another, years ago. His parents would have been so disappointed had they still been alive. The least he could do was make sure his sister had a ring of her own, one that paid tribute to the woman she was and the woman she had been, three millennia ago.

Evy’s reaction when she opened his present proved him right, and even surprised him.

She stared into the box long enough for Jonathan’s brain to go into overdrive. Her silence made him panic ever so slightly. Then she looked up at him, her eyes very bright, lower lip trembling.

Jonathan barely suppressed the need to shuffle like a schoolboy and buried his hands into his pockets, hoping his face didn’t give too much away.

“I know I wasn’t… there – or, you know – then,” he said, almost sheepishly. “But I thought… Well. I hoped you’d like it. The cartouche must be right, I got it from Ardeth, and the goldsmith was a bloody good artist, as it turned out, but—”

Evy cut him off by launching herself at him and flinging her arms around his neck, throwing him off balance. As usual, Jonathan stumbled, but managed to catch her in the end.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered into his neck. “Thank you, Jon.”

If his smile was a little wobbly, his eyes a little moist, nobody seemed to notice. Rick and Alex had picked up the little box; Rick’s face lit up in strange recognition, while Alex deciphered the cartouche slowly and grinned.

“Nice one, Uncle Jon. That’s a pretty good present.”

“Yes, about that,” said Jonathan irrepressibly while Evy broke away and wiped her eyes, “I hope you realise that this is the last birthday present you’ll ever get from me, old mum. Since – judging by your reaction – nothing I could give to you could ever top this, I have decided to simply refrain from trying.”

Evy had slapped his arm and called him an idiot with a big smile, then hugged him again. And he had hugged her back, just because he was alive and able to.

The ring hadn’t left her finger since.

“Jon?”

Jonathan was abruptly pulled back to the present, the Stars and Crown, and Tom’s curious smile across the table.

“Hm?”

“You were a thousand miles away.”

“Sorry about that. What about you and Lizzie? Dorset been treating you well, I hope?”

Tom shook his head with a smile.

“It has, sort of, but we’re moving to Oxford. Did Liz tell you she’d been replaced while she was gone?”

Jonathan nodded. Lizzie disappearing for two weeks had not gone unnoticed in her little town, but since the police didn’t have the beginning of a clue and nobody was able to reach Tom, they had moved on to other things and her boss at the telephone exchange had hired someone else. There had been a subtle but definite irony in Lizzie’s letter as she described her and Tom’s return and the scrutiny they’d had to stand up to in order to prove her husband hadn’t killed her and stashed her body away – or vice versa – before his former Chamber of Horus hierarchy stepped in to explain things.

“Well, they needed an operator at the exchange on Pembroke Street. And you know the interview I had this morning at Whitehall? I won’t be too far, as it turns out.” Tom took a deep breath, then said with one of the goofiest smiles Jonathan had ever seen on his face, “I’ll be workin’ from the Bodleian.”

This could only mean one thing. Jonathan grinned.

“The British Antique Research Department accepted your application, didn’t they? Congratulations, old chap. That’s fantastic.”

He downed a mouthful of his G&T and laid an elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.

“Haven’t been to Oxford in almost fifteen years,” he said thoughtfully. “Not since Evy finished her degree. I wonder if the city’s changed.”

“It’s Oxford,” said Tom quietly, looking like his mind was straying down the same path Jonathan’s thoughts were. “I can’t imagine it’ll ever change that much.”

Jonathan smiled quickly into his palm. Then he raised his glass.

“To the two of you, then. And to publicans hopefully not holding grudges, otherwise we’re still banned from half the pubs in Oxfordshire.”

Tom snorted and raised his own glass, now almost empty. “To the three of us, and testing that theory sometime. And let’s not wait two decades this time,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

The two glasses clinked.

For just a second, the decades fell away, and Jonathan was twenty years younger.

Lizzie was already waiting for them on the platform by the time they finished their drinks and walked back to Paddington. She carried a shopping bag that looked entirely too small compared to what should be expected of a woman who’d just spent a few hours in the old metropolis. Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you say you planned to go to Harrods while we were in London?”

“I also said I only needed a new suit and the latest Agatha Christie novel,” she said, light teasing in her tone. “The next one will be out sometime in November, I think. Have you heard what the title will be? Death on the Nile, of all things.”

Jonathan gave a mock shudder. “I might just give this one a miss, then.”

The train’s whistle pierced the air, cutting the rest of the conversation short. Tom picked up his wife’s bag and Lizzie turned to Jonathan with a smile.

“Goodbye, Jonathan,” she said softly.

The use of his first name had always been a signal that the game was paused and the masks were off, as clear as a referee blowing halftime. Jonathan answered in kind, his throat just a little tight.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

They hadn’t even actually said ‘goodbye’ last time. They had just stood there, she leaning out the train window in her brand-new nurse’s uniform, he and Tommy on the platform amidst the soot, the steam, and the throng of people, until the train departed. The memory was an old hurt that still twinged sometimes, like his left shoulder when the weather was bad.

He cleared his throat and smiled.

“See you on the next Christie novel, then?”

What Lizzie did next might have shocked twenty year old Jonathan, who thought he knew her well, and as such very much surprised his current self, who had a little too much experience of the world to truly get shocked anymore. She took his hands in hers, flying in the face of propriety and what had been her rules of conduct in public, and kissed him on the cheek near the corner of his mouth with an aching sweetness. The old Lizzie, so shy and unsure of her self-worth that she was terrified of what people may think, would have been appalled.

