#and she cries in her car. punished for her sin of wanting him safe and well. as always. anyway.

[carefulfears]

thinking of ed jerse and eddie van blundht and philip padgett and the indignity of desire. phoebe greene and diana fowley, kristen kihlar, self-flagellation as addictive and reverent. the ouroboros of mulder not allowing himself any indulgence and therefore denying scully being chosen: punished for her sin of just adoring him. "[diana] protects everything but you." (and he needs it that way.)

[echologname]

The girl whom Jesus loved

There was a girl who loved God very much. She talked to Him every night and anytime she wanted to during the day. She'd pour out her thoughts and feelings to Him. She didn't need to hear Him answer back, she was just happy to have someone to talk to. One day her teacher started talking about how throughout history people have changed the Bible to suit their own personal beliefs and that made her confused and doubt God's Word. The doubt grew worse and worse, it clouded her mind and heart and ate at her spirit like a poison until she cried and told God she didn't know what to think of Him anymore and that she needed a break to figure things out. Her heart ached as she searched and searched for what was true and what wasn't. She read many books by lots of different people. What they said made sense and claimed to be backed by science and studies. She wasn't sure if she ever really loved God in the first place if He was all she ever knew. So, she decided she would be independent and forge her own spiritual path. She was captivated by people who talked to trees, danced in the woods, talked to the dead and collected crystals. It seemed fun and she wanted to do it too. “Maybe they're just misunderstood.” she thought. So, she made friends with people who have similar interests and delighted in learning about their beliefs. However, she was still very sad and frustrated inside. The confusion she felt didn't go away. She thought what she found was good and right for her, but her life was falling apart. She fought with her mom, she was often grumpy, depressed and anxious and her heart was hardened towards anything relating to God and she refused to listen to her parents. Eventually one day she was laying in bed feeling sick and remembered a story she heard long ago. She picked up her phone and searched for it, it was Matthew 9:20-22:

Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.

And from there she couldn't help but keep reading and reading. For the first time in her life, she was engulfed in the stories she read in her Bible and her heart was touched. She started talking to God again and listening to worship music like she always had and it was as if nothing had happened it felt like her faith was never lost or broken.

However, as she kept reading she grew increasingly anxious that God was angry with her, after all, she was angry at herself for being deceived and she feared she was going to be horribly punished. She was afraid because she turned her back on God, she committed a sin that could never be forgiven. But as she thought about it some more she remembered all the times God had her back even when she wasn't aware of it during the time she explored other beliefs. He found her lost hat, saved her from getting run over by a car, kept her safe from suspicious strangers and healed her when she was sick. He never left her because He loved her. He told her in 1 Corinthians 13:1:

Love keeps no records of wrongs

He told her He forgives her and to not dwell on her past mistakes because it’ll just make her sad and keep her from focusing on all the reasons He's given her to be happy like playing with her puppies, having good food and being with a family that forgives her too.

When people say, “Jesus loves you,” they mean He doesn't care what you’ve done, He STILL wants to be your friend forever and ever and to be together in Heaven with you. He’ll STILL be with you no matter what. He tells us in 1 Corinthians 13:7:

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

You hear that? LOVE NEVER FAILS. He will NEVER fail you and He can't because He's perfect and doesn't make mistakes like we do which is why He's always happy to forgive us, He enjoys it and also wants us to enjoy forgiving others which includes ourselves too.

So, always remember JESUS LOVES YOU.❤️

https://www.instagram.com/p/C5M6dBHvu7W/?igsh=MTNuYTFzZWcwYjZubg==

[dhufeainnewedd]

people    will    always    try    to    turn    you    into    a    story    if    you    let    them.   

the    girl    arrived    in    town    at    age    ten    __    mute    for    unknown    reasons,    small    cowboy    hat ��  on    her    head,    a    lizard    in    her    hand,    and    no    desire    to    look    civilized.        /        she    wasn't    talking,    so    they    talked    for    her        /        they    say    she    came    to    be    in    a    field,    unearthed    &    dirty,    with    no    mother    to    look    up    to    and    no    father    to    watch    over    her        /        they    say    wind    &    soil    made    her    into    a    girl,    like    clay    has    made    so    many    dolls    in    the    past        /        from    pandora,    formed    by    the    gods,    to    pygmalion's    lover,    more    solid    than    ivory.        /        it    does    not    matter    that    the    girl    grew    up    breathing    &    laughing,    crooked    smiles    &    scratched    knees        /        THE    STORY    GROWS    AS    SHE    DOES    &    SHE    LETS    IT.    the    reason    why    is    so    simple    :    if    not    for    the    myth,    she    would    have    to    talk    about    mama        /        the    way    she    cried    while    holding    her    newborn    baby    (cursed,    cursed,    cursed,    cuRSED,    CURSED)    the    litany    so    similar    to    ancient    mourners    ;    tearing    at    hair    &    clothing,    striking    her    breasts,    a    chanted    dirge    which    tasted    too    much    like    despair.        /        ishtar    would    have    to    talk    about    her    father        /        a    blurry    picture    of    a    retreating    silhouette,    how    absence    has    always    felt    like    a    failure    at    being    something    wanted.   

she    doesn't    remember    much    but    she    remembers    children        /        𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑    &    𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍        /        they    were    three,    which    was    a    good    number,    a    safe    number    :    baby    was    born    with    two    hands    &    two    siblings,    so    each    set    of    fingers    could    hold    on    to    one    of    them,    and    them    to    each    other.    a    circle    of    love        /        she    remembers    that.    the    love.        /        she    thinks    she    shouldn't.    she    thinks    she    might    have    turned    them    into    stories    too    ;    remembrance    is    a    trick    she    learned    late,    and    even    herself,    she    cannot    draw    without    encountering    difficulties        /        she    always    imagines    herself    as    the    girl    in    the    field    —    the    girl    walking    towards    home    because    her    mother    always    forced    her    to    make    a    choice,    which    was    no    choice    at    all    :    mama    drove    her    to    the    end    of    the    field    in    the    black    pick-up    truck    and    told    her,    if    ya    wanna    be    difficult,    if    ya    wanna    run    away,    then    fuckin'    go    —    we    don't    want    ya.    but    if    home's    where    yer    headed,    ya    can    find    th'way    on    yer    own.        /        so    ishtar    had    to    choose    home,    a    curse    in    reverse.    bless    the    home    that    has    birthed    you    !    a    ghost    walking    back    to    its    haunting    ;    she    did,    she    chose    home    like    one    chooses    whatever    is    the    opposite    of    death,    and    she    thinks    that    might    be    why    she    doesn't    want    one    anymore    —    walking    towards    home    would    be    penance,    would    be    punishment,    would    be    her    very    own    stations    of    the    cross.        /        she    is    tired    of    walking    toward    places    that    dare    to    call    themselves    home    and    are    stranger    to    her    than    the    field    &    the    river.   

esther    wasn't    beautiful.    esther    was    terrible.        /        she    liked    eating    oranges.    sticky    hands    shoved    in    ishtar's    hair    as    part    of    a    game    only    she    knew    the    rules    of        /        they    weren't    old    enough    for    her    to    know    but    sometimes    she    thinks    esther's    cruelty    was    inherited    ;    from    mother    to    daughter.    although    her    violence    was    a    sweet    one,    diguised    as    attention    :    she    would    torment    her    sister    all    day    long    &    then    spend    some    quiet    hours    with    her,    listening    to    a    bad    dream    elisa    had    had    the    night    before        /        𝚌𝚊𝚗    𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚛    𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎    𝚑𝚎𝚛    𝚏𝚘𝚛    𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗    𝚊    𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚖    𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗    𝚜𝚑𝚎    𝚠𝚊𝚜    𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘    𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝    𝚘𝚏    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍    𝚏𝚘𝚛    𝚊    𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎    ?        /        she    remembers    esther    helping    her    with    her    hair    later    that    day.    her    small    childish    fingers    in    warm    water    &    bubbles,    making    sure    the    faint    citrus    scent    would    be    washed    away.   

simon    was    neither    terrible    nor    beautiful,    he    was    there        /        sometimes,    ishtar    wonders    if    that    made    him    the    worst    persecutor    or    the    best    ally        /        𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂    𝙸𝚃    𝙸𝚂    𝙳𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚄𝙻𝚃    𝚃𝙾    𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙻𝙴𝙳𝙶𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈    𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴    𝙰𝙻𝙻    𝙺𝙸𝙳𝚂    𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶    𝙸𝙽    𝙰    𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴    𝙷𝙰𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳    𝙱𝚈    𝙼𝙰𝙼𝙰'𝚂    𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃.        /        he    watched,    a    silent    witness    in    the    back    of    the    room.    when    he    was    there    to    breathe    in    his    part    of    oxygen,    mama    lacked    the    excess    necessary    to    scream    at    ishtar        /        so    maybe    he    was    a    small    mercy    maybe    he    was    a    saint    maybe-        /        she    remembers    mama    shoving    her    daughter's    head    underwater    to    salvage    her    from    sins    she    had    yet    to    commit    outside    of    the    maternal    mind,    she    remembers    spitting    out    water    for    help,    she    remembers    desperate    hands    reaching    for    help    (hers)    &    empty    hands    unnmoving    (his)        /        a    brother,    standing    a    few    steps    away,    silently    watching        /        okay,    so    maybe    he    didn't    care,    maybe    he    prefered    his    little    sister    to    be    the    receptacle    of    mama's    insanity,    maybe-        /        no    one    warned    ishtar    that    she    would    get    abandoned,    but    simon    somehow    heard    of    it,    because    when    the    girl    opened    her    bag    at    the    orphanage,    a    small    book    with    blank    pages    and    an    address    fell    from    it        (when    you're    ready    to    come    home,    he    wrote)        /        she    kept    it        /        she    keeps    it        /        she    wants    to    burn    it    and    never    manages    to    throw    it    into    the    fire   

years    have    passed        /        the    story    doesn't    end        /        the    white    pages    await.   

she    meets    them    later        /        it    is    september    &    summer    is    slowly    being    washed    away    ;    ishtar's    grief    is    almost    as    potent    as    her    rage    for    the    town    she    left    behind        /        she    thinks    𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄    and    wants    to    yell,    she    thinks    𝐉𝐉    and    wants    to    cry,    she    thinks    about    𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘    and    almost    goes    back    to    her    car.    but    she    doesn't    think    about    𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄,    too    afraid    to    summon    another    ghost        /        she    doesn't    know    why    she    takes    the    notebook    with    her,    and    why    she    follows    simon's    writing,    because    home    has    never    been    that    place        /        but    maybe    she    likes    the    pain,    maybe    she    needs    it,    maybe    she    needs    to    be    another    ghost    instead    of    the    one    carrying    them,    maybe    she    needs    to    see    mama    and    remember    how    awful    that    was,    how    grateful    she    is    for    malborne.    that    way    she    can't    be    mad    at    him    for    being    dead    ...    because    at    some    point    he    made    sure    she'd    stay    alive    when    her    own    mother    didn't        /        maybe    she    just    wants    a    reason    for    the    ache    /        at    home    she    finds    simon    and    esther    and    a    grave        /        mama's    ghost,    the    narcissistic    echo    of    her    voice    filling    that    house    with    memories    ishtar    thought    she    had    gotten    rid    of.   

esther    is    beautiful    &    terrible        /        when    she    sees    ishtar,    she    calls    her    𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐄    and    pretends    that    the    girl    who    wore    that    name    didn't    drown    years    ago        /        she    asks    her    for    a    story    &    gets    angry    when    she    is    served    one    ;    she    doesn't    know    yet    that    truth    in    ishtar's    mouth    is    half-chewed    pieces    of    an    orange    &    clean    fingers.        /        esther    tells    hers,    and    by    that    i    mean    she    lies        /        ishtar    might    choose    the    ominous    &    the    unclear,    but    esther    cares    too    much,    esther    wants    her    truth    the    same    way    she    wants    her    past    :    perfectly    sugarcoated.    she    lies    her    way    into    greatness    and    pretends    no    one    can    see    the    grime    under    her    fingernails.        /        even    the    accent,    she    got    rid    of.    she    is    a    collage    of    every    personality    trait    she    thinks    could    give    her    importance,    and    that    might    be    the    only    reason    why    ishtar    thinks    they    would    like    each    other,    if    they    gave    it    a    chance    :    both    reflections    of    ideals    they'll    never    reach.        /        but    if    esther    can    lie,    she    is    no    fantasy    ;    ishtar    is    the    best    at    what    she    does,    her    sister    is    not.    she    is    too    conceited,    too    enamoured    with    what    she    has,    what    she    is    —    she    can't    play    her    part    because    she    cares    too    much    about    her    authenticity.    the    fire    in    her    is    untamed,    it    is    wild,    it    is    a    spark    above    a    withered    field.    (it    always,    always    ignites)        /        ishtar    is    no    fire    ;    girl    underwater,    changing    like    the    current.    authenticity    doesn't    matter    when    you've    washed    your    self    away        /        it    is    so    easy    to    see    her    through    the    cracks,    to    see    esther    in    the    way    she    pins    her    hair    &    the    way    she    laughs,    in    the    way    lazy    syllables    soon    get    drawled    when    she    is    having    fun.        /        𝚒𝚏    𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚛'𝚜    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝    𝚘𝚏    𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝    𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎,    𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛    𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐    &    𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐,    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗    𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜    𝚊𝚕𝚕    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜,    𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝    𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎    𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.   

and    if    esther's    the    windows    then    simon    must    be    the    walls,    because    he    is    there,    right    there    ,    holding    everything    together,    giving    coherence    to    the    mess    of    them        /        and    if    esther    likes    to    talk    &    ishtar    pretends    she    likes    to    talk    while    listening,    then    simon    is    their    exact    opposite    :    he    keeps    his    mouth    shut    until    he    needs    words    /    maybe    that    too    is    inherited    :    dad's    forced    silence    due    to    absence        /        when    ishtar    arrives,    simon    recognizes    her    immediately,    and    that    might    be    both    an    admission    of    guilt    &    one    of    love    (in    this    family,    the    line    is    so    thin    you    wouldn't    be    able    to    hang    yourself    with    it)    maybe    that's    why    dad    left    :    𝚃𝙾𝙾    𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙼𝙴    &    𝚃𝙾𝙾    𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷    𝚃𝙾    𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙷,    and    still    nothing    in    this    house    to    end    the    suffering    —    just    ghosts    haunting    the    farm,    haunting    the    fields.        /        maybe    he    ran    away    from    home    the    way    sinners    run    away    from    church,    convinced    god's    not    watching    if    you    turn    your    back    on    him.    maybe    he    thought    he    wouldn't    leave    with    his    past,    or    with    his    hands.    maybe    he    thought    he'd    just    leave    —    and    that    is    ishtar's    inheritance,    legs    that    do    not    know    when    to    quit,    the    profound    certitude    that    the    house    you    left    will    not    follow    you    forever.   

