you flower you feast

jemima majidi. twenty-five. investigative journalist.

[jemimajidi]

rosiemoretti:

            “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to see it.” She gave the girl a good of a smile as she could manage, which was just a slight curl of her lips right on the corners. Glad that someone could bring a bit of positivity back into her life, just when she couldn’t see nothing but the empty glass. She suppressed the need to clean her clothes, for she already knew her dress had been ruined way before her and the sidewalk got acquainted that day.

            “Jemima, hi, how are you this- uh, morning? Afternoon? I’ve completely lost track of time, and my phone is as good as dead. I’m feeling more than lost, its awful.” She meant to be polite but simply rambled on into other things, feeling quite guilty and slightly embarrassed by it.

“I’m...” The question caught her somehow, her tongue feeling more like a dead weight in her mouth than anything actually of use. How was she? A wreck? A total mess? Desperate to know why the Moretti women had been arrested? “Fine. I’m fine.” She settled on the answer, sure that her delivery wasn’t entirely convincing. 

“It’s afternoon,” She gave a light laugh. “You can borrow mine if you need to make some calls?” Friendly, reasonable, fair, that’s what she needed to be. Jemima gave Rosie a once over, taking in the ruined dress, the tiredness. “Do you wanna get some coffee?”

[jemimajidi]

rosiemoretti:

         Rosie heels stepped on sidewalk, she covered her sensitive eyes to the sun, she had missed that feeling of being blinded by it, and she never thought that would be a thing. Her hair was pinned in a messy ponytail, dirty, and tangled as it could be. She was still wearing her clothes form the spring gala, an assemble she had loved and now she just wished to burn and never look at it again.

         She dug into the plastic bag that contained the little items she had on her that night, she pulled out her phone and tried to turn it back on without success. “Really? I can’t even have a bit of charge? No? Okay.” She spoke mostly to herself, she would have to walk home, looking like that. God have mercy on her. She turned sharply only to bump into something, of course, why not? She lost her balance and fell right on her behind. “Ouch.” She simply said, not making any movement to move. “I can’t go any lower than here, huh?” 

Jemima hadn’t fully recovered from the gala. Hell, she hadn’t recovered at all. She’d spent the last several hours at the hospital, surrounded by people, though feeling completely alone. The burns on her hands weren’t major, though she had a feeling they’d likely scar. Jumpy, restless and reeling from the events of the gala, Jemima spotted a familiar face coming down the sidewalk. 

Rosie. Still in her gala dress. At the sight of it Jemima’s mind faltered for a moment, caught in the panic that threatened to set her hands shaking again. She’d only just been able to get them to stop- the police, yes, Rosie had been arrested. Jemima shook her head, clearing it, quickly deciding to go over to her. She reached the brunette as she fell flat on her ass. “Not really no,” Jemima said with a tentative smile, offering Rosie a hand to help her to her feet. “I guess you can only go up from here at least?”

[jemimajidi]

— OUTGOING MESSAGE: JEMIMA

PRIVATE NUMBER: Snitches may get stitches but snoops get duped. Be careful who you trust, J. - A

JEMIMA: sorry i think you've got the wrong number

- several minutes later-

JEMIMA: if you're going to hand out advice you could at least give me a name. help a girl out, A.

[jemimajidi]

abellocke:

Abel turned in the direction of the muffled speaking that he heard and listened to the woman speaking. “Make my own drama, huh?” It was an interesting statement considering he could do just that. He had the means of doing so, but it wasn’t really his choice to make. Actually, if it was up to him, he’d make a scene. He guessed that wasn’t in the cards though for tonight. “What would you recommend I do?”

“Uh-huh,” Jemima nodded, crossing her arms. She looks around at the crowd of people, looking for something or someone that might generate a little bit of inspiration. “You could always start a fight? Throw a drink- that’d be very Real Housewives.” A shrug of her bare shoulders. “Or if you’re not feeling violent then you could always profess your love for someone? Sneak off to a empty bathroom? Have an illicit affair?” Jemima sighs, out of ideas. “I don’t know, I was hoping maybe you already had something in mind.” 