It had taken a while for Jonathan to truly grasp how much the years had changed Tommy and start thinking of him as ‘Tom’ to account for that change. Through this apparently simple gesture – simple only to someone who didn’t know Elizabeth Ferguson, née McAllister – Lizzie became ‘Liz’ in an instant.

“I can’t bear to think you died,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “When I think… Without that – that book…”

She took a deep breath. Tom caught Jonathan’s eye and gave a small nod. Of course he had told her. Knowing Liz, she’d take the secret to her grave anyway.

“Take care of yourself, Jonathan, please. The world would be so dreadfully dull without you in it,” she added with a tentative smile, to which he replied with a smile of his own, one that hopefully looked steadier.

“Likewise.”

Her hands tightened around his. Just for a second or two, he softly ran his thumb on the back of her hand, an echo of the old intimacy that used to bind them; then their gazes fell away, their hands separated, and the moment was over.

Tom held out his hand with a smile, and Jonathan’s mind was whisked back to that sunny afternoon in Cairo, almost two months ago, and a chance encounter that had reshuffled the cards in a major way. Tom’s handshake was slower this time, steadier, warmer.

“Bye, Jon.”

“Cheers, Tom,” said Jonathan, determined but failing to swallow the lump in his throat. “Have a pint at the Oxford Arms for me.”

Tom nodded, and added his left hand to the handshake, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. As usual – almost – everything he meant to say was on his face and in his eyes for the world to see.

The train let out a burst of steam. Tom hastily let go and made for the train door, stopping only to help Liz aboard. Jonathan looked wistfully at the train for a minute and was about to turn around and go home when he heard his name being called over the din of the locomotive and the running gears chugging into motion.

Tom and Liz were leaning out of a window, wearing identical wide smiles. Liz was waving, her other arm wrapped tightly around her husband. The light in her eyes and her curly hair whipping around her face made her look like the girl from Jonathan’s memories.

“Send my love to Evelyn!” she called. “And say hello to your brother-in-law for me! You’re all welcome anytime for tea!”

“I’ll make sure they know!” shouted Jonathan as the train gathered speed.

The blatant disregard of platform etiquette made several passers-by turn and stare at him with a touch of glower. Jonathan ignored them and kept his eyes on the departing train. Tom’s and Liz’s beaming smiles remained in his head a long time after they had gone back inside the carriage.

He would see them again. This time he was determined not to leave the possibility of a reunion to chance and the vagaries of life. They had been through too much – both twenty years and two months ago – to just go their separate ways.

Besides, Jonathan mused as he left Paddington behind to wade through the bustling streets, he still had some research to do before he set out to sell the objects he had found at Ahm Shere. The Bodleian Library was as good as the British Library; at least he didn’t risk meeting Evy there and being subjected to her prodding curiosity, which he wasn’t ready to face yet. At least not before he unravelled the mystery of the little gemstone. It looked like an emerald and felt vaguely familiar, as though he had seen it somewhere or heard a story about it.

This required some investigation, if only to be prudent.

After all, he was particularly well placed to know that you can only go so far on fairy tales and hokum alone.

THE END

.⅋.

1(أَهْلًا): informal “hello”, “hi”.

2باشا (bāša): “sir”, “mister” in Egyptian Arabic.

3ʾin šāʾa llāhu, (إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ‎) – literally “if God has willed it”, “God willing”

Don’t look for the Stars and Crown in Paddington, or the Oxford Arms in Oxford. Unlike the Turf Tavern they’re entirely fictional.

Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile was indeed published on 1st November 1937. I couldn’t resist, I mean, come on ;o)

The Bodleian Library is the main research library in Oxford and one of the oldest in Europe.

If you’re wondering, yes, that little gemstone might be the basis for a sequel of sorts, but I haven’t really started to plot it. Considering my track record for these things you might see that story sometime in the next decade and a half :P

Writing and publishing Fairy Tales and Hokum has been such an adventure. I was 21 when I started writing it; now I’ll be 38 in four days. Much as I miss the old crowd of 2003-2006, reposting and updating the story here on AO3 allowed me to know some awesome people. I’m so glad these characters somehow – FINALLY – sneaked back into my head and my heart again with their quirks, their (updated) backstories, and their voices and allowed me to finish this story the way I wanted to. Like I’ve said before, whenever you started reading this, I hope you had a good time now that you’ve reached the end. If you’ve read and left a signed comment – if you’ve read and left an anonymous comment – if you’ve read and left no comment at all – know that I wrote this for you and I hope some of it made you smile.

Take care of yourselves, love you all, and see you on the next fic? :o)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #fanfiction #my stuff #the mummy films

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zaidshair · 3 months ago

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Zaid truly wasn't sure what Hye-Jin was doing, with her visual assessment. He didn't know, because it wasn't often he was given so much personal attention from anyone but himself (in Zaid's heavily biased opinion, anyway). He couldn't tell what Hye-Jin was doing, but he couldn't deny it felt lovely. The closest thing he'd get to cocaine high, on this bloody island.

But then also, a bit of vanity-related concern. "Do I look alright?" Zaid asked, looking down at himself as well. "No buboes or open sores or nothing, right?"

Jeju. Zaid had always dreamed of a proper vacation to South Korea one day, him and Tej and Inika. A pipe dream then, as much as it was now. "I'll save the flattery for when you least expect it," he decided aloud, adding another playful bead on their teasing thread. "What's that called? Shock value."

