#ishtar atta isil.

[feminurge]

“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”

she imagines jealousy to sit at the bottom of her stomach, heavy as a rock. it would tear at her insides until she'd babble a few words; something made of sweet and thorns, that would remind her dear husband that he is actually not free to roam wherever he wishes. alas the fantasy cannot take hold; no such annoyance has emerged. well, no jealousy-related anger. petty disapproval at him coming home half-drunk and positively debauched when she herself had no party to go to… well, yes. she says as much the second he gets close enough to get an earful.

"do i look like i care about that?," she says without any hesitation, like there is no need to convince him of such truth, "i care about the utter lack of distractions currently keeping me safe from the monotony of married life." then, because she's a brat, and she's bored, and he's there, she comes closer. (that she wouldn't want to play such games with anyone else is a truth she keeps quiet, even to herself.)

she doesn't stop until she is close enough that she can smell another man's perfume all over him. such a terrible spouse he makes! she grins, getting on her tippy-toes to hold his face, angling it from left to right the way you would check a beast's state at the farm. "mh. besides, if you're still upright and talking, they did not do a good job at taking care of you, darling."

[violenthunted]

i need to write about ishtar's criminal minds universe. in (very) short: she would be that one recurring character who just keeps popping up, you don't know why and neither do the bau agents. at first it's for totally unrelated reasons : she's working in the bar where the murderer was last seen, a year after that she's having a second phd in philosophy while girls are being murdered. it's like pure (bad) luck but she's in the background, over multiple cities, for a large amount of time.

mostly her storyline would be linked to that (1) episode where the unsub is a sex worker who's killing very rich men. the idea is that ishtar is part of a trifecta : bianca as the executioner who's active all over the globe, nikolai as the rich man who usually get her out of trouble and who is funding this little scheme, and ishtar as the mastermind behind it. it all started after ishtar finished (earlier than most) her phd in astrophysics. she realized she was bored, that the field she had worked on for so long only scratched one part of her brain. so she left. she started another in philosophy. started working as a bartender. changed jobs as one change clothes. she became everything and nothing until she met the madame. getting into that kind of work came so easily for her that she had no trouble adapting.

then came the day a man thought he could bypass ishtar's no, and bianca who thought the best punishment for that was sentencing him to death. ishtar & bianca didn't know each other. ishtar took care of the body (she had studied it intensely — one of the good things about hyperfixations) and no one really ever suspected a thing ; especially since his wife was very happy to inherit and be rid of a cheating husband.

in ishtar's client list was nikolai, who somehow figured out a pan of the scheme and decided to build up the rest. and that's how the trifecta was born. i'll probably make a post to explain it more in details.

[evemarielouis]

a well-rehearsed scene, often found plastered all over greyish static-full tv screens in shady motels all over the east coast. soap-opera actors trying to babble their way through the script, but it's a poor example of a thriller & they're not paid enough to make it believable. hence why there is no flirting with danger, no lethal charisma, only flat deliveries. all too similar to the unimpressed man standing in front of her, enumerating rights she gave up on by sitting in this room & idly smiling at the tainted glass behind which she imagines the whole team to be sitting, discussing and watching. like vultures on their branch, waiting for the lamb to fall to its dehydrated death. in the movie the list does not go on & on in the form of an insufferable enumeration, yet in reality ssa aaron hotchner seems very intent on losing precious time by standing there, a small folder in his hands.

his monotone voice only seems to falter (for a millisecond) when she leans slightly forward, perhaps because the girl's grin grows wilder. and that, of course, was not the desired effect. of course, ssa hotchner presence was meant to insufflate fear in her poor corpse, like an inflated doll. the problem with that scenario, though, is that they have nothing. if the fbi had enough to keep her from walking away freely, the scene would not be happening in an interrogation room but outside. camera, quick! focus on the police car driving away! in the backseat, hot breath on the glass window so that one finger can trace a little shaky heart in the condensation.

the issue with ishtar is that she always knows which script most people are playing, and she takes perverse pleasure in ruining it for everyone involved. hence the smile, how she is man-spreading on the metallic chair like she has power over whatever is happening there. not an ounce of fear in those baby blue eyes. fear has another name & she cut it out of her life with her teeth. kissed her goodbye with bloody lips. fear won't rise from the dead, and she certainly does not wear a fbi vest.

