half deity, half dust

"We were born from glass - delicate, beautiful, and unforgivable. We shatter every day of our lives, and our entire existence is picking up the pieces."

fashioninquality

Shoe Porn at Dolce & Gabbana Fall Winter 2013 | MFW

"Why did you pick me?”

"I wanted to make a statement, I suppose. Africa is the motherland, the cradle of civilization, white people have every possible good thing - and if they don’t they take it - so why shouldn’t the savior of the world turn out to be a black teenager?"

"You cannot be that liberal."

"You’re right. I picked you because you’re pretty." Ayaba flashed a smile and whipped her hair over her shoulder, entirely amused by herself. "Your children are a reflection of you, right? I had to pick the best."

"Oh my God."

"Oh my Goddess.”

"I’m never saying that."

voryv-deactivated20150918

#e: inspiration #insp: scenery #p: queen

chiffonandribbons

Reem Acra S/S 2013

poete

msbecket-archive

when the river swallows the night, the moon is alone. the stars are afraid and the air is still.

her screams casted the calm away, shattering the dark into severed remains of panic. the warriors surrounding her moved immediately, their liquid formation a rehearsed wave, fluid movements battering their enemies with pretty violence. blood made the marble beneath their bare feet slick, but they kept their ground, advancing on the opposing army without fear.

msbecket-archive

The cold of solitude settled in her bones. It left a cool kiss upon her skin, the light frost of depression melting the moment he reached to touch her. His fingers burned her skin, but she moved with the heat as he pressed his palm against her cheek and turned her face.

“Have you been listening to me at all?”

“No.”

There is beauty in mortal combat. The unity of the body and blade is easily overshadowed by the ferocity and persistence of the fighters, weaving and ducking and inevitably dying. It’s customary to deal mortal blows, so that when the first woman kneels, the second has the opportunity to instill sisterhood. It’s a startling tradition, but as Nike is eased forward to press against the edge of the crowd, she can see a delicacy in the ritual. The weapons are shed as the winning fighter crouches above her opponent, her hair disheveled and brushed off of her shoulder so that she may grasp the dying woman to seize her lips. The other warriors surrounding her grow silent, all watching eagerly until the winning fighter separates and the one that had previously been dying grasps her forearm with new strength. They stand together and embrace, the blood that had previously been pouring from her abdomen staining both their clothes. She’s fine. Healed. With a freshly-puckered scar where the sharp edge of the blade had previously torn.

"That is how we become sisters," her guide tells her smugly. "Now they’re bound in arms. They’ve traded life."

"They kissed.”

"Call it whatever you want."

They are titans of earth and resemble it as such - big and broad with skin colored like clay and mud. When they leave the heavens, greens spring up from their steps, grass covering the naked ground without shame.