Misanthropy

mis·an·thro·py

/məˈsanTHrəpē/ noun

The general hatred, dislike, distrust or contempt of the human species or human nature 

Seeing the person you love asleep and admiring how peacefully beautiful they are is great, but have you ever seen them the opposite of asleep? Like awake, really awake, and focused and alive and in their element, to the point where they barely notice you, but you don’t care because holy shit they’re gorgeous

Aaron Warner:

Me: Excuse me... Mr. Warner...Can you stop existing for a quick second so I can breathe?

Ask the Moon

On the days that I have gone silent and it seems so has our love When I seem to be drifting away from you slowly Caving in on myself slowly On the days When my eyes cannot seem to focus on what is right in front of me And you begin to look foreign and I, like a stranger

On the days that I have gone silent and it seems so has our love I invite you to ask the moon for all it knows of me Retell all the nights we spent together just her and me, often in the company of shiny things; Like city lights and phones and stars and tears Ask the sun to tell you my story and then tell ours She did not see me often, But still smiled every time we passed Tell her I know she was trying. Let her tell you that she knew I was too Ask the air, to spill all the secrets I have breathed to it. You will hear your name more than once Go ahead. I give you permission. Let them tell you more of me than I ever could.

Let them tell you of how they saw childhood melt off of me leaving sticky honey footprints on the pavement and watched as me and my shadowed merged.

On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love

Stay Have a conversation with the moon Let her tell you of how even though she sees less of me now, she is glad of it Let the sun whisper it's thanks to you for getting me out more, share your love of playing with my hair and kissing my eyelids Have a conversation with the air that shudders in our presence Let them tell you of how different the whispers taste now, of how different I taste now Make friends with my friends Let them remind you of everything you mean to me Even when I can't

On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love Let the moon keep you company and assure you both her and I will be back tomorrow On the days I have gone silent and it seems so has our love Ask the moon She knows Better than I do Exactly how much I love you

“I--I don’t think you should face me when you do it,” she is so quiet. So pure. So young. So gentle.

“I am so sorry,” my voice and heart shatter. Here she is, hope, telling me how to snuff her out. Home, telling me how to burn her down.

I am sobbing. Again. All over again. My heart scabbing and splitting apart, again and again, and again.

“Lucy…” I am crying, like a child, screaming her name. Shaking her head she presses her forehead into mine, squeezing my hand tighter, and I scream again. Scream. Loud. Screeching. No words. Words have failed me too many times before. I yell, feel the sharp pieces of my broken heart stab me, and I scream.

“Andrea, Andrea please, Andrea there is only one song. Andrea, I love you. Andrea, please. I love you. Please.” she is trying to be kind, trying to speak over my outburst, but I cannot focus.

“I love you,” and she is crying too, murmuring it over and over again against my forehead, and I am crying too, throat sore, voice rasping.

“I am so sorry Lucy. So, so, sorry…”

“I know, Andrea. I know. I am too.”

The music comes back into focus and I too quickly recognize our place, in the music, the timeline, the countdown.

“I’ll do it with you…” a brush of her nose, I whimper.

“I’m sorry,”

“I know,”

A graze of her lips.

“I love you,”

A kiss. A breath.

“I know,”

A few more notes.

“I don’t want to do this,”

A few more breaths.

“I know,”

My other hand is now covering her’s, the one with the dagger. It is warm to the touch, her palm is damp, my breath is shallow.

“I’ll make it quick, I--I'll make sure it doesn't hurt,” My voice cracks, my soul fractures.

“I know,”

I wrap my hand around the hilt gripping it, fighting back vomit. Close my eyes, another tear rolls down, she kisses it away.

“I wanted to keep you safe,”

“I know, you did what you could. I don’t blame you. For anything,”

I open my eyes, I can read a million things in her eyes. Too many things. I am already overflowing, I can’t take anymore, but I do. Because I take it all in. Every emotion on display for me, every emotion I would never get to see again. Because I would put that light out. Stomp on it. Crush it.

“I remember when I played this for you, in the sitting room. I wanted to give you something, something you would remember,”

“I remember,”

My dressing gown has slipped off a shoulder. Her eyes brush over it before she leans in to press a small light kiss on my neck, and goosebumps ignite all over me. She pulls away, her fingers leave mine to brush my hair over one shoulder, and then covers the hand with the blade so she has encased it, one hand under it one hand over mine. I brush my free hand over her knuckles and find my fingers reluctant to lift again.

“I’m going to turn around now,” her voice almost blends into the music. Like she is meant to be there. In it. With it. I do not reply, just look up at her. Her burning eyes. Such fire. Such beauty. Such life. That life that had lit my own. Set me alight. Set me up in flames. Bonfire, no sign of fading. But here we were being doused in water. Turning to smoke and steam. When you are done burning alive, all that is left are the burn marks and scars and the absence of the warmth that once flooded your veins. That once reminded you that you were alive. Her hands leave mine as she moves stiffly and I cross my legs, shifting my aching muscles. As she sits in my lap leaning into me, as I wrap my arms around her and bury myself into the crook of her neck, trying to inhale the universes that exist there, I know that if she is not alive, neither will I be, and I suppose that is the point.

Just like I know I will have to hold her lifeless body in my arms before someone comes to get her and I know that is the point.

Just like I know this robe and these hands will be stained with her blood and that is the point.

Just like I know this song will never be the same for me.

Clair de lune. Moonlight will never be the same for me.

And that is the point.

The point is to tear me apart into so many tiny lifeless pieces, that no amount of happy drenched memories or hopeless love affairs could put me back together.

~Excerpt from the short story ‘Dance With Her’~

The Red Scrolls of Magic: Highlights

1. Every world out of Raphael Santiago’s mouth is gold. Stone cold and beautiful. Fight. Me.

1.5 Seeing Raphael again broke my heart all over again. Like...he’s only 15. My boy...my bb... So yeah. Thanks for that.

2. THE BANTER. THE BANTER. THE BANTER.

3. SEEING ALEC BEFORE HE WAS CONFIDENT IN HIMSELF AND HIS RELATIONSHIP AND JUST BLUSHING AND SQUIRMING sweetie. don't worry. it all turns out okay.

4. Magnus being extra as hell just *sigh* ive missed you

5. THE FREAKING TUXEDOS. Damn.

6. THE FREAKING MASERATI. SOMEONE GET ALEC LIGHTWOOD A SPORTS CAR LIKE RN AND LET THE MAN LIVE.

7. Aline and Helen. Just. I--

8. FUCKING LEoN

9. Alec interacting with people outside New York? But mostly Alec and Aline were so cute? It was so nice? To see him trusting people?

10. MeNtiOnS oF tHe nEw yOrK cReW

11. “i tHoUgHt iT wAs tHe vAmPire” “i tOtALLy sAw sCaRs oN jAcE’s nEck”

12. The purity of Izzy being so happy to see her brother happy?

13. “Alec had spent so long with a desperate impossible crush on Jace. He had thought it was a secret: now he knew everyone had always known, especially Jace. Jace had never minded. He had understood Alec needed to have a crush on someone who was safe.” IM NOT CRYING. YOU ARE.

13.5  “Wait! Jace says he needs the phone back. He says he may have mIsUnDeRsToOd tHe qUeStIoN.”

14. IN CONCLUSION: “I’m not Jace Herondale. But I’ve learned to keep up.” was the “Because I’m not you’re bitch.” of the eldest curses. This. Is. The. Tea.

I REPEAT:  “I’m not Jace Herondale. But I’ve learned to keep up.” was the “Because I’m not you’re bitch.” of the eldest curses. 

And. This. Is. The. Tea.