anyway,    the    point    is    :    simon    didn't    talk    a    lot    and    when    he    did,    ishtar    thought    it'd    mean    something,    thought    it'd    be    like    gemstones    found    on    exile    (something    worth    holding    on    to    for    later.    for    when    you'll    need    them.    for    when    you'll    have    to    see    the    world    again,    tired    feet    &    crazed    eyes)    but    his    words    didn't    mean    anything.    empty,    broken    shells        /        even    his    gestures    are    void,    the    way    he    pressed    a    palm    on    the    center    of    her    back    like    he    did    when    they    were    kids,    asking    her    :    where    have    you    been    ?,    like    the    touch    would    soothe    the    ache    of    the    question        /        he    hurts    her    in    innocent    ways.    he    hurts    her    with    quiet    questions,    with    long    looks,    with    a    hug    and    a    forehead    kiss    and    a,    are    you    hungry    ?    do    you    want    to    see    mama    ?        /        she    comes    home    and    it    isn't    home,    has    never    been,    but    the    notebook    gets    filled    with    moments    she    clings    to,    moments    she    had    longed    for.    she    is    seven    again,    shoved    underwater,    divinity    washing    over    her,    breathless    &    aching    &    desperate    for    the    safety    of    home.   

ishtar    wants    to    leave    and    she    tells    them    that        /        tells    them    she    had    wanted    to    make    sure    the    river    was    real,    said    she    had    wanted    to    see    the    church    and    the    field,    said    she    had    wanted    to    see    the    farm    and    the    house        /        she    doesn't    say    she    had    wanted    to    see    them    as    well,    but    the    way    she    takes    the    time    to    announce    her    departure    feels    heavier    than    any    confession        /        on    her    way    out,    esther    throws    a    look    at    simon    and    simon    shrugs    and    somehow    that    hurts    ishtar    even    more    —    the    way    they've    created    language    out    of    habit.    the    first    sign    of    a    community    working    as    one    :    symbols    being    given    meaning    that    only    you,    part    of    a    whole,    can    understand.    ishtar    stands    outside    of    the    home    they    made,    looking    through    the    window.        /        esther    says,    you    know,    and    simon    continues    without    missing    a    beat,    we    were    thinking    about    going    away    for    a    while.    wanna    take    us    with    you    ?    it'll    be    fun,    and    that's    esther's    voice,    and    maybe    it's    a    lie,    maybe    it's    a    warning,    maybe    ishtar    should've    known    better.    but    she's    tired    of    being    alone    &    so    alone    she's    always    tired,    so    she    says    yeah    sure    get    yer    stuff        /        and    they    leave,    and    leave,    and    leave.   

it    lasts    almost    five    months    of    traveling    around.    ishtar's    exile,    a    religious    experience.    when    the    youngest    has    an    idea,    simon    smiles    &    esther    tells    her    she'll    never    be    able    to    pull    through.    you've    always    been    too    scared    —    and    that    too    is    another    lie,    ishtar    knows    it's    a    lie,    but    she    hates    being    denied    autonomy,    agency    or    control,    so    she    has    to    prove    her    sister    wrong        /        she    does.    she    does    every    time.    it's    a    bottle    in    her    hand,    too    many    shots,    a    weird    looking    pill,    a    piercing    and    a    tattoo,    a    boy's    hand,    another    boy's    thigh,    a    girl's    mouth,    a    long    list    of    victims    and    no    crime    scenes    apart    from    her    body    &    her    mind        /        she    used    to    like    it.    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙾𝚂.    the    unpredictable    violence.    even    bloody    teeth    felt    good    when    you    were    the    one    asking    for    a    punch.        /        but    it    doesn't    feel    like    a    choice    when    someone    else    is    whispering    the    idea    in    your    ear        /        and    simon    looks    and    simon    smiles    and    simon    only    asks    if    she's    okay    and    if    she's    having    fun    and    ishtar    says    yes    because    she    is    because    she    wants    to    be    because    admitting    defeat    would    mean    having    to    go    and    she    has    nowehere    else    to    run    to.   

but    if    esther    is    the    demon    on    her    shoulder,    ishtar's    doing    her    part    too    :    each    challenge    is    extended    to    her    sister,    a    tandem    of    violence,    the    childish    rampage    of    kids    who    don't    know    the    difference    between    actual    torture    &    play-pretend.    they    wreak    havoc    around    them,    and    the    more    esther    asks    of    her,    the    more    ishtar    puts    her    through    as    sweet    revenge.    baby    grew    teeth    while    she    was    away    from    the    horror    house    &    it    shows    ;    bite    marks    all    over    her    sister's    hands    as    a    parting    gift.        /        and    if    simon    keeps    watching    it's    because    ishtar    makes    him,    because    ishtar    wants    him    to    see    the    worst.    when    she    dares    esther    into    another    terrible    decision    he    has    no    choice    but    to    witness,    and    if    he    grew    a    spine    in    ishtar's    absence    it    doesn't    even    matter,    because    the    game    has    only    one    rule    and    it's    the    rule    of    ones    :    one    dare,    one    day    &    only    you,    nobody    can    help    you.        /        so    he    watches,    is    forced    to    watch.    he    asks    them    to    stop    but    each    warning    falls    into    deaf    ears    :    esther    wants    to    win    and    ishtar    doesn't    care    enough    to    let    her.        /        and    sometimes    he    plays    too,    sometimes    she    forces    him    into    acting    fast,    life    or    death    situations,    and    he's    there    with    his    two    good    hands,    trying    to    figure    out    where    she    wants    from    him        /        he    thought    he    could    avoid    it,    of    course    he    did,    𝙱𝚄𝚃    𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽    𝙸𝚂𝙷𝚃𝙰𝚁    𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝚂    𝙰    𝙼𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙳𝚈    :    𝚈𝙾��    𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴.        /        𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴    𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙻    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙵𝙴𝙴𝚃    𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳.   

it's    a    game    and    ishtar    learned    it    years    ago    :    you    can't    win    if    you    think    you    stand    a    chance.    (simon    wants    a    life    where    watching    doesn't    mean    violence        /        esther    wants    a    life    where    she    isn't    a    synonym    for    their    mother)        /        ishtar    gave    up,    is    giving    up    on    this    past,    the    pages    are    burning    and    illuminated    by    the    soft    glow    of    the    bonfire,    she    smiles.        /        they    were    no    circle    of    love.    they    were    the    triangle    of    it,    a    pyramid    of    abuse    with    someone    on    top,    always    someone    on    top,    and    the    cutting    edges    have    left    marks    so    deep    in    ishtar's    skin    she    knows    her    way    to    the    top,    she'd    climb    it    with    her    eyes    closed,    she    has    played    this    game    a    thousand    times    before    meeting    them    —    they    stood    no    chance.   

[    and    maybe    family    is    just    that.    the    worst    in    you.    violence    inflicted    upon    strangers,    linked    back    to    the    home    of    your    childhood.    something    to    burn    to    the    ground.    a    haunted    house    you    have    to    abandon    in    order    to    be    part    of    the    living    again.    ]   

don't    look    in    the    notebook,    don't    read    the    words,    they're    lying    to    you.    they're    another    prophecy    you'll    feel    forced    to    fulfill    :    no    one    in    that    place    wants    you    back.    it's    the    house    who    wrote    the    words,    the    house    with    the    memories    of    you    asking    for    more.    the    greedy    house.    the    haunted    house.    it    needs    its    ghost,    its    sweet    sacrifice.

(she    leaves    again)        (leaves    the    notebook    with    esther    &    simon)        (on    the    last    page,    a    response    to    his    request    to    come    home    :    —turns    out    you    can't    go    back    to    a    place    that    never    existed    but    i'm    ready    to    build    one    now)        no    address    to    guide    them    there    ;    if    it    is    where    they    are    headed,    they    will    find    a    way.

[cassava-49]

Death 5

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 6/ Part 7

"G-guys," Allegra called as she pointed at the figure from afar. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked worriedly. This made them all go to the windows as Felix's eyes widened in shock. "That's a Geryon," he said in a breathy voice. "A what?" Kenya asked not understanding what he meant. "Look at the structure, it has humongous feathery bat like wings and scorpion's tail. I have only seen pictures of it depicted in the Divine Comedy, but I never imagined Hawkmoth giving someone such abilities to do so," he explained. Marinette, however, was shell shocked as she recognized its rider. "Lila," she said in a hushed tone as she began backing away. Noticing her reaction, Felix knew who the intended target was.

"Everyone, we need to do something," Felix said getting their attention. "What do you mean?" Lindalee asked in concern. "The villain's target is Marinette, and from the looks of it, she wants her dead. We need to protect her," he continued as he took Marinette's trembling hand in his trying to calm her down. "No, it's not only me," Marinette said in a low voice. "From the looks of it, she'll kill anyone in her path. We need to protect everyone in this hospital," she stated in a more powerful voice. "Alright, what do we do?" Claude asked with all seriousness, willing to protect his friend from such fiend.

...

"Stupid Grim," Allan mumbled to himself as he continued destroying the tree in front of him. "Why couldn't you take me away! I want to go home! I want to live in peace already, damn it!" he continued shouting. "What am I going to wait for? When Earth becomes hell?" he sarcastically asked as the ground shook. He then saw a shadow loom over him and the tree. He slowly turned to find three slobbering heads of a vicious dog with an undefinable breed looking at him with hunger in its eyes.

He immediately jumped onto its heads to avoid their jaws as he narrowly escaped. For some reason Cerberus could see him, and it could've bit him. He could feel it's warm breath, which was strange given that he's dead. "What the hell?" he asked to himself as he jumped onto the top of the nearest building to observe what was happening to Paris. It seemed as if hell needed more space and transferred some of its residents to France. To his right he could see that the colour of the Seine turned to blood, with Charon was cruising with some petrified people, while centaurs were at the banks, prepared to shoot anyone who wishes to escape. To his left he could see the akumatized victim stalking it's prey.

"You can't hide from me forever Alya!" the akumatized victim cried. He looked at her and observed. "Come on out. I'd hate for you to be the last, that's Marinette's place," she continued. "There you are," she stated as she made Alecto lift the car that was blocking her vision. "Lady Luck and Monsieur Noir will stop you," Alya declared as she said her punishment. This made Castigare cackle saying, "Oh, I doubt that Alya. No one can, Kim or should I call Monkey King, and Alix are currently having a blood bath battle for their wrathful attitudes. Rose, Juleka, Nathanael and Marc are enjoying their rain fire for being homosexuals. And Max, poor Pegasus, he lost Markov and is currently burning in his tomb. Mylène and Ivan on the other hand, such pure souls, yet were gullible nonetheless to chase sinful opportunities, they're currently experiencing a blind race over an every shifting flag on a ground of maggots," Castigare informed with a sinister grin. This made Alya's eyes prick with tears as she awaited her punishment. "But for Marinette, oh she'll suffer. After my furies tear her limb from limb mercilessly. And her screams are silent, for she is asleep, for now," she added menacingly.

This caught his attention, Marinette? Why would she want Marinette? Unless, he thought realising who this girl was. "Lila Rossi," he muttered under his breath as he made his way into François Dupont to find Lady Luck and Monsieur Noir struggling to keep the she-wolf at bay.

The two continued to fight off the three beasts forgetting the easiest escape, taking a different route. Allan sighed at their attempts to fend them off. Given that these creatures can see the dead, he might as well distract them to give the two an escape to save his friends. He picked up a discarded book and threw it their way. This caught the beasts' attention as the three of them began to corner him. He stood his ground as he watched Lady Luck and Monsieur Noir escape to hunt Castigare down. He smirked as he said, "Well then, let's see if your dead bodies could make a difference."

...

Allegra and Marinette stood inside her room, carefully monitoring her body to make sure no creature would enter. Lindalee and Kenya were monitoring the hallways near Marinette's room, given that they're the second most skillful comatose ghosts in their group. Felix and Claude, on the other hand, were in the frontlines, waiting for the villain's arrival.

"I'm sorry," Marinette blurted out. Allegra immediately rushed to her and engulfed her in a hug. "There's nothing to be sorry about," Allegra assured. "But because of my vulnerable body, it's making all of you worked up in protecting me," Marinette said guilty. "Well, we can't help it can we. It's natural to not want help from those around you, thinking that it makes us feel like more of a nuisance. But we are doing this because we want to keep you safe, because we know that you would do the same for us. You're our friend, we're not going to let anyone harm you. Chin up, darling, everything will be alright. Don't freight," Allegra soothed.

"This would be a lot easier if Allan were here," Claude commented as they watched Lila get closer. "Well, he's never at the right place at the right time," Felix answered. "Let's just make sure that there wouldn't be any casualties. There are a lot of vulnerable people in hospitals," Claude mentioned. "Yeah, we just slow her down until the heroes arrive," Felix replied. With that Castigare jumped off Geryon and waltzed into the entrance.

The nurses gave her an annoyed look as she shouted, "Which room is Marinette Dupain?" The security guard immediately tried to remove her from the building, only to have his actions in vain as Castigare summoned her furies and pointed them to him. This meant for them to take action as they took him away. Castigare approached the front desk to ask the nurse again, the drawers began to vibrate making everyone to look around. The first thing that they used were the vials. Using their enhanced speed, Claude began throwing the glad from different directions. Felix took a couple of surgical needles and aimed it at her, with one was full of general anesthesia.

"What is happening?" Castigare asked as she was being attacked by office and medical supply. "Is this a new miraculous?" she began to ponder aloud. She clenched her teeth, she didn't have time for this. She immediately summoned her Cerberus to find Marinette.

The three headed dog complied and barged into the hospital and began looking for Marinette's room. Upon nearing the hallway to her room, Kenya and Lindalee immediately destroyed the floors, making sure no one was at the floor below them. This did not stop Cerberus though, as he began to fall, he was able to snatch onto Kenya's shirt. It's claws digging deep into her skin, piercing it to the rib cage and damaging her lungs causing the young girl to release an ear piercing scream. "Kenya!" Lindalee shouted as she tried to grab her friend.

Their wandering souls are a lot like Voodoo dolls, any damage they get may affect their actual bodies. Right now, Kenya's body is not receiving enough oxygen. Her heart began to speed up rapidly, causing the nurses and doctors to panic as they try to revive her. Kenya's soul, however, was slowly feeling lighter and lighter. Lindalee jumped down as she tried to look for her friend beneath the debris. "Kenya! Kenya!" she continued to call out. Once she got to one of its paws, she immediately raised it to find Kenya there. She's not bleeding, since she's a ghost, but she was slowly fading. There may be two meanings, either she's waking up or, she's dying. Lindalee placed both her hands on her mouth in shock.

