WHAT IS A GIRL LEFT HALF EATEN ?
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i am gonna do a rehaul graphic-wise to appreciate the new url and tag-wise as to simplify them. then get to the replies I owe . thanks for being so patient with me
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Say hello to my attempt at fruit drawing , I am no artist at all but I found these chalk pastels and wanted to try
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So instead of writing i used flowers to dye some fabric
I don’t know how long it’s gonna last cause I pounded and twisted the color on the fabric rather than just let it steam and sit overnight
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btw now is the best time to keep boycotting. the israeli economy has never been weaker. don't stop the protests or the demands for divestment. keep supporting organisations like the Hind Rajab Foundation and the Accountability Archive. ofc don't stop boosting and donating to Palestinians as Gaza is still uninhabitable.
enjoy this moment but the work has not ended
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consequence stays quiet to observe. eyes measuring debate on the quality of the vessel . they were a collection of labors - sent to judge . and brought when israfil commanded a trial. - seeing the other for what she held, and the horrors it called . and here they are cold and without words. listening in on the other’s heartbeat. a peeping tom lacking carnality. - with a sullen face and all the weight upon their shoulders. THEY OBSERVE HER AS THOUGH SHE WERE A FLY. snarl tongued and uninterested but duty would require them to address her.
“ i’ve been here for however long it has been . “ it is a curt answer - not giving way to any form of understanding. a point of power - for consequence has always been known when it was time. they leave her on the floor , busy surveying her quarters trying to see what she’d tried to kill in the light. “ but it seems like you're running from something ?” they slip about the space around them . ink seeping across acpaper - tallying up the chaos about them. careful steps aware of the glass - tone mocking as they question her . “ you’ve quite A DISTASTE FOR THE LIGHTS - AFRAID something was coming for you ?” they stop and put their attention back upon her . a shard of boredom creeping down their spine.
consequence despises chaos - for they passed through masters for its taint and lost their heart on its whim. they cannot stomach the upheaval about them nor can they make reason with what she could be if saved. to them she'd allowed the other free access within her and so for that should be put on the gallows. story goes like this : when “the deity “ needed to give man sense he allowed for their birth. BUT CHAOS FOLLOWED RIGHT AFTER, laughing them into boxes. halved and without self.
and so they are as they are now . cold and jaded , unsettled by the time and fact of their continued existence and so they come around as a blade in heat. mouth lacking merriment and hope under blood wanting tones.
“ maybe i could help , but i don’t know if you can be honest about it .” they stoop down to her height LYING THROUGH THEIR TEETH . for what they would give was judgments right hand - but to bring her to court, they would have to play nice.
One by one, the lights had gone out in the studio apartment. There was no telling why there had to be so many lights on the first place, but it didn’t make a difference now; darkness came in, quick as a blink, and darkness stayed, growing in this place as if it were relieved to finally be given the space to do so. This opportunity, the darkness would not waste, for who was there to say when that bright, uncanny girl would quit buzzing about like a disorientated and backwards moth, banishing every flame about her? For there was a humming, you see. A constant and insistent humming at a single note that warped and transposed this reality’s silence to a different key. The powers that be had already forced the chaos agent out of time, but she would not ( ! ) allow herself to be bullied out of her own existence. No, thank you very much, but I like it here just fine. And so with a kind of hysteria that suited this vessel as if so carefully, nigh lovingly, tailored to it that it stretched over each odd crooked joint and draped over every supple bit of dollish flesh in imperfect perfection, she searched for the source of the humming, murder on the mind.
