...creators...

❝I should go now, quietly, for my bones have found a place to lie down and {SLEEP} – where all my layers can become reeds, all my L I M B S can become [TREES], all my children can become me. What a mess I leave to follow.❞

[stfu-layla]

noahcollns:

He was trying his best to keep his eyes from drifting towards the weapon held tightly in Layla’s hand. It was acting as a distraction from everything else. As much as Noah wanted to say he fully trusted her, there was still a part of him that wanted to tiptoe around her in fear of setting something off. She was still unpredictable to say the least, evidently only looking out for whatever was in her best interest. There was no predicting what she’d done with the gun or what she was planning to use it for, but any outcome couldn’t be very pleasant. It was just the two of them here, and she was the only one of them who possessed a gun and actually knew how to use one. This sounded like the perfect beginning to a perfect horror film. His wild imagination was cut off as she interrupted with a fairly simple answer to his question. A simple answer that came with too many complications. There wasn’t much of a likelihood that she would have run into her mother without the meeting having been planned. From what he knew, it wasn’t like her mom was an active member of society nor had she been a good enough parent for Layla to seek her out. No, it wasn’t just that she hadn’t been good enough. Only from the small amount of details Layla shared with Noah, he could easily conclude that she was barely met the minimum standards of a mom at all. What reason could she have to want to meet her mom? Wasn’t being homeless torturous enough? He was having difficult putting all the pieces together. Layla’s inability to speak properly, a gun, and apparently a recent meeting between mother and daughter. Deep down, however, there was a part of him that knew what all of these things could be adding up to, he just didn’t want to resort to that guess just yet. But where were they supposed to start? He didn’t know what questions to ask; he still wasn’t even entirely aware of what was going on. “What- why? Since when did seeing her become a good idea? You do remember what she did to you, right?” Noah finally looked away from what was held in her hand, looking directly into her eyes as if she were a crazy person (which was partly true). The male was growing a little frustrated, although that wasn’t anything new when it came to conversations between these two. Layla was actually talking in proper sentences at this point, which was a sign of progress. She obviously had no issue with opening up to him, the night at the alley made that evident. All it took was a little bit of coaxing, time, and patience. “Okay, so you saw your mom. What happened?” 

There wasn’t any part of Layla that wanted to harm Noah, and she hadn’t brought the gun with such intent. She didn’t plan on killing the one person in Southport she actually trusted – she’d simply brought the gun to remove it from the scene of the crime (if there would be a ‘scene of the crime’), seeing as she hadn’t exactly had time to put on gloves before shooting it. Layla recalled how they’d decided to go over what a bad idea it’d be to return to her mother when she talked to him in the alleyway, and she had to wonder what she’d be doing at that moment in time – July 21st, 11:17 PM (?) – had she not made the mistake of returning to her ‘home.’ Probably sitting in an alley or trying to get money, but that was better than trying to figure out whether or not she killed her mother and – even worse – whether or not she wanted to know. Although the Mary in her didn’t want to, she understood Noah’s initial frustration towards her visiting her mother; however, neither part... no parts... whatever she was compromised of could grasp his next sentence in its entirety. “Do you remember what she did to me?” she asked, both accusatory and calm in tone (a strange mix), before she remembered why she was there. It was a nice, brief break from the stress, but the reality was that she wasn’t there to have a trivial argument over her childhood. She was there to tell him what happened and get his two cents, and that was exactly what he opened the floor for with his question. “I – she convinced me to stay the night, y’know? I was – I am – homeless, so a night didn’t, y’know, seem that bad or, uh, threatening,” she began, partially using fluff words because of her feelings on the topic, partially because she didn’t want to talk about the topic. Either way, she had to get to the endgame to get Noah’s advice. “A, uh – a night turned into a week, and, y’know, so on. My ma - mother hadn’t changed in, uh, in her... ruthlessness, y’know?” Layla skipped past the details – stories behind marred flesh – and decided to tell him only if he asked, only if he deemed it necessary to help her out... or something of the sort. She paused for a second, running her fingers through her hair, then continued, “Y’know how I told you about her wanting to recreate the Crucifixion, or something along the lines? She wanted to recreate the Burning Bush. I’m, uh, I’m not sure if you know Christianity up to that point, but basically there’s a bush that burns and stays in... it stays in shape.” Layla refused to show anymore weakness than she already had. “I had a gun that someone from Detroit owned in a bag that I could reach, it had a bullet in it.” She held up the empty gun that she was gripping onto to showcase to Noah, just in case he was wondering what gun she was talking about (because she clearly had multiple), then finished, “I don’t know if I should’ve... I don’t know if she’s alive, I don’t know if that was fucking moral, I don’t know if that was okay – fuck! I just – I came here because you’re probably the most moral person I know.”