Hye-Jin volunteered a highlight of Jeju for him, and wove Jeju's features into this place, like a narrator on a nature program. But with a distinct touch of personal familiarity, in the tender lilt of her voice. He mused aloud: "Britain's an island too. Useless comparison to here, though." He pointed up towards the top of the volcano. A slight wisp of blue smoke lazily curled from it. "Inshallah that doesn't do the same as me one day. You don't have any insight on eruptions, do you. Aside from your adventure film."

An appreciative huff of amusement, as Hye-Jin rather amicably ran with his silly analogies. Comparisons to gods; well. Zaid didn't think Hye-Jin would mind that so much. And by their response, invoking Ares, she was willing to play along for now. Zaid only kept his bracelet off for a few seconds, before slipping it back on his wrist. He got too antsy, keeping it off for too long.

They made a good point, about Maria and her bloody bracelet. Zaid didn't want to think about Maria anymore; he just wanted to focus on Hye-Jin, here, with him. Her pale, straight finger pressing black sand into her other palm. "You saved me," he said outloud, as if trying out the sentence to see how it felt.

When the seaweed slid away, Zaid missed the feel - what he now interpreted as a friendly touch, sleek and cool as Hye-Jin themselves. Zaid sat up to sigh, then stood up to stretch. Fingers flexing, arms raised and folded over his head as he looked out over the horizon. "Does it make you tired, or...energized, to be Demeter? After I, erm, explode, I feel like I can take on the world. But also like I could sleep for a million years."

Closeness, and distance, between each other, it could be said this was part of the magnetism towards Zaid as well. Their heated observation of him, scans for injuries as though they were a doctor, when in reality, they only knew the basics of cuts and bruises and their shapes. This, they couldn't help. It didn't happen often, these urges which couldn't be helped, but when they did, it had happened thrice in front of this particular chef. The first time, long ago, when his fanboying had been as eloquent and subtle as it was now, accent slipping, excitement evident. Who out there could say that many made any kind of first impression upon Hye-Jin?

Though his recollection of her interviews embarrassed her. For there were no actual film cameras to hide behind, when it came to these things being shared. Seedlings thus planted, and splotches of what she would blame on exertion much later against her cheeks. "Jeju," she repeated, because it was correct. Reclining there, and if she closed her eyes for long enough, the scenery might resonate the same. Deciduous forests, with different foliage, with masquerading animals. "If you want try out the flattery and see if it works, I won't be stopping you." Could be actual invitation. Or it could be another method of — sharing? Space, details, feelings.

"Jeju both somehow looks like this, and yet not at all. You'd think every island has the same look, but they're different. In how they're shaped, in what depths there are. Some have no tide pools nor volcanoes; others are uninhabitable due to those and more. Sand or tar pits. Random sinkholes." To come upon a sinkhole in what was the midst of an island, already in the ocean, seemed counterintuitive. But in her travels, such a sinkhole had been one of her daring tours whilst filming a show. The exclamation, instead of the cheeky remark, made her jump. Almost out of her skin. A glance towards the seaweed. "Water? No. I can't."

Hesitation appeared. For all intents and purposes, there was no reason she shouldn't trust Zaid. She wasn't particularly shy, oddly enough, with the concept of sharing it with him, especially since he also had a power, and his was much worse off. But the bubbling of — well, it was green. Green as shame, and nausea. At being known. It was ironic, really. It baffled her. A shake of the head. Most definitely not trading.

"It would be less Poseidon and more Demeter." She would have said Gaia, but wished to keep it in the same pantheon. Comparison might be a good middle ground for being open. "And you have somehow skipped, and gone straight to Ares. The bracelet might have fallen where we couldn't see it. I personally don't want to know what ticking time clocks await nor where it has gone. Or if it went with her." To be imploding upon one's self, Hye-Jin understood. She had been there, moments before she awakened here, and this began. "Keep your Ares war self, Zaid, it's a good look on you, but a disaster on me."

The algae receded as her heart-rate calmed, pulse fluttering. Able to breathe, and to swallow. One hand absentmindedly fisted in the sand, dredging up the obsidian granules, pressing them roughly against her palm. She felt as though much would be a disaster on her, in her current state. One step away from nervosa.

