I find it funny that so many trc edits lack color or any vibrancy, all black and white and beige and pale, when in the books there are so many things that are obnoxiously colorful??
Gansey’s rainbow of polo shirts? The bright orange Camaro? Blue’s lime green dress that looks like a lampshade? Her assorted hair clips? The lively 300 Fox Way? Adam’s red Coca-Cola shirt? Kavinsky’s dream dragon/firework thing? Blue Aglionby uniforms? Cabeswater’s color-changing fish and golden leaf fish? The green of the plants surrounded Parrish? Guys
Day 7: Favorite time travel moment/reference/memory
“What in the name of goodness are you doing here?” I demanded, recovering some remnant of coherence. “We came to see you off,” she said, and a hint of a smile flickered on her lips. I looked at Roger, who shrugged slightly and gave me a lopsided smile of his own. “Oh. Yes. Well,” I said. The stone stood behind Brianna, twice the height of a man. I could look through the foot-wide crack, and see the faint morning sun shining on the grass outside the circle. “You’re going,” she said firmly, “or I am.” “You! Are you out of your mind?” “No.” She glanced at the cleft stone and swallowed. It might have been the lime-green dress that made her face look chalk-white. “I can do it - go through, I mean. I know I can. When Geilie Duncan went through the stones, I heard them. Roger did too.” She glanced at him as though for reassurance, then fixed her gaze firmly on me. “I don’t know whether I could find Jamie Fraser or not; maybe only you can. But if you won’t try, then I will.” My mouth opened, but I couldn’t find anything to say. “Don’t you see, Mama? He has to know - has to know he did it, he did what he meant for us.” Her lips quivered, and she pressed them together for a minute. “We owe it to him, Mama,” she said softly. “Somebody has to find him, and tell him.” Her hand touched my face, briefly. “Tell him I was born.” “Oh, Bree,” I said, my voice so choked I could barely speak. “Oh, Bree!” She was holding my hands tight between her own, squeezing hard. “He gave you to me,” she said, so low I could hardly hear her. “Now I have to give you back to him, Mama.” The eyes that were so like Jamie’s looked down at me, blurred by tears. “If you find him,” she whispered, “when you find my father - give him this.” She bent and kissed me, fiercely, gently, then straightened and turned toward the stone. “Go, Mama,” she said, breathless. “I love you. Go!” (Voyager, 23, Craigh na Dun)
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