the silence stretches unevenly, until hotchner decides to simply leave the room. there is something amusing about it, of course, and if she were interested in the proceedings she would most certainly point out, outloud, his uneven stride (meaning: he got hurt not too long ago. or he is not as powerful and enigmatic as he thinks himself to be. or, who hurt ya, hotch? who lived to tell the tale, uh?) she would map out his body for places to strike, the way an artist watches a canva for the drawing to reveal itself to them. she would taunt him, one small fact at a time, until he is sitting back in that goddamn chair and staring down her soul, desperate to understand what makes her tick. sadly, ssa aaron hotchner is not ishtar's snack for the night & so she lets him go. she waves a little at him, saying goodbye in the most aggravating way, before going back to her initial position : before he stopped monologuing about the law & her supposed rights, she was already staring at the black tainted glass, a teasing smile upon cherry-pink lips.

"agent suarez", she singsongs once he has vacuated the room for too long, "you gonna watch all night? or yer plannin on joinin'?" a moment, just one, before her smile turns devilish and she's spreading her legs just a little wilder, "cause if yer just fixin' to watch, i can give ya a good show. free of charge."

[pritvolny]

music for the soul — accepting. ( ft. ishtar atta isil )

he realises the honesty in her words,  and there is perfect sense in them.    what doesn't fit the picture are the scars on his hand,   the soreness in his jaws where fangs had been,   the shadows starting to creep into the whites of his eyes.    the guards are calling it an affliction,   something to harken back to the strange occurrences all over the city:    bone bridges that erupted from the ground and roses that bled like rivers;   their king was affected as his heart resided in the very soil of this kingdom.   little did they know,   the heart of this abomination resided in him.    if they heard the shadows inside his skull,   if they saw the red through his eyes—

that is when @sunsfade's voice had cleaved his thoughts in half.     ' you're not a monster.   you're just human. '     the boy he had been never knew ishtar to be naive,   so it is easy to believe her,   and more so because he simply  wants to.    the distinction is not the only thing that comforts him,   but also the simple validation of his being,   minimising his otherness.    something splits inside him,   like glass,   like a grin.    he squints in her direction.     ❛   a human with a predilection to eat a child for dinner.   ❜      nikolai jests,   absently itching the tips of his gloved fingers.    he has made a point to sit in the sun:   summer days are a rarity in os alta,   and what lives inside his skin does not agree with it.     ❛   no,  that sounds like accepting defeat.   there has to be a way out.   ❜

[sunsfade]

LAST SUN. I EXPLODE. I AM THE FIRE. I AM THE SEA. pinterest link. the witcher iii : wild hunt. general fantasy universe.

summary: ishtar is a sorceress with a difficult past, involving magic-hating nuns, prophetic dreams, elves, and a dragon egg. however the general public of the continent doesn't really start hearing from her at that time : she is barely more than a kid with big dreams, big eyes, and the weight of a curse on her back. it is later, after the dragon egg has hatched in the manmade wildfire that wiped out her forest and her elven tribe that ishtar makes herself known. they call her dhufeainnewedd. the child of the black sun : the one that niya promised. daughter of lilit & maker of nightmares, the harbinger of death. the deadly rampage she goes on inscribes her name in the big tapestry of the world. even after she settles down, wishing to be nothing more than a sorceress with strange dreams & even stranger habits, people come to find her. yes, they fear her, but they also know her to be intelligent. and so a business is created : they take magical and cursed objects to her, and she "fixes" them. her price? a story, a memory, a future favor. find her cottage near the forest & near the sea, in a swamp where nothing is what it seems.

name: ishtar atta isil (name given by malborn, of the eryri forest) of house siltiama (house she created in order to infiltrate and destroy malbaude's kingdom), born elise le bescond.

titles: child of the black sun (as prophesized) translated to dhufeainnewedd in elder speech.