"Did you hear that?" Marinette asked. Allegra nodded as she opened the door to find the destroyed hallway. "Where are Lindalee and Kenya?" Allegra pondered out loud. "Allegra," cried a voice from below. "Lindalee? Where are you?" she asked with concern. "Down here, help me, no, help Kenya, please," Lindalee pleaded, her voice getting softer. "Marinette, I think they're in trouble. I'll be right back," Allegra said as Marinette nodded. "Go, I'll be fine. Keep them safe," Marinette answered.

Once Allegra left, Marinette felt another pit of guilt in her stomach. Please be safe, please be safe, she chanted to herself. Hoping that all her friends were alright. She looked at her body, she looked at peace, her breathing was normal so was her heart rate. She looked out of the window and saw that the blue sky turned into a blood red shade as monsters polluted the sky. People were given different sufferings depending on their heaviest sin. She could see limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, anger, heresy, violence and fraud. Paris turned into a living hell and Lila's destroying it all.

...

"Cerberus?" Castigare tried to call out as she began dodging all the things that came her way. "Damnit, where are you?" she tried again. Realising that the dog will not be coming anytime soon signified that it has failed her. "Geryon," she shouted as the monster came crashing through, protecting her from all the destruction coming her way. With that, she allowed it to block the passage as she stalked her way to Marinette's room.

"She's heading their way," Claude called. "I've got it, don't worry," Allan said as he entered. This made the trip boys smile at their friend's arrival. "What? You didn't think that is let you guys have all the fun. This could be a better way at venting, no holding back," Allan joked as he cracked his knuckles. "Go crazy," Claude supported. "We'll be outside her room to make sure nothing goes that way," Felix said as they nodded at each other and began.

"Hey, ugly!" Allan tautened as Geryon turned to face him. "What are you doing!" Castigare scolded. "There's no one there! Let's get a move on!" she raged as she tried to steer him to Marinette's room. "I see you can't resist the souls of the dead," Allan continued. "Why are you still here? Have you not found your way to the afterlife?" Geryon asked seriously. "Well, let's just say that some souls aren't meant to cross, yet," he answered casually. "Come along, I will take you King Minos for your judgement," Geryon ordered. "Wait, wait, who said that I'm meant for hell," Allan replied. "Knock it off!" Castigare demanded as she smacked it's head with her sceptre to behave. Being a demon, he shook her off as he began chasing Allan around for his judgement saying, "All souls must cross over. No soul must be left wandering the world of the living!" Allan laughed as they began the chase and continued taunting him, "Not this soul. You have to be quicker if you want to catch me."

"Come back you useless monster!" Castigare shouted, feeling slightly embarrassed by being thrown off. "Listen Castigare, you're no longer holding your end of the bargain. Hand me the miraculouses or else I'll take your power away," Hawkmoth reminded. "Shut up, Hawkmoth. You will need me so by taking my akuma away you'll lose your closest ally," Castigare threatened back. This earned an evil laugh from Hawkmoth. "Oh, really now. Don't think that your irreplaceable my dear. If I recall correctly, even if I take your akuma away there's still a chance that you will be deported and your parents will know about everything. You would be trialed for terrorism, even though your a minor, you willingly allowed yourself to get akumatized multiple times. I can even vouch on that, don't forget hospitals have cameras. Don't think that I don't know about what you had don't to your victim, Marinette Dupain-Cheng," he slapped the truth in her face menacingly. This made her grit her teeth at the truth that Hawkmoth slapped in her face. "Shut up! Shut up!" she cried out as she held her head trying to block him out. "Never bite the hand that feeds you," he mumbled to both of them as he began threatening the removal of her powers, but unlike Evillustrator, this one's more painful. This made her screech in pain as she felt her whole body on fire. "Alright, alright, I'll get the miraculouses," she conceded. "Good girl, now you'll hold up your end of the deal. Use your new found powers for both yours and my desire," he said as he stopped her suffering.

[dhufearchived]

@rosedha   :   what about ishtar's siblings ?

people    will    always    try    to    turn    you    into    a    story    if    you    let    them.    

the    girl    arrived    in    town    at    age    ten    __    mute    for    unknown    reasons,    small    cowboy    hat    on    her    head,    a    lizard    in    her    hand,    and    no    desire    to    look    civilized.    /    she    wasn't    talking,    so    they    talked    for    her    /    they    say    she    came    to    be    in    a    field,    unearthed    &    dirty,    with    no    mother    to    look    up    to    and    no    father    to    watch    over    her    /    they    say    wind    &    soil    made    her    into    a    girl,    like    clay    has    made    so    many    dolls    in    the    past.    /    from    pandora,    formed    by    the    gods,    to    pygmalion's    lover,    more    solid    than    ivory.    /    it    does    not    matter    that    the    girl    grew    up    breathing    &    laughing,    crooked    smile    &    scratched    knees    /    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈    𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚆𝚂    𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷    𝙷𝙴𝚁    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝚂𝙷𝙴    𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚂    𝙸𝚃.

the    reason    why    is    so    simple    :    if    not    for    the    myth,    she    would    have    to    talk    about    mama    /    the    way    she    cried    while    holding    her    newborn    baby    (cursed,    cursed,    cursed,    cuRSED,    CURSED)    the    litany    so    similar    to    ancient    mourners    ;    tearing    at    hair    &    clothing,    striking    her    breasts,    a    chanted    dirge    which    tasted    too    much    like    despair.    /    ishtar    would    have    to    talk    about    her    father    /    a    blurry    picture    of    a    retreating    silhouette,    how    absence    has    always    felt    like    a    failure    at    being    something    wanted.    

she    doesn't    remember    much    but    she    remembers    children    /    𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑    &    𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍    /    they    were    three,    which    was    a    good    number,    a    safe    number    :    baby    was    born    with    two    hands    &    two    siblings,    so    each    set    of    fingers    could    hold    on    to    one    of    them,    and    them    to    each    other.    a    circle    of    love    /    she    remembers    that.    the    love.    /    she    thinks    she    shouldn't.    she    thinks    she    might    have    turned    them    into    stories    too    ;    remembrance    is    a    trick    she    learned    late,    and    even    herself,    she    cannot    draw    without    encountering    difficulties    /    she    always    imagines    herself    as    the    girl    in    the    field    -    the    girl    walking    towards    home    because    mom    always    forced    her    to    make    a    choice,    which    was    no    choice    at    all    :    she    drove    her    to    the    end    of    the    field    in    the    black    pick-up    truck    and    told    her,    if    ya    wanna    be    difficult,    if    ya    wanna    run    away,    then    fuckin'    go    ___    we    don't    want    ya.    but    if    home's    where    yer    headed,    ya    can    find    th'way    on    yer    own.    /    so    ishtar    had    to    choose    home,    a    curse    in    reverse.    bless    the    home    that    has    birthed    you    !    a    ghost    walking    back    to    its    haunting    ___    she    did,    she    chose    home    like    one    chooses    whatever    is    the    opposite    of    death,    and    she    thinks    that    might    be    why    she    doesn't    want    one    anymore    :    walking    towards    home    would    be    penance,    would    be    punishment,    would    be    her    very    own    stations    of    the    cross.    /    she    is    tired    of    walking    towards    places    that    dare    to    call    themselves    home    and    are    stranger    to    her    than    the    field    &    the    river.

esther    wasn't    beautiful.    esther    was    terrible.    /    she    liked    eating    oranges.    sticky    hands    shoved    in    ishtar's    hair    as    part    of    a    game    only    she    knew    the    rules    of    /    they    weren't    old    but    sometimes    she    thinks    esther's    cruelty    was    inherited    ;    from    mother    to    daughter.    although    her    violence    was    a    sweet    one,    diguised    as    attention    :    she    would    torment    her    sister    all    day    long    &    then    spend    some    quiet    hours    with    her,    listening    to    a    bad    dream    she    had    had    the    night    before    /    𝚌𝚊𝚗    𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚛    𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎    𝚑𝚎𝚛    𝚏𝚘𝚛    𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗    𝚊    𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚖    𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗    𝚜𝚑𝚎    𝚠𝚊𝚜    𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘    𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝    𝚘𝚏    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍    𝚏𝚘𝚛    𝚊    𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚎    ?    /    she    remembers    esther    helping    her    with    her    hair    later    that    day.    her    small    childish    fingers    in    warm    water    &    bubbles,    making    sure    the    faint    citrus    scent    would    be    washed    away.

simon    was    neither    terrible    nor    beautiful,    he    was    there    /    sometimes,    ishtar    wonders    if    that    made    him    the    worst    persecutor    or    the    best    ally    /    𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂    𝙸𝚃    𝙸𝚂    𝙳𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚄𝙻𝚃    𝚃𝙾    𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙻𝙴𝙳𝙶𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈    𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴    𝙰𝙻𝙻    𝙺𝙸𝙳𝚂    𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶    𝙸𝙽    𝙰    𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴    𝙷𝙰𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳    𝙱𝚈    𝙼𝙰𝙼𝙰'𝚂    𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃.    /    he    watched,    a    silent    witness    in    the    back    of    the    room.    when    he    was    there    to    breathe    in    his    part    of    oxygen,    mama    lacked    the    excess    necessary    to    scream    at    ishtar    /    so    maybe    he    was    a    small    mercy    maybe    he    was    a    saint    maybe-    /    she    remembers    mama    shoving    her    daughter's    head    underwater    to    baptize    her    from    sins    she    had    yet    to    commit    outside    of    the    maternal    mind,    she    remembers    spitting    out    water    for    help,    she    remembers    empty    hands    reaching    for    help    (hers)    &    empty    hands    waiting    (his)    /    a    brother,    standing    a    few    steps    away,    silently    watching    /    okay,    so    maybe    he    didn't    care,    maybe    he    prefered    his    little    sister    to    be    the    receptacle    of    mama's    insanity,    maybe-    /    no    one    warned    ishtar    that    she    would    get    abandoned,    but    simon    somehow    heard    of    it,    because    when    the    girl    opened    her    bag    at    the    orphanage,    a    small    book    with    blank    pages    and    an    address    fell    from    it    (when    you're    ready    to    come    home,    he    wrote)    /    she    kept    it    /    she    keeps    it    /    she    wants    to    burn    it    and    never    manages    to    throw    it    into    the    fire

years    have    passed    /    the    story    doesn't    end    /    the    white    pages    await.

she    meets    them    later    /    it    is    september    &    summer    is    slowly    being    washed    away    ;    ishtar's    grief    is    almost    as    potent    as    her    rage    for    the    town    she    left    behind    /    she    thinks    𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄    and    wants    to    yell,    she    thinks    𝐉𝐉    and    wants    to    cry,    she    thinks    about    𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘    and    almost    goes    back    to    her    car.    but    she    doesn't    think    about    𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄,    too    afraid    to    summon    another    ghost    /    she    doesn't    know    why    she    takes    the    notebook    with    her,    and    why    she    follows    simon's    writing,    because    home    has    never    been    that    place    /    but    maybe    she    likes    the    pain,    maybe    she    needs    it,    maybe    she    needs    to    be    another    ghost    instead    of    the    one    carrying    them,    maybe    she    needs    to    see    mama    and    remember    how    awful    that    was,    how    grateful    she    is    for    malborne,    that    way    she    can't    be    mad    at    him    for    being    dead    because    at    some    point    he    made    sure    she'd    stay    alive    when    her    own    mother    didn't    /    maybe    she    just    wants    a    reason    for    the    ache    /    at    home    she    finds    simon    and    esther    and    a    grave    /    mama's    ghost,    the    narcissistic    echo    of    her    voice    filling    that    house    with    memories    ishtar    thought    she    had    gotten    rid    of.    

esther    is    beautiful    &    terrible    /    when    she    sees    ishtar,    she    calls    her    𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐄    and    pretends    that    the    girl    who    wore    that    name    didn't    drown    years    ago    /    she    asks    her    for    a    story    &    gets    angry    when    she    is    served    one    ;    she    doesn't    know    yet    that    truth    in    ishtar's    mouth    is    half-chewed    pieces    of    an    orange    &    clean    fingers.    /    esther    tells    hers,    and    by    that    i    mean    she    lies    /    ishtar    might    choose    the    ominous    &    the    unclear,    but    esther    cares    too    much,    esther    wants    her    truth    the    same    way    she    wants    her    past    :    perfectly    sugarcoated.    she    lies    her    way    into    greatness    and    pretends    no    one    can    see    the    grime    under    her    fingernails.    /    even    the    accent,    she    got    rid    of.    she    is    a    collage    of    every    personality    trait    she    thinks    might    give    her    importance,    and    that    might    be    the    only    reason    why    ishtar    thinks    they    could    like    each    other,    if    only    a    little    :    both    reflections    of    ideals    they'll    never    reach.    /    but    if    esther    can    lie,    she    is    no    fantasy    ;    ishtar    is    the    best    at    what    she    does,    her    sister    is    not.    she    is    too    conceited,    too    enamoured    with    what    she    has,    what    she    is    ___    she    can't    play    her    part    because    she    cares    too    much    about    her    authenticity.    the    fire    in    her    is    untamed,    it    is    wild,    it    is    a    spark    above    a    withered    field.    (it    always,    always    ignites)    /    ishtar    is    no    fire    ;    girl    underwater,    changing    like    the    current.    authenticity    doesn't    matter    when    you've    washed    your    self    away    /    it    is    so    easy    to    see    her    through    the    cracks,    to    see    esther    in    the    way    she    pins    her    hair    &    the    way    she    laughs,    in    the    way    lazy    syllables    soon    get    drawled    when    she    is    having    fun.    /    𝚒𝚏    𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚝𝚊𝚛'𝚜    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝    𝚘𝚏    𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝    𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎,    𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛    𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐    &    𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐,    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗    𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜    𝚊𝚕𝚕    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜,    𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐    𝚝𝚑𝚎    𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝    𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎    𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.

