amiratalks

[amiratalks]

NAOMI SCOTT as Elena Houghlin Charlie’s Angels (2019) dir. Elizabeth Banks

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Perfect, lovely, beautiful boy!!!

↳INSTAGRAM: @poseimon uploaded a photo:

was taking photos for jenna’s birthday coming up and kit said the photographer needed a picture too. you can probably tell I wasn’t ready for it!

[amiratalks]

Despite his nerves and fears, the look of abject terror behind his eyes and the way his fingers were digging into the flesh of her shoulder, Amira was proud of Killian for trying. Not that she’d given him a lot of say in the matter, but the fact that he was pressed in close beside her, feet no longer on solid ground and facing hid fears was something she found admirable. Killian Ford had gone face to face with gang lords and violent addicts and she knew fine well that he wouldn’t allow the simple act of riding a ferris wheel be his undoing.

Amira laughed sweetly as he declared that it wasn’t so bad, his tone by no means matching his words. She felt free as she let her head fall against his shoulder, turning her face to his as she nuzzled her cold nose against his jaw. Gently, she closed her hand over his and pulled it into her lap, enjoying the way their fingers tangled together as wind whipped across their faces, mussing their hair. There was something about being 50 feet off the ground that made Amira feel light, the act of soaring through the air something so familiar and homely to her. Admittedly, they were barely even a quarter of the way to the top, the full height of the ride stretching far and wide above them, so it could only get better from there.

Until suddenly they weren’t moving. Killian had gone completely steal beside her, his hand limp in her own, fingers slack as his eyes widened and he stared dead ahead. The worst thing he could do now would be to look at the stretch of land around them, or to look down and see his own legs dangling so high above the park below.

“Not yet, no… I’m sure we’re still moving, love. Sometimes these things move so slow you can hardly believe you got from A to B in the first place,” Amira found herself insisting.

It wasn’t a lie. Technically. If Killian was ever confronted with the speed with which the London Eye moved, Amira thought he might throw up. Now, however? They had definitely stopped. She’d heard the same, grating sound that everyone else had been met with as they’d shuddered to a halt. She’d felt the feeble seat they’d been placed onto swing back and forth a touch reckless even for her liking, the abrupt stop aided by the wind in providing some unwanted momentum.

Voices carried from above and below as other passengers started questioning their sudden stop, panic filling the voices of children and parents alike as they fretted over their predicament. Amira’s teeth worried over her lower lip as she glanced over the edge of their seat, eyes narrowed as she sought out any familiar figures that might have some clue about what was going on. Her gaze landed on the tall, bulking outline of a man she could only assume was Kasper, toolbox on hand as he pushed through crowds towards the big wheel.

“Hey, it’s okay. Kas is on his way, I can see him from here,” Amira offered a reassuring smile as she turned back to face Killian.

She gave his hand another gentle squeeze before lifting it to press her lips to the back of his palm. Then, carefully watching him to gauge his reaction, she gently pressed his palm flat against her chest.

“See, feel that? We’re fine. I’m fine, you’re fine,” she told him, the steady rhythm of her heart countering the look of fear that had crossed his features. “Just focus on me, okay? Don’t look down, look straight at me, love.”

Few people got to bear witness to Killian’s softer, more playful side, but when they did you could be rest assured that Amira was somewhere nearby. With the exception of Cassie – and even then, it was a rare event, the bouncy blonde’s trembling hands occasionally steadied by a much larger, leather-clad one – there wasn't a single other person that could quiet the noise bustling around inside his mind. Some might put it down to her pretty face – men were fickle creatures accustomed to forgetting their own mother’s name just at the bat of some long, pretty lashes – but Killian and Amira were different. He’d seen her at her worst; A frail figure and chapped lips, bags under her eyes and hair slick with her own vomit, skim mottled with scrapes and bruises and bones trembling from withdrawal. Killian had grown to care for Amira not because she was beautiful and because he thought he might stand a chance with her – both were bonuses, of course – but because she was kind and gentle in spite of the cruel hand she’d been dealt. 