#hyejin #dfksdfj Choi lore unlocked #truly blessed omg

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petitewishes · 4 years ago

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I know you moved on from me now but I still think about you often. I miss how well you treated me dearly. You were such an angel. The one I really took for granted. The thing is I knew, I knew everything about you was perfect. I had come from a toxic family with conditional love, you had come from a family with broken love. But you loved me immensely and it showed. You taught me everything I didn’t learn when you held my hand a certain way and rubbed it with your thumb I had no idea what that was but it was so cute. The memories we made for 10 months I could never forget. You see, 5 years later I still think about you because when we ended I had started talking to “A” for two years. I replaced the void of losing you. Then A left and I realized I never healed. I know your new girlfriend treats you so good fk. You’re going to hit 2 years on September 25th.. a day after my birthday. I was so happy when she made you a diy box birthday gift. You deserved that and more. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I had to go. I had sacrificed are love for Allah and I’m so happy u got her. But I’m still alone. Allah showed me how haram relationships hurt and why they’re haram in the first place. You moved on so fast ... I’m still waiting for someone. I pray I pray my husband will be like you. I am emotional because I listened to two one direction songs that was our songs. I don’t know what to say anymore. I hope I did the right thing by letting him go. He even tried to convert for me. :( on my wedding day I’ll look into the crowd and I’d imagine you all the way in the back smiling back at me. I remember how bad we ended and how I made it worse and dramatic. I could not let you go. I used to text you out of no where a lot every time you would tell me the same thing. Let it go. I stopped texting him when I got sad last year sometime early 2019. I still see him at my same university I guess that’s my guilty pleasure. But yeah I’d look for you in the crowd and I’d smile back at u because after all the shit I had put us through I had finally let you fully go. Allah will reward me won’t he? It was so hard fk. I couldn’t control my emotions and you dealt with the episodes so well. I’m not crazy. It was just 10 months. But we were friends for two years before that. And kept in touch because of my emotions for a whole other year. Basically 4 years plus all these years of college I still see you around. I don’t know what this is.. an I miss you post ? Or I’m sorry post ? I know he doesn’t care anymore. I know he just wants me to move on and be happy. I cannot wait to announce an engagement on instagram, I know his sister, his cousins, and his girlfriend, and friends will see it. I just KNOW he would get text messages at the same time( maybe even a call) saying RIS FUCKING ENGAGED. Inshallah you would then say wow I hope they’re happy. I know he would. I’m so proud I haven’t bothered you again and it’s been about a year. Corona makes it hard but it’s okay. I know it was meant to end. I know i didn’t make a mistake. He’s happy without me for a reason. Sigh... frank. This is goodbye. #thefinalletter #perfect #trulymadlydeeply

7/23/20 ..💔🖤🤍 4 a.m

#fatmarsthoughts

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salmankhanholics · 5 years ago

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★ Salman Khan: We have Dabangg part 4 written too !

Salman Khan on plans to take the Dabangg franchise forward even after a prequel; bringing Chulbul, Radhe and Devil in a crossover film and being approached by Farhan Akhtar with a script...