moral alignment: chaotic neutral, meaning she only follows her whims. she is an individualist, valuing her own liberty without striving to protect others' freedom. she avoids authority, resents restrictions and challenges traditions. a chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy, since she is neither motivated by good (a desire to liberate others) nor evil (a desire to make others suffer). she appears unpredictable, but her behaviour is not totally random. chaotic neutrality represents true freedom from both the urge to do abolute good and from society's restrictions. however, it can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony and order in society.

biography:

elise le bescond is born the day the radiant moon swallows the sun, engulfing the earth in darkness / she grows up fated to be a seamstress, like her mother, hands endlessly bloody from the needle that she never quite manages to master / she is five years old the first time anything happens ; light imagined into existence to reassure a sister afraid of the dark / she is six when the first nightmare happens : screams stuck inside of her throat, as she watches skeletal hands grab blonde hair & pull the body behind them, as if it were nothing. elise does not know the woman, but still :  she screams / she is seven the first time she kills something. girl wanders in the forest & forgets about danger. girl climbs the trees and talks to the birds and pretends she has friends, because all the people are scared of her now (the dream left her with scars that mean something, even if no one has been willing to tell her what.  that is what they are afraid of, mama says. mama does not like talking about it) girl tries to go home but looses her way, and it's a wolf that finds her. a thousand times bigger than her. it's going to eat her, she knows it, she can almost feel it ; so it's instinct that takes over, extended hands that dance in the air without any idea of what exactly it is that they draw. she saw it in a dream the night before and so she executes herself, perfect puppet. darts find the wolf ; it falls & dies. ishtar stays there for hours afterward, crying, saying sorry over & over again, as if the bloodthirsty creature would not have taken the chance to sink its teeth into her.

word of the wolf massacre travels fast, as it often does / the girl is deemed monstrous, a demon in the making ; and so mother, who had been loving, and father, who had been protective, decide that their child will be safer away / given to a noble woman who assured them she would get the child to aretuza, elise's goodbyes are muffled by silent cries / the rest is a mess of a dream that comes to life : lifeless body of a women taken away by skeletal hands. awaken in sweat every night, obsessed with the idea that they will never reach their destination. one night, a blind priestess with pointy eyes assuring her that what is found must be lost in order to grow. elise awakes knowing that the end is nigh / and when, later, the dead rise from their graves, and when later, the emaciated fingers tears the noble lady from the small child, elise knows that there is no point in firing shards of light or in praying for gods that have long abandoned her / she runs away / she runs and hides and steals and bites into things that aren't hers but she never lets herself dream of something better / she is ten, at the time, barely old enough to be called alive, still losing her baby teeth, still unsure of her place in the world / and so when she dreams of men under black hoods, hands reaching for lightning, she knows / it takes them more time that they thought, she can feel it in the annoyed tone of their voices, in the slowing of their limbs. they expected her to be an easy catch / but the girl is quick, the girl is smart, the girl has been on her own for most of a year now / still, as the dream prophesized, she is caught : lightning in a bottle, demeritium on her wrists. all that made her her, lost / they keep her in the convent of saint agathe, waiting for stregobor to get words of what they caught / elise, chained, farmished, alone / they want her to talk but all she does is weave terrible fates for them to be burdened with, and so in retaliation they throw fists, keep her awake beyond what is reasonable, cut her hair close to the scalp / by the time they are done with her, no words escape her mouth. she bares her teeth, and awaits for death / she is ten / the priestess' gentle murmur, in a dream : all that is lost can be found and it can grow / the next week, the convent is attacked : men too tall to be human, speaking a language she has never heard before, ears pointy and eyes a strange color / they plan on leaving her behind, she knows, and so she surges forward, shackles still around her wrist. growl deep in her throat, scars on her cheek only proof of what she is when unrestrained.

the giant man with pointy ears says something in a language she does not understand and keeps his sharp weapon against her throat : a threat / she understands it all too well. it is, after all, not the first one thrown at her ; being horrid was sister moguerre's favourite game, and if elise ever got out of a meeting with only a slap on her face, then she was incridibly lucky. after a year, she has learned her lesson :  she says nothing / the older one, all white hair & calm demeanor, introduces himself in rusty common speech as malborne, and demands, who are you? / she replies, no one / they stole everything from her : magic, dignity, she barely remembers who she was before all this. no past, and certainly no future. life before the convent was already terrible ; friends were no friends and she can still feel the bite of the knife in her back. there's nothing for her out there / he asks again, pointing at her cheeks, at the marks marring her skin. what are you? / she says, cursed / he calls it blessing, and with a gesture of his hand, another man with pointy ears open the dimeritium handcuffs / the world is loud, loud, loud, alive again.