[jemimajidi]

axelbergen:

The sourness of Axel’s moods is a thing that comes and goes regardless of things like logic and reason, a fact he’s more aware of than he would like. Implies the kind of accountability for your actions that means that, right now, Axel has to reign himself in. He inhales the cold and rarefied air, refusing to react rudely to flirting. He’s not a fucking animal.

“Would you like a re-enactment?” There’s a glint in Axel’s eyes to assure he’s not being serious — truly, one shitshow is enough for the night, and the woman did nothing to deserve it so far. The dress catches his eyes, pleasantly exquisite, and memory supplies her appearance at the list of — whatever the hell they’re called — contestants, king and queen, something of that ilk.

Axel plays with the top button, unsticking the shirt from where it clung to his chest after the woman’s light touch, and lets out a noise dramatically wounded. “I’m not just a pretty face, I’ll have you know.” He lifts a shoulder, claiming offence. “This hardly seems like a way for potential royalty to treat her constituents.”

Jemima pouts at his mock meanness. “Oh, don’t be mean.” She grins, giving him a playful nudge. She watches as he looks at her dress- wonders if he notices the lack of it in places- the green fabric shimmering under the lights. A blush heats her face, Jemima consciously aware of it’s presence and the fact she’s far more tipsy than she’d initially realised. 

 Oh well, she quickly decides, watching as he plays with the button of his shirt with a raised brow- she was only joking, but she certainly wasn’t going to stop him if he really was going to strip off, hence the disappointment when he spoke again. “You tease, I was looking forward to a private show” Jemima chides, though she’s sure there’s no real upset on his behalf and continues to shamelessly flirt anyway. “Really? I thought I was doing a grand job, but I’m a queen for the people so tell me... how would my favourite subject like to be treated?”

[jemimajidi]

mckennxtcrres:

By the time any of them figured out what was happening, it was too late. Flame lashed against the building, vying for a way in on it’s path of destruction, the ensued chaos on the inside quickly wearing thing as each entrance was proven to be blocked or impossible to open without causing further harm to those inside, even as the time given to them slowly ticked away.. With her shoes dangling in her hand, already well beyond the point of aching feet, she did what she could to keep clear of the bulk of those remaining, something about being part of a crowd in amidst the panic didn’t sit well with her, instead she lingered some way away, watching the red and blue lights of emergency services flicker in the distance though remaining glass windows. McKenna had lost Matthew in the surging crowd a while ago, and without even knowing whether he was in the building of not, it turned her stomach. “They’ve already tried that.” Her tone fell flatly, her panic mostly internalized for the better part as she looked across as another tried budging a window loose. “—- You’re just going to hurt yourself.” Like a vacuum seal, the town hall served as a bubble for now, until something gave in and the oxygen inside compromised everything. Reaching out, she wrapped her palm around their arm with every intent on pulling them away when the window shattered in its entirety, a wave of heat pushed it’s way into the building, smoke rising as she gasped for air in the same moments the entire window came crashing to the ground in pieces over both of them. 

She’d been on stage, waiting to see who’d be crowned prom king and queen in some stupid court she’d entered herself in as a self-depreciating, almost cruel joke. Who’d vote for Jemima? Westport wasn’t her home, and in the eight months she’d been living here she wasn’t sure she could call many of the people friends. No one cared about Jemima Majidi. No one cared. 

It was that thought that hit her hardest when the first screams of “fire!!” filled the hall and she watched everyone run to each other, pushing and jostling to get to their loved ones. In the ensuing chaos she’d been herded offstage, caught up in a torrent of people rushing to the exits. Jemima would have gone with them, for the moment managing to keep relatively calm, until the news spread the fire surrounded them. Trapped them in the fucking hall. 

Then the panic set in and Jemima felt herself sink, heard but didn’t quite register the sob that escaped her, hands clasping over her mouth as the tears burned her eyes. No, no, Jemima doesn’t panic. Jemima keeps calm, stays sane- her own thoughts fell on deaf ears as she struggled through the swirling crowd alone, fighting her way to a window because God-fucking-dammit she wasn’t going to die surrounded by people who didn’t give a shit.

But her chest was heaving and nausea churned her stomach, knowing that she really shouldn’t try and pry the window open but instinct and desperation had her ignoring the woman beside her as she tried. “I have to get out I have to get out...” The words became a mantra, a wall between the visions she had of herself charred and burnt and unacknowledged. “I have to get out.” It didn’t matter that her hands were being seared red raw by the hot metal and glass and plastic making up the window, didn’t matter that the pain was agonising. 