and    if    esther's    the    windows    then    simon    must    be    the    walls,    because    he    is    there,    right    there    ,    holding    everything    together,    giving    coherence    to    the    mess    of    them    /    and    if    esther    likes    to    talk    &    ishtar    pretends    she    likes    to    talk    while    listening,    then    simon    is    their    exact    opposite    :    he    keeps    his    mouth    shut    until    he    needs    words    /    maybe    that    too    is    inherited    :    dad's    forced    silence    due    to    his    absence    /    when    ishtar    arrives,    simon    recognizes    her    immediately,    and    that    might    be    both    an    admission    of    guilt    &    one    of    love    (in    this    family,    the    line    is    so    thin    you    wouldn't    be    able    to    hang    yourself    with    it)    

maybe    that's    why    dad    left    :    𝚃𝙾𝙾    𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙼𝙴    &    𝚃𝙾𝙾    𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷    𝚃𝙾    𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙷,    and    still    nothing    in    this    house    to    end    the    suffering    ___    just    ghosts    haunting    the    farm,    haunting    the    fields.    /    maybe    he    ran    away    from    home    the    way    sinners    run    away    from    church,    convinced    god's    not    watching    if    you    turn    your    back    on    him.    maybe    he    thought    he    wouldn't    leave    with    his    past,    or    with    his    hands.    maybe    he    thought    he'd    just    leave    ___    and    that    is    ishtar's    inheritance,    legs    that    do    not    know    when    to    quit,    the    profound    certitude    that    the    house    you    left    will    not    follow    you    forever.

anyway,    the    point    is    :    simon    didn't    talk    a    lot    and    when    he    did,    ishtar    thought    it'd    mean    something,    thought    it'd    be    like    gemstones    found    on    exile    (something    worth    holding    on    to    for    later.    for    when    you'll    need    them.    for    when    you'll    have    to    see    the    world    again,    tired    feet    &    crazed    eyes)    but    it    didn't,    not    really    /    even    his    gestures    are    empty,    the    way    he    pressed    a    palm    on    the    center    of    her    back    like    he    did    when    they    were    kids,    asking    her    :    where    have    you    been    ?,    like    the    touch    would    soothe    the    ache    of    the    question    /    he    hurts    her    in    innocent    ways.    he    hurts    her    with    quiet    questions,    with    long    looks,    with    a    hug    and    a    forehead    kiss    and    a,    are    you    hungry    ?    do    you    want    to    see    mama    ?    /    she    comes    home    and    it    isn't    home,    has    never    been,    but    the    notebook    gets    filled    with    moments    she    clings    to,    moments    she    had    longed    for.    she    is    seven    again,    shoved    underwater,    divinity    washing    over    her,    breathless    &    aching    &    desperate    for    the    safety    of    home.

ishtar    wants    to    leave    and    she    tells    them    that    /    tells    them    she    had    wanted    to    make    sure    the    river    was    real,    said    she    had    wanted    to    see    the    church    and    the    field,    said    she    had    wanted    to    see    the    farm    and    the    house    /    she    doesn't    say    she    had    wanted    to    see    them,    but    the    way    she    takes    the    time    to    announce    her    departure    feels    heavier    than    any    confession    /    on    her    way    out,    esther    throws    a    look    at    simon    and    simon    shrugs    and    somehow    that    hurts    ishtar    even    more    ___    the    way    they've    created    language    out    of    habit.    the    first    sign    of    a    community    working    as    one    :    symbols    being    given    meaning    that    only    you,    part    of    a    whole,    can    understand.    ishtar    stands    outside    of    the    home    they    made,    looking    through    the    window.    /    esther    says,    you    know,    and    simon    continues    without    missing    a    beat,    we    were    thinking    about    going    away    for    a    while.    wanna    take    us    with    you    ?    it'll    be    fun,    and    that's    esther's    voice,    and    maybe    it's    a    lie,    maybe    it's    a    warning,    maybe    ishtar    should've    known    better.    but    she's    tired    of    being    alone    and    so    alone    she's    always    tired,    so    she    says    yeah    sure    get    yer    stuff    /    and    they    leave,    and    leave,    and    leave.

it    lasts    almost    five    months    of    traveling    around.    ishtar's    exile,    a    religious    experience.    when    the    youngest    has    an    idea,    simon    smiles    &    esther    tells    her    she'll    never    be    able    to    pull    through.    you've    always    been    too    scared    ___    and    that    too    is    another    lie,    ishtar    knows    it's    a    lie,    but    she    hates    being    denied    autonomy    or    control,    so    she    has    to    prove    her    sister's    wrong    /    she    does.    she    does    every    time.    it's    a    bottle    in    her    hand,    too    many    shots,    a    weird    looking    pill,    a    piercing    and    a    tattoo,    a    boy's    hand,    another    boy's    hand,    a    girl's    mouth,    a    long    list    of    victims    and    no    crime    scenes    apart    from    her    body    &    her    mind    /    she    used    to    like    it.    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙾𝚂.    the    unpredictable    violence.    even    bloody    teeth    felt    good    when    you    were    the    one    asking    for    a    punch.    /    but    it    doesn't    feel    like    a    choice    when    someone    else    is    whispering    the    idea    in    your    ear    /    and    simon    looks    and    simon    smiles    and    simon    only    asks    if    she's    okay    and    if    she's    having    fun    and    ishtar    says    yes    because    she    is    because    she    wants    to    be    because    admitting    defeat    would    mean    having    to    go    and    she    has    nowehere    else.

but    if    esther    is    the    demon    on    her    shoulder,    ishtar's    doing    her    part    too    :    each    challenge    is    extended    to    her    sister,    a    tandem    of    violence,    the    childish    rampage    of    kids    who    don't    know    the    difference    between    actual    torture    &    play-pretend.    they    wreak    havoc    around    them,    and    the    more    esther    asks    of    her,    the    more    ishtar    puts    her    through    as    sweet    revenge.    baby    grew    teeth    while    she    was    away    from    the    horror    house    &    it    shows    ;    bite    marks    all    over    her    sister's    hands    as    a    parting    gift.    /    and    if    simon    keeps    watching    it's    because    ishtar    makes    him,    because    ishtar    wants    him    to    see    the    worst.    when    she    dares    esther    into    another    terrible    decision    he    has    no    choice    but    to    witness,    and    if    he    grew    a    spine    in    ishtar's    absence    it    doesn't    even    matter,    because    the    game    has    only    one    rule    and    it's    the    rule    of    ones    :    one    dare,    one    day    &    only    you,    nobody    can    help    you.    /    so    he    watches,    is    forced    to    watch.    he    asks    them    to    stop    but    each    warning    falls    into    deaf    ears    :    esther    wants    to    win    and    ishtar    doesn't    care    enough    to    let    her.    /    and    sometimes    he    plays    too,    sometimes    she    forces    him    into    acting    fast,    life    or    death    situations,    and    he's    there    with    his    two    good    hands,    trying    to    figure    out    where    she    wants    from    him    /    he    thought    he    could    avoid    it,    of    course    he    did,    𝙱𝚄𝚃    𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽    𝙸𝚂𝙷𝚃𝙰𝚁    𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝚂    𝙰    𝙼𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙳𝚈    :    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴.    /    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴    𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙻    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙵𝙴𝙴𝚃    𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳.

it's    a    game    and    ishtar    learned    it    years    ago    :    you    can't    win    if    you    think    you    have    a    chance.    (simon    wants    a    life    where    watching    doesn't    mean    violence    /    esther    wants    a    life    where    she    isn't    a    synonym    for    their    mother)    /    ishtar    gave    up,    is    giving    up    on    this    past,    the    pages    are    burning    and    illuminated    by    the    soft    glow    of    the    bonfire,    she    smiles.    /    they    were    no    circle    of    love.    they    were    the    triangle    of    it,    a    pyramid    of    abuse    with    someone    on    top,    always    someone    on    top,    and    the    cutting    edges    have    left    marks    so    deep    in    ishtar's    skin    she    knows    her    way    to    the    top,    she'd    climb    it    with    her    eyes    closed,    she    has    played    this    game    a    thousand    times    before    meeting    them    ___    they    stood    no    chance.

[    and    maybe    family    is    just    that.    the    worst    in    you.    violence    inflicted    upon    strangers,    linked    back    to    the    home    of    your    childhood.    something    to    burn    to    the    ground.    a    haunted    house    you    have    to    abandon    in    order    to    be    part    of    the    living    again.    ]    don't    look    in    the    notebook,    don't    read    the    words,    they're    lying    to    you.    they're    another    prophecy    you'll    feel    forced    to    fulfill    :    no    one    in    that    place    wants    you    back.    it's    the    house    who    wrote    the    words,    the    house    with    the    memories    of    you    asking    for    more.    the    greedy    house.    the    haunted    house.    it    needs    its    ghost,    its    sweet    sacrifice.    

(she    leaves    again) (leaves    the    notebook    with    esther    &    simon) (on    the    last    page,    a    response    to    his    request    to    come    home    :     -turns    out    you    can't    go    back    to    a    place    that    never    existed but    i'm    ready    to    build    one    now)     no    address    to    guide    them    there    ;    if    it    is    where    they    are    headed,    they    will    find    a    way.

[havokangel]

dopamine

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

a/n; this is inspired by this lovely poem (?) and i just? love eggsy unwin w all my heart!! enjoy guys!

tags; @alexsunmners @mvximoff @umpeters @paperclipmac @sopwut @fantasticallycaitlin

One.

You see her for the first time and she’ll walk right past you like you are a crack in the wall and she is a skyscraper with her head so high in the air and when you can’t sleep you’ll think about the way her eyes strayed into yours for a moment too long before breaking away and disappearing into the crowd of people.

Eggy is pretty sure the moment he first saw you, he knew you were simply the most graceful thing he’d ever lay eyes on. He remembers blatantly losing his track of mind whilst he was talking to Ryan, just utterly mesmerized by the way you carried yourself. It was as if you paid no mind to the sea of teenagers around you; just humming silently along to whatever music was flowing through your headphones, smiling ever so softly to yourself -- like you had a secret that only you knew.

He remembers how he felt so small compared to you, and he remembers thinking that right as you briefly turned your face to him; catching him in the act of staring for a moment too long. He so desperately wanted to look away, but something just wouldn’t let him.

“She could never like you, mate,” Ryan laughed. “She’s got a world of her own.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy answered, still staring at you as you walked away. “She could never.”

Two.

She’ll look both ways before telling you she loves you under her breath and when she hugs you her eyes scan the empty room as if the walls had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away.

You stood in front of Eggsy’s door at three a.m., and you weren’t sure what you were even doing anymore because you’re an absolute wreck and he was looking at you like he just wanted to fix you and love you and-

It’s terrifying.

You’re in love with Eggsy and it feels like you’re falling into the depths of the ocean and you want to stop but you just can’t. You’ve fallen in love with the curves of his jaw and the way he lights up a room when he laughs; you’re just so far gone for everything that he does.

He asked you what was wrong when he opened the door, but that felt like it was hours ago even though a mere minute has passed. He clearly knew something was wrong but of course, he didn’t push it because he’s Eggsy and he’s soft and cautious and-

“I’ve- I’m- I’m in love with you Eggsy.”

You could barely stop the words coming out of your lips, but yet they escaped and even though they were barely above a whisper, he knew what you had said. He hates the way you’re ducking your head, looking at the ground as if it was going to swallow you up for even muttering something as vulnerable as you did.

But it doesn’t. He doesn’t let it happen. Because instead of running away, he barely thought before scooping you up in his arms, crushing you in a hug and saying over and over again like a mantra those three words back.

And for the first time, you consider the possibility that you’re capable of loving and being loved. And you never want to let go of that feeling.

Three.

When she’s curled up on your lap shaking with mismatched breaths you’ll wonder how someone who looked like she carried mountains on her shoulders could crumble so easily in your arms like the tornado in her mind finally hit her and knocked her off her feet.

Eggsy had never seen you cry before. To him, you were made of iron and mischief and always had a backup plan for anything that would go awry. But this- you never planned for this.

You and Eggsy were on a date when you got the call from your Mother that your grandmother had passed away. You always had talked so highly of her; she was the matriarch of your family. The bond that you had formed with her was strong enough that not even an army could break.

You had collapsed in on yourself, and it took Eggsy all of his strength to scoop you into his arms and get you into the car, where he sat in the backseat with you and let you cry into his lap; not caring that your makeup will be bound to stain.

He had let you cry for what felt like hours, the makeup streaming down your cheeks as you felt like the world was punishing you for every horrible deed you did. He draped his jacket over your bare shoulders and stroked your hair, even shedding a few tears himself.

Your breaths felt like windstorms and your cries out for your grandmother nearly tore his heart in half. He stayed with you for that weekend, being your shoulder to lean on. Without him, you were sure you wouldn’t have made it through the funeral.

Four.

In half-light she’ll run her fingers over your arms like she is reading words carved into your skin, binding them together into the perfect metaphor and you’ll hear it playback in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of her.

As the light from the sunrise leaked through your blinds, you couldn’t help but to be absolutely infatuated by how beautiful it made Eggsy look. The orange and yellow light that shone on his face made you realize that he has freckles and it was just another factor that made you love him even more.

You didn’t really mean to wake him as you started to trace the myriad of freckles along the skin of his shoulder, but your guilt quickly turned into fondness as he chuckled sleepily and murmured something along the lines of too early. You had just giggled quietly, and cupped his cheek softly and said barely as a whisper,

“You’re beautiful, Eggsy.”

Five.

You’ll find a safe haven on rooftops and abandoned rooms where she’ll set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with wild flames while your body is made of paper.

You make him do irrational things, he supposed. But you are a beacon of light in his life and he’d do anything to get you to laugh until you can’t breathe, so that’s why he planned a date on top of his building's roof; much to his landlord's objections.

As you lie on the blanket with him, it started out as innocent enough. He really did have every intention of stargazing with you, but he can’t help it that you have other plans for where you want the night to go.

You had swung your legs over his hips and just kissed him and he swears that when you kiss him, nothing else in the world matters. Your hands had found their home on the sides of his neck and when you pull away to catch your breath, he swears you’ve never looked so beautiful. As you smiled softly, he chuckled as he leaned up to peck you again, and your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned down once more to press kisses against his neck and jaw, whispering things to make his body feel like it’s being set afire; a feeling all too familiar to him, being around you.

Six.

You’ll stare God right in the eye and tell him that if loving her was a sin then you want no place in heaven with him because the way her lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you’ll never forget.

Despite the copious amounts he had kissed you, he never expected that one night when the kisses were getting heavier and clothes were being discarded, that you’ve never gone this far with someone. He felt bad for assuming and was going to ask if you wanted to stop; but you just shook your head and kissed him hard, assuring him that you wanted him.

And he’ll never forget how good you felt, how good he felt, and the way that your lips seemingly never left his neck.

He was yours, and you were his; and that’s something that’s never going to change.