Anything electronic had already been unplugged, and the temperature regulator lowered to its utmost minimum. She unscrewed every lightbulb she could reach and crushed the ones she could only touch with the quick, violent jab of the spare rolling pin she’d found. In the end, there remained only the small spotlight glowing weakly above the front door. Charlotte dragged over a dining room chair, stepped up onto it, and stilled her breath. The light stared down at her like a sickly, yellow eye. Slowly, she stretched up onto her tip - toes and angled her left ear closer to the light, and there. There it finally was: the hum. Sinking back down onto steadier footing, Charlotte gave a satisfied huff with the hint of a chuckle in it; she rolled her shoulders and her neck, loosening the muscles there, and then, she smiled, rather wickedly, before shoving the rolling pin handle-first into the light, shattering the bulb completely. Enveloped in the pitch dark, cold, and silence, the primordial void’s foremost agent sighed as relief washed over her. Already, she could sense reality settling itself and though it was no longer what it was before the humming began, it was no longer caught in the in-between, that state of constant vibration, of constant discomfort. Absence was a living thing and sometimes, a bit of nothingness was her soothing grace. Though she could not see even an inch in front of herself, she would still look behind before stepping down from the chair. It was an instinct honed after years of falling and tripping over unexpected wrinkles underfoot. A stray rock, a fold in the rug, a slippery spot of blood. Yet what instinct could not prepare the agent for and, indeed, where she might’ve relied on experience, it now failed her, was to see a new pair of eyes ( eerily bright, though, this time not at all lame! ) staring directly back at her. Nose to nose, eyes to eyes – Charlotte had little room to do anything except give a scream of surprise, pressing the same hand still holding the rolling pin into the other body’s shoulder, and shoving it away. Hard. Yet she was the one falling backwards. Figures, she thought as she fell, the chair falling with her like a sorry friend, and felt the cold sting of a new bruise forming where her head hit and bounced off the ground. “ Ow. ” In a somewhat embarrassed fashion, the rolling pin dropped out of the vessel’s hand and rolled itself away until it could not be heard anymore. This left Charlotte both her hands free: one to push herself up into a sitting position, the other to rub idly at the back of her head. “ How long have you been standing there? ” she asked the shadow within the shadows. / @raftagii
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the little judas parades around as though he were a god. a thing that assumes the right to anger - to revenge and the blood. but all that he truly has are the nightmares ! - the cold ridged hands of " the house " trespassing about him as though he were clay to be molded on whims and fancies. AND SO THE BLADE GOES ABOUT MANNERLESS - a diva keen to keep eyes upon her . extending a long breath of excitement as the body below turns inside-out. the savagery of which leaves him erect- showcasing the fall of kabir khan , of the manufactured doll pure enough for all.
this is a showcase telling of a child who was never ALLOWED TO BE, now throwing a tantrum in hopes of comfort that did not come with a price. and so here he plays as the tumor - the dying star reaching over the sun. a rot that should have never spread and so when the other brushes a gentle hand against his cheek he feels weak. held by something so sweet it puts a smile to his face. making him remember some blurry image of a long ago . BUT WHEN IT SLIPPED TO HIS LIPS AND DIPPED A BLOODIED FINGER INTO HIS MOUTH the flies rose again. talking all the kindness with them.
the blood slimes its way down his throat - raises fires and whistles away. / the feeling of the ” old being” inside leaves him shaking . mouth sputtering an attempt at a retort . “ MAYBE IT WAS THE HOUSE , or it was them who didn’t believe me. “ all ramshackle and bare boned in attempt to put the other in alarm.
he spins about the thoughts - off the betrayals and the deaths. around the house who was a mouth unstrung, always hungry and following. and he drops the blade to lunge for the open throat - for the adam’s apple . his mother had always joked - that this was the CENTER OF A MAN'S SIN. a watchful eye that choked them on their lie. A BURNING STIGMA - that lay to remind them of what they had done to eve. and he wants within - to command the sinner and make his sins known. - his mouth drags around it , picking apart every attempt of his godhood.
it is awhile before he is done . his mouth pulls off deranged, jaw slack with exhaustion . he is barely able to speak of this love and so it comes out a whisper. ." if you are honest in your vows , let me rest inside you . LET ME BE YOU , SO THAT I MAY HOUSE TIME AND LIVE . "
Oh, the poor, poor boy has been cut and minced into nine of them. But despite it all, he'd love him in the eight parts of him. Like, for example, he particularly likes his lips—how they don't smell so foul, or ever will, though at the moment, despite all the festering words of terror, anger, and hatred, he will love him still in all his flaws and god-awful taste of the maggot-filled mouth of his. It always looked so plump and reddish in color when they kissed, or when he cried, or when his thumb traced his lips and pulled them apart. It always—and still—is a part of him he finds most enjoyable.
He also likes his ears, probably because he has shown him things like notes and music. The way they curve, the way they taste sweet when licked. The way they become a source of anger when Conrad bites down on them. The way he won't listen to anything he says, like a stubborn little lamb—or not so much a lamb. What is he, again? A little godling?
Hardly so, maybe. He doesn't seem so pleasant to see now, all tattered and far from his supposedly holy appearance. Yet, he is the one to talk. But Conrad never was a god. He is older than them after all.
Then, he might love his hands—particularly his palms. They are always nice when they touch things. Or maybe his feet. Maybe his stomach and his neck. The way his Adam's apple always bobs in anger and pleasure. He wants to gouge it out of him and kiss him where it hurts, feed it back to him so he can understand how tasteful it is for Conrad to have him in his mouth.