But then she fell back, landing hard as glass and heat poured over her, palms shredded and bleeding and charred.  “Oh fuck-” Jemima hissed, raising herself onto her knees as the realisation there was someone else beside her grounded her in reality. She reached out to the brunette, hand shaking with pain that still didn’t quite hit home. “Oh my god are you okay?”

[jemimajidi]

abellocke:

To be honest, this was not Abel’s scene at all. In high school, it had been. But that was high school for a reason. He was thirty now and going to something like this was more boring than entertaining. He wished there was more happening. “I thought that this shindig would have more shit going on. Where’s the lights going out or a fight starting? Don’t fail me now, Westport. This is making me want to be a loner and spend time with my dogs.”

“Hmm,” Jemima hummed in agreement, tapping an impatient yet well manicured fingernail against the side of the glass she held in her hand. He wasn’t wrong, and it annoyed her since she too was desperate for something- anything- to happen. Jemima peered at him from the corner of her eye, deciding he was handsome enough to spend some time with before she found entertainment elsewhere. So with a sigh and a wave of a hand she spoke. “Master of my fate, captain of my soul, all that shit. Make your own drama is what I’m saying.” 

[flawlessbeautyqueens]

Medalion Rahimi photographed by Shanna Fisher for LADYGUNN Magazine

[jemimajidi]

danikamaharaj:

Danika had no intention of having her photo taken, deliberately keeping her distance from the line that had formed by the photo booth, but the table piled with every high school paraphernalia imaginable had called to her curiosity like something shiny to a magpie. “They’ve gone all out with the props, huh?” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she propped her nearly empty glass on the tabletop, picking up the thing she’d expected to see the least. “I mean, who’s got time for cardboard cutouts and foam fingers, if there’s an old jersey you can wear?” 

Jemima smiled, lifting her flute of champagne in agreement before taking a generous sip of the beverage. “I’m a Dodgers girl myself,” Jemima responded at the appearance of the jersey, a slight shrug of her shoulders accompanying the statement. “So I’m afraid you wont be seeing me in that-” A finger pointed at the shirt.”- I’m loyal to the very end.” Finishing her drink, Jemima set the glass down on the tray of a passing waiter, grabbing two more flutes of champagne before he was out of reach. “Drink?” 

[colewald]

Ultimate Shipper Challenge: [5/8] Defining Moments » Nick & Jess, New Girl “Kiss me!” “Jess, stop!”

[jemimajidi]

axelbergen:

After fleeing to the more crowded part of the gardens and deciding that the small bridge is far enough, he stands with his elbows resting on the red railing —  the glass of water tipped over as he watches it spill into the river, lost in thought. Axel’s shirt is still wet from where some loud stranger emptied their glass in response to him asking whether they will “fuck off if he buys them a drink”, and honestly, that seemed like a good enough reason to get himself out of there before he gave in to desire to escalate things.

There’s some movement to his left that Axel’s acutely aware of, and he snaps out of it, perhaps too vigilant of any sound he doesn’t expect. God damn, the people at this thing. 

He speaks without really bothering to check who it is.

“If you’re here for an apology, save us both the trouble and kindly hurl yourself into that river. You even get the courtesy of being able to remove any valuable pieces of clothing first.” Axel tugs at his own soaked collar, a wry smile on his lips. “See? Thoughtful.”

It is only then that he turns his head to see who the person is. There’s a brief pause, and Axel gives them a once-over like they’re the odd ones, and he didn’t just..say all of that.  

She’d been floating around all night, a shimmery green spectre flitting from here to there looking for something that’d snag her attention. Her expectations hadn’t necessarily been high, but now they dwindled by the minute. Jemima sighed, swirling the gold champagne around in it’s crystal flute before taking a swig, letting the alcohol settle her agitation as she moved around the garden, trying to ignore the pang of irritation at the absence of male eyes looking her way. She had, after all, got all dressed up. 

But then a commotion caught her attention, and she watched smugly as a glass was emptied onto a finely dressed man. He probably deserved it, Jemima considered, watching as he disappeared out of the crowd, likely nursing a bruised and battered ego. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t in Jemima’s nature to just watch from afar, and after downing the rest of her champagne trailed after him.  