[noahcollns]

He continued to watch as she struggled for any words aside from ‘shit.’ On the exterior, Noah was trying his best to remain calm despite Layla’s frantic behaviour and well, the fact that someone brought a gun into his house. He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him- maybe she’d just come to swear a few times and then leave. But more importantly, he wasn’t sure he had anything to offer her. Helping others was high on his priority list, but he was still trying to decide whether that was the case in this kind of situation. Although to be fair, at the moment, he didn’t exactly know what kind of situation it was, just that it was worthy of repetitive curse words and a weapon. Noah let out a sigh, already being able to predict that not much good would come out of this for the either of them. He’d come by his house to pick up a few things- closure for the next, hopefully perfect chapter in his life. Layla, however, was ruining that entire vision. The vision didn’t involve homeless people abruptly showing up at his door with a gun in hand, and it definitely didn’t involve constant swearing. Nonetheless, he ignored the always persistent bitter part of him and tried to remind himself that she wasn’t the type to go to someone for just about anything, meaning she was desperate (and it showed) at this point. “Okay, what about the alley? Words, Layla, use them.” What was she wanting him to remember exactly? A lot of conversations had taken place that night. Pixar-Disney films being the obvious highlight. Her next panicked response to his over the top sarcastic comments took him by surprise. She was constantly surprising him. He raised a brow, his mind sorting through all the questions suitable to ask. He knew it was important to be wary of the things he said, since the girl was already on edge as it was. Blinking, Noah shook his head out of confusion before furrowing his brows. Of course she didn’t know, it’d been intended as a rhetorical question. From what he last heard, it’d been years since Layla’s last encounter with her mother. “You don’t know because you haven’t seen her since you left, I know that already.” He spoke slowly, locking eyes with her to try and give her something to focus on. His gaze flickered down to the gun held tightly in her hand, before looking back up. The lack of gun control really was a huge problem in the country, this being a perfect example. “Why do you have that? Forget about the alley- tell me what’s going on now.” Noah demanded, not regretting his sudden forceful tone. He wasn’t just going to wait around for another terrible thing to happen while she stood here spitting out one curse word after the other. In order to take action - assuming this wasn’t all part of some sick joke - and do whatever Layla had come here wanting him to do, she needed to explain properly. 

[stfu-layla]

She’d figured explaining herself after showing up at Noah’s door (with a gun) would be much easier before the time actually came. At the time, she wasn’t exactly thinking about what she was going to say – she just knew she needed to get help from someone she trusted, and, subconsciously, she knew that meant explaining, as well. However, her explanation was coming on slow, perhaps a sentence or two every minute. It wasn’t exactly progressive. Unfortunately, she was well aware of what a poor job she was doing at explaining her current situation. Was she unable to explain it because she still hadn’t fully processed it (or whatever it was that therapists said)? Was it because her vocabulary didn’t reach beyond swears at that point? Was it because she was over-thinking why she couldn’t explain, thus causing a placebo effect and rendering her unable to explain? Whatever it was, she knew she’d have to work through it or turn tail and leave, and she was already too in over her head for the latter. Her chance for an opening – a real opening – spawned off of Noah’s reply to her ever-persistent sentence. “No,” she cut in as he continued speaking. It was a simple response, only one word, but with it was brought a chance to actually say something that had meaning in the context of the situation. “That – that wasn’t the last time I saw her, not since – not since we last talked,” she began, finally on the road to an explanation that didn’t pander in single sentences. However, that point hadn’t quite been reached yet, as she was still hoping he could work with his minimal resources and put two-and-two together before she had to dive in. She’d managed to tell him plenty about herself the night in the alley, but what she was talking about then had been years ago. Although it’d obviously all stuck with her (after all, she still didn’t have a house), she was in a much better state of being then than she was now, standing with her fist clenched tight around the metal of a gun while her knuckles whitened. She was telling, not reliving. Everything that’d happened, everything Layla would have to explain, had all gone down within the past month and a half – the memories were all still as bright as a summer’s day. She could recall every event in vivid detail, could remember her mother’s exact words (they always stuck), could still feel the phantom pain, could still realize where everything was in relation to herself on both a physical and metaphorical plateau if she chose to recall. She knew she’d have to eventually, but she’d damn well gauge how much she needed to say before going in.