Yet, he couldn't. He won't ever have the chance to.
He'd love all eight pieces of him, but not him as a whole. Something unsavory. Something, something, something. All in confusion, all in confusion indeed. The moment the knife lunged into him, it confused him still. The sound of his flesh being torn apart, the shirt his daughter had chosen, all tattered and painted in blood. Something red, mostly black and foul-smelling. Something that forced its way to make him smile—almost snickering, but not quite. He doesn't even understand what he wants to do with Kabir, and yet he still wants him. All in his miserable pieces, but not as a whole. Not yet. Not when he has yet to come to terms with what it is—this feeling.
"Is this what … house … made you, Kabir? A child playing god? How quaint. Have my blood quench your anger, my love? Stab me however much you want. Let me ease the pain he has caused you."
His words linger, dark and almost tender, as the sting of the wound still pulses along his back. The knife that Kabir drove deep into him has left its mark—Conrad can feel it, the blood seeping down his spine, warm, mingling with the cold air around him. His body is taut, every muscle coiled with the threat of something untamed within him, a storm that has yet to be fully unleashed.
He takes a slow breath, feeling the sharpness of the pain and yet, loving it. The blood trickles in rivulets, a reminder of what they've become. His skin stretches taut around the wound, but rather than recoil, he draws a deep, steadying breath, savoring the moment. The wound isn't just a physical one—no, it's something far deeper.
Conrad's hand, now coated in his own blood when he reaches for his back, tracing the edges of the stab wound. He winces slightly, the rawness of it all too real, but his fingers tremble with something that's not quite pain. It's something more, something that calls to him—a desire to be closer, to be torn apart and remade in a way he can't quite explain. More. More of this feeling, of this connection.
How bizarre.
How human-like this whole thing is.
Finally, a heart of his own!
His heart hammers in his chest, not with fear but something far darker. He can feel the wetness, the sensation of his own blood soaking through the fabric of his clothes, and yet it's the taste of it in the air that sends a thrill down his spine.
He looks at Kabir—and a slow, twisted smile curls on his lips. A bloodied hand reaches out to the boy, lost in the turmoil of anger, agony, and divine confusion. His palm lands softly on Kabir's cheek, leaving a trail of blood across his lips. With a deliberate, almost tender motion, Conrad traces his thumb along Kabir's lips, parting them slightly before pushing his thumb inside. He feels the warmth of his own blood mingling with Kabir's saliva, the wetness of their connection sending a dark thrill through him.
Oh his poor, poor boy.
"Do you feel it, my love? This is why I love you. All this pain, all this power—we will reshape all of this, together. Just for you."
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is there a way to stop drafts from auto saving? i just lost all i wrote cause i didn't know i had a reply open in two different tabs and when i clicked over and even though i closed out quickly i lost almost all of it .
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the request bleeds her heart. LINES HER MOUTH OF EVERY CURSE , but she does not give them a voice in fear of regret . this appointed time - the devil’s hour ran through her like a tempest. uncaring of what it upheaved and so she tries to bury herself . believes that hiding would pass this onto someone else. “ i will do no such thing .” she looks straight up at the other - grinds her teeth and forces her hand to grab the collar of his shirt. had he still no inkling of what she was , or did he doubt what she could do ? “ i will not be a pawn in this play , i will not allow you to fall . I AM ISRAFIL , SECOND TO THE DEITY AND THE ONE WHO DEVOURS PLAGUES .” she holds him as she puts herself forth plainly . she comes around as does thunder . steadfast but in pain , a snarl without her known impishness - to cause the other to vacate such thoughts .
" you ( @holyscorch ) will not become something other than what you are now . i will take time apart if she dare take your fate that way. " she is serious- cold eyes alarming everything around them. " you are too good to be allowed to be hurt and i will not be the one to do so. "
#you broke us BROKE US WITH THIS ONE I SAY HOW COUKLD YOU DO THIS TO ISRAFIL ( RAPH'S REAL NAME ) LIKE WHAT DID WE DO TO YOU AND CRIMSON.#holyscorch#˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ㅤ── CHARACTER : ISRAFIL
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URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD
Dear humanity,
Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.
I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉
Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.
My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.
Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others
I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment
I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺
Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.
So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.
Please Donate now:👇
https://gofund.me/2f20a398
Ddonate Via Paypal 👇
https://www.paypal.com/donate
Please help if you can thank you !