“How kind of you...” She purred as she slunk up beside him, leaning back against the railing, only slightly tipsy. “I’d start with the soaking wet shirt, personally.” Jemima smirked. “What could you-” She gave him a light tap on the chest for emphasis. “- have possibly done to illicit such a reaction?” 

[jemimajidi]

hughmalloy:

The young woman towered over him, and whilst proper courtesy instantly dictated that he stand and spark a conversation, the warm linoleum-lined floor was his new friend. It took him much evaluation and many moments before he finally stood up from his position, placing back his stuff inside his worn down backpack before chuckling, “I take it you’re not a fan…?” Way to go, Captain Obvious. At the pointed inquiry, he could only give a sheepish shrug. “I was a boxer. But I don’t think anyone will appreciate me beating a couple of teachers to a pulp. Unless…” his wide smile was indicative of mischief brewing in the back of his mind.

“Feels like an understatement.” Jemima agreed, offering him a crooked smile. At the mention of his former profession, she looked him up and down quickly, nothing more than a brief glance. He had the build for it, though it wasn’t necessarily a conclusion she would have jumped to on her own. “I mean I can think of a teacher or two I would have liked to see get hit when I was in high school, but I guess health and safety regulations only stretch so far...” Jemima watched him smile, somehow finding herself compelled to reflect the beaming expression. “Uh oh, what you got in mind?”

[jemimajidi]

JEMIMA MAJIDI attends the TENTH ANNUAL SPRING CHARITY GALA

[jemimajidi]

rosiemoretti:

              There were things Rosie couldn’t even help, it didn’t matter how hard she tried to be as picture perfect as possible, she was a clumsy little thing. It was embed in her DNA for better or worst. She had simply been looking for her phone in the depths of her purse when she had sideway collided with a wall. “Oh dear,” she had shouted as half the contents had ended on the floor, quickly kneeling to pick them up. “This is definitely not my day.” She stood up only to collide with a moving object this time. “Oh double dear, I’m so sorry!” 

Jemima had seen the inevitable crash coming as she walked towards Rosie, watching as the Moretti woman collided with the wall. She’d picked up the pace to at least ask if she was alright, though Jemima hadn’t expected the brunette to then crash into her. “You okay Rosie?” She wasn’t the sort to offer assistance in such amusing and trivial situations, but Jemima considered the scene to be somewhat pitiful, and even she couldn’t ignore the pang of second-hand embarrassment. So she laughed lightly, trying to make light of it, crouching down to pick up the contents of the purse. “Let me help.”

[jemimajidi]

libbyhawthorne:

“I think I may have overdone it and made way too many cupcakes for my friends birthday. Would you be so kind as to help me eat a few of these so I don’t end up eating all the extras myself?” 

“Oh darling,” Jemima crooned, sitting herself down next to the woman and grabbing a cupcake, peeling back the paper casing. “You don’t need to ask me twice.” Taking a large, messy bite Jemima let a hum of content pass through her lips, eyes closing as she savoured the flavour. “Holy shit, you made these?” 

[jemimajidi]

hughmalloy:

“I wonder if they’ll cancel… I don’t have a specific talent, and it’s not like the students will appreciate me just standing around while the other teachers sing and dance…” Hugh mulled over the admittedly minuscule dilemma, tapping the trumpet’s finger buttons ceaselessly with his one hand and stroking his unkempt beard with the other. Still, he had to admit that with the town being rife with bad news, a little spring variety show would do little to dampen the teenagers’ spirits. Sitting on the cold floor with his back on the wall and contemplating absently, he added, “Maybe I’ll yodel.”

“Yodel and I’ll heckle you offstage myself,” Jemima quipped sharply, peering down at the man at her feet. “If I hear one more thing about yodelling...” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, thoroughly over the sudden inexplicable rise of yodelling, hissing under her breath: “Damn Walmart kid.” Her better self urged her onwards, to carry on with her day and get her ass in gear, get some work done, maybe even go to the gym. But the handsome, helpless man in need had caught her attention, Jemima regarding him with scrutinising dark brown eyes.  “There must be something you’re good at. Everyone has a talent. Juggling? Comedy? Magic?”