Sufficed to say, Killian had something of a soft spot for her, one that had grown tenfold over the past few years that they’d known one another, and Amira had grown all too wise of the ways in which she could use that in her favour. So as she watched the man beside her, fingers tightly wound around her own, wince at the mere sight of the ferris wheel, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed down whatever sullen retort had first sprung to mind, she couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest. Sure, Killian was staring up at the contraption with unfiltered dread and looked as though he might bolt any second now, but she knew him well enough to know he was genuinely deliberating it. Not because he wanted to conquer his fears, but because he wanted to make her happy. 

“I do owe you,” she agreed, smiling up at him, smug as could be. 

Giggles spilled from Amira’s lips as he she jogged along beside him – attached as they were, Killian’s strides were still much larger than her own, but luckily she was quick on her feet. She rolled her eyes playfully, scoffing as he dipped underneath the rope, pulling her along behind him, the rapid beat of her heart in stark contrast with the way she was lightly teasing him with her look of faux-disappointment. Amira hadn’t felt so giddy and free since she was a child, chasing her brother from tent-to-tent, the two of them diving behind performers and sets alike as they hid from their parents, their mingled laughter and squeals a dead giveaway to their whereabouts. 

Amira’s eyed widened, just a fraction, when the young girl in front of them queried Killian’s size. While she knew the man beside her wasn’t quite so cruel as to supply the tiny human with one of his retorts usually reserved for Matty – or rather, she hoped – she could never have imagined the response he had primed for the sweet child. Amira’s heart swelled at his words; despite the teasing nature of his words, the love she had for him seemed to be growing infinitely and she found herself wanting to pull him close and hold him tight, with no real desire to let go. 

Before she could act on any such craving, the little girl and her mother were ushered forward and onto the wheel, a bench waiting readily for them to embark. The seats often could seat 2-4 people, but the little girl’s teddy bear – no doubt the result of Kasper or Glenn rigging a game for the cutie – seemed to take up more space than she and her mum did. Teeming with excitement as they waited their turn, Amira spared Killian a glance and rested her head against his shoulder. As the ride spun slowly along, it finally came to another halt in front of the two of them, and she gave his hand one final, reassuring squeeze before leading him across to take a seat. 

“Have I mentioned today,” Amira mused, sighing contentedly as Killian pulled the bar down over their laps,  the young brit scooting her bum along the seat to tuck herself into his side. She rested a hand against his thigh, bracing him as she knew how scared he must be feeling right now. “How lucky I am to be in love with you?” 

The words seemed to come tumbling from her before she could consider biting her tongue, but she found she didn’t seem to mind. Over the months that had passed since Valentine’s Day, she hadn’t been holding back as much as she ought to. I love you’s slipped out at every hour of the day, their flat full to the brim with the adoration she held for the man, and she no longer felt afraid to vocalise it. Whether he wanted to interpret her words the same way as her – alleged – platonic declarations, then that would be just fine, but Amira knew the truth to her words, and she wasn’t afraid of Killian knowing either. 

Even if they were about to be stuck on this ride for the next half an hour. 

[amiratalks]

Amira’s chest ached when the woman spoke of her father’s passing. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how much that must have hurt. Even now, after all these years without her family, it didn’t bear thinking about. When she’d spotted her parents last year, she’d been overcome with a strange mixture of grief and reassurance. The loss that she felt at not being able to speak to them was unimaginable but just knowing that they were safe had been a huge weight off her chest. The part that truly kept her up at night was thinking of her brother, wondering why she’d never managed to catch a glimpse of him. Had it been so long that she no longer recognised her sweet, baby brother, or was there a more sinister reason for his absence? Sufficed to say, Amira was no stranger to letting dark, unsolicited thoughts creep into the back of her mind and she’d take any sanctuary she could get – be it in the walls of a church, or quite simply her memories of those no longer by her side. 

“He wrote scripts? And movies?” Amira queried, eyes wide with wonder. She smiled at the girl beside her, curious to hear more. She loved nothing more than telling people all about her family and their delightful array of talents – though, truthfully, she’d gotten out of the habit lately – so she could only imagine how proud the other woman must be of her dad. “What kind of films? Anything I’d have heard of?” 