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‘ life is a book, and there are a thousand pages i have not yet read. ’ ( from suzuka to maryam!!! )
curiosity steps through her. - slinking about her to propose a silent question. was her definition of LIFE EQUATED TO EXISTENCE as a whole or to the manner by which the sea ebbed and flowed in her favor ? nonetheless she has been made to face this thought herself as well. life began with a choice - a choice to create and a choice to nurture . each had positives and negatives and it all created pathways that were made by fate . in her estimation fate was a continuation of the first choice you make and it killed all other possible outcomes. she has read her pages , read select pages of other's lives but it all comes back to the WHAT IFS AND WHY NOTS !! and why me and not them and so many pages were lost.
" what would you do to get those pages @iedolon? what do you think we can change within ourselves to rewrite our pages or to catch those running off from another. do you really think it possible to read them all?" she inches forward to the other - counting the steps as though wanting to see inside her book AS TO UNDERSTAND THE OTHER . " and you created not only your own book of life but with a throw of a stone created a whole new land and so what can you not read?"
#i was trying to find information on her and the wiki was talking about the thrown stone and the creation of the land and so i went with it#if you need anything changed let me know.#iedolon#˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ㅤ── CHARACTER * MARYAM HOCANE .
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she draws herself up in blue , displaying comfort in his company. as to not keep what is happening a secret there has been much she has kept unspoken and all it has left her with is a gaping hole that does not fill. and so she counts it down - holds the tempest by the tail . with her emotions snared as to ensure her place . she was losing parts of herself - but what she had here could GRAB AT THE MISFIRING AND PUT IT BACK RIGHT. what could she lose here with him , when he had always lent her his whole attention. not in scorn but in joy of their friendship. and so she gives it all a chance. her once SOUR FACE returning to a comfortable pace of allyship. "
there is an expiration on this body of mine and with it goes the memories. I AM AFRAID TO FORGET YOU - to forget all the good things this life time has given me but alas this is not my actual body but just a substitution as the other lays decaying for fault of others." she knows that this is a strange statement but he is not of this world either and maybe he would be able to make reason with what she was tell him . " and so to do what i wad made for i go through bodies as my being cannot be PROPERLY HELD BY THESE CONTRAPTIONS. . "
" something so troubling that it rattles even you .... " crimson muses with concern etched in his tone. he didn't need to look at her long to understand that something rattled behind her composure. ( it loomed over her like a shadow ready to swallow her at any moment. ) aimless and lost with no where to run; crimson can sadly understand that notion all too well. perhaps that's why he takes her by the hand, with a tenderness that made his touch feel it wasn't there yet it was at the same time. a lightless weight to bring her some reminder that she wasn't alone in her moment of uneasiness.
" ... don't force yourself to tell me if you don't want to. " crimson assures her. " only know that i am here to listen .... and whatever i can give you to rest your nerves, i will provide. ... what is waiting for you, my friend ? "
#˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ㅤ── CHARACTER : ISRAFIL#holyscorch#sorry for the delay but man this friendship is so good for her :D
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Happy new years to all of you . I hope it is a positive , blessed and joyful time. allow yourself a break and go on to reset and then come back and take the world by the horns to tell it who is the baddest boss in this time .
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Hello🤗❤️
I hope you are well🌹
Can you help me get my voice heard
and share my family's story?🙏🏻
Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 5$?
By helping to reblog my story, you could
save a family from death and war.🌹
Thank you very much🌸
🕊️❤️🌹🙏🏻
Help if you can !
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some more ( and some updated ) angel lore including "the deity." :
the angles where once known as the elder things. and they belonged to a version of existence in which earth was governed by them . physically they were seen by their people as a blinding light that burned into the skin to put people on to a certain path that they symbolized ( guardianship / mikhail , creed / jibril , safety / israfil . and so forth) and it is after they felt that they had spread their work enough and created a world that could sustain and work itself they became the outlying planets that gave their word to the one chosen to lead their path. only being seen again if there was some great strife.
it is in this that "THE DEITY" comes into being . he without a name grew out of the marks they left upon the earth . an inverse of them he was a wild thing deeming that the elder things must return or have themselves remade. he found chaos in there leaving to which he believed they were blind and so wished to remake the world . in collecting his own followers and amassing power from the earth's very breath " the deity " LAID SIEGE UPON THE OUTLYING PLANETS. scattering them and their memories - to give birth to them as his own set of angels he was victorious for how he took from all the paths and made himself a most pure of being.
after this is his establishment as a figure of godliness . the elder beings are renamed as mikhail, jibril , and israfil amongst others and where tied to him to serve and do as he needed. things are peaceful until jibril is returned to the people and he becomes THE VOICE OF "THE DEITY" - as both his beloved and his mouth peice . what the issue is that his return creates within mikhail an old longing - one which mirrors what they were but lacks meaning as they both lack their memories. this is the idea of a sword not being anything if it does not own a message. leaving jibril to later on take his own life out of shame which casts him down as a person who believes he is nothing but who is also chased by mikhail and " the deity."
alongside this israfil is weighed down by their war - it splinters the worlds and throws plague after plague upon the world. leaving her unable to stay within her own body - which means the council of the stars needs to make her tempory bodies that only shortly house her , while they try to keep her holy body out of decay and death.