[firekissedpiper]

— ✗ ℙ 𝔸 ℝ 𝔸 ℕ 𝕆 𝕀 𝔸 : Part 2. — ✗ Time Period: Mid-April, 2019. — ✗ TW: Stalking, abuse, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault. Every minute she didn’t know where Ella was drove her mad. Considering it’d been hours now, she was completely on the brink of insanity. She had ended up searching through the mall parking lot for any sign of where Tomas might have been, and barely restrained herself from physically hitting those who seemed to be sitting on any sort of information. The police station had been by far the worse. She had gotten to the station only to find out that Tomas owned station captain there. It’d been easy enough to tell. Tomas must have carefully calculated it, because some of the phrases that had been parroted off by the man had been exact ones Tomas had used in the past. He called her dramatic, accused of her being crazy. Exactly what Tomas said people would do if she ever decided to speak up of his abuse. That time, she’d gotten physical, pinning the man to the wall. She was certain the only reason she wasn’t in cuffs was because Tomas wanted her, and the man was probably under strict orders to ensure such a thing. She wanted to know how Tomas had managed to buy off someone, especially here. He must have been planning it. A part of her was panicked and wondering how the hell he’d managed to know where she was. She had been trying to be careful, for Ella’s sake especially. Piper had managed to get a call out, checking in with Ms. Saxton to see if Kaia was alright. The woman assured her she was. Piper cut off the call before she got a chance to ask any more questions. Piper drove in both directions of the main drag in town. She stopped in a convenience store on one way, checking to see if Tomas had stopped there. The man confirmed that he had. She asked if he had made any suggestions of where he was going. He said he was taking his little girl home, mentioned what a cute kid he had. It made Piper’s teeth grit. She was going to kill Tomas when she got her hands on him. Another step had her heading in the general direction. She found the nearest housing settlement not too far outside town. A section for the bigger houses. This was where Tomas would be. He had never been able to resist flaunting his wealth. The bigger the better. She knew him all too well. When she got into the neighborhood she knocked on a few doors here and there. She asked everyone if they’d seen Tomas, showing a picture of him. One of the women finally spoke up, pointing her to a house that he would have lived in. Piper followed the lead, making her way down the off road to the house he had supposedly lived in. She didn’t waste any time. Scared or not, Piper was going in there whether it was all some trap, which she didn’t doubt it was. She knew he was luring her for a reason, that he’d set everything up with a purpose in mind. He wanted her there. He wanted to hurt her. Piper got out of the car, closing the door behind her and making her way up the steps to the house. It wasn’t nearly as fancy and elaborate as the palace had been, but it would do in a pinch for someone who wanted to show off their wealth if they were believed to be a commoner. She didn’t bother knocking. She walked right in, slowly looking around. The place was fairly empty. She sat it as she walked around, deciding to take on the main level first. No furniture, no signs of life. It was empty. It only made it all the more haunting to her. She didn’t like the feeling one bit. The brunette headed in, slowly shifting her gaze around. She didn’t let her gaze linger for too long, constantly checking behind her. Even though it’d been hours ago her head still hurt. And she wasn’t going to get blindsided again. She didn’t drop her senses, keeping them tuned and expanded. The brunette caught the very subtle sound of her daughter starting to whine. She was well and tuned to that sound, knowing exactly when to swoop in before the full on tears began. Piper didn’t waste time, she followed the sound, making her way down one of the hallways. She checked each room. One was a bathroom. Another was a bedroom. There was three bedrooms before she found herself venturing into the one at the end of the hall. It was the only room set up. It was designed as a nursery. Such a thing was so brazen and obviously designed to disturb her that it only served her anger. But that was ignorable. She couldn’t even be bothered to be furious to focus on the riling anger when she saw Tomas in the corner, and Rhaella thankfully safe and well in a bassinet. The anger was there, ready to leap and snap out at Tomas. But she quickly calmed it, knowing it was no way to get the better of him, no way to get her and her daughter out of there safely. “You know, our daughter is quite the looker,” Tomas said from the seat he had beside the bassinet, amusement in his voice, reaching in and brushing two fingers over the side of Ella’s face. The action made Piper want to rip his hand off. She hated every moment that he laid a hand on the small child. She knew what those hands were capable of. Knew what he could do. She mentally vowed to make him pay for what he’d done. “She has my nose I think. And my eyebrows. Your lips though I believe,” he mentioned. Piper stayed deathly still, slowly feeling part of her mind unravel at his words. She’d spent the first hours after Ella’s birth convincing herself that Ella looked nothing like her father. “She seems thin though, do you feed her enough?” A little jab of course. He couldn’t resist trying to flare her temper. Of course, she knew that he was trying to tempt her, to get her to make a quick and uncalculated attack. She knew Tomas, and she knew him well enough to know that while a lot of his actions were out of his own amusement and temper, that he planned exactly what would hurt the most. Part of his sadistic amusement was plotting the whole thing out. “I feed her just fine,” Piper said, mentally going through scenarios to get them out of there. She took a look around the room, searching for something she could use as a weapon. The best idea was to try and get him unconscious and then get Ella out of there as fast as possible. She’d drive as long as she’d have to if it meant finding some non-corrupt law officer to handle Tomas. “Well, I suppose if you didn’t it would make sense. After all, she is a piece of me. And after our little fight punishing me would be a natural thought, I know I’ve thought about punishing you for running out on me, for getting those lawyers involved. It’s funny how you didn’t mention the night we created this little girl though, I guess a part of you is still owned by me, scared of me,” he said the words with amusement. Admittedly, he was right. A part of him did still have a hold a part of her. The fear he inflicted still owned her in a lot of ways. But she certainly wasn’t taking it out on her daughter. “The only person who deserves to pay for your sins is you,” Piper said tensely, clenching her fist and digging her nails in. The nerve pain kicked up and kept her grounded. Tomas stood up. She hated that she stepped back. It was too easy for her body to fall into the pattern of being scared of him, to bowing to his. Every minute she was around her had her adrenaline pumping, the fear running through her veins and coating them with ice. She was terrified of what he could do to her, to her daughter. She knew she couldn’t let him hurt Ella, she wouldn’t. The idea was unfathomable. “But, she is the problem isn’t she, for you. A constant reminder of what I did, of the way I touched you. She’s a walking piece of evidence of what you did. Of the day you cried in front of me, when I got inside you and ensured I would never leave. A constant reminder of the day I took the piece of you that you will never get back. It’s in her. She took months from you, and every day you have her, that you live with her it’s just one more day of your life I own,” he said. His voice was low, lacking in amusement. He never quite said what he did, never quite admitted that what he’d done was wrong. To him, she was sure painting it as a love affair was all part of the fun, like she’d wanted him. He was either delusional or just did it to upset her. “She’s not,” Piper said firmly. Though his words, in a way made sense to her. Appealing to that deeper darker sense of fear she’d had when she first went to the abortion clinic, when she’d discovered she’d been pregnant with his child. “But she is. I put her in you, we made this baby,” with each word he stepped closer. Piper refused to let herself step back even if every part of her wanted to. He reached out and touched her stomach. She wanted to flinch away, instead she just pushed his hand off of her body. “I am the reason she exists. She’s my blood, my daughter,” she dug her nails into her hand harder, rejecting every word he spoke. “She’s my daughter, my blood, and you know it deep in your soul. You know every time you look at her you see me. That every time you see her, you see the pieces of me. In her jawline…her nose. You look at her face and you think of me on top of you. I know you do Piper,” he taunted, stepping to her side and shifting behind her. “She’s not you, she’s my daughter,” she said, teeth clenched tightly together. “But she isn’t. To you, she’s a constant reminder of what happened, of what I did to you. She’s a living, breathing rewind tape to that night. You’ll never forget it, never move on as long as she’s around. Come on Piper, you know it’s true. You know you’ll never be free from me. Isn’t that what you wanted? Freedom?” The words had the slightest hint of amusement in them. She was certain her hand was bleeding at this point she was clenching her fist so hard. “And hey, what do you know in a few years she’ll likely be just like her daddy.” He whispered the words in her ear. The threat of them had her flinching. “But it’s alright, because I know how to fix it, to make all those problems of yours go away,” he said the words rather softly, brushing back a strand of her hair. “I know how to help you.” She hated his touch. It reminded her of the many times he laid his hands on her. Rounding so he was next to her as opposed to behind her, she was thankful for the shift of position. He reached back into his waistband and pulled out a gun. Much to her shock, he handed it to her, placing it in her hand after cocking the thing. “See, I told you I would help, provide you a solution out of this. You get rid of her and well, you get rid of the real problem.” He was confident, he had to be because he stood right next to the bassinet. Her hands shook as she held the gun. She couldn’t believe his words. It didn’t take long for them to register. She'd made up her mind. Slowly, she raised the gun, at first pointing it at the bassinet. She changed her aim just enough so even if the gun did go off, it would hit the spot correctly. “There’s always been only one problem,” she said through her teeth. Then she flipped the weapon rather quickly on Tomas, pulling the trigger. There was a bang. She saw the flash. But Tomas stayed standing. “You really think I’d give you a gun filled with anything but blanks?” He asked, there was a dark look in his eyes. Shock took place on her features. She couldn’t believe that she’d thought he would do such a thing. Tomas was cocky, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. She had underestimated him. “You know what Piper, I think it’s time for a punishment,” there was a thinly restrained tone in his voice. He was on her in seconds, knocking the gun out of her hand so it couldn’t be used as any sort of weapon. He knocked her to the ground and she quickly tried to remind herself of some of the self-defense lessons Mateo had been teaching her, shifting her footing. Tomas’ brute strength one over her attempt at maneuvering the fall. She still ended up trapped underneath his body. Didn’t stop her from struggling though. She wasn’t fully injured or underfed this time. She wasn’t weak. She fought for her life, panic and remembrance of what had happened before sparking her movement. Once more, she was reminded of how helpless she was when he kept her down. A firm punch in the face stunned her. And then he started working on her pants. She kicked her legs fiercely, trying to jerk her knees up to hit him in the groin like she had before. He had learned and better protected himself for it this time. She bucked like a horse trying to get him off of her. She took advantage of his weak grip of his hand holding her two wrists together to try and escape his grasp. It worked, only for a moment though. He quickly repined her and pushed down her pants over her thighs. His movements were rough as usual. She could tell he was rushing, spurned off of anger from her attempting to shoot him no doubt. Mentally, she tried to keep calm enough, reminding herself that he was angry, that he would mess up, only if she stayed calm. She could barely hold onto her frail sense of calm. She could barely fight the fear and panic that ran through her as he tore open his own pants. She couldn’t let this happen again. “And after this, maybe we’ll get rid of your problem for you,” he said firmly. She realized he wouldn’t stop, he’d do anything to terrorize her. Finally, her fear ignited her. New energy and adrenaline flooded her. And more than that, her absolute and undeniable urge to protect her daughter gave her strength. She escaped his grasp once again, this time going for another punch in the appendage he’d revealed. Using his distraction she grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and hit him with as much force as she could throw behind it. It knocked him to the ground. When she saw he was still conscious, she climbed on top of him, hitting him again, and again. “She is my daughter!” She shouted between one of the hits. “You will never worm your way inside of me again,” she hit him again, blind with her instinct to protect, by her own rage. “You will never hit me or any other woman,” she hit him again. “You will never own any part of me,” another hit. “Stop, Piper, please,” she heard his words. And she was reminded of her own begging. When she’d begged him to stop raping her, to stop thrusting into her body with the desire to cause the utmost pain. But she couldn’t stop. It only ignited her anger. “You will never hurt me or any other woman again.” A remnant of what he’d done to her, she shouted the words. She hit him each time with the lamp, not even quite realizing what she’d done. Not realizing that he’d stopped breathing, or that she’d gone too far. She kept hitting as she felt blood spatter on her face, kept hitting through his cries and pleas that he’d do anything to stay alive. She kept hitting and didn’t stop. When she finally stopped, it was when she realized he was completely still, that his face was practically bashed in. Slowly, she stood up, in complete shock of what she had done. He was there, dead on the ground, and it’d been by her hand. Ella’s crying became apparent, likely because of Piper’s shouting. Slowly, Piper walked over to the bassinet and picked the girl up, cradling her to her chest. “It’s alright, it’s okay, we’re safe now,” she whispered.

[sportafreddie]

Gratitude

A little something I felt like writing. Sam is the name of my Dadsona, but he is kept pretty vague, so feel to replace him with your own!

Joseph and Mary deserved better 2k17.

Joseph’s footsteps echoed in the empty church. At this time of the day, most of the people of Maple Bay were still asleep, the only ones awake being early risers like Craig Cahn, night owls like Robert or people on their way home from night shift.

And Joseph, for once.

Service would be in a few hours, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, and the need to get things off his chest was overwhelming. He knelt down next to the booth for a moment, crossed himself, then sat down.

Though he had been alone in the church countless times before, this time felt different. Maybe it was the empty space where the weight he had carried for so many years had been before; maybe it was the feeling of pure, untainted happiness that made him feel light and carefree, like he was flying.

Joseph smiled and got on his knees, folding his hands in front of his chest.

“Lord.” His voice created an echo that made it sound louder than it really was. “I came here to thank you. The things I could thank you for are endless, but don’t worry, I won’t list them all.” Joseph chuckled. “No, I came here to thank you for one thing in particular. For bringing Sam in my life.”

He shifted on his knees. It wasn’t getting any easier the older he became. “I still can’t quite understand what happened. My life has changed for the better and all of that in just a year. Sam… he opened my eyes. You know I loved Mary. I still do and always will – she is the mother of my children, after all. But I stopped loving her like a husband ought to love his wife a long while ago. Years. Yet I tried to hold our marriage together, because I believed that to be my duty, as a person and as the spiritual anchor for many people here. I wasn’t happy, Lord, you know I wasn’t, but I tried to be. I believed that in time, I would be and even if I’d never be happy again, my responsibilities weighed heavier than my personal contentment. I was willing to stay in an unhappy marriage, with a wife that… I don’t think she ever truly hated me, if I’m being honest with myself, but I think she hated what I represented, the anchor that kept her docked to a harbour where there was nothing but misery. She could have filed for a divorce throughout all those years, but she never did. She stayed with me out of the same sense of duty that made me stay with her. I believed I had to be strong for my community, Lord, that we had to be the good, perfect and happy Christian family everyone could look up to.”

Joseph looked down at his hands. It had been weeks, but thinking about it still hurt. He wiped his eyes.

“That was the situation I had accepted as my life. But then came Sam.” Joseph smiled and shook his head fondly. “Sam, who, somehow, managed to turn the whole neighbourhood upside down. I knew the moment we redid our first meeting the night he arrived that I would fall for this man. And Lord, did I fall. I fell in love with his silly jokes, his awkwardness and his wacky ideas. I fell in love with his smile, with the way his eyes would light up when he was happy, with his love for his daughter and his laughter. Lord, his laughter was as beautiful as I imagine Heaven’s choirs to be and just as sweet. I fell so hard, it scared me. It was the kind of love I felt when Mary and I came together, the love that had been missing from our relationship in the last few years. At that time, Mary and I considered breaking up, for the umpteenth time. And as always, I believed this was it. So I felt little guilt when we started to become closer. Adultery is a sin, Lord, I know that, but I sincerely believed Mary and I were finally getting a divorce, I didn’t think you’d mind. That night on the yacht… I was so happy. When I woke up and Sam was lying next to me, still asleep, I thought you had given me a glimpse of Heaven.”