the thirteen-year-old human girl enters the mystical forest & never escapes it. (what gets out, years later, isn't human) / the elfs' welcome is not warm but it is less cold than the humans' : she gets a bed, food, and lessons to harness her magic / the little human girl is powerful beyond measue & soon, the forest vibrates with qhaysh ; azyr obscures the sun & she is birthed a second time  (sorceress !) / when her hair grows back, it is white / she learns the language, refusing to use common speech. just like she would call the forest her home land, elder speech feels like a mother tongue discovered late / she never gave them her name, and so they decide to name her ; ishtar atta isil, the sorceress of the heavens. wind picks up when she gets excited & thunderbolts fly over their heads when she is frustrated. the sky is her kingdom & they accept it as such, for the land is theirs / she has been there for almost ten years when the first nightmare happens : fire lapping at her feet like water. she awakes with burns on her ankles & blood running down her nose / when she tells malborne, he gets this sad, resigned look in his eyes / the dreaming only gets worse, even if it does not happen often : the burn marks on her skin are ephemeral, and the blood down her nose is wiped away, but the terror remains / malborne knows what is going to happen and refuses to explain it to her. he does nothing. when she demands an explanation, he tells her that fate runs its course ; they each have a role to play and hers will be to survive the fire. what about theirs!, she screams, and he says nothing / dhufeainnewedd, the blind priestess whispers one day, loneliness is all that fate can weave for you / ishtar makes friends. rielfinter sits behind her every morning & braids her growing hair ; ishtar has never had unbrushed hair in years / dhufeainnewedd, the kind priestess murmurs one day, grief would make a monster of us all / ten years after the first dream, ten years of fearing fire & hearing screams, the sorceress comes back from her day to a burning forest.

she runs through the flames and gets hurt ; ankles burnt. she sees malborne and pleads for him to leave. but it is late, too late, and soon arrows fly from behind the fire. one hits him in the chest / she looks at his body long enough for the men to approach. long enough for them to draw their swords / they kill every elf they can find. when they find the sorceress, a second of hesitation is all it takes : thunder falls from the sky, finding them as surely as would the rain / one of them gets his sword through her flank ; he dies quickly afterward but the deed is done / she remembers pain. she remembers falling on the warm ground, the ashes falling on her face / she remembers crying for the ones who died before her. still, relief washes over her : she will not have to face the aftermath / flames everywhere, blood coating her fingers. heavy lids : the void calls and her answer is a single, shaky breath / she wakes up. she wakes up in another forest. she wakes up somewhere far away. somewhere else.  she wakes up / there are fingers combing through her hair and a gentle voice telling her that everything will be okay. she doesn't want to listen. she doesn't want a tomorrow / she has to wake up eventually. she has to eat & drink & pretend she is alive. the deadly wound becomes a small scar. the deadly wound healed too well / she doesn't remember making a portal to save herself. she is sure she did not / time passes, she heals, but the anger stays, the anger grows.  soon, the anger is all she is. (and what is anger but grief?)

they are dead / malborne, rielfinter, kids & elders, the animals, the trees / burned to the groun / the men came with armors made of metal & destroyed everything to get to the mines. all of this destructions for rocks. diamonds. those ishtar collected & kept safe. those she easily gave away, as a gift and a thank you and a hello / they took everything from her for rocks / and all she remembers : the flames, the burn of it. familiar. expected. her fate was to survive it / ashes & fire around her eyes as she takes her blade and her wand. the dark sun rose in the morning & refuses to set at night : they will have to endure the burn, and they will not know another dawn / the men die quietly, their screams like the crackling of a camp fire. she finds them all, even if it takes days, weeks, months. names given in exchange for a merciful treatment that never comes. she is cruel & they only have themselves to blame. still, they hope. stupid men.