[noahcollns]

The amount of trouble that Layla was having in trying to muster up any words to describe what she was going on about scared Noah (though the gun was already doing most of that). She obviously was never much of a talker, but from the short while that she actually had miraculously opened up to him, he gathered that she had a way with words- hence being put off by her frustration with them. His mind was racing with guesses as to where she found the gun and why she decided to pick it up in the first place, but he tried his best to refrain from getting ahead of himself. There had to be some sort of reasonable, fair explanation behind all of this and she wouldn’t have shown up if what she’d done was obviously guilty. Layla was choosing to trust him with all of this - although he figured she didn’t have much room to pick whose house she would show up at - and Noah had to believe she wasn’t the guilty party. Maybe there was no guilty/ innocent. Maybe she’d simply found an unbelievably realistic looking toy gun on the street and thought it’d be fun to show him. Any and all of his suspicions were immediately shot down when she managed to get a hold of herself and talk with coherent sentences. Just as usual, he had no idea where she was planning on going with any of this. She was probably going to speak in a series of religious metaphors and Bible quotes at any given second now. Looking back at her wide eyed, Noah nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course. The alley with that building.” How could he forget that alley? It held dear memories for him, like that time Layla attempted to be a tour guide and figure out how old the building ahead of them was. Oh, and he couldn’t leave out when she was telling him stories of her mom and precious dad, Jesus. Her mother was especially unforgettable. Unfortunately. “I wish I didn’t, but yes, your psychotic mom who tried to prevent you from being left-handed. How is she doing, by the way? Still a mess, I’m assuming.” He could sense that this wasn’t any time for humor, but it felt strange acknowledging someone as crazy as Layla’s mother without having some lighthearted context. It still didn’t sink in for Noah that this woman was a living, breathing human who was still capable of all the things she’d done to her daughter. 

[stfu-layla]

Layla was still looking for the right words – hell, or for any words at all. Just as most people do when they speak, she hadn’t thought of what she’d say afterwards; she hadn’t thought of how she’d eventually segue into why she had a gun, why she needed his help. She hadn’t thought past that one sentence. As much of a mistake as that’d been, there wasn’t time to go back or to start over again – no time to perhaps start with a, ‘Hey, Noah.’ Instead, she had to go on with whatever words would come next. Words just didn’t seem to be her forte at the moment. “Shit,” she, for lack of better word, reiterated. At least she still had her vocabulary ((I hope you read that in the burnt fish from Spongebob’s voice)). “Yeah – yeah that alley,” she nodded vehemently, glad that, if nothing else, she had someone else’s dialogue to bounce off of. Layla really should’ve focused on Pixar movies that night. When Noah asked how her mother was doing, no matter how sarcastic his tone was, her first instinct was to say she was doing well... only a split-second later, in an almost humorous turn of events, she recalled why she was there in the first place, having such a hard time getting words of the end of her tongue. “I have no fucking clue,” she replied, much more feeling in her voice than there would’ve been had she been asked the same question about a month and a half ago. “I have no fucking clue, Noah. I have no fucking clue.” It was strange, her reaction. She’d been panicked plenty of times in her life, sure, but never to this point. Between the combination of having shot the person who breathed life into her, not knowing what’d happened in the end, and not being sure she wanted to find out, it was the widest array of emotion she’d felt in what’d possibly been her entire lifespan. There was nothing she hated more than her own human emotions. She’d been taught long ago that emotions were weaknesses, and it’d only been reiterated time and time again throughout her years. However, she was undeniably subservient towards Jane, no matter what she knew was logical... so having just shot the woman threw quite a jolt in her system. She’d both uprose and descended a level, but she certainly wasn’t still in the place she’d been before. At least before she could do more than repeat the same few phrases.

[stfu-layla]

before i go get dinner and leave my computer i just wanted to say that i love u all <3

thank u so much for ~*~*~*~^~^/being a part of this*~*~&~^/&^~& again <3 <3 <3 <3 

[stfu-layla]

*Please note that I only wanted to have a funny header to lighten the mood (same with the AHS callback on the main [still waiting for SNL to hire me………])

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know this day was coming. Even though, toward the beginning of the rp, I was under the impression that we’d only quit when the RP itself died out, the fact that Southport would close by the mod’s volition is a realization I came to a month or two ago. 