Joseph closed his eyes for a moment and gathered his inner strength. He had no qualms talking about what happened, but voicing it out loud, confessing to his mistakes, took considerable strength. He absently wet his lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what made me break things up with Sam. I’ve spent many a night trying to understand, but have come up empty handed every time. I think there is no good explanation for what I did. I was scared. Scared of what my children would think. Scared that my community would reject me, that they would blame me for not trying hard enough. And, to be honest, I was scared of them being right, scared that I hadn’t tried enough and that you were testing me, Lord. So I chose returning to my safe life of unhappiness over love. Breaking up with Sam, at his daughter’s graduation party no less…”

He shook his head. “There is nothing I can do to right that wrong. Weeks, I avoided Sam and Sam tried his best to do the same. I only saw flashes of him when he went jogging with Craig, when Robert and him returned from a night drinking and I saw them arm-in-arm from my window. And I felt… jealous. But also sad.” He ran a hand through his hair, not caring about the fact that he was messing it up in the process. “Seeing Robert and Sam together, it made me wonder whether they were bonding over shared experiences now. I still blame myself for what became of Robert… He used to be much happier.” Joseph sighed. “I was so scared… scared of having ruined Sam the way I ruined Robert. I know that it wasn’t my fault, at least not completely, but…”

Joseph trailed off when his voice started to tremble. After a few moments of silence, he continued. “Here is the second thing I have to thank you for, Lord. For all our arguments, for all the animosity that built between us, Mary and I still care about each other. That night when she approached me and lay down the divorce papers, all filled out, just missing my signature, the life I had carefully constructed came crashing down. She wanted a divorce, shared custody. She planned on moving back to her parents until she would find a new place to settle down, not too far away from here for the kids’ sake. She sounded so confident, there was a light in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in such a long time, it almost was like I was looking at the Mary I once fell in love with. I tried to convince her to stay with me—“ Joseph laughed. “I was begging her to think of the children, our reputation, the community, but she was having none of it…”

“Screw the community. I’ve thought about this for a very long time, Joseph, and this time, I’m going to put my own needs in front of everyone else’s. The children are getting older. Soon they’ll start to notice that their parents are unhappy and I’m not going to put them through that. How much longer are you going to pretend you love me, how much longer do you expect me to be an actress, when everyone can see right through us? The whole fucking neighbourhood knows our marriage lies in shatters. The only thing we’re doing right now is clinging to a sinking boat and we’re dragging our children with us. You are dragging Samuel down, too.”

“Hearing her say all of that hurt, because it was the truth, I knew it, I’d just been too scared to admit it to myself. I don’t know when I started to cry. I just know that I must have, at some point, because soon I lay in Mary’s arms and was sobbing my eyes out. She held me, she cried, too, and she told me I deserved to be happy, even if I didn’t believe it myself. She said she could see how much I longed to be with Sam, how much I wanted to hold him close and never let go.” Joseph wiped away his tears and took a few minutes to calm down again. He folded his hands again, staring up at the ceiling. 

“That night, I signed the papers. Mary and I, we hugged for what felt like hours. Mourned for our relationship, wondered how it got so bad. When I carried her suitcase to her car a few days later and watched her drive away with the kids, I cried again. I felt like such a failure, still searched for something that would help me pinpoint where I had gone wrong, what I had done. I do not claim to understand your ways, Lord, for they are incomprehensible, but still I hid in the empty house and asked myself if you were testing me or if you were punishing me for the wrongs I’ve done in my youth. I do not know how long I refused to go outside. But after a few days, someone knocked on my door. They wouldn’t stop. I went to open the door so I could tell them to please leave again, but the words died in my throat when I saw Sam standing there. It was getting dark outside and the setting sun bathed Sam in its light. He looked absolutely breath-taking. Mary called him, he told me, and she’d ordered him to check on me. And even though I broke his heart, he still came. It was the sign I needed, Lord. I asked him to come inside, and I told him everything – told him about my father and the beliefs I was raised with, that some of them still poisoned my thoughts, about my marriage to Mary and Robert and how I’d fallen in love with him but was so, so scared, I ran away like a coward. I told him about our divorce and what Mary had said to me that night.” 

Joseph took a deep breath. “I told him that I had tried to deny my feelings for him out of shame and fear, but that I couldn’t do that any longer. I asked him for a second chance, but also said I’d understand if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, after what I had done to him. Sam didn’t say anything. Minutes went by. I grew more and more nervous. It felt like my chest was bursting apart to make way for my heart. But then, Sam—“

Joseph broke himself off because he started laughing. It took him several moments to stop again. “Forgive me, Lord, but you’ll understand once I continue. Sam, he fisted my shirt and pulled me close. I was worried he was going to punch me. I would have deserved it. But instead, he cupped the back of my head with his hand and guided it down, until my chin rested on his shoulder. And he said, I’m proud. Thank you for telling me. I’m still angry at you, you hurt me, but I understand why you did it. I tried to get over you, took lessons in drinking away my sorrows from Robert, but nothing worked. I couldn’t leave you behind. My heart refused to forget. I asked him if he would give me a second chance and he laughed. The sound… it elevated me. I vowed to fight anything that would take Sam’s happiness away, including my own insecurities. He let go of me and I looked up. He was smiling and though he looked tired, his eyes were sparkling. Had I not been in love already, I would have fallen for this man right there. I cannot forgive you just yet, he said, but I still want you. I cannot remember which of us leant forward first. Our lips met halfway.”

The sound of the church bells ringing, announcing the time of day, pulled Joseph from his thoughts. He turned around when he heard footsteps and smiled at an old lady who sat down a few rows further in the back. He looked back up at the ceiling and folded his hands again. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your mercy, Lord, but I thank you. Thank you for bringing Sam into my life and for showing me that I deserve to be happy. I will forever be grateful.”

Joseph bowed his head and finished with a prayer, spoken in silence. After crossing himself, Joseph carefully stood up, knees protesting from kneeling for such a long time. Maybe Sam will give me a massage, he thought as he walked down the corridor, past the old lady holding her rosary beads in trembling, wrinkled hands. He pulled out his phone. No new messages, which meant Sam was still asleep.

Good. He wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed.

[dpeace85]

Job

Job was a very unfortunate fellow. Job was “blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil” (Job 1:1). He was also a man of great wealth. But, for seemingly no reason at all, God tested him. God allowed Satan to personally attack Job. Now one thing you should understand is, Satan is the father of all evil and sin. He was, and still is, the most powerful of all created beings. There are very few people who can say they’ve been attacked by Satan himself. Satan is not omnipresent like God. He can only be present in one place at a time. His demons are at work all throughout the universe, but on this day, Satan wanted to personally inflict physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual pain on Job. Satan just had to get permission from God. Job suffered… greatly. But in the end, Job was restored… or was he? I’m not so sure he was.

It all begins with Satan. Remember the part where Satan gets permission from God to attack Job? This idea that our loving God would allow such great suffering to someone “blameless and upright” seems cruel and unjust. I’m pretty sure I would not allow my children to be physically, mentally, and emotionally abused for any amount of time for being well-behaved and kind. It just doesn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense to Job either. In one day, Job lost everything. I’m not referring to the important things in his life. I mean, he literally lost everyone and everything he had. Yes, I know his wife and a few friends stuck around, but we’ll get back to them. Job not only lost people and possessions, he also lost his health, and most importantly, his hope. Job said, “My days are swift, and come to an end without hope.” (Job 7:6) The only thing that keeps someone going in hard times is hope. Without hope there is no reason to keep going. In the deepest, darkest times in our lives we still have some glimmer of hope that things will get better. If not, we have no reason left to live. There are many different reasons people commit suicide, but there is one emotion they all suicidal people share… hopelessness. Job was hopeless.

At least his wife was there, right? Well, she told him to curse God and die. My wife is my closest friend. We have no secrets. I love her more than any other person on this planet. If I had to choose between my children and my wife, I’d choose her. If that is not the relationship you have with your spouse, you’re wrong. There are so many things in life I do, and don’t do, because of my wife. I’m sure Job was no different. He and his wife where “one flesh.” In his darkest hour, she told him to turn his back on God. In fact, she said, “Curse God and die.” His own wife told him to blaspheme the name of Almighty God and then die. It appears she was annoyed or irritated by his troubles. I consider this a loss to Job. Although she was there in the flesh, Job lost his wife.

Then there were his friends. True friends are hard to come by; those you trust and can count on to be there when you are in need. Job had such friends. They heard about Job’s plight and immediately came to comfort him. Job 2:12 says, “When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads.” Their actions were part of a custom to show great remorse and heartache for someone; a sign of grieving like our modern custom of dressing in black clothing for a funeral. Job’s friends grieved for him. This reminds me of my grandfather’s funeral. My dad had a friend that lived far away and only saw him a few times each year. He called my dad often and when he heard about my grandfather’s death, there was no doubt he was going to make the long trip to be at the funeral. When he saw my dad, he sobbed. Not just cried; he sobbed. He grieved for my dad. Job’s friends were so grieved at the sight of him they didn’t speak a word to him for seven days. But eventually they had to throw in their two cents.

First up was Eliphaz. He uses two chapters of the book to ramble on about how Job’s past will determine his future. He reminds Job of all the good and righteous things he’s done and ensures him God will not give him more than he can handle. We’ve all heard that sermon. It’s a very self-righteous approach to life’s hardships. If I just remember how good I’ve been and all the good I’ve done, surely God will see me through this. The good always outweighs the bad, right? Isaiah 64:6 says, “all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.” That’s a strong statement. That money you gave to the homeless guy; filthy rag. That time you paid for the food for the guy behind you in the drive-thru; filthy rag. How about the all the time you spent at the hospital, sitting beside your loved one, prying for and comforting them? Filthy rag. There was a reason Job was being tested, but he knew his righteousness wouldn’t pull him through. He knew only God could intervene. But Job truly believed God would not intervene and this was, in fact, the end of his life. He even begged for death.

Next up, Bildad. He offers a message of perseverance. Keep fighting the good fight. “Your beginnings seem humble, so prosperous your future will be.” (Job 8:7) Bildad was the equivalent of a prosperity preacher. Trust in God, follow the rules, keep believing and soon enough, God will deliver you. This is dangerous thinking. This is the most common approach to hardships today. Everyone is waiting on their blessing. That brings to mind something my wife experienced at work. She worked at a bank and on one occasion a member told her she was “just waiting on [her] blessing.” The lady was referring to a settlement check from a lawsuit. I can assure you God will never bless you with money for a new car that was obtained through a frivolous lawsuit. Job saw right through Bildad’s self-centered advice. Job said, “(9:12) If [God] snatches away, who can stop him? Who can say to him, ‘What are you doing?’ (9:19-20) If it is a matter of strength, he is mighty! And if it is a matter of justice, who will summon him? Even if I were innocent, my mouth would condemn me; if I were blameless, it would pronounce me guilty.” Job knew his life may not get better. He knew that his death was still an option for God.

Then we have Zophar. Zophar was a worker bee. You earn your forgiveness. Zophar was certain there was an unrepented sin in Job’s past. If only Job would meditate and ask God to reveal the sin, maybe God would restore him. Job knew better. Job knew there was no unrepentance in his past. He was dedicated to his God and made sacrifices often, even on behalf of his children. This pushed Job to his breaking point. He then lashes out against his friends. (13:4-5) “You however smear me with lies; you are worthless physicians, all of you! If only you would be altogether silent! For you that would be wisdom. (13:9) Would it turn out well if he examined you? Could you deceive him as you might deceive men? (16:4) I also could speak like you, if you were in my place; I could make fine speeches against you and shake my head at you. (16:6) Yet if I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away.” Job was experiencing pain that could not be explained or relived with words.

Although Job had his wife and friends by his side, he was alone. Their good intentions were useless to his suffering. Job was a broken, sick, and lonely man. He had lived at the top but was now at the lowest of lows. Job had it all. Thousands of heads of livestock, thousands of acres of land, ten children, and many servants. In one day, his children were killed, his livestock was either stolen or killed, and most of his servants were killed. He received this news all at one time. Can you even begin to imagine the grief? He was then stricken with a terrible disease – boils from head to toe, fever, and weakness. It’s safe to say most of us would consider suicide at this point. Job had no reservations about voicing his grief. He cursed the day of his birth. He longed for death that would not come. He pleaded with God to let him die and erase all memories of him from the earth. There are few people who have ever lived that have experienced the great sorrow Job experienced. However, through it all, Job never cursed God. Job knew, no matter what, God had a reason for his pain. But Job was still angry with God. He questioned God over and over, pleading for an answer to why he was suffering.

During Job’s conversation with his friends, there was another ear listening. There was this kid in the back of the room patiently waiting to offer a few words. His name was Elihu. I like this kid. He waited to speak, out of respect for the elder men in the room. But he could no longer contain his emotions. (32:7-9) “I thought, ‘Age should speak; advanced years should teach wisdom.’ But it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives him understanding. It is not only the old who are wise, not only the aged who understand what is right.” I love this passage. This kid was uneducated, untrained, and seemingly unqualified to offer advice on spiritual matters, but he was the wisest man in the room. He reminds Job that we are all products of God. No matter how blameless and upright we are, we still deserve every punishment or test God decides to throw at us. Elihu goes on to say, (35:2-3) “Do you think this is just? You say, ‘I will be cleared by God.’ Yet you ask him, ‘What profit is it to me, and what do I gain by not sinning?’ (35:6-7) If you sin, how does that affect [God]? If you are righteous, what do you give to him, or what does he receive from your hand? (35:12-13) He does not answer when men cry out because of the arrogance of the wicked. Indeed, God does not listen to their empty plea; the Almighty pays no attention to it.”

Jobs eyes were opened. While the boy was speaking a great storm arose outside. God then began to speak to Job through the storm. He wanted Job to remember who the God of the universe really is. He asked Job, (38:31-33) “Can you build the beautiful Pleiades? Can you loose the cords of Orion? Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons or lead out the Bear with its cubs? Do you know the laws of the heavens? Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth? (40:2) Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct him? Let him who accuses God answer him!” Job was speechless. (40:4-5) “I am unworthy – how can I reply to you? I put my hand over my mouth. I spoke once, but I have no answer – twice, but I will say no more.” God goes on to say, (41:11) Who has claim against me that I must pay? Everything under heaven belongs to me.” There was no mistaking that God was in control of all of Job’s plight. Job was so agonized he nearly forgot his place with God. Job replies to God, (42:5-6) My ears had heard of you but now I have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes.”

