Corvine Blood, Raven Heart

This is an independent Huginn & Muninn RP account run by TYMON. Hughie & Mandy. Huginn & Muninn. Main Verse: God Is Just A Word FC: Matthew Daddario & Emerald Toubia

[scottymccall]

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graveycrd:

Not that he would but Bod knew the capabilities of raven’s wanting, wanting, wanting. He didn’t quite like himself for enjoying the play of it. Like somehow, enjoying the thrill of his mortality made him much more mad than even he cared to admit.

“Is that where you’ve been? Snacking on bones and rot? I won’t kiss a mouth that tastes like death. Brush your teeth first, or don’t put your mouth anywhere that I’ll be able to taste it.”

Another wary glance, alright, that’s enough. He slips away by stepping backward and shifting sideways to walk around the bird.

“Among other delicacies... A kiss? Whoever said anything about a kiss, darlin’?” Coy, or at least his currently screwed up version of it; a cheshire grin adorned his face. “There’s a few parts I can think of then, no?”

His hand reaches out as the other pulls away, practically clawing at the other’s chest. (Bod was just too right in regards to his wanting and wanting; and not just in this situation either, for he and his sister had a thing for things that shine and sparkle, and what they wanted they usually fought to get — the amount of golden artefacts they had stolen was bigger than the National Museum after all.) An image flares then, of ribs torn open, a heart missing; he let his hand claw fall. He’s not here for blood. It’s not that kind of lust, not today. He hadn’t even planned for either kind to be truthfully honest, it was supposed to be just a simple, uneventful visit innit?

He placed his hands on his hips lewdly, tap, tap, tapping the bone in time with his heartbeat. “Checking me out, Mr Owens?” It didn’t work on everyone, and some wouldn’t even call what he had charm, (he got on their nerves too much, acquired taste as he was) ; their loss — there was always more birds in the sky.

[thequarrelsome-deactivated20161]

[thequarrelsome-deactivated20161]

L A M B E R T  OF  THE  W I T C H E R  GAME  &  BOOK  SERIES

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why does tumblr keep posting drafts while saving as drafts why this

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claraosiwald:

                       LIKE A WITCH’S FAMILIAR,  a piece of animation.  Once upon a time, Clara would have gaped and pried - awestruck and curious, her winning pack. But now, her eyes had seen so much she shouldn’t have, that wonders such as these were simply to be accepted until otherwise convenient. Still, she hung on every word like a thorn on a rose; a contradiction to its purpose  (  the beauty of a rose and the deadliness of the raven.  )  

                ❝    ————  It’s a long story.  Found a sort-of loophole; just to sort out my bucket list and things, nothing major.    ❞     And already making jokes with the trigger she would one day pull ( had pulled, is pulling…)   Should it be worrisome how accustomed she is to death? It’s as old a friend as any she’s had. Though reliance told her she wouldn’t be so comfortable if not for the bird’s own spoken words. Perhaps, as it turns out, the raven was just as much a victim as she was. A tough note to jot after decades of being friends with its captor.

“A loophole?” A query, curious at her escape, one that none have ever managed, even with a cost. A bend in space-time perhaps, like the technology possessed by his (real) captors; or even a deal, in exchange for the beat of her heart and the breath from her lungs. Was it worth it? She was a physical presence here, alive enough, she must have thought so. All it seemed to give her was time, more time, from the way she talked about it. Death would still come for her wouldn’t it? Nothing to change that, remove the stain on his being, remove his mark on her.

Huginn eyed the passersby milling about the street, in a hurry to get to their destination, to do what they want or is required of them. They just weaved past the woman who stopped in the middle of the pathway, only one of two bothered to make sounds of disapproval. (They wouldn’t know it yet, but they were closer to the world of the supernatural more than anyone else on that street.) Still he wondered if they should move away from this place, “Would be it easier to speak to me, to look at me, if I changed form?”