the black sun terrorizes the continent for two decades. hunting men, evil men. taking trinkets & promises as payment / when the sun finally sets, the girl is exhausted. barely more than a ghost. the trees haunt her so she goes to the ocean. the small cottage she does all of her living in is a pityful house.  she refuses to call it home.  hasn't had a home in so long she has forgotten why one would try so desperately to hold on to it. being stuck in one place, once again, feels like imprisonment / noblemen ask impossible questions and she provides enigmatic replies. magic binding against a solution : they all abide by the rules despite them being terribly unfair. no one understands the weight of fate / when she offers free warnings, the people laugh. in another world, we would have called her cassandra, cursed by the sun / she dreams of black wings slitting open the endless sky.  amil, he roars, and she hears mother / she follows the dreams. they are the only ones which do not cause headaches or nosebleeds. she longs for the freedom of flight and the carelessness of this child.

a boat attacked by too many sirens. ishtar offers them a thunderstom : death by electrocution is the worst that could happen to a fish. she watches them fall back into the dark waters / artemisia, captain, offers her the law of surprise ; in her voice, none of the usual fear humans feel upon talking about fate.  what she already has but does not know / in the rest of the boats they were sacking when the sirens attacked, they find a trunk. inside, a dragon egg. as the law demands it, it is now ishtar's / the quest for khairos' birth lasts more than a year : from the ritual to the ingredients to the right day, hour, second. everything demands precision and she is not willing to make compromises / she is hired by artemisia as a mercenary & accompanies them when their quests demand it : there are areas, she explains, that they could not access because of the sirens. but with ishtar around, the obstacles are no longer insurmountable / the ritual happens on an eclipse day. however, the sun does not disappear, pure magic made of qhaysh keeping the sky from being swallowed by darkness. under the light of an impossible sun, the dragon is born. immediately the creature finds its way to his mother & for the first time, she truly hears him murmur amil / as he is no ordinary dragon, he grows up fast : in a few years only, he is taller than a tower and bigger than a fleet of ships. a fire-breathing black dragon, an unique specimen / ishtar hopes to find the opportunity to repay artemisia :  a fulfilled destiny in exchange for this invaluable gift.

eredin's fate is perceived in a dream ; she pays it no mind, for the affairs of elfs & men are no longer her concern. however, it seems that she cannot completely escape destiny : no less than a few weeks later, she has the displeasure of meeting one of his advisors after escaping a village they were raiding. quite fascinated by the magic used, she convinces him (or annoys him into, depending on who you ask) to take her to tir na lia, where she strikes a deal with eredin : she will advise him, her visions surer than any prevision, if in exchange, caranthir teaches her his magic. eredin, having very clearly nothing to lose in the exchange, agrees - but not before she proves to him what she was capable of.  weeks of dreams are uttered, from one failure to the next, a hunt for a girl they always seem to miss. she tells him of his rise to power, a smirk on her lips, for she knows what made him access the throne. with the promise of a kept secret in exchange of knowledge, ishtar begins a new life in tir na lia.

what happens next?:

ishtar works closely with caranthir ar-feiniel, with whom she falls in love. he is doomed & it is a truth she refuses at every turn. in the end, fate takes him where he was meant to go (worse, perhaps, is the truth: he goes willingly. makes the choice for himself, despite ishtar's warnings)

after his death, the state of the world interests her no more. there is no point in avenging a man who chose to die. perhaps if she were to meet face to face with cirilla, anger would flare.

she rejoins the continent, and hides away from prying eyes in the place where she hid first, all those years ago. some are brave enough to contact her. they are cursed, or know of a magical object. they need help and are willing to pay. ishtar cares very little for coin. she asks for stories, memories. takes them from their mind, prevents them from perusing them again. she also accepts secrets, only if they are valuable. she is a collection of moments; convinced she will never have any of her own again, she takes from others. covets what it is that fate will never give her.

time passes. she remains.