Roshmila Bhattacharya | December 12th 2019

He arrives like the star he is. And instantly, the slumbering parking lot of Mehboob Studio comes alive. Flashbulbs pop as Bhai strikes a pose. There are journalists waiting to meet Salman Khan and a Bangladeshi cricketer too. He obliges some of those waiting, before beckoning you to take two chairs, one stacked on top of the other so you are at his eye level. Excerpts: This time, we believe you have been credited with the story, screenplay and dialogue. What makes Dabangg 3 diff erent from the earlier two films? When I heard the story of the first Dabangg, which Dilip Shukla had written, I liked the plot but thought the character wasn’t noble. There were no songs, he was grey, corrupt and ruthless. I changed him into the Chulbul Pandey you see, and it worked. There was a lot of angst. The mother passes away, after which he accepts his father and brother as family. That script was not mine; we retained the mota mota plot and made the scenes more massy and today, with a different kind of swagger. If you were to meet Chulbul on the road, toh aap usey maroge because he’ll appear arrogant and badtameez. But on screen, you like him. He does tedha things but for the right reasons. Like the zehreela sharab scene in Dabangg was negative but uska fayda was positive. In Dabangg 2, they wanted just Chulbul, without the family. I argued that Chulbul worked because of his mother, father, Makkhan Chand Pandey, Bobby ji, Tiwari ji, Pichkari ji, Rajjo, everyone. How could I take them out? So, we retained them. The third part is about how Chulbul became the man he is. We’ve dug up his past, there’s pain. It’s an emotional vendetta story. At a time when filmmakers are struggling with sequels, you’re coming with a prequel… We have Dabangg 4 written too. Yeah you are going up to Dabangg 743 as you mentioned in our last interview. Seriously, how do these ideas happen? (Laughs) They just come about. Sometimes, one film gives you an idea for the next. In Dabangg 3, we explore why Rajjo’s father was an alcoholic and how Chulbul met her. Aap jab picture dekhoge toh aapko samajh mein aayega kahan kahan se nikle hain hum. After two films, today, the minute I walk into the Dabangg set, I stop being Salman Khan, the actor, and become Chulbul Pandey. Ditto, Sonakshi who transforms instantly into Rajjo. That’s how it is with the whole cast; we’ve become a real family. Do you have a personal connection with Chulbul? Well, I’m writing it, playing the character, so there has to be some thought behind it. The director this time is Prabhudheva and he knows the pulse of the audience… Yeah, that’s why he’s in the film. Arbaaz (Khan, brother and the director of Dabangg 2) would take time to understand, his BP would shoot up and down. So, this time, the first thing he said was that he wouldn’t direct the film and we should get someone else. I suggested Prabhu, and his reaction was, “Fantastic!” Prabhu is very receptive, he gets what I want to say in a second. Language is a problem with him, so I have to explain things to him, but once he gets it, he executes it beautifully... Largerthan-life, with humour and emotion. Bang on! With a film like Dabangg, we go from high point to high point. We’re not pakaoing anyone. The message comes through the scenes. Even before Dabangg 3 was complete, you announced Radhe with Prabhu. Obviously, you have a lot of confi dence in him and he reiterates you share a great equation, which is rare... Yes, we have a good working relationship and I believe one shouldn’t spoil that. We were looking for a director for Radhe. My friend Prashant suggested Prabhu. I recalled he had told me that after Dabangg 3, he was going on a twomonth holiday, but Prashant urged me to speak to him and Prabhu agreed. The script was halfway through. I was working on a film at the time... I don’t remember the name... and it was to come out on Eid, which didn’t happen… Inshallah with Sanjay Leela Bhansali? Wasn’t that the film? Inshallah… Inshallah… Radhe is happening Inshallah on Eid. We are working day in and day out to put it out on Eid. You were saying Radhe’s script was ready… With us, plots are always ready, then, they evolve. You write at home, in a hotel or an office. But then, when you come on the sets, the story changes with the setting. Radhe is also your story? No, but we have made a lot of changes. Eid is your date… No, it’s not, it’s nobody’s date, anyone is welcome to release a film on the day. It’s just that my films happen to come on Eid. Actually, my last film, Bharat, released during Ramadan, three days before Eid. And now, Dabangg 3 is arriving on Christmas. I’ve had releases during Diwali and Republic Day too. Any festive day is a good day. Next Eid, Akshay Kumar’s Laxmmi Bomb is releasing with Radhe... Yes, and there is scope for another two-three films to come on that day. Then, the audience decides which film to spend on. Agar picture achhi lagi, they will watch it. If they don’t, toh nahin dekhenge, festive date ho ya koi bhi date ho. Bharat has made a lot of money at the box-office. But do you think the scale of the film magnified the expectations? Not really. I just thought towards the end, the father should have come back. That was my problem with the film. But aaj kal ke yeh new people think that a reunion with the father is a cliché. Father ki age kya hogi? Uski story kya hogi? I don’t give a damn, he should have come back. Yes, the film did phenomenal business, my sister (Alvira) is happy, we’re happy with the product. But if we had shown a 70-yearold man and a 90-year-old man having a conversation, it would have been a more emotionally satisfying film. Bharat’s whole journey was about him waiting for his father to come back to him. So, for me, the film looked incomplete. Talking about fathers, Salim Khan saab recently said that Farhan Akhar has come to you with a script and you have liked it. Is the film happening? I don’t know. Farhan has come to me with a script and I like him. He is like a kid brother; he has grown up with us. That bond will always be there with Zoya (Akhtar) and him. They are like my younger siblings. Rohit Shetty and you have been talking too. Will Chulbul Pandey join Rohit’s cop universe, with Singham and Simmba? Chulbul is a universe within himself. So is Singham. This is a separate film, then? Nothing’s finalised. We’ve been talking about other things too. But Kick 2 is definitely happening and we are told it could arrive in December 2021? It could. How does it feel to bring Devil back? He has his own fans... Yeah, one thing I want to do later is bring Kick’s Devil, Dabangg’s Chulbul Pandey and Radhe together. That’s a wonderful idea. If The Avengers can do it, why not Salman Khan. Are you joking or is it a possibility? No, I have something in mind. Kick is Sajid’s film. He is not just a producer but a good friend... Yes, he’s like a brother to us. And what is it like bringing him back as a director? (Laughs) He didn’t even know he was directing Kick, he got to know on Twitter. You have introduced several newcomers to Hindi cinema, not just technicians but actors, too. From Sonakshi Sinha to Saiee Manjrekar now... Saiee is a sigh of relief for the industry. Watch out for her. ' We have heard that she is playing a mute in the film, no dialogue, speechless… True? Nooo, you guys will be speechless when you see her. I’d introduced Sonakshi at an award show and this time too, I took Saiee along. As soon as we faced the paparazzi, they started saying, we want solo pictures of her. So, I thought, ho gaya Saiee ka. Rocket Singh, straight out! Then, I heard this comment, “Saiee, tu sahi aahes.” We thought you were introducing Saiee’s sister, Ashwami? Are you? We don’t have anything right now, but she is very talented. How does Bigg Boss feel after all these years? It’s become a part of you? Yeah, a part of mine wants to cut that part and throw it out and the other part wants to keep it. And the latter is haavi on the part that wants to throw it out. You don’t like the show? I like it. It gets stressful, but I learn a lot. And I get to know where the country is going, what is happening to values, morals, scruples and principles. We see it right there, with celebrities. The beauty is once they are out of the house, they are not like that at all. It’s not as if they are giving performances, the house makes them like that. Has being in a particular place changed your personality? No. What’s happening with Sohail Khan’s film Sher Khan? That film requires a lot of visual effects. After it is shot, it will take six-eight months, almost a year, for it to be ready. After the next two-three films, Sher Khan goes on the floors. It’s beautiful. I’m not going to ask you about marriage this time… Okay. …But whenever I see you with kids, I feel a child is missing out on a really good father. Even I feel that way. Are there plans of having a child through adoption, surrogacy, though that’s outlawed... No, not yet. So, no plans? No, when it happens, it happens. How will it happen? (With a straight face) I can’t describe the whole process to you. What I mean is that you don’t want to get married or adopt… There are enough kids in the house. Another child will be born now, in December. Would you like to raise your sister Arpita’s child? No, Arpita does a fantastic job of raising her child, in fact, she is raising all of us correctly right now. Your dad, even at 84, is all there… Yeah, because there were five of us, and now many more, so he has to be all there. It’s wonderful how he knows everything that is happening with all your projects. I share things with him when he is sitting across the table, tell him the basic plot. He will say, “Yeh galat hai, isey nikalo.” When he sees the film, too, there are times he says, “Yahaan mazaa nahin aa raha hai, isey nikalo.” Some bits we do listen to. Did he have any suggestions for Dabangg 3? No.

Mumbai Mirror

#salman khan #dabangg 3 #dabangg 3 interview #interview #text interview #mumbai mirror #bharat #Bigg boss #bb13 #kick 2 #sher khan #Chulbul pandey #saiee manjrekar #farhan akhtar #Dabangg 4

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sassypandacandy · 6 years ago

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Happy Valentine’s Day from the After/Effects crew!