It was around then that I started feeling uncomfortable when I got on the dash – it wasn’t because I had no muse (I have TONS of muse, I should really just figure out a solid plot and write a book series with Layla ngl), I was just beginning to realize that people had found their ~*crews.*~ That’s perfectly fine, it’s expected from RPs that last for a while! I was prepared to continue, however, because I still had my friends and my friend…ly acquaintances ( ;) ), not to mention the fact that I considered everyone on the dash an awesome person, even if we’d never talked! But, considering it started getting to the point where a lot of  plots weren’t being acted on (which is, again, no one’s fault – it’s better to invest time in some plots than others, and I totally understand that), I agreed when Dakota brought up the idea.

We know four months isn’t that long in comparison to certain RPs, but we were beginning to realize that the RP was turning sour for a lot of people involved. In my experience, this happens a lot in RPs around this time, and not just our RP, appless RPs, or anything of the type. I’ve witnessed two RP uprisings – one that occurred when the RP was around five months, and one that occurred when it was approaching a year. I don’t want this RP to turn into a negative experience when you look back on it.

That being said, people can still RP on their characters, as I said on the main, and people can still continue threads. You can 1x1, you can indie (which, I suppose, is what I’m referencing to primarily), but the main’s dead. There’ll be no events, no tasks, etc. For some of you, that was never important in the first place, and I hope you all decide to keep RPing with your character and your character’s connections if that’s what you think is best (on the bright-side, you no longer have to run anything by us ;) ) – I’m going to try and do that as much as possible on here – but I know that with no acceptances and no activity checks, the dash will probably die out eventually… and people will convert blogs… and Southport will be a memory, only a few blogs still standing (and likely standing still).

This experience has been absolutely amazing, one that’ll stick out to me when I think back on my RP career (and not in a bad way like the dreaded first RP I joined – I was so incompetent, I didn’t even know about the RPC – I literally made my character blog a sideblog to the main……. like r u??????? fucking????? w me younger igor????????? who actually went by emily then like so many missed opportunities?????????). Thank you all for being so great, and I’m so sorry we had to do this. 

If you want to contact me (and I want to contact all of you :* ), send me a message and I’ll give you my Kik or AIM if you don’t already have it. I love you all so much, and I’m genuinely so sad to see this come to a close.

[noahcollns]

This was a completely different Layla he was seeing. The one Noah knew always seemed to remain collected even in the worst possible scenarios (such as being homeless and having a psychopath as a mother) and this new act was scaring him. He tried to understand what she was trying to explain, though it was difficult with the few words she was using to sum everything up. ‘Something’ could mean a lot of things. ‘Something’ could mean she’d finally listened to his suggestions and had a marathon of Disney-Pixar films. After waiting still for another moment for what would hopefully be a better explanation, Noah opened his mouth to interrupt but was quickly distracted by the gun she suddenly pulled out. His first instinct was to step back, which he did, holding his hands up defensively. Realizing she wasn’t planning on using the thing on him, the male dropped his hands back to his sides but remained a few steps away from her, still wide eyed. Normally, he would have closed the door on the person at first sight of a weapon but something told him that there was no need to be afraid- for the time being, anyway. He was slowly connecting the dots now, figuring out that the gun probably had a lot to do with the ‘something.’ “Jesus, Layla, put that thing away.” He chastised her while glancing around to see if there might have been anyone else watching the scene she was stirring up. Confirming that she was the only one outside, Noah nodded towards the inside, motioning for her to join him. In all honesty, the male wasn’t entirely sure why she was here or what she wanted from him. He wanted to help, yes, but dealing with crimes wasn’t exactly his strong suit. And while staying loyal to a friend was a high priority on his list, so was following the law- which he already knew Layla didn’t agree with. “What the fuck is going on?” He wasn’t one to swear, in fact, he hated it. But there had to be a rule somewhere that stated when someone showed up at your door with a gun, curse words were to be called for. 