The Bible I use titles Job 42, “Job is Restored.” Job 42:10 says God made him “prosperous again”. God gave him twice as much as he had before – livestock, servants, children, and wealth. But was he really restored? Job had suffered beyond any stretch of the imagination. He buried 10 children, all at the same time. The God of the universe turned his back on him. I can’t bring myself to believing Job became a happy, jovial, content man after all he had been through. There is no way he was “restored” to his former self. He had more, but I doubt he was a better man. I believe he was a better servant. He had been broken and humbled.

But how does Job’s life apply to us today? I’ve heard this story presented, numerous times, in the most superficial ways. This is the message – God tests us; we persevere; God blesses us. That is not the lesson Job took from his time of sorrow. Job truly believed God had turned his back and death was knocking at his door. It’s easy for us to read the story through and think, “Oh yeah, God had this the whole time. God’s going to see me through and bless me.” Well, what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t heal your sick child? What if he doesn’t send the money to keep a roof over your family’s head? What if he doesn’t stop the war? What if he doesn’t protect you? What if… I could go on for days. It really, really annoys me to sit in a room full of “Christians” and hear them complain about the “shape our county is in”, or how bad the next generation will be, or who we hope the next president will be. The fate of the world and all mankind were written down literally thousands of years ago. This isn’t news. But these things are real concerns for “Christians” today.

We feel let down or rejected by God when we lose our job, but as you read this, millions of children – not adults, children – around the world scavenge for food in piles of garbage. We worry about the corrupt leader we have, while thousands, upon thousands of Christ followers around the world are slaughtered by their government for their faith. We become angry with God when our loved one succumbs to cancer, while millions of people in third-world countries die yearly from diseases that, thanks to modern medicine, Americans haven’t seen since the ‘70’s.

So, what’s the takeaway here? What do we really need to learn from the book of Job? Here it is: If you are facing hard times, know this – it may not get better. In fact, it may get worse. But God always has a reason for our suffering. It may be to open our eyes; to humble us or redirect our attention. Or, maybe our pain is for another’s benefit. Maybe the trial you’re facing is an opportunity to let God use you to open someone else’s eyes to his grace and love. You may fight your way through the hard times, reach the other side, and never know why you suffered. But to be honest, it doesn’t matter. Philippians 1:21 says, “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” Just in case you forgot, Christ suffered… a lot.

The next time you face a trial in your life just remember, the worst it can do is kill you.

Dusty Peace

11/06/2018

[allineednow]

<p>Smothered by the Islamic State, an teen tells her story of survival - National</p>

The three girls tensed as their cab approached the checkpoint manned by Islamic State group fighters. Everybody in Mosul dreaded checkpoints; you could never predict what these gunmen might do in their enthusiast drive to crush the slightest sign of "sin." One of them peered in the back seat, Ferah.

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The 14-year-old wore the essential veil over her face, but she had forgotten to lower. A fighter barked to shut it. But Ferah not wore her gloves, which were required. They would see her hands, if she fixed her veil, and things would just get worse.

She shrank trying to disappear.

Ferah studies for an exam in Irbil, Iraq, in this picture taken Nov. 11, 2017.

AP Photo/Felipe Dana

The gunmen exploded, screaming that they would take her sister, her mother and Ferah the religious police who punished violators of the orders of IS, into the Hisba. They questioned him and pulled out the driver. How do you know these girls?

Ferah felt that the gunmen looming out her window -- frightening, huge and muscular. Her mother went pale. A drive to a friend's house was spiraling into disaster.

And just as suddenly, it was over. Somehow, the gunmen were talked by the driver down.

Once safe at their friend's house, Ferah broke down. She n't just trembled, her entire body spasmed.

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This was the nightmare world that the teen had to live in.

Prior to the militants took over, Ferah had never even heard of the Islamic State. Her world had seemed wide open, since the summer of 2014 began. She had finished her first year at a private school, the very best. She had made friends. Her classes were her favourite subject, in English. She dreamed of one day becoming an interior designer.

But in June, IS overran Mosul. The city fell in a night of chaos.

Around midnight, the streets across the home of Ferah lit up with headlights. Neighbors with suitcases piled into cars, bags threw into trucks, screeching off as gunfire and artillery echoed. Across town, there erupted a panicked exodus. The two eldest sisters, who lived and were married nearby of Ferah, called to say they were fleeing to the nearby Kurdish zone. Her best friend from school messaged that her family was leaving to Turkey.

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The family of Ferah remained.

The next morning, she awakened to a world dominated by the militants, sneeringly referred to Daesh, by their Arabic acronym.

Ferah more wanted to go outside, as days turned to weeks and weeks to months. It was too dangerous. She retreated from the stories of men being shot in public squares or women being stoned to death, away from the horrors.

Her refuge will be in words. She from its glow, took out her IPad, and put a candle into an crystal and wrote on her Facebook page. Only a few lines each day about a feeling or thought that had come to a fear, her or a hope.

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She had no idea she would need to live like this, or whether she and her family would survive.

"What is the problem?" She asked in one of her dialogues.

"The future is gone. It came crashing down."

"How do I understand your feelings?"

"Be among Daesh. ... Try being a dreamer while sitting among Daesh."

The plague

There were more of those madmen. They were their robes stopping over the ankle, with their long beards. They seemed angry all the time and never smiled.

It had been under control that is IS also, when school started. Ferah school remained shut, so she went into a public one. She was certain some girls in her class were Daesh. Their faces hidden under veils, they hardly talked to others and when they did it was to judge.

Ferah was afraid of them. She stopped going to school.

Ferah says writing helped her suffer within her home city of Mosul during the Islamic State group's rule, giving her an outlet to explore hopes and her fears.

AP Photo/Felipe Dana

Her family's next-door neighbor's son emerged as an member. "How do you let him join them?" The mother of Ferah asked. Soon the husband of the woman also wore the militants' clothes. The family was Daesh. These were they visited the houses of each other. Ferah's bedroom looked out on their dwelling.

It was changing and spreading people.

One by one, Ferah friends said goodbye, packing up for Turkey or the areas.

Dropped by her house regularly and talked about the news. Ferah heard about the legislation handed down. Daesh banned smoking. During Ramadan, they arrested people suspected of not fasting. Rule-breakers were flogged in public squares.

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The atrocities began. Hundreds of Shiite prisoners in Mosul prison were killed. Policemen and soldiers were shot to death in the streets for all to see.

Ferah's father, a college professor, used an Arabic expression to describe that Daesh was exploiting religion: "Speaking righteousness while committing evil," he said. His wife and he had raised their four daughters to value education and religion. They were prayed, and a Sunni Muslim family . Her sisters, Ferah and their mother wore headscarves.

This was nothing like the Islam they understood.

Patrols by the Hisba spiritual police officer, enforcing regulations. Women were ordered to wear the niqab: the black robes, gloves and veil which hide any hint of their contours and keep them sequestered from men's gaze even in public.Ferah hated wearing the niqab. She hated Daesh.

And she hated her life.

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On the morning of Oct. 16, 2014, she had breakfast as usual, helped her mother with housework, showered, did her noon prayers.

She locked the door, went into her room and cried.

Her friends were gone. Her two eldest sisters were gone. One was pregnant when she fled, and Ferah had. She was lonely and isolated, afraid of going outside.

Dinnertime came and she did not emerge. Her parents became worried.

"You can get through this, Ferah," they told her through the door.

"I need to be alone," she sobbed back.

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Her ideas were written by her in English. Why is nothing going how I hoped? Why is this happening? She liked to write her deepest thoughts, ones she did not want everyone to know, in English, not Arabic. The newspapers would be then cut up by her, just like she wished she could cut her reality up, and store the pieces in a box in her wardrobe.

But late in the night after hours sitting on her bed, she tried something different. She wrote in Arabic.

"Suddenly life robs you of what you love, as though it's punishing you for a crime which has not been committed yet," she wrote. "I'm afraid to care about the scattered remains of my soul, only to then lose it. Sometimes I'm afraid of happiness!"

She posted it on her Facebook page and felt, curiously, better--"just like a light at the end of a mysterious path."

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Ferah had never thought of herself as a writer. But every few days, she started a Facebook page and posted. She had hundreds of followers, then several thousand.

She created a world that was new . Butterflies cut on from green and blue and red paper and hung them. Butterflies are shining, optimistic. She draped strings of fairy lights. She recorded English letters on the wall: "Be yourself."

And she lit her candle, to set the mood.

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In her writing, she faced her fear: Her life may never start. Daesh might be here forever.

"When you close your eyes, you'll feel how horrible it is to get your hands chained and be unable to envision your future. You will curl up on the floor crying."

She knew she was emotional. She might cry for hours or burst from her room shouting, "What am I doing here? Everyone abandoned me." The sister of Ferah slept or shrugged off the stress. But the provocation set off Ferah.

"No matter how hard you summon your strength ... you won't have the ability to get over it. You will feel how horrible it is to get your hands chained and be unable to envision your future."

AP Photo/Felipe Dana

Her mom worried. She found excuses to drift into Ferah's bedroom and check on her.

It wasn't easy to raise a teenager in a city. One wrong word could get you killed.

In the summer of 2015, news spread that a man was arrested after he pinpointed the house of Ferah's Daesh neighbors into the U.S.-led coalition. Ferah's family and others nearby chose to leave for a few days, convinced an airstrike came.

As they left, they saw the wife from the Daesh family.

Ferah flew into a rage. "Why are you departing? Don't you need martyrdom?" she screamed. "Go back in your house and allow them to strike it. You will go right to Paradise!"

Terrified, Ferah's mother pulled her daughter away.

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The neighbor's house was never hit. The militants shot the alleged informant in the mind in a public square, and the neighbor's husband proudly showed the movie, boasting, "This is the one who attempted to target us."

Shortly after the 15th birthday of Ferah rolled around. Ferah put a stop to that, although her mother tried to organize a party. Act like it was a birthday and she didn't need to blow candles out.

What was happy about it?

It wasn't just the fear. The boredom was crippling.

Month after her sister, Ferah and month rattled around the house, trying to fill the agonizingly slow hours.

Night brought the closest thing to freedom: the internet. Throughout the day, the provider put limits on usage that made it hard to watch a movie. But after midnight, the megabytes were infinite.

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Across Mosul, society wrapped up behind closed doors, sleeping late into the day that was long, and living nocturnal, virtual lives. Even Ferah's dad was trapped. He had no job to go to since IS closed the universities. His beard simply would not grow. Going outside risked harassment. He spent his days in his study, writing a book.

Ferah read. She downloaded Arabic translations of self-help books. "Succeed for Yourself: Unlock Your Potential for Success and Happiness", "You Will See It When You Believe It,"″The Power of Intention."

She liked "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens" so much she read it twice. Habit #1: "Be proactive." That meant saying, "I am the force. I am the captain of my life. I can choose my attitude."

Because she wanted to understand the stage she lived through, she turned to books on adolescence. She learned when her character becomes defined, these were her years.

Ferah realized. If I am depressed and terrified, that way of thinking will stay with me forever.

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It was no use complaining, she told herself. She must use this time to achieve something which would stay with her. She would be a dreamer among Daesh, she would be her life's captain.

This would be her project.

Her FB journal grew. Her followers, over 6,000 now, praised her writing, strengthening her.

She detected a new follow from an Iraqi 11, one evening. Ferah messaged why she'd friended her asking. "Since I looked at your profile and saw you were a fantastic person," the woman said.

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This was Rania. She was from Mosul but her family had fled in Kurdish territory, to Dahuk. Ferah and Rania started chatting often, superficial things at first a friendship bloomed.

All these measures seemed too small to keep out Daesh's reality. "I know after all this time I was living in my fantasy world," Ferah wrote. "A single word can turn all the pain back toward me."

The scent of paradise

Nowhere in Mosul was there an escape from the terror of Daesh.

Once, Ferah drove with her parents to make one of the checks on the house of Ferah sister. They did not dare stop the vehicle, they just rolled by slowly. The house was confiscated, and now pro-IS families lived there. They were watched by Ferah in beards and their own short robes and veils going in and out as if the house was their own.

The streets were a danger.

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The Hisba's prowling, obsessed eyes captured "errors" by women that the women themselves did not realize. Outside Ferah's uncle's house, they dragged a passing woman away. Her robes had swished open, and they spotted a dash of colour, something red underneath in what was supposed to be an all-black garb.

Ferah's own rooftop was a threat.

The roof was a place to catch a breeze on sweltering. But the house of her family was exposed visible from three directions. Who knew what they might accuse you of doing if they saw you there?

In a neighborhood, a young woman, around 12, had gone up on her roof. By coincidence, a boy was on his roof at the exact same time. They were seen. Suspicions were raised.

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They were arrested by daesh and killed them both. The woman was stoned to death on the road in front of her residence, the punishment for adultery. It was talked about by everyone in the neighborhood. They said when the stoning was over and the body of the girl was removed, there lingered the warm smell of musk, one of those aromas of Paradise and she had been taken by God in.

Definitely never go on the roof.

The only safe place was inside four walls.

"Isn't there a right to the freedom to dream, the freedom to have the best years of my life?" Ferah wrote. "I'd just like to know when I will really live."

Her little works

In her room, Ferah went deeper in a world becoming ever more elaborate.

By Tumblr and Instagram, she published photos of fashion or faces she liked and taped them over her bed. "Everything you imagine is real," read one poster. Another showed a woman wearing fairy wings. "What if I fall?" The picture requested -- and then replied, "Oh, but my darling, what should you fly?"

Her newspaper cut-outs multiplied, not just butterflies but flowers, hearts, a nest of baby birds. She called them "her little works."

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She was encouraged by the light of her candle. "Speak to me often," it stated. "I am here to muse and ponder with you."

At night, she explored online. She discovered a whole microculture of interior design enthusiasts. Her favorite: Anything IKEA. She practiced her watching cartoons. She watched "White House Down" with Channing Tatum over and over until she understood almost all the dialogue.

Most wonderful was her friendship with Rania.

They had similar tastes. Rania sent an image of herself, and her dress was just like something Ferah would wear. They decorated rooms on line, trading pictures of furniture.

Ferah had never seen Rania in person, than any she had had as a kid yet their friendship grew deeper. Maybe because it was born out of difficulty. From Rania, Ferah would hear the chime of a message at her worst moments, and she knew she had to open it and she would laugh.