In honor of those celebrating Valentine’s Day, here’s one of the rare fluff scenes from the Day Out of Time universe!

Fahd always felt the countdown to the Day Out of Time as a faint hum in the back of his mind, but for Mia it seemed to buzz in her very bones. She tapped her toes without noticing and drummed on the closest surface with whatever was in her hands.

“Maybe I shouldn't have caffeinated you,” Fahd remarked from his bed. He set his book down and watched Mia's back as she sat at his desk, ostensibly playing an online game but really keeping time with her free hand.

“I'm fine,” she muttered, firing digital arrows at a troll.

“How many raids have you done in the last hour?”

“Psh.” Mia looted the troll's body and moved on. “Four.”

Fahd sank back onto the pillows with a sigh. “You're going to wire yourself up until you never get to sleep.”

“It's therapeutic. I'm a lot calmer than I was an hour ago.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

On screen, a minor boss died. “Kinda.”

“You're with a good group. Opal will take care of you, inshallah.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“I mean—” Fahd took a deep breath and tried again. “They'll help you. If you need it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come lay down,” he said.

The music changed as Mia entered the final boss's chamber. “In a minute.”

Fahd rolled out of bed and padded over to the desk in just his boxers. Mia's character wasafemale elf in a black metal bikini who was kicking some serious ass.

“I love to find the skankiest armor I can,” she murmured, still absorbed in the colorful slaughter. “It's usuallythe highest ranked anyway.”

“Mm-hm.” Leaning over, Fahd pulled back the collar of the shirt that she wore—his shirt, discarded some hours earlier when they first arrived—and kissed the freckled skin where her shoulder met her neck. Mia inhaled sharply through her nose, and her scantily dressed elf took an unexpected hit.

“You're blowing my concentration,” she whispered as his mouth continued to explore the sensitive areas.

He moved up to her ear, nibbling on the lobe. “Stop me anytime you like.”

Without any further argument, Mia logged out of the game and turned around. She latched onto Fahd's neck and pulled herself up. He responded by lifting her until she could wrap her legs around his waist, never breaking contact with her mouth for more than a split second. Before his hands could settle comfortably under her rear, the puckered scar on his hip twinged.

Mia felt his wince and pulled back immediately. “Put me down,” she said.

“It's fine.”

“No, it's not. Put me down.”

Sighing, Fahd turned and set her down on the bed. She tugged the top of his boxers down over his left hipbone, exposing a puckered white circle the size of a dime. “Did you just move weird?”

“Maybe,” he said, brushing a hand over the top of her thick curls. “Hey—I'm really okay.”

Mia pulled her legs up and rolled over to make room for him on the bed. “You shouldn't pick me up if it's going to hurt you.”

“Mia, my pack weighs more than you do.”

She lifted her arm as he slid in beside her and tucked it against his side. “Much as I always like to hear that, I'm serious.”

“I know,” Fahd said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. The hum faded even further into the back of his mind as he pulled her against his chest with the ease of practice. He breathed in the smell of her hair, and tension that he hadn't even noticed leaked out of his muscles in a rush.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He felt her smile against his chest. “That sounds like a personal problem.”

Fahd reached down and tickled her, and she squirmed away with a laugh. “No,don't, I love you too, I promise. I promise.”She settled back into his embrace, this time with one hand curled in the hair on his chest. “Are youworried about tomorrow?” she asked softly.

Fahd tightened his grip. “Yeah. Anything can happen.”

“Part of me wishes we were on the same team again,” Mia said, brushing her fingers back and forth. “I don't like the idea of you going off without me to watch your back.”

“I don't like it either, but I think it'd be worse if we were together. I wouldn't be able to concentrate.”

Mia reached up and nipped the bottom of his neck. “Me neither.”

Laughing, Fahd ran his hand down her arm and said, “That's not what I meant.”

“I know, I know. You're no fun.”

Fahd pushed her shoulder against the bed and rolled over until he was on top of her. “No fun?” he asked, enjoying the way her breathing quickened.

“Okay,” Mia admitted. “Maybe you're a little fun. Just a little.”

Fahd leaned down and kissed her, inhaling her little moans and sighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck again. He loved this soft time, when they were both safe and pressed close to each other's hearts.

There would be time for worry later.

#aftereffects #my wips #valentine's day #love #fluff scene

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yourcaptainsmi · 4 years ago

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The Dead Trail

I was freezing. Sitting on the snow under a huge pine tree in my big olive green coat, my mittens, thick jeans and boots, the furred yellow hoodie tight around my face gave no chance for a side glance. Still I was freezing.

And there he was, Emery, my odd so called friend, a little down to my right, sitting crossed-legged and resting his elbows on his thighs. He was wearing a blue sleeveless t-shirt and black fitting pants with holes for the knees for cry out loud! His black hair fell like needles over his clear gray eyes. He was so pale and skinny staring ahead so quietly I’m sure the wild animals will mistake him for another fixed part of nature.

Right now looking at him made me feel colder and I didn’t like it one bit.

I began to shiver, rubbing my arms then my hands, scolding myself for the hundredth time for not taking those body heat management lessons in school.

I was afraid of talking less my saliva freezes but I had no other choice.

“So!” I asked between my chattering teeth. “Wh...what now?”

“Now we wait.”

“That’s it?”

He finally looked at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Does he even feel sorry for the ah-so-obviously cold little girl?