[stfu-layla]

Layla had been waiting for the invitation to enter his house – moreover, simply to get out of the public eye. As soon as he gestured towards the inside of the house, Layla practically sprang at the chance. She wasn’t sure how to begin her explanation. Perhaps, ‘I did the one thing I’ve been trying not to do willingly and it ended in some bad shit’ would suffice. Better yet, ‘Sinned.’ However, neither of those were real explanations, what she was expected to provide as Layla. One word answers were fine to the few who knew her as Mary, but one of those people was... in some sort of state of being, and the other was bringing gasoline to the prior for some “unknown” reason. What a twisted Hannah Montana AU. She had to give a response to Noah that Layla would give. We can’t all be Julia Roberts. However, as she continued trying to think of replies, her thoughts involving words were interrupted and she had to, instead, improvise. Running her free hand (she wasn’t planning on letting that gun touch whatever of his he didn’t pack up) through her hair, she began what was bound to be a floundering attempt at an explanation. “I – fuck, you remember the alley?” she asked, trying to begin somewhere as she grasped at straws. She figured it was her best starting point, after all. He didn’t learn about her past from their conversations about lemonade or whatever the hell it was they’d talked about beforehand – sure, he’d learned her views on optimism and pessimism, but even people with the brightest pasts can have the dimmest of expectations. No, she told him her story the night he found her trying to pinpoint the age of a building – a riveting activity, really. “You, uh – you... you remember my mother?” she continued, for a second wondering whether to call her Jane or the title she preferred. She was no longer sure where she stood and that was more threatening to her than anything in the moment. If nothing else, she’d always had a very clear sense of self; never before had she realized that her “sense of self” was reliant on the one person she... thought?... she'd never want it to be on.

[noahcollns]

As weird as it might have seemed, Layla often crossed Noah’s mind. Since their last conversation, he found himself listing off possibilities regarding her whereabouts at that exact moment, his brows furrowing with concern. He still didn’t know her all too well, but suspected that the small amount he did know about her was as close as anyone had ever gotten. It made him feel even more responsible for making sure she was okay - for a homeless person - as it wasn’t like anyone else was going to step up for the role. So far, his invitation for her stay at his home was yet to be fulfilled but Noah figured that was a good sign. He was at his own place to pick up the remains of his belongings, most of them now having been moved to Emily’s house. And it was only now that the male realized with him moving, there was a chance that Layla wouldn’t be able to find him if she ever did end up needing somewhere to stay. He didn’t know why he was concerning himself so much for her wellbeing, but after everything she’d told him, she definitely needed someone to do so- especially when she always seemed to be far too caught up with surviving to care too much about her state. Setting his box of belongings down on the floor, he surveyed the living room for any slip of paper and a pen. After ripping a page out of a notebook he discovered and finding a pen that had been thrown carelessly on the floor, Noah took a seat at his kitchen table to write a little note. However, he was interrupted by a persistent, and violent knocking. Making his way to the door, he first peeked through a window. ‘Speak of the devil.’ He murmured to himself before pulling the door open only to find a frantic Layla pacing back and forth on his porch. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too.” Cocking a brow, Noah crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for any sort of explanation. 

[stfu-layla]

As soon as Noah opened the door, Layla’s eyes darted towards him as she analyzed the situation – was anyone there with him? were there people around outside? etc., etc. “Noah – shit! Noah,” she rambled, seemingly unable to move past his name (he was looking good for pushing 501 years). Voicing her concerns and reasons for showing up at his house at the time she did (and, while considering that, she also realized she had absolutely no clue as to what the time was – her environment was, for the most part, timeless) was proving more difficult than she’d expected. “I… fucking hell – I did something,” she replied, placing extra emphasis on the final word, considering she wasn’t exactly sure what ‘something’ she did. She tried stringing coherent sentences together in her mind before speaking them to tell him what exactly it was she did, but the attempt rendered impossible. Instead, she recalled the gun she was still clutching onto and brought out the hand that was holding it. She assumed that’d be enough to get her point across. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for from Noah – she didn’t know if she wanted him to advise her to go to the police or call 911, she didn’t know if she wanted him to harbor her until everything was as sorted as it could be, hell – she didn’t know if she wanted him to close the door and leave her to do whatever she saw fit ‘best,’ but she wanted him to respond to the situation at hand. It was a damn good thing she still had the weapon on her person – sure, it wouldn’t be at the crime scene which was helpful – but the primary reason for it being so dandy was the fact that, in the moment, it was her only explanation. (Not to mention, it’d make a handy pseudo-weapon, seeing as George the shank was still somewhere in Jane’s house.)