[lordsnow]

[lochiels-deactivated20180429]

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Such hatred as yours can never triumph.  I hope one day you will find the love and compassion which used to fill your heart.

[madaddario-deactivated20160718]

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headcanon that the ravens bleed black ichor if you get them to bleed that is

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thequarrelsome:

Eyebrow lifts, a bird turning into a woman is not an overly surprising phenomenon, after all, shape shifters exist and Lambert has come across a few of them. Now he has little doubt left whether the other one can take human form as well or not. The only thing that doesn’t fit in the picture is the magic… shifters can’t do such spells… in fact, he hasn’t really seen the likes of this spell before…

“ Shame really… hot woman, good taste in drinks too. Being a monster just really  RUINS  the whole image. “

His upper body turns towards her, though from the corner of his eye he still keeps tabs on the other one still in bird form. If there has been any resemblance of a smile on his face, it’s definitely gone by now.

“ That description fits more or less every second guy in this bar… including myself, so how about your just stop wasting my time, you fly away and caw some other idiot about this shit, or we can take this outside, but then I’ll be less friendly. “ 

“Monster? ‘s all a matter of perspective innit? Some would say you’re the monster. Whispers in the dark, they say much about your kind, but you, you in particular, ‘Beware, the wolf that shrouds itself, the one who poses as a lamb.’ Perhaps this is what got the old god so interested.” Whispers they had heard, directly or indirectly; information gatherers, that’s what they were. She waits for the arrogance that is inevitable, and something in her other half’s glance shift into something darker. Lambert might not be looking his way, but he’ll definitely feel it boring through his skull.

“Though, I can be one if you want... it’s simple; I wonder what would taste better, your meat, your ribs, or your heart.” She smiles when she says it, tone still light, and Lambert could take that how ever he wanted. Fingers wrap around the recently brought glass, tap-tap-tapping lightly against its rim; Mandy is in no hurry to imbibe the alcohol that she certainly didn’t (need to) pay for. “Or perhaps, I just settle for normal meal of steak, hmmm?”

She —They didn’t come here to get into a fight, or talk about the monsters they all were, even that lady at the corner gripping her beer bottle just a little too tight, though Lambert was being particularly difficult. Something they weren’t warned about, but still expected anyhow. “You’ll have to be dumb, or blind to miss him; scarred, branded hands? I’ll make it easier for ya, basically a multicoloured light show? A time frame to jot your ailed memory: no more than 7 days ago? A ‘I got roped into this when I saw a guy pull his knife out from another guy’s jaw, fight for your life’ type of scenario?”

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warlcck:

“You’re obviously someone who thinks to be so smart and yet you don’t seem to be able to answer the easiest question. WHO are you? I want a name, not a philosophical discussion about.” He was still holding his drink, dangerously calm about the whole situation. Entertainment. Magnus had to admit, that the other had a certain effect on lighting up the moment, even though it was STRANGE to look at him. So familiar and yet NOT at the same time. “I prefer to know the other’s name, before I can promise to ENTERTAIN. So, I count to three and you tell me your name, or…” And he snapped his fingers, only sparks flying between them. For now.

“Shiny.” He stared at the other's hands, seemingly entranced at the light show that the warlock had summoned with his fingers. It was a weakness with them, hoarders of anything shiny, polished, or gleaming, even if they were of no monetary worth, (there was always that sentimental worth or psychic imprint that was more important than any gold, which was ironically shiny as well), and boy did they have a collection that spanned the centuries and millennia.

“Sorry — ” He shook his head, and his eyes went back to the other’s face. “ — Corvo. It’s Corvo.” A name that let Magnus be privy to more than just something as simple as a name. It was after all, a descriptor for who he was.

[50shades]

[pcem]

and then you were screaming back at them, rope burning around your skin, runes burning on your tongue, wisdom like this wildfire blackening your bones–

                                        but boy, you invited it in and                                                 you  said: MAKE ME A POEM                                                WORTH THE FUCKING READ!