[consumare]

ISHTAR ATTA ISIL: I'D SAY WE MAKE A PRETTY GOOD TEAM. his plan had been to leave the baltimore state hospital for the criminally insane, make his way to italy, and stay there for as long as needed. until the ones who would come looking for him believe that they would never be able to find him. it was concrete, no holes, no mistakes to be made, and then ishtar came to visit. how she got in, hannibal had never asked. didn't need to, in the grand scheme of things, because what was important was that she was there, and she felt loyal enough to him to help the doctor regain his freedom. something he cherished over everything else. having never disappointed him, hannibal reminded himself to give the girl some kind of reward. recognition for the fine work she's done, most likely something expensive. for now, he glances at her, grinning as he straightens the tie he had just knotted around his neck. 'i could not think of a better companion to have here with me. you've been quite the asset, ishtar,' finishing with his tie, hannibal gracefully slides on his vest, closing each button with intent. 'i want to show you something. will you accompany me somewhere?' @violenthunt.

[violentcurse]

A PRIVATE SINGLE MUSE WRITING BLOG FOR AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER, ISHTAR ATTA ISIL.

(i) carrd. (ii) main blog.

current (hyper)fixations : horror / dead by daylight, criminal minds.

[violentlydone]

something something about writing a collection of characters and being obsessed with the canon they're from while also rewriting it all because the writers didn't know them like i do

eve (she/they), twenty-two, fully vaccinated. read more : muse list.

the og cursed cowgirl

ishtar atta isil, original character. if you know, you know

give it up for stranded girly girls

shelby goodkind, the wilds

leah rilke, the wilds

mari morales, yellowjackets

natalie scatorccio, yellowjackets, @huntalie

shauna shipman, yellowjackets

magic's real, folks

adam parrish, the raven cycle

claire novak, supernatural

lisa sherwood / the hag, dead by daylight

mikaela reid, dead by daylight

orla sargent, the raven cycle

ronan lynch, the raven cycle

swan de beaufort, the raven cycle

superman sucks & your heroes are dead

henrike bane, original character, the boys

you're in a tavern drinking shit beer

alina starkov, the grishaverse

amren, a court of thorns and roses

cirilla of cintra, the witcher

daenerys targaryen, a song of ice and fire

jaskier pankratz, the witcher

nikolai lantsov, the grishaverse

yennefer of vengerberg, the witcher

playing lorde's melodrama on high volume

cassie howard, euphoria

rue bennet, euphoria

tabloids, red carpet & champagne

barbara byrd, original character, actress

mauve, original character, member of the band the atomic chic

true crime but make it fictional

najat bakkali

solange koenig, original character, serial killer

spencer reid, criminal mind

life but make it funny

jessica day, new girl

roy kent, ted lasso

[e1ght8all]

( ISHTAR ATTA ISIL ): PFFT, ROOKIE MISTAKE. ' you take anything seriously? ' julian asks bluntly, a serious edge in their voice. eyes never leave the road in front of them, and there is a lot of it. sun seething asphalt for miles and miles. they should consider themselves lucky that they're inside an air conditioned car rather than outside of it, but jules doesn't feel lucky. they feel annoyed. ishtar hasn't shut her mouth since they started driving, and any attempt they made at quieting her failed. julian didn't care about money, so they began to wonder if this job was really worth it. then they remembered that the income wasn't for themself, but for their father. and, on top of that, turning around now would mean disappointing the cartel. and that, in and of itself, was why they continued on at 80 miles per hour down this freeway. ' ever? assuming you know what happens if this goes bad, think you'd behave a little better. and shut up for a little bit, ' jules sits back in their seat, one hand on the wheel, other set on their knee. ' better not be like this when we get there, ' that wouldn't end well for either of them @hauntingcurse.

[feminurge]

@infernocte "why'd ya invite me here, then?" the question does not tumble out. it rolls off with ease, like a well-rehearsed forehand, hitting the ground between them with fascinating strength; the air of the room seems heavier now that their intent is put on trial. it's hot, late june, with two whole months to look forward to and so little consequences for summer flings. ishtar's smile is sharp, like maybe she knows something they don't, but at least she seems benevolent enough, letting them set the pace of whatever little game they're playing at. she should be the prey, she knows, from the way they all sit: bianca's eyes like hawk claws, nikolai's gaze syrupy and warm against the naked skin of her legs. they want her. (they want each other) "ya ain't got all night, babes." she murmurs. she knows she has a better hand and she's willing to call their bluff.