[stfu-layla]

{{ noahcollns​ }}

Layla... Mary... whoever the hell she was after all knew she couldn’t roam the streets all night, walking around a small town with a gun in her hand, gripping onto it as if her life depended on it. Of course, the tight grip she held on “her” gun did not derive from the desire to protect herself, rather the primal instinct of one under pressure to tense every muscle in their body. She no longer felt the need to protect herself, after all – the one true foe she had in Southport was... either dead, dying, or wounded. Dead. The simple thought – hell, the simple word – was enough to trigger that impulse, that impulse she’d believed had died out, to tremble. There’d been a time she thought she’d be the one to dance on Jane’s grave, but, now that it was possible, she realized just how in-the-wrong she’d been. 

She couldn’t stay out in the open. Her first thought, of course, involved the gun – the gun only had one bullet in it, though, and she’d already used it. Her second thought involved leaving the town, something she planned to do eventually anyhow – she didn’t have a quarter left, though. Her third and final though involved going to someone, seeking out their help. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly chock-full in the ‘friends’ department, one of the reasons she’d agreed to stay with Jane in the first place (if ‘agree’ was the right word). However, there was one person who, if nothing else, knew where she came from – what her life was.

She ended up outside of Noah’s ((insert MASH title)), knocking rampantly on his door, then pacing, then knocking again.

[moneygoround-blog]

Visit Original Link

The Thin Ice - Pink Floyd

“Don’t be surprised when a crack in the ice,

Appears under your feet,

You slip out of your depth and out of your mind,

With your fear flowing out behind you,

As you claw the thin ice.”

[stfu-layla]

Burning Bush || Self-Para

Exodus 3:6 - Then he said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.” At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God.”

Jane had been waiting this time. She normally did not assume. Although she was a planner, she was in the business of giving Mary time before getting things set up. However, this was more of a treat than anything; it was a treat, and it was a test. She told Mary she’d show her the light of God, and she planned to.

More than anything, it was derivative. She knew the stories of the Bible – every single one – back, front, and side-to-side. She’d only ever recreated, what with the means she had, the Crucifixion... but there were so many other ones! She could follow verses by heart, sure, but the stories as a whole were where things got interesting.

When Mary entered the house, having retrieved Jane’s belongings from Isaiah, her former “husband,” if that’s what you’d call it. Of course, Mary was unaware of this – all she knew was that Isaiah had something Jane wanted, something she wasn’t supposed to see yet.

As soon as Mary entered, Jane, being the perfectly sane being that she was, began reciting Exodus 3:1-22 by memory. “Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.” Everything Jane needed was in the belongings, brought to her by Isaiah. 

Mary furrowed her eyebrows, instantly skeptical as to where Jane was going with this. She knew nothing was ever going to have a good outcome when Jane began speaking in Bible verses, and Bible verses solely. Her voice always became... almost mechanical when she read the Word of God. After all, it’d been drilled into her like nails into a wall and, unlike Mary, she latched onto it as if it were the only thing keeping her alive... and perhaps it was.

“There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up,” she continued, beginning to search through the bag that Mary had returned with. Her voice resonated still, Mary able to hear it well even with Jane’s head buried inside the sack as she looked for what it was that Isaiah had brought for her.

Isaiah had become, for lack of better word, her sugar-daddy. She’d followed him faithfully for years, much like a sheep to a shepherd, and, after all that’d happened with her daughter, she followed him still. For that, he was grateful. For that, he provided food, paid mortgage, and brought her the accommodations she sought... so long as it wasn’t out of line.

“There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, ‘I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.’”

It was not until this point that Mary realized Jane was hoping to recreate yet another story. She read the story of the Crucifixion, word-for-word, not one looking at her Bible, when she recreated that. Knowing Jane, she was fully aware the woman wasn’t simply going to light a bush on fire and see if it didn’t burn.

She wanted to show Mary, Mary who was so consumed by The Beast from Revelations, the Light of God.

Mary allowed herself the will to back up a step or two, knowing her mother was bound to pull some stunt on her. It was Jane’s M.O. – to string the verses together, then to force Mary into something that, as Layla, she knew was dangerous and unreasonable.

“When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!’ And Moses said, ‘Here I am.’ ‘Do not come any closer,’ God said. ‘Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.’”

