HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i love the Halloween extravaganza idea and if you have time to do one for me that would be amazing 🖤🖤
How considerate of you, to take into consideration my own time, my own needs, and to wish me well for this Glorious Holiday! How thoughtful. How rare.
Do you know, some people use the word “animal” to describe savagery or viciousness. Can you believe that? Dostoyevsky couldn’t either. In The Brothers Karamazov, he wrote: “People talk sometimes of a bestial cruelty, but that’s a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that’s all he can do. He would never think of nailing people by the ears, even if he were able to do it.”
Of course, that character wasn’t who we, the audience, were supposed to empathize with most. So what? That didn’t make his point any less seductive; and I believe we were supposed to find it seductive, to see his point and be tempted to reach out for it, even if we were ultimately meant to reject it as horrible. What was Ivan’ getting at? Well, “I think if the devil doesn’t exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness.” That seems fair enough, even if one chooses to heed Alyosha’s call to find the humanity-loving Christ figure within.
You are no man; no woman neither. Mortals have associated you with the Devil and his servants (as mortals call witches, and other misunderstood creatures). If the Devil does not exist, Mortals created him in his own image and likeness, gave him those physical qualities which they found most subversive or dangerous or simply unpleasant (see: the witch). Then they took those animals who they understood least (you), and also made them the Devil’s.
Corvid,you are too smart and too resourceful. Your sleek aesthetic, your un-songly call, your large black eyes- you unsettle people. But it really is your intelligence that probably puts you over the edge to caw with the witches. Hominids say that their tool-use makes them unique- but you use tools like a boss! You reason well. You cooperate too, and you think you do a damned better job than most other species. You’ll even return things to the hominids if they lose them!
There is a Tumblr post somewhere out there that something to the effect of: When I (your accuser) hold a grudge, it means I’m petty. When you hold a grudge, it means you’re intelligent. The original poster- a mortal hominid- found this terribly unfair, but you’ll take it. You remember faces, you know who is kind and who is cruel, and you treat them accordingly. You communicate with your brethren to share your knowledge.
(Are you a raven or a crow? Who knows? You do, but you like to keep hominids guessing! Well, actually, you’ve explained it to us a million times- the wingspan difference, the tail feather difference, the size of the groups you travel in, the differences in calls- and you’re sick to death of it. If mortals want to know, they can google it.)
Your social groups are described as an unkindness or a murder.Talk about biased language! How do hominids get away with such things? Smh.
Happy Halloween, Corvid! May you rule the skies this All Hallows Eve Day and beyond!
the aftermath of it
can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.
At the start, after Magnus had portaled home, staggering and hurt and halfway to death with this boy leaning against him, asking that she help this Shadowhunter first… she remembers healing him – Alexander
– and feeling rage. With runes stark on his skin and blood
on his knuckles, he had been every inch a Nephilim. The Nephilim who
had stolen Magnus’s heart.
She remembers the way she’d frowned at his unconscious face,
comparing him to the strip of photographs Magnus left on his desk.
Watching him lying there on a makeshift cot in the living room,
suffering from the shock of blood loss and broken bones, she couldn’t
imagine him making funny faces, couldn’t imagine him looking at
Magnus with soft, sweet eyes. Couldn’t imagine that
he’d want Magnus’s touch, that he would smile
that boyish, lopsided smile with her best friend’s arms looped
She remembers thinking, you don’t deserve him. This
Shadowhunter, this lying Head of the New York Institute,
didn’t deserve Magnus and his love. Magnus, who had started
sleeping exclusively on the right side of the bed, who looked at
Madzie with something wistful in his gaze every time she ran toward
him, who always protected his people at the expense of his own
He’s too good for you, she had thought as she glared
daggers at the boy in front of her, with his angel blood and penchant
for prejudice. But she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rolled him down the stairs, and had gone to help Magnus instead; her best friend, drained of magic and still stubbornly trying to heal himself. She’d gone to the balcony afterwards to clear her mind for a minute, to rest her hands, and now, as she turns around to check in on Magnus…
The Shadowhunter is missing from his cot. Classic. Rolling her eyes, she opens the
door to the master bedroom.
They’re lying in Magnus’s bed together, Magnus’s head
pillowed on Alec Lightwood’s chest, nearly asleep as he slowly
heals from the wounds of battle. His body still lies stiff from the aches
of demon venom coursing through his blood, skin paler than its usual
golden hue, bruises littered everywhere, yet his arm is still curled
possessively around the Shadowhunter’s waist in a familiar motion.
And the Shadowhunter…
He’s looking at Magnus like he’s a miracle.
His eyes never leave Magnus’s and his face is soft and warm and
content, like he’s holding onto something he thought he’d lost
forever. He looks young like this, the way he smiles and whispers
secrets into Magnus’s ear, the way his fingers trace patterns on
his bare shoulder, the way he readjusts the red silk blanket so that
it’s tucked carefully under Magnus’s chin.
Magnus can’t see it, with his face buried into the
Shadowhunter’s shirt, but from the doorway, Catarina can. This boy…
he’s truthfully, honestly, painfully in love. The
type of love Catarina hasn’t seen Magnus receive in too long, the
type that’s as helpless and natural as the sky is blue. And a part
of her still wants to be angry, to shake Alec Lightwood until his
teeth click in his skull, to tell him, don’t you ever hurt
him, but from the way he’s staring down at Magnus with his
heart in his eyes, she thinks he already knows.
Catarina starts to turn around, when unexpectedly Alec Lightwood’s
eyes dart up to meet hers at the sound of her loafers swishing
faintly against the rug. They stare, frozen for an awkward moment,
and she nearly laughs at loud at the way his cheeks go rosy pink. She
opens her mouth to say something, to make fun of him
maybe, or tell him to let Magnus sleep, but right then Magnus shifts,
groaning low in his throat, and the Shadowhunter breaks his gaze,
mumbling something into Magnus’s hair that makes her friend smile
Wordlessly, Catarina magics the door closed, staring at the smooth
black wood as Magnus and Alec fade from view. In the kitchen, she
makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, hands wrapped around the
soothing, fragrant heat as she sighs in exhaustion. The two of them…
they don’t make sense to her, not at all. They shouldn’t work.
But Magnus is Magnus, and he’s never done anything by halves. If
his happiness comes in the form of a too-tall Shadowhunter with
gentle eyes and a cautious smile, then Catarina will be the very last
person in this dimension to tell him no.
I still can’t believe that these two dorks imported from Transformers Prime are the 2nd pair of canon robots husbands in the IDW comics. They aren’t just window dressing either! There’s a story behind the vain, high speed racer that married a guy who is considered inferior by his whole culture. I want to see it play out so badly!
Knockout and Breakdown are precious and deserve all the love.
date a boy who can’t sit still. date a boy who’s a mechanical genius. date a boy who respects your autonomy. date a boy who will always support you. date a boy with an asshole older brother. date a boy who fed a rival captain’s fingers to his dog. date a boy who is the Ravkan king. date nikolai lantsov.
Lonely hearts have a tendency to stick their veins out, in hope of connecting to someone else’s blood vessels. The only problem is that the bearers of those hearts have reached a point where they feel like they don’t know how to do that anymore. They’ve been put down too many times, told that they’re abnormal so often, to the point of nearly believing it themselves. They tell themselves that they just aren’t meant to be around anyone else, that they were born to love infinitely and to never be loved the same.