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she plans her way around the questions . starts on a low turn of phrase to extinguish the alarm . " worry not these are all hypotheticals. a line must end when it meets the edge and death and life are no different. " she humors them both - starts to settle into something more humanlike as to not petrify the other. but as always there is a LINGERING ABOUT HER, THAT SPILLS HER INTO UNCANNINESS . chewing at her eyes - to settle a dull grey over brown. she is death and death is "the deity's" third. a soft spoken rendition of agony. trying to achieve peace but failing in the words of others. " and it isn't ever a big deal , an exchange is only equal to that which one can offer . if it does not meet the right qualifications it falls flat."
she tests and prods and whispers an addendum " but what is physics in the face of the all knowing and ever changing . " she wonders if the other wold pay attention to this part - if she would assume it some fools words or see it as something after her . BECAUSE TRUTH BE TOLD - SHE WASN'T SURE IF SHE WAS AS SHE PRESENTED HERSELF. " also i work in the field of archeology. head of it at MANCHESTER UNIVERSITY and the godson corporation . "
THIS WASN'T THE USUAL PLACE.
That growing discomfort, the sensation of it as disturbing, as repulsive as if someone had covered her form in a blanket of scurrying, writhing ants, seemed to strengthen in its potency. At any moment now, the vessel thought it could enter her, through the ears, the mouth, the nose, and eat her alive inside - out. Just who the hell was this woman and what the hell was she playing at? To come out of fuck - all nowhere and plop herself down without so much of a hello - how - are - you before starting in on this maddening talk about the end of the world and the last sleep that was not a sleep in anyway, no matter how much she insisted so. It was enough to make the agent think that this woman was just like her. . . just like her. . . but there was no one like her, was there?
THIS WASN'T THE USUAL RESTART.
It was all coming back to her now, and Charlotte swallowed a gulp of coffee with an inward start, the hot liquid nearly catching in her throat, the sludge of it dragging along sore flesh. There hadn't been a death this time and this was no limbo. She was here and so was this woman and a game was afoot. " Sure, if that was the case, then yes, death could be a comfort. If it wasn't an ending, then yeah, what's the big deal? " She paused, lips pinching in thought for a second. " But then where is the end? It can't be that we just go on and on forever, can it? That's just— physics doesn't even allow for that. " Brows shot up and Charlotte sputtered laughter with a discordant sort of shock at the woman's suggestion. Seriously, who the hell was this chick? " Me? Uh, well, would I know your company? What business are you in? "
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humor strikes her - catches her tongue like a match does phosphorus. bringing her to laugh deeply . a sound scraping the bones of an overworked woman of the wide eyed bewilderment setting on the onset of their predicament . and she bends into a bow - thankful for the expression . " how funny !! - i am here to help you out and you take it to jokes . " she is not mad by any measure rather glad to see the other in good spirits . but to be rather honest man had often left her with a case of indigestion- a full lack of belief in their humanity .
SO HER TONGUE HAD BEEN HEAVY - splitting apart on the ways she had attempted to have mankind settle and look forward to a better existence . to ensure that they did not drown themselves. but they were as they always were . headstrong and filled on ego . on a heightened performance of attempted godhood .
AND SO SHE HAD BROUGHT THEM A CASE AGAINST A HIGH RANKING MAN . a drought to a week of peace . for what was death if not made to be solved. he was a fool who thought he'd been in the clear to mark the world in his image. a council man holding himself over a cult and she needed the other to help make the answer to this case more humanlike.
" i do suppose that there is a need to add a layer beyond horror to this . for otherwise it will pick us apart. " THE LAUGHTER HAS GIVEN AWAY TO CONTROL . to a focus on top the waste the world was shoving upon them .
⋆ "MADAME SYLVIA TO NICOLE COLLARD @letemoin "
#tbt#so sorry for the delay on this but I had a lot of fun imagining death and the journalist remedying the world one quack at a time#hope you like this#letemoin
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