“I tell you what.”I made up my mind, scrambling to my feet, then quickly jogging in my place to warm myself a little. He slowly stood up looking at me, expectantly.

“We leave this mini-cam here,” I said jamming my hand inside my pocket, “it can watch the road while we return to our nice warm homeland.” I took out a pink beetle and positioned it on the palm of my hand, two seconds and it opened its wings and hovered a little. From my other pocket I pulled out my cell phone.

“Hey Tal!”

“Hey Siba!” my phone answered back in a happy little six year old girl’s voice, “I just released JJ to the world, can you please link to it?”

“Ay Ay Siba! Just a sec...aaand linking complete!”

“Thanks Tal I’ll take it from here.”

“Siba!” squeaked Tal.

I jumped.

“Ah! Why do you always...WHAT?”

“Is Emery with you?” I sighed, “yes Tal he’s with me.” I pointed the screen at his face and he waved, “Hi Emery!” Tal’s voice was almost awe struck, I rolled my eyes.

“Hi Tal!” answered Emery so politely it made me squirm.

“Bye Tal!” I said through my teeth directly to the speaker in the phone knowing she won’t respond with any more semi-human reactions to that tone.

I operated JJ to head for a high branch on the tree we’re standing under. Emery moved closer to look at the screen. “You know?” I said, “It escapes me why you’re always nice to machines and completely rude to people.”

“People are overrated,” he mumbled.

“Ya don’t say?” I mumbled back.

I tweaked a little with JJ’s vision until I got the angle I wanted.

“Bingo!” I put my phone back into my pocket, “now,” I said to Emery’s disinterested face “follow me.”

All around us the world was white. We were up a hill, on the outskirts of a forest and I wanted nothing but to flee this place, I descended rather quickly and tripped, “Ugh!”

I rolled my body to ready it for the humiliating fall all the way down. Emery was by my side in a second and straightened me up rather roughly by my right arm.

“Ah!” that’s gonna hurt later I thought, “thanks.”

Together we walked down till we got to a road, I crossed it towards an ice arch in the middle of nowhere. It was beautiful, quite different from the ones I’m used to see at home. The big arch was made of transparent ice, like glass, it starts narrow on the right then grows wider as it completes a shape of two thirds of a circle. A teleportation gate or a T.G as everyone calls it.

“Anything?” I asked him pointing to the right, he was already eye checking the end of the road, it showed no movement, a dead trail.

“Nothing.”

I stopped at the touch screen on the right side of the T.G.

“What?!” Emery was giving me the look.

“I still can’t believe they let kids do this.”

“That,” I said a matter of factly, “is what you get when you are a citizen of the greatest country in the world.”

“Show off.”

“Yeah.”

And begrudgingly I took out my mitten and spread my right palm on it, it glowed green.

“Define your destination!” a soothing female voice said.

I stood in the middle of the T.G with my companion on my left.

“Thirty, fifth D.”

“Confirmation required.”

“Confirm!” I shouted.

A strong yellow light covered the whole inside area of the T.G. There was this tingling feeling in my whole body, like an electric buzz then an elevation sensation, it all took 6 seconds and the light subsided gradually to a warm savanna land.

“Ah! Thank GOD!” I exclaimed, stepping out of the copper colored T.G and breathing in some fresh air. I remembered something,

“Hey, do I,” pulling my other mitten “do I look like a sunflower to you? You know” I draw a circle around my face with my finger, “the yellow fur and brown face and all?”

He looked down at me for a little longer than it is comfortable then narrowing his eyes he asked.

“Is this a trick question?”

“Um...no?”

“Well then yes.” he took his eyes off me, “you do look like a sunflower.”

I groaned pulling my hoodie down, my little sister will laugh at this for three days straight, if only I did not send her that selfie earlier. Stupid, stupid!

“I like sunflowers.” Emery said simply.

“Excuse me? Is that you being nice to people?” I smiled at him, a bit surprised. “I thought people were over rated.”

He shrugged.

The sun was setting into the far horizon in a beautiful scene that I rarely get to see in the city. In front of the T.G -that was decorated with vines and leaves made from the same metal- was a street that cut the vast land to two halves. Everywhere you look you find small poor bushes and Acacia trees dotting the whole area. Those weren’t great and tall trees like the pines but short and spreading their branches horizontally. It was their special way to survive the scorching sun during the day.

A small bench was located near the T.G. It was identical to it in design, copper colored with vines as hands. We sat on it, I took out my phone and together we watched the area we were just at on a completely different continent, snow was falling now.

“Ya Habibi!” I sighed, “If the image becomes hard to see we need to get back there or we’ll miss them.”

True I’m not all that keen on returning to that freezer so quickly but the mission was far more important than my temperature issues. Emery on the other hand wasn’t worried at all, spreading his arms on the back of the bench, slowly the sides of his mouth went up, until he completed a full smile that wrinkled the sides of his eyes, the first time I saw this expression I was certain my death will follow but here we are.

“No worries,” he said, “it won’t take long now.”

I lowered my eyes to the screen and the snow falling on the top of the hill. He’s expecting blood, but if I do my job well, inshallah, there won’t be any today.

by Haneen Ibrahim

#writing #short story #winter #africa #sci fi writing #true grudge #microfiction #flash fiction #my story #my writing

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quranreadalong · 7 years ago

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#102, Surah 18

THE QURAN READ-ALONG: DAY 102

Let’s look at the first two ayat of the day before I say anything else. Allah instructs Mohammed in 18:23-24:

And say not of anything: Lo! I shall do that tomorrow, Except if Allah will. And remember thy Lord when thou forgettest, and say: It may be that my Lord guideth me unto a nearer way of truth than this.