It was probably a silly question, in the grand scheme of things. Amira could only imagine that the filmmaking industry was a hard one to crack, so the likelihood was that her father was simply making amateur, low-budget films in their garage, but Amira thought that was just as impressive. Sometimes even moreso! Big budgets didn’t always make for better art, and if nothing else her question might give the girl beside her the chance to gush about her lovely dad and, in turn, feel closer to him. At least, that’s what Amira hoped. 

She laughed as the pretty stranger complimented her accent – or rather, her use of the word pillock – and simply shrugged at her question, falling into a comfortable silence as she thought of a way to answer. 

It wasn’t so much that the church itself made her feel loved. She supposed it wasn’t the concept of religion, either. There was definitely an element of feeling watched over and taken care of. For so much of Amira’s life, she had been tossed aside and left to fend for herself, so there had always been comfort in knowing she could find comfort in some higher power, a voiceless deity that she could talk to without fear of judgement or rejection, someone she believed her parents were sharing similar, frantic pleas with. 

“I think what makes me feel loved is having a community,” Amira finally told her after some deliberation. She picked absently at a loose thread at the hem of her sweater, wondering if the girl beside her thought she was silly or naive. She seemed kind, non-judgmental, but she knew that people often looked down their nose at her beliefs. “Some people find community in music and art, through classmates or coworkers... There are so many ways you can feel loved and taken care of, and I suppose...” 

She paused, blushing as the girl beside her complimented her unwavering faith. Religion was vast and terrifying to so many, but it had always felt like a warm hug to Amira. 

“I suppose it’s a comfort knowing that I always have somebody to talk to, someone who will listen and never send me away,” she admitted, quiet. 

Many people thought of God – or whatever higher power they identified with – as cruel and unforgiving, his teachings something to be afraid of, ashamed even. She’d never felt that way, her parents had made sure of it. She’d always been taught to love and accept love in turn. 

“Oh! Amira. My name’s Amira,” she laughed, twisting in her seat as she held out her hand. She wasn’t sure why – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d shaken hands with somebody. It felt formal, a little too business-like, but she’d started it now, cringing a little at herself. “I guess I did kind of drag you into the deep end with all my religion talk. Didn’t really give you the chance to introduce yourself.” 

Ripley tilted her head to the side, considering the girl’s words. She supposed she had a point; you didn’t always need to pray in church. But although Ripley had been known to say her goodnight prayers as a child from the safety of her bedroom, her mama had always made it clear that church was where you went if you wanted to be absolved of any sin. Should she ever miss a week due to visiting her dad in California or New York, her mother would tell her it was something she should take up with the priest in a confessional booth. You never missed church.

“I think you have a point there,” she said, a soft smile on her face. It was just a shame that her own mother had never once thought about entertaining the same point and, through that alone, Ripley had never been able to consider it valid before.

She linked her fingers in her lap, listening as the other woman spoke. A pang of sympathy ran through her when she spoke about not being able to see her family as much as she would like. Unfortunately, Ripley could relate in all the worst ways. She could no longer see her father, and even when he was still alive, there were times when she missed him terribly. He’d be off on a movie set and she’d be in Mexico, her mother stuffing her into another gaudy dress for yet another beauty pageant. There were times when his busy filming schedule made it impossible for her waking hours to align with his, both of them too busy to even Skype or Facetime. She thought back to what she did then, staying up late and clutching her old, decrepit iPod in her hands, purchasing one of his movies off of iTunes (you know, when that was still a thing) and watching it from under the safety of her covers. One earphone plugged in to listen, while the other hung down by her side so she could keep an ear out for the creak of a floorboard or any other sign that her mama was up and on the prowl.

The longer she sat there, ruminating over the woman’s words, she realised it wasn’t just her dad that she missed, but her mama too. No matter what fresh hell she insisted on putting Ripley through, only ever calling her Luisa and forcefully driving her into the arms of Edmundo, she was still Ripley’s mother. And Ripley, though free to do as she pleased in New York now, still missed the softer version of her mother that she got to see once or twice.