Jane emerged from the bag, two items in hand – one big, one small. Mary had stuck to her word throughout her entire stay with Jane – she hadn’t looked in Isaiah’s bags for Jane once; however, she’d be lying if she said such accommodations were unexpected.

Gasoline. A lighter.

Fortunately, Layla still owned a bag of her own.

God bless that “armed” robbery.

Layla was better at analyzing situations than Mary – sure, they were the exact same person, but they survived in different ways. Mary survived by keeping in the shadows, by obeying; Layla survived by domineering, by going against the will of others.

“Then he said, ‘I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.’ At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God.” They both spoke in unison as Jane reached Exodus 3:6, causing Jane to smile.

As Jane encroached upon Layla, Layla made sure to move nearer to her bag that sat in the corner of the room. When she finally reached it, she’d been forced against the wall – she couldn’t move in anyway as the corner hit her.

She had one choice.

As Jane was finally able to douse her in gasoline, Layla shook her head free of whatever possible – she just needed to see past liquid-stained vision. Then, she bent down to the bag as quickly as possible. If she was able to unlock the gun in time, it’d be a godsend.

And she was.

As Jane was flicking the match, attempting to get it to light, the gun was shot.

[stfu-layla]

1. What are you doing right now? 2. Have you broken any bones? 3. Do you own a lot of books? 4. Where do you spend the most time in your home? 5. What’s your favourite smell? 6. Would you tell us an embarrassing memory?7. Do you have a special talent/skill? 8. Pick up the closest book to you and go to page 80 and put down the tenth line.

1) … 2) Once or twice, yeah. 3) I own… one, I think. 4) In an alley. 5) Rain has a smell, yeah? 6) One time, I tried to get money… and it didn’t work. 7) I’m really good at telling lizards apart from each other. 8) “…too desperate to die.” That’s dark as hell. 

[stfu-layla]

1)Morning routine? 2) Nightly routine? 3) How have your parents influenced you or your character? 4) How do you feel about kids? Having kids yourself? 5) How many apps are downloaded on your phone and which are most used? 6) Do you have any word crutches? Ticks or habits? 7) Mun!hh: Did you pick your character’s name for a reason?

1) Wake up. 2) Lay down. 3) I’m a great thief now. 4) No. Even more no. 5) …Apps? I thought those were, like… only eaten at fancy dinners… 6) “Fuck,” and “Yeah?” 7) yaaaasssss. Mary’s an obvious one (given her backstory) ofc. ngl tho o picked “Layla” bc i love the eric clapton song. i learned like 100173 years later that some alternate spellings mean something that has to do with god or smth??? so it all worked out B)

[stfu-layla]

what is one word to describe your life right now?

“Wow.”

[stfu-layla]

[stfu-layla]

ok ok im about to wrap the part of my hiatus plot that like prEVENTS ME from interacting on layla up (literally i need to stop calling it a hiatus plot this is going to last a long time) and i would lOVE SOme threads ok like like this if u want a thread and i’ll hit u up ;) (or hmu buT)

[stfu-layla]

Sheep || Self-Para

 “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me down to lie. Through pastures green, He leadeth me the silent waters by. With knives, He releaseth my soul. He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places. He converteth me to lamb cutlets; for Lo, He hath great power and great hunger.” - Roger Waters

Jane wanted to know God; no, Jane believed she knew God. She was with him, not Him, on a rather ‘personal’ level – no longer simply spiritual. She knew his every facet, and she always knew what he’d want her to do.

There was not a single part of Mary’s being that wanted to know Him, however. Mary feared every aspect of the... omnipotent force... idea... whatever He was. All curiosity had been stripped away so many years ago by Jane’s blade. All she was left with now was the hope – the hope that she clinged to – that God was just an idea, the figment of so many people’s twisted imaginations. These people who flayed, who killed, for their God.

But there was no denying her lingering belief.

“Proverbs 17:28 - Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise... When he closes his lips, he is considered prudent,” Jane spoke, every syllable rolling off her tongue with extra, and unnecessary, annunciation. 

Mary’s reaction was strange, even to herself, as she flinched when Jane simply spoke. She was already in a bind... quite literally... and hearing that familiar scripture was simply adding insult to injury, especially as it came from the lips of the one person whom Mary feared enough to obey.