[westportroleplay]

JEMIMA MAJIDI –

Birthdate: May 20th, 1993 ( 25 ) Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her Hometown: Santa Monica, California Neighborhood: Downtown Occupation: Investigative / Freelance Journalist Face-claim: Medalion Rahimi Trigger Warnings: None.

BIOGRAPHY –

The third and oldest daughter of Iranian-American parents, Jemima Majidi grew up on the golden beaches of Santa Monica, soaking up the sun, swimming in the sea with her sisters and sneaking out with her friends at the weekend. Her parents were neither wealthy nor poor, affording Jemima a comfortable childhood. Her mother was their primary caregiver, with their father often working long and late hours in the restaurant he and her uncle owned and ran together. Jemima didn’t mind, often helping out in the diner at weekends for a little bit of cash. Though closer to her father, Jemima was undoubtedly shaped by her mother; a woman of complex contradictions. She was strict yet fair, forthright yet tactful, caustic yet calming, and Jemima was no different. A hardworking, intelligent teen who dabbled in disobedience and seemed unable to keep her mouth shut. Sometimes quiet at the worst of times and unbearably outgoing at the best. Refusing to date yet agonisingly alluring. Jemima went where the mood and the crowd took her, flitting from group to group since she didn’t seem to really fit in anywhere. Jemima was one of a kind, and it wasn’t until college that she learnt to just be herself, however fierce and deceptive and contemplative and truthful she was. Her wit and intellect was unrivalled, however, and her natural affinity for reading people and ability to see through bullshit lead her down the law route when the time came to pick a college and a major.

No one expected her to actually get into Harvard Law, least of all Jemima herself. She’d applied on a whim, throwing caution to the wind and thinking ‘screw it.’ But as the acceptances rolled in (because her 4.0 GPA wasn’t going to be declined) she was exceedingly shocked to see the Ivy League university had even considered her, let alone accept her. Law was prestigious, law was respected, law was what she excelled in. Yet Jemima found her niche in writing, taking up a position in the student newspaper. Law may be prestigious, but journalism was a hell of a lot more engaged to Jemima. She graduated with honours and whilst she likely could have walked into any law firm and found herself a position, Jemima geared herself towards writing professionally. It started with internships, and then she turned freelance, specialising in investigative journalism. From there on she bounced from place to place, following the work she could get wherever she could get it, using her law degree and unshakeable determination to get the most out of the subject matter given to her. Her writing developed an honesty and Jemima made it her mission to get right to the bottom of each and every case she came across.

Yet her career hasn’t had the major breakthrough Jemima needs to give her the credence and respect she desires. Whilst she wanted to uncover and expose corrupt politicians, police cover-ups and money-laundering celebs and dangerous criminals alike, Jemima found herself writing the same thing again and again. Minor celebrity going to the grocery store without make-up on. Police officer helping an old woman cross the road. A dog who’d been taught to paint. Boring, mundane, ordinary. It wasn’t Jemima’s gig but she needs the money, and so when she was asked by an Atlanta magazine to write a puff piece about a small town girl-turned local social media star-turned actress, she couldn’t really turn it down. Alexis Hawthorne seemed like the kind of girl Jemima would go out of her away to avoid, but she was being paid to kiss her ass. And so she drifted into Westport, securing herself a cheap little apartment downtown she figured she’d be out of by the end of the summer. Small town gossip revealed a few interesting rumours and secrets, and talk of a local gang had Jemima’s ears pricking, determined to rinse Westport for all it was worth. Jemima made a few friends, even managed to get herself invited to a wedding, but then Alexis disappeared. Jemima had never been presented with such an opportunity and she knows if done right then Alexis’s case may very well be the making of her career. Competitive, obsessive and thorough, Jemima is determined to get every last drop of information she can however she can. She has her own suspicions, but people won’t pay to hear what a nobody writer has to say- they’ll pay for the truth, though.

Jemima never expected the town’s gaze to turn on her, however. But what are people supposed to think of a stranger turning up out of the blue asking questions and prying into the life of Alexis Hawthorne only weeks before she disappeared? Jemima might be desperate for the truth, but she hadn’t considered what the consequences of implicating herself in the investigation may be.

PERSONALITY –

( + ) adaptable, erudite, passionate. ( - ) amoral, imprudent, obsessive.