Please allow me to explain. After the rabbis’ questions were posed to Mohammed, he said he’d answer them the next day. But there was a problem. Ibn Kathir:

The Messenger of Allah said, «أُخْبِرُكُمْ غَدًا عَمَّا سَأَلْتُمْ عَنْه» (I will tell you tomorrow about what you have asked me.) but he did not say `If Allah wills.' So they went away, and the Messenger of Allah stayed for fifteen days without any revelation from Allah concerning that, and Jibril, peace be upon him, did not come to him either. The people of Makkah started to doubt him, and said, `Muhammad promised to tell us the next day, and now fifteen days have gone by and he has not told us anything in response to the questions we asked.'

After he promises to get right on the task of answering those questions, Mohammed behaves like a procrastinating and chronically depressed college senior faced with three final papers and waits fifteen days before answering them (and one of the three answers was “lol idk”). His excuse? He didn’t say inshallah (if Allah wills it) and made Allah mad. So Allah punished him by making him wait over two weeks to get an answer... to the three basic questions... that could have been answered by simply speaking to someone who was aware of these well-known Syrian stories.

What was he doing in those two weeks? Wracking his brain for the stories? Trying to make sure he was remembering the details of them correctly? Asking someone who might know? Consulting some source? What? We have no idea, but somehow I doubt “oh I forgot to say I’ll answer if Allah lets me” is the real explanation...

Naturally, the polytheists laughed at Mohammed’s nonsense because they were evildoers, while his followers believed it. So the lesson of this story is that you should never say “I’ll do this tomorrow” without adding “...inshallah” at the end. “I’ll write this paper for my anatomy class, inshallah. Otherwise it might take a couple weeks sry.” Good save as per usual, Mo.

In a sahih hadith, he dragged poor Solomon into this mess:

The Prophet (ﷺ) said, "Solomon (the son of) David said, 'Tonight I will sleep with seventy ladies each of whom will conceive a child who will be a knight fighting for "Allah's Cause.' His companion said, 'If Allah will.' But Solomon did not say so; therefore none of those women got pregnant except one who gave birth to a half child." The Prophet (ﷺ) further said, "If the Prophet (ﷺ) Solomon had said it (i.e. 'If Allah will') he would have begotten children who would have fought in Allah's Cause."

...sigh. Anyway, Mohammed adds a couple more details about the story of the seven sleepers, saying that they were in the cave for around 300 years (the Christian story says 200 but who cares), but only Allah knows exactly how long, and Allah is god etc and people should pray to him. Whatever. This section has been extraordinarily dumb even by Mohammed’s standards, but still neutral. The next one, however, is bad and contains some exciting new hell imagery. 18:29:

We have prepared for disbelievers Fire. Its tent encloseth them. If they ask for showers [other translations: “if they ask for relief”], they will be showered with water like to molten lead which burneth the faces. Calamitous the drink and ill the resting-place!

Kuffar hell counter: 1, but the more notable thing here is the description of hell. I don’t believe we’ve seen this particular description before. In addition to being forced to drink terrible water, apparently it’ll also be dumped on you. Sure!

The next ayah is a good Muslims go to jannah/will be rewarded one, so I’ll put that one down as good to balance out the less pleasant one above. Now... in addition to the new hell imagery in 18:29, we also have some new heaven imagery in 18:31:

therein they will be given armlets of gold and will wear green robes of finest silk and gold embroidery, reclining upon throne therein

This is the first time we’ve seen the green silk robes and gold bracelets thing, right? Allah makes sure the residents of jannah look fly 24/7.

Anyway, that’s neutral. Following that is a metaphor about two gardeners, each of whom has a garden of grapevines, with a river in the middle of them. One guy says to the other, “mine’s better than yours! My garden is awesome and will last forever!” He is arrogant because he is a disbeliever! Mohammed’s metaphors are as subtle and artful as ever.

The other guy is a pious believer, and chastises his arrogant neighbor for disbelieving and for not saying “mashallah la quwwata illa billah” (Allah wills it, there is no power but from Allah), which is a tie-in to the inshallah debacle at the start of this section. The pious gardener says that one day Allah may destroy their gardens, or take away the river, or something.

That warning comes true when one day the disbeliever’s garden is ruined. “If only I hadn’t been a polytheist!”, he wails. “Clearly Allah is the only real god!” Yes indeed, Mohammed agrees.

...man, just say “polytheism is bad!! Stop being polytheists!!” and save us some effort next time, please. It’s neutral, I guess? The implication is obviously that the works of polytheists are wasted and they will be destroyed by Allah etc, but it’s not as violent in metaphor form.

Let’s see... we’ll finish up the day with these next few ayat. The life of the world is temporary, but good deeds get you to jannah, which is forever (good!). The world will end and people will then be judged, at which point the guilty people will be real nervous.

Well, fair enough. This section was a bit irritating between the inshallah incident and the gardener metaphor, but the next one returns us to our favorite subject...

NEXT TIME: Doom, doom, doom... oh, and Iblis (again).

The Quran Read-Along: Day 102

Ayat: 27

Good: 2 (18:30, 18:46)

Neutral: 24 (18:23-28, 18:31-45, 18:47-49)

Bad: 1 (18:29)

Kuffar hell counter: 1 (18:29)

⇚ previous day | next day ⇛

#quranreadalong #surah 18 #al kahf

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