Although the Sadler household had held many people in it from time to time – her mother, her mother’s clients, her mother’s “husband” whom Mary had never gotten the pleasure of meeting, there was only one person Mary was truly frightened by at that point. 

Herself.

Her mother had always been less powerful when it came to strength, but Mary had always succumbed. Perhaps there was some masochism embedded deep inside herself, perhaps she was just afraid of God, but she always had an out and she never took it.

Mary looked up to Jane as she read scriptures about silence from memory. Mary recalled them all, and, if she was able to, she would’ve spoken along with her mother.

But she wasn’t able to.

If she moved her lips from their current position, clamped together as tight as she could keep them, it’d rip the stitching that her mother had worked so hard to get in place. If she moved her lips from their current position, it’d cause both her and her mother great pain.

Her mother had placed George Mary’s shank on the bedside table upon finding it, upon realizing her daughter had developed a propensity for violence in her absence. It was then that she deemed forced silence to be the necessary punishment; there was no argument.

Her readings began switching up from silence to other familiar verses. “Psalms 100:3 - Know that the Lord Himself is God; It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves; We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.” With that, she looked back down from the sky to Mary who sat in the corner, bound but not struggling, and broke from a robotic, programmed voice – a voice designed only to repeat, repeat, repeat – to her own. “I don’t know what you did while you were gone, Mary,” Jane spoke, “but you’re still his lamb.”

She was now able to speak freely, no threat of interjections. It was not as though Mary would interrupt if she was able to, of course, but it was still nice to have the reassurance. Jane looked at Mary’s blade, clearly makeshift, and picked it up, beginning to twirl it around in her hand. She’d always considered herself a bit of a connoisseur when it came to knives.

She trailed her finger along the side of the shiv, shaking her head as she did so. “What happened while you were gone?” It was a rhetorical question... Mary was a bit tied up. Jane hadn’t yet spoken to Mary about her trip across the country – she didn’t know the why, the where, the how... all she knew was the when. That was enough to grow a seed of anger. She had let the entire thing slide ever since Mary returned, simply ecstatic that her daughter had come home after all, but she was facing her now and she was unable to say a thing; Jane saw Mary, but she no longer heard her.

Whatever had happened while she was gone, whatever she owned a shank for, was no longer important.

“Why did you leave?” A part of Jane expected an answer despite Mary’s crippling inability to speak at the moment. “Why did you leave?” she repeated herself, louder this time, shakier this time, and altogether more intimidating this time. Mary flinched again as the words left Jane’s mouth.

Why did she leave?

She was beginning to remember.

Jane was skilled with a knife, and George Mary’s shank was no exception. “You left me! You were supposed to stay with the herd.” Her expression went from burning anger to nearly illegible. “Psalms 23:1 - The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” She paused, looked down at the knife, then met Mary’s eyes. “What do you want, Mary?”

It was not long before Jane began to have a field day with the blade, going abstract for once and only cutting into certain areas on Mary’s skin as she spoke. “Why did you leave me? You were so young, you could’ve died; you strayed from the herd, you became a dog. You became the very thing that hunts the sheep. You don’t walk the path of God anymore, do you? You don’t walk in his light. You’ve surrendered yourself to The Beast.”

The one thing Jane feared the most.

A long pause followed as Jane examined Mary, as Mary bathed in agony. Jane was calculative when it came to where she cut into – painful, yet never lethal. She was smart enough to make sure Mary didn’t die on her watch. 

Perhaps that was for the worse.

“Someone’s going to show you his light.”

Instead of topping it off with one final slice (wherever she may’ve chosen), Jane sat the knife down and left the room.

Had Mary been able to speak, her response would’ve been the exact same: silence. 

She was beginning to sort things out mentally, but there was absolutely nothing to be said.

[stfu-layla]

charlottehbu said: ok i have 3 very important questions . 1) did u sign up?? 2) why is janette so excited and 3) u dont realize how often i heard obama was the antichrist in school

1) u kno i was going to hit ‘no’ but maybe i should just so i can get to kno jesus on a deep personal level. maybe i’ll be able to call him my homie. 2) janette has a lot of enthusiasm. it stems from her childhood. 3) obama is anything u want him to be today. he is a reptilian overlord, he’s satan, he’s a dirty rp blog. obama is everywhere.

charlottehbu said: i just realized the 3rd one is a statement forgive me ive sinned

i’ll have to check with my homie jc to see if i can forgive u after that. how dare you.