“I’m sorry. That you don’t see your family much,” she said. She debated whether or not she should burden the woman with her own sorry tale of woe before deciding that it needn’t be a burden if she was just sharing her own story. There was something about the other brunette that made Ripley feel comfortable about opening up. Like she wasn’t about to feel judged. “My father passed away almost ten years ago and I still miss him all the time. But he wasn’t a big church guy so I guess coming in here is a little different for me. If I miss him, I watch one of his movies. Or read one of the scripts he never got to finish.”

As soon as the woman gestured to the empty space beside her, Ripley quickly patted the wooden pew, motioning for her to sit down.

“Of course!” she said, smiling warmly. “And as much as I like the way your accent says the word ‘pillock’, you don’t need to call yourself that. This is… what you’re saying makes sense.”

As the woman spoke of her own family, Ripley had to wonder whether or not she would be as religious, or more or less so, should she have ever been given the choice. She wasn’t sure. Perhaps not, given the way her father continuously found himself at odds with the Catholic church for the way he chose to portray them in his films. Not that they were villains, but perhaps not the saints that they claimed to be. Ripley figured she wouldn’t offend the woman next to her by sharing that little tidbit.

“Is this what makes you feel loved?” Ripley asked, surveying the cavernous ceiling above them with no little amount of trepidation. She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so blunt. I think I’m just struggling to come to terms with the fact that this isn’t scary for most people. You talk like you’re at home here.”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head when the woman began apologising.

“Please don’t apologise,” she said. “I actually admire you for having that much faith. I don’t know if I’ve ever had something like that in my life. It’s… refreshing. You’re talking about something I’ve always feared like it’s… something nice. Soft. Reliable. I think I’ve only ever seen the jagged parts of it.”

She lifted her head, staring at the woman for a few seconds before realising she’d yet to introduce herself.

“I’m Ripley, by the way,” she smiled. “I feel like most people usually tell someone their name before getting deep on them, but we got a little muddled.”

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: You are so handsome

↳INSTAGRAM: @danteleept uploaded a photo:

Party in the city where the heat is on 🎶 #Miami

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Nooooo!!! She belongs in the pretty princess trolley, actually!

↳INSTAGRAM: @glenn.r uploaded a photo:

in u get @marymarykatekate

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Me when?

↳INSTAGRAM: @ripleyluwho uploaded a photo:

Another day with Bradders in the chair! I’ve been trying a new recipe for fake blood lately and I think this one is my favourite to use yet. We tried our hand (no, literally!) at SFX again and even though I’m still not totally confident practicing that stuff on faces yet, I think I did a good job making his hand suitably gruesome.

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Wow!!! Living the dream and looking stunning too!!

↳INSTAGRAM: @danteleept uploaded a photo:

I think Japan love spring as much as I do 🌸

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Wow! Gorgeous!! I expect to be serenaded on arrival tomorrow. Additionally, you should name her Amira. Obviously!

↳INSTAGRAM: @marymarykatekate uploaded a photo:

anniversary gift from mikey 💝🌸🤙 what shall i call her guys she’s so rad 🎸

[amiratalks]

melissabarreram: It’s Abigail week bebe!

[amiratalks]

30 Days Paramore Challenge:  

          ↳ An appreciation post for Taylor’s curls.

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Gorgeous!

↳INSTAGRAM: @rararamona uploaded a photo:

taken in the wee hours of the morning by betsy boop.

[amiratalks]

↳INSTAGRAM: @.knifewife uploaded a photo:

Are we annoying yet?

[amiratalks]

↳INSTAGRAM: @.knifewife uploaded a photo:

Shockingly: Killian took this photo. Less shocking: he actually growled in the process.

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Stunning scenery! The foreground isn't so bad either. :)

↳INSTAGRAM: @danteleept uploaded a photo:

‘Straya! 🇦🇺

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: Ahem! Photo credit for #2 please. Not because I'm a particularly talented photographer, but I just think I deserve thanks from all your followers for catching THOSE visuals. You're all welcome!

↳INSTAGRAM: @maconthego uploaded a photo:

I’m defrosting with the oncoming spring.

[amiratalks]

@.knifewife: @hurricane_hunter That’s circus strength, baby! Want me to teach you that second trick?

↳INSTAGRAM: @.knifewife uploaded a photo:

Snapshots of my week