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"I'm sad that one sky looks over both of us, yet we don't meet, that digital photos bring us together and yet we don't meet," Ferah wrote. Yet she thanked God: Breaking through the space "is absolutely the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced."

At least within the world she created in her room she could find comfort and roam far online with her friends, her writings and her viewers.

Then that was gone.

On her 16th birthday, July 19, 2016, Daesh shut the web down.

IS was sealing off Mosul's population. It feared spies directing American airstrikes as Iraqi forces farther south began toward the city, aiming to return Daesh's greatest stronghold.

Ferah was alone.

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She began to sew, taking lessons. It was loved by her. She worked at the machine sometimes until 3 a.m. and finally made nearly 20 outfits, giving some away as gifts.

And she wrote -- for herself now not her followers. Ruminations were composed by her, challenging herself and facing her doubts.

She found that her little functions -- her crafts, her clothing were her successes as months passed. They had given her confidence.

"No one can stop you when confidence in what is inside you, when survival is in your heart even as your body is drowning, when light is inside you even as darkness is about you," she wrote. "I'll ... induce my reality to submit to my desires and reach my goals. Even when difficulties grow, I will not break. Proceed, war, get worse."

There was just one individual yearned for. For Rania's birthday, she wrote her a message.

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"I'm constructing an eternal place for you in my own," she told her. "Whenever I think I will declare my surrender, you pass by and I become certain that, with you there, I can never surrender ... Thank you for your heart, my friend, my flower, my galaxy, my butterfly. I love you very, very much."

On the floor of her house, she might get a faint signal on her SIM card. She held up her phone, stood in the correct location and prayed her message, byte by byte, would make its way into the friend she had never met.

Ashes

In January 2017, Daesh burst into the world of Ferah.

Iraqi forces fought their way in urban warfare that was demanding into Mosul. Damn and the militants took homes over, dug in to fight the forces fell back to the next neighborhood. The city shook with gunfire, car airstrikes and bombs.

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One evening, there came a banging at the front gate. They did not answer; they were inside praying. So the Daesh gunmen shot through the gate.

"Everyone out, the gunmen ordered. They wanted the house; views that were good would be given their snipers by the roof. Ferah was outraged obviously and seeing those boys with guns, no older than 17 from villages outside Mosul, shouting at her father, a respectable man in his 50s. In this moment before battle, they berated him .

The family of Ferah took refuge. Huddling in a area, they could hear the fighters clunking stairs up and down. They waited hours for battle's storm to descend.

Just before dawn, it struck. The rocket fire burst, the guns. The "wzzzzzzzzzzz!" That grew closer and closer.

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Then a burst. The room went black. Part of the ceiling collapsed. They fought to breathe, and the neighbor kids screamed in the darkness. Her sister and Ferah screamed too. . Ferah's dad was silent, stunned.

It moved on as suddenly as the storm arrived. Daesh retreated, and troops from the Army were fanning out in the streets around the home of Ferah. After nearly three decades, their neighborhood was outside of the fanatics' control and in government hands.

Sister, her parents and Ferah arose from their refuge, unsure of what was happening.

"The household of the burning house is coming out. Don't shoot them," an army officer said into his walkie-talkie.

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Ferah stood in front of her dwelling. Flames gushed in shapes from its own windows she could hardly bear to look at. The flames have been in her room.

Explosives had been set off by the Daesh fighters in the kitchen before tripping.

After the fire died down, the family went in. Ferah's area had melted. The walls were black, the paint peeled back in obscene shreds. The ceiling had dropped onto her bed.

Her works were ashes -- even the box, the butterflies, the lights, the paper hearts and birds, the clothing in her wardrobe filled with cut-up newspapers bearing her deepest thoughts.

"I saw my fantasies ... as they turned into nothing," she wrote. "My trust in tomorrow slipped away ... My heart has burned up."

Epilogue

But it wasn't the end.

Following the fire, her family remained with the eldest sister in Irbil of Ferah. From there, her father oversaw the rebuilding of their dwelling. Ferah took a high school refresher course and passed. When classes finally resumed, she would be a grade behind.

READ MORE: ISIS resistance diminishing in Iraq, says Canadian army commander

They visited the sister, in Dahuk of Ferah, and fulfilled her daughter, now nearly 3.

One morning, Ferah dropped in Dahuk by a school and found that a group of schoolgirls gathered before class. She looked in particular for you.

Rania did not realize that it was her till she was stood right in front of by Ferah.

"For real? You came?" Rania cried.

"This is the Ferah you've been talking to all these years!" The girls laughed.

WATCH:  Neighborhood TV camera capture smoke, gunfire as battle for Mosul rages

The two girls held each other. Rania showed Ferah her phone: She had kept screenshots of their finest chats. One of them was the birthday message which had found its way of Ferah.

It's not the sanctuary it was, although back home in Mosul now, Ferah's area is repainted. Her mother hauled an old bedroom set from her childhood that Ferah hates. She won't put up until she buys new furniture, ideally, although she dominates her butterflies.

Nothing is normal. But she has her freedom. She is a dreamer, but not among Daesh.

She looks back at one of her favourite texts. A love song to herself. She wrote it praising the great she found in herself.

"Good morning to everyone who feels the beauty within -- no matter who it angers," she reads to herself. "Glory to the fading light of endings as well as the burst of new beginnings. Everything else won't last long."

Ferah and her family spoke to The Associated Press on condition that their full names not be used and that some identifying particulars not be mentioned out of fear for their own safety in Mosul. Keath reported from Cairo.

[3asonelove]

CDD story

So as a bit of a hobby I started writing in my spare time nothing serious lol. Just a little BDSM story here and there. I usually pick a topic or see what conversation with friends inspires. I like the taboo thing but, nothing too far out. Im enjoying it even though its mostly not my thing. I enjoy a spanking here and there, a little rough play but, what I write abojt is more for others. Anyways: here is my first story. Its about a girl name Christine and she is in a Christian domestic discipline relationship lol. Enjoy:

I used to tell people: “I always love my husband, just some days I am not in-love with him”. Since beginning a Cdd relationship, I can honestly say “I am in love all the time”!!!! This is my journey from a love that was such a burden to both myself, and my husband, but is transforming everyday into a beautiful, deep, eternal love. But to understand it you really have to have a little history… My name is Christine. I have been married to my best friend for over 10 years. We have 3 beautiful children. I started home schooling them not for educational reasons, but more to save them from the corruption in the staff (child molestation, and selling drugs to students) and wayward friends. Plus I have a very strong belief in the mother’s basic animalistic right to protect her young in all that could harm them, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. We have been members of a very conservative church since my husband was baptized several years ago. Following his lead, I was baptized just months later. I was ecstatic when I found this site (to say the least), and amazed by your convictions and resolve! I have NEVER entered into a forum and I’m not sure how my current confusion would benefit anyone on a public forum. That said, I feel comfortable coming to you because you seem very wise and non-judgmental. I have been glued to your site for days (hubby is out of town on business) and would really like to spill to someone who won’t judge me. I have never spoken to anyone about this, except my hubby. His family is… how do I say this nicely? Very much set in their uppity ways. And my family believes Southern women are to be tough, ‘give as much as you take’, 'and raise cane doing it’ type of people. My mother and father have each been married to and divorced from 5 different people, which I think shows that their beliefs on strong southern women are way off. Just to give you perspective on how binding I thought marriage’s were: As the preacher was saying “Till Death Do You Part” I was thinking “Or until I file for divorce”. That didn’t help our marriage in those early years. It also didn’t help that I was 19 and he was 21 when we started dating, and by 20 I was married. We had a lot of growing up to do, and began growing apart. When the kids were born I became a stay at home 'super-mom’. I know now that I was acting more like a “martyr”. Even though I loved my privilege to keep my kids home, my husband’s 'you sit at home all day’ attitude left me feeling devalued. I became resentful and felt like the unrecognized 'glue’ of our family and it ate at me all day. My hubby always came home from work and entered a war zone. We became verbally abusive to each other, and I dropped the ’D’ Bomb in EVERY fight. This attitude didn’t change until a few years ago when a good friend pointed out to me, in a very lovingly blunt way, that if I divorced my husband, in God’s eyes, I would be committing adultery with any future husbands. My parents had neglected to tell me that… go figure. Finally, I had that conviction! I honestly never thought I would. Because of God��s infinite wisdom my husband was blessed to be born in a family that never divorced, so he played the part of reeling me back in when my instinct was to run far and fast. He really suffered a lot for God, me, and our children. The sins of the father I suppose… only it was MY father’s sin that I held B to. After I started attending Wed. morning Bible classes at our Church, teaching Sunday School and VBS (and basically surrounding myself in the Word) I started understanding that I wasn’t the 'glue’ that held us together after all, but rather the fire that weakened the glue. I started appreciating my blessing to stay at home, and did my chores, as God commands, with love and a meek spirit, in the truth that I was doing HIS work. By simply allowing my role to fulfill me and bring me joy I made our home a welcoming place for my husband and became his soft place in this world. Despite this, I still noticed myself at times being blatantly disrespectful, both at home and in public. I felt miserable every time because I was continuously failing in my convictions. Not to mention embarrassing my husband and causing him to become angry and frustrated with little or no recourse. So that you can understand my hubby… B is a kind, warm, loving man, who always puts me second only to God. He finds a way to get me everything I want and need even if it seems out of reach. ie… He drives a less expensive car so my children and I can drive around in a nice, new SUV because he says he worries less about us when he knows the car is safe and won’t break down. I wanted a fourth child and he didn’t, yet he agreed to let me do In Vitro, which I did to no avail for 7 grueling months, but we went through it because I wanted to (basically supporting my deepest desires despite his own). I know how to push his buttons and have done/said things that would send most men 'over the edge’ yet he remains calm and steadfast in his love and devotion. As Genesis points out… He is my ribcage and I am his rib! A couple months ago, while searching for ways to curb my attitude, I came across a DD site (Taken in Hand). It brought back a long forgotten memory of a good whack on the bottom I received just two months into our marriage for acting like a “brat”. Of course, at that time I was appalled. I was young & hot tempered; I called my Mom and left. After a few days, I went back home, but that taught my husband that he was never to do that to me again. And he didn’t. You can imagine his surprise when I showed him the aforementioned site I was reading. I allowed him to think about what we had read for several days without discussion (meaning I didn’t ask him his thoughts right away). Then I told him, “I think that this lifestyle may work for us”, and at that time gave him “blanket consent”. He was very hesitant, and rightly so. I was very passive about it, knowing that he had been burned by my younger, less-wise self. I decided not to say anymore to him about the matter and for the next few weeks I demonstrated a very submissive spirit. Then one night in bed, while making pillow talk, I said something playfully sassy and he playfully swatted my rear. That “playfulness” continued for a while and I noticed him really watching for my response. I kept the mood lite and continued my “submissive in all things” attitude. Then, I watched my marriage change slowly, day by day, into an amazingly deep and fulfilling love. One like I have never experienced before, and had never even seen before in any of my friend’s or family’s relationships (even the ones who had been together for 25+ years). Then one day… He came home early to find the kids watching TV, and no sign of me. When he finally stepped outside he spotted me out on the back 40 and gave me a look that could pierce the heart. I do not make it a habit to leave my kids alone even to ride the line but they are not young children and they knew all they had to do was come yell for me from the drive and I would be back. Unfortunately, they did not relay that to my husband. This alone had him fit to be tied. I politely said goodbye to our hired-hand, and headed in. As I was walking in the back door, my hubby was walking out the front to attend a business dinner. I saw that he had come home early so he could bring us dinner before his meeting. I felt really bad, like I had let him down, but I wasn’t really sure how. Well, that was cleared up real quick. He called from the car just minutes after leaving and told me I was to be in our room, pants off, when he came home. Then I asked why he was so mad at me. The pit of my stomach dropped when he said, “you know your doctor said not to walk anywhere without your boot-cast on your leg unless you were on crutches, you could have broken that fractured bone”. (He’s right. I have fractured that same bone 4 times already.) I quickly put my boot-cast on and busied myself in tidying up the house, and then I took a shower. I was trying to calm down because at this point I knew there wasn’t going to be any playfulness involved. I kept saying to myself; What have I done? What was I thinking? Why did I tell him I wanted to do this? He is over a foot taller than me, and outweighs me by 140 lbs. He could really hurt me! I prayed that GOD would stop this punishment from happening. I tried to come up with ways that I could tell him I changed my mind and was revoking the previously given blanket consent. I was in a full blown panic! I eventually resolved that I trusted him, and knew he wouldn’t do anything to cause permanent damage. I tried to be at peace with whatever was going to happen. He came home, saw the newly cleaned house, and me sitting on the bed still wet from the shower and bawling. I told him I was “soooooo sorry for forgetting my boot” and begged him not to do this. He told me to lay across his lap, which I did… still crying. He raised his hand back so high I could feel the stretch in his abdomen. I started crying so hard I almost lost my breath. But then he lowered his hand, sat me up, and said “I won’t ever tell you to ready yourself again without follow thru. Do you understand?”. “YES”!!!! And so with that, I climbed into his lap and cried some more. Later that night he said that he wasn’t truly mad at me, just concerned for my foot. He also said that he had read on that other site that sometimes in the beginning it’s best for the husband to make the first whippin a “Because I said so” spanking to break the tension. I told him of my earlier doubts about doing the discipline part and he responded with, “Too bad. I have seen how close our relationship has become and how I can’t wait to come home to you. I spend a lot of my day thinking of ways I can show you the love you have shown me by trusting me with this. So we are doing it. ALL OF IT”. Well, what can you say to that? I know he is right and I know he loves me more than life and will take his responsibility seriously. I love my husband and love the way he loves me and the bond that CDD has brought us. I just wish this fear (not of him, but of the whippin) wasn’t this strong. Your website has armed me with the knowledge that this is, at least condoned by God in your presenting Bible verses in a different way than I had ever viewed them. Thanks for your time, and your site which is a blessing to those seeking Biblical backing by non-judgmental, like minded people. In HIS Grace & Under HIS Wing;

Christine

[deathsbestgirl]

"scully COULD have had him all to herself (like she wants) if she were willing to make him feel punished enough but she's not so she can't. so she watches him string himself up on the cross with these women who just to hurt him and she cries in her car. punished for her sin of wanting him safe and well. as always."

thinking of ed jerse and eddie van blundht and philip padgett and the indignity of desire. phoebe greene and diana fowley, kristen kihlar, self-flagellation as addictive and reverent. the ouroboros of mulder not allowing himself any indulgence and therefore denying scully being chosen: punished for her sin of just adoring him. "[diana] protects everything but you." (and he needs it that way.)