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graveycrd:

“Oh I thought that would BE your dinner, my bad.” Whether or not Bod thought the same about the raven’s worth was left unspoken. Of course an expression (this one including a scrunched pair of eyebrows and smug smirk) was worth a thousand words. Bod eyed the fingers warily.

“Who says I do my living here? This is just a place of REST.”

“Something sweet should be saved for dessert, no? After all, they do say a man without a honeyed tongue tend to have a sweetness somewhere else.” Fingers dance on the man’s chest, and if anyone had seen it using True Sight, they would have seen a myriad of shifts, from meat and flesh to nothing but the skeletal bones, to claws, ones that needed no effort to rip into the chest and claw at a still beating heart — not that he would.

“Home. A place of rest, it's all the same. A graveyard is a place of rest, and it is a home, oh to too many, but more importantly a place for a enjoyable meal.

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namespooky:

It was a formula: death brought grief and turned lovers into widowers, but this local woman’s passing had a certain… supernatural scent to it, the flock of black birds doing little to assuage his suspensions. “Is this where the line to meet Poe starts?” Mulder asked wistfully. “I was hoping to get my copy of The Raven signed.”

Poor old Miss Havisham Harris. A spinster’s death she inflicted upon herself by cursing her former (cheating) beau dead. Wishes were so often unpredictable, for magic always had a tendency to backfire. Be careful the wish one makes, for they are never free. Yet, humans never learn do they? The unfortunate fallacy of mankind... Two ravens in the flock cocked their head in sync at the stranger’s approach and words. ‘Is this where the line to meet Poe starts?’ Truer words were never spoken; for their kind only congregate when and where death was present, (and in a way, the reserve applied too), and Mr Edgar Allan Poe was after all, long dead. A single word echoed through the beaks of every black bird there, “Nevermore.”

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phosphoromanccr:

               She got CHILLS. Why? Even after glancing around nothing seemed SUSPICIOUS. Maybe she was being overly sensitive. Regardless of whether this was imaginary feeling or not, her eyes stopped on a dark head of hair.

Here was a Light wielder. Unique, not just in her skill set or expertise, but something that ran much deeper. Talent, power. Blood brimming with the magic coveted by so many they would kill to get it. She glanced back at the other female when she felt eyes on her hair, “Brakebills, they’ve done a good job surely, but it isn’t for you.”

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claraosiwald:

          SHE MUST BE GOING MAD.  She must have finally lost it.  No one else bat an eyelid at the bird, so that must mean it didn’t speak, no?  No  indeed. Clara firmly reminded herself there was no point to being frightened. It already had and already  would  kill her. She was, in the loosest sense, safe for now.  (  And if she were to die? She would be ready for that too.  )  Clara didn’t step forward but she did step out from her futile shelter. If any one saw her she’d look mad, but no one seemed to notice her or the bird at all.

             ❝    Because I’m not afraid of you,    ❞    she answered, sure to emphasize her tense. It wasn’t just one act of bravery, it was a fitting close. An ending deserving of her. A final once-over of her surroundings, just to assure herself that no one’s paying her any attention before she speaks again, this time taking several steps closer to the raven.   ❝    What are you doing here? And how are you  …  communicating?    ❞

Of course, and why should she be? She has travelled stars, probably faced danger and death day in and out; nothing different about him, just another monster in the list, just the one that finally (supposedly) got to her.

“I could always speak. They... bound my ability to do so when...” He looked away, voice haunted, “when they decided I was just a thing to be controlled.” It was the past, yet not something to be forgotten, a constant Thought that would be part of his being now; excused not could he be even from actions that weren’t his own.

“Me? Birds are not meant to be caged. Eventually they do break free.” Huginn cawed, shifting on his claws, “And what about you, what are you doing here? Better yet, how are you alive?” When he struck, it didn’t just leave people dead, it left their bodies lifeless, soulless husks; but the woman who lived had a soul still, bright and shining, yet now that he listened closely, something was wrong about her: No thudding or thumping of a heart, no exhalation of breath.