[violenthunted]

i like that i've made my peace with differentiating between ishtar & dhufeainnewedd, despite the fact that they are one and the same, because it is so difficult to explain the difference between them without a name change.

one is a young, movable subject, who has yet to know her destiny. she chose her name & wears it with pride. in that aspect, ishtar is not doomed by the narrative. if anything, she becomes it. she is quick and smart and somewhat convinced everything is hers to take & control. she is not completely wrong either. in her main modern verse, she escapes the curse that her mother associated her with. she builds a family out of nothing, becomes worthy of love, and holds it all between her hands without fear that it will crumble or disappear. in other verses, the narrative is stronger, and she gets caught in the cogs of the machine. in the horror verse, she left her mother's house as a young adult. it swallowed her long before she made it out, and when she saw the sunlight for the very first time, it was already too late.

dhufeainnewedd, on the other hand, has seen it all & lived it all. she knows that her control exists, yes, as she is the fateless one. meaning whatever story is unfolding, she is not part of it. but she is also aware that control matters very little where you fit into a much bigger narrative. if everyone else is reading their lines & following a specific script, does it even matter that you don't? whatever you say remains unanswered anyway. her curse is that, at some point during her story, she discovered that she was in fact just a character in other people's existence, and that she would always be. the narrative excludes her. whatever ishtar thinks she can achieve, dhufeainnewedd now knows it is useless & pointless. yes she can find love, friendship, family, success. yet without the fatality of time & death to give meaning, existence is just a never-ending list of moments that hurt. it is grief for what has happened & what has not & what could have. love leaves, family is taken away, friendship dissolves, success is meaningless. and without a script to follow, you are simply standing on stage under the bright yellow lights, hoping to find a way out. but seeing the audience doesn't mean you can join them. you're stuck. she's stuck. a ghost in a living body.

in short, dhufeainnewedd is simply the distorted echo of a scream made centuries ago. ishtar's scream. @violentcurse

[evemarielouis]

"aww, doc", cheek pressed against her knee, left leg against her chest & the other folded underneath her. she is pale as a shard of glass, sharp as one too. an illusion of a girl, a knife masquerading as a good time : she has always been that way. you would think that after months of custody, her criminal nature would blossom in horrid thorns all over her thin body; and yet the girl is as beautiful as ever. sweet & sunny as the first days of spring. even her smile, that goddamn winning grin, has yet to lose its light. it shines upon her lips, golden & full as a small sun. no matter the hours spent in that small cell of hers, she looks unfazed. she whines & screams & sings, if only to fill the silence with words of her own, but it is evident in her posture that fear has yet to slip itself inbetween muscle & bone. perhaps if they had had an actual file on her, they would have known that her childhood was a similar torture, made of closed windows & muffled screams. if they had had a file, perhaps they would have known better than to keep her alive. the death penalty would have been a safer choice, yes, she knows it & she hopes juno does too.

"are ya really worried 'bout me or are ya just makin' small talk?" she wonders, eyes as calculating as they have always been. it is complicated to account for the girl's truth : it seems that everything she says is a time bomb, meant to explode in your pocket the second you have forgotten its existence. sometimes the truth of it occupies your mind for years. sometimes, it is the inaccuracy that keeps you awake. either way, it is what she wants : her words plastered all over your skin in gashes of red. even her presence here is torture : paperwork fallen into juno suarez's lap & ishtar firmly waiting for the police on the day of the appointment, handcuffs already in hand. she had orchestrated her apparent downfall & the fbi had done nothing but sing / dance their part. that no one apart from juno suarez had ever dared to ask why the girl went so willingly... well, that was part of her game too.

"experience, uh? is that what we're callin' it now?" interest has yet to spark in her eyes. in fact, it seems she is seconds away from taking her legs & leaving the room. while he might be interested in showing her gruesome pictures of decadent murders, the dead have never been a big interest for ishtar. it is a common misconception about her, one she has no interest in squashing because someone that prefers concepts to real observations is someone meant to be fooled. but reid should know better : has he not been watching ? "come on, doc. say what ya wanna say. we ain't got all time in the world and this whole nice cop thin' you got goin' on? makes me bored." a smile that is more teeth than anything else, only for her to support her chin with her knee. "what do i get for helpin', anyway?"

[infernoctus]

tag drop i, dynamics.

[goblinwish]

@dhufeainnewedd​​​   sent    :     💬

❝    if    that's    all    the    help    you're    gonna    be,    you    can    just    leave.    ❞    

ask    meme.    status    :     currently    accepting!

[dhufeainnewedd]

—                ishtar    atta    isil,    dreamt    by    eve.

[altarcup]

                 〈⠀@dhufeainnewedd + 𝚂𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙰 𝚈𝙴𝚅𝙽𝙾⠀〉⠀    .⠀.⠀. ⠀    𝙸𝙽𝚃. :   𝙰  𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴  𝙽𝙾𝙱𝙻𝙴  𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿,    𝙽𝙾𝚆  𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃  𝚃𝙾  𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙸𝚃𝚂  𝚃𝚆𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃.    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽  𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚈𝙴𝙳  𝙱𝚈  𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴  𝚆𝙷𝙾  𝚂𝙴𝙴𝙺  𝚃𝙾  𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼  𝙸𝚃,    𝚂𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙰  𝚈𝙴𝚅𝙽𝙾,    𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁,    𝙷𝙰𝚄𝙽𝚃𝚂  𝚅𝙰𝙲𝙰𝙽𝚃  𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚂.    𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂  𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙾𝚁  𝙱𝙴𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙳  𝙷𝙴𝚁;    𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷  𝚁𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷  𝙴𝚇𝙴𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷  𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚇𝙸𝚁  𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂.    𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚁𝙰𝙸𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙸𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺.    𝙵𝙾𝙾𝚃𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿𝚂  𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙾𝚄𝚃.            “𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴  𝙼𝙴,    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁  𝚁𝙴𝙿𝚄𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽  𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙴𝙳𝙴𝚂  𝚈𝙾𝚄.”            𝙸𝚃  𝙸𝚂  𝙰  𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽  𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂  𝙽𝙴𝙰𝚁    ––    𝙽𝙾  𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂  𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚄𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽  𝙰  𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁’𝚂,    𝙱𝚄𝚃  𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙳𝙻𝚈  𝙽𝙾𝚃  𝙾𝙽  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽.

                 ❛❛      and  yet,           i’ve  never  heard  of  you.      ❜❜                 the  cruel  irony  of  fate.             oh,           precipitous  tongue           ;           instinctual  gnash  of  the  maw.           but  it  would’ve  been  true  in  any  other  instance         –––––––––––––––         saskia  barely  ever  hears  of  anyone  at  all,           lately.           cold  castle  walls,           half  made  ruin,           crumbling  apart.           icy  wind  blows  through  new  openings  in  unforgiving  stone,           bites  against  the  scraped–raw  side  of  her  face.           with  blackened  eyes  and  tousled  hair,           the  witcher  turns           ;           finds  herself  a  liar  even  before  speech  is  completed.

𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙸𝚂  𝙸𝚃  𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙴  𝙾𝚁  𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴���  𝙸��  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝙰𝚃  ?

                 wan–faced,           ill           ;           saskia  yevno  yet  clutches  a  bloody  sword.           fist  like  a  clenched  heart,           suffused  with  inky  poison.           even  through  midnight  gossamer,           ishtar  atta  isil  is  nothing  if  not  distinctive.           recogniseable.           yes,           it’s  been  a  while         –––––––––––––––         but  saskia’s  not  wont  to  easily  forget.           hair  glowing  white  in  the  moon’s  shine,           threads  of  seafoam  or  starlight.           both,           if  needs  must  and  just  one  poetic  metaphor  does  not  suffice.

                ❛❛      you.      ❜❜                 a  low  whisper  in  the  deadened,             frost–wracked  night.             though  saskia’s  features  have  softened  with  realisation,           they  still  bear  those  dead  pits  for  eyes           ;           throning  in  the  middle  like  empty,           black  gems.           swallowing  up  any  semblance  of  emotion,           any  hint  of  old,           festering  shame  their  meeting  might’ve  conjured  up.           crease  between  dark  brows  deepens         –––––––––––––––         with  a  huff,           a  shift  in  posture           :                 ❛❛      are  you  going  to  pay  me  ?      ❜❜