the blue gang

Humans were so circular; they lived the same slow cycles of joy and misery over and over, never learning. Every lesson in the universe had to be taught billions of times, and it never stuck.

Maybe it was good that the world forgot every lesson, every good and bad memory, every triumph and failure, all of it dying with each generation. Perhaps this cultural amnesia spared them all. Perhaps if they remembered everything, hope would die instead.

—  Maggie Stiefvater, “Blue Lily, Lily Blue”
  • Blue: Rate Adam out of 10
  • Gansey: Adam? Adam Parrish? Oh, Adam's a 10. A true 10. Have you seen that face? Only angels could have crafted such a thing. Pure perfection. *sigh* Adam Parrish. He's the best of us, Blue. A 10 all round. You see those hands? They're working hands. I would trust my child in those hands, I really would. He's a 10, Blue. A solid 10.
  • Blue: What about the rest of us?
  • Gansey: strong 8 in good lighting
10

Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw friendship @sara-never-smiles

**credit to original artists**

i will bet real money that ronan sneezes like a kitten and everyone thinks it’s adorable and he just glares at everyone and is all like “call me cute one more time and I will s l i t  y o u” except not with adam cause it makes adam smile and ronan is a sucker for adam’s smile

The Raven Boys is wonder- old woods and changing and magic. It’s desperate, the world pulling you outwards when you want to be in. It’s waiting for the weekend, waiting for signals, for signs, for something different. It’s a beat that catches, that swirls in the air, that twists and turns and winds it’s way into spaces you never realised were empty. It’s wide eyes searching skyward, mouths ajar, feeling new. It’s the promise of something bigger, dust in your lungs, breathless, gasping, help me’s into silence. It’s being saved without wanting to be, reproachful, I don’t know what to do, abandoning somewhere you thought was home. It’s reaching out and finding nothing to touch, things you can’t explain, I’ve been dead for six years, that’s all there is. It’s whispering questions into freezing air and finding the world tumbling in your breath.

The Dream Thieves is smashed glass, blood splattered floors, dialling a number that won’t pick up. It’s sunlight falling through air, hiding hurt behind shaking hands and averted eyes, broken, shattered, fix me. It’s dark water, dark laughter, dark eyes, dark hearts- children dragged into existence, into life, into more. It’s smashed fists and dirt-caked finer nails, secrets kept and moments analysed. It’s creation, madness, impossible, longing, enchanted, I don’t want your pity. It’s brothers, the ones you choose, chaos and shielding arms, what would they do to me? It’s clenched jaws, blood stained smiles, hooded eyes, the world as a nightmare. It’s falling through broken air, claws at your throat, fire at your feet, engulfing, scorched rooftops, rain falling from the earth and up and back down again. It’s releasing the controls, open eyes, empty lungs, restless hearts. It’s darkness, I’m always brave- braver than that.

Blue Lily Lily Blue is a light kicking in after a blackout, flickering shadows, dancing your hand out the window. It’s circles under your eyes, aching, something over your shoulder, I will be your hands, I will be your eyes. It’s caught breath, suffocating, thoughts becoming things becoming fears. It’s light, the absence of dark, how could you ever be lonely again, wonderful, dreamful days. It’s talking in circles, dreaming in riddles, walking down tunnels that lead to nowhere. It’s hands on a steering wheel, fingertips on fingertips, this was not allowed. It’s flowers and rosebuds and ripped skin and you let me believe, tuning everything on it’s head. It’s eyes closing into exhausted knuckles, sitting alone in the dark, finding, changing, wondering, for your hands. It’s your heart stopping or beating too fast or not at all. It’s intention, wanting, desperate, untameable longing. It’s your voice cracking in the dark and knowing someone’s beside you, ready to heal.

The Raven King is maps spread out across the floor, pin points and coordinates that don’t exist. It’s decaying, losing your grip, your own breath in your ears, rushing, drowning, running, whimpers and putting your faith into the unknown. It’s secrets kept and facts pulled out of thin air, something’s wrong, something new, something different. It’s overflowing, raging, crashing into each other, the ocean would catch fire, magic. It’s a storm made of anything but rain, alcohol soaked laughter, futures beginning, reaching for something, fining something new. It’s trembling tears, grief choked sobs, dreaming cures for tragedies that haven’t happened yet. It’s dissonance, cracked sunlight caught on sharp bones, heaving, dreadful, wonderful, panting, make it save, make it safe, make it safe. It’s endings and beginnings and fearful happiness. It’s being sick of a world without them in it, thumbs pressed into soft skin, stop me, stop me, stop me- stopped. It’s saving yourself, bending truth, unmaking, undoing, unhinging. It’s holding your hand up to the sky, longing, do you dream of the stars, slipping quietly from existence, wake up. It’s hopeful, it’s forgiveness, an endless, unwilling war. It’s impossible light, beginning and ending, beginning and ending - make way for the Raven King.  

2

A soul this decayed shouldn’t have been - well, it shouldn’t have been anything. It should have been a remnant of a ghost, a mindless, repetitive haunting. A hundred-year-old scent in a hallway. A shiver standing next to a certain window. But somehow, she was looking at a shambles of a soul, and in it, there was still a dead kid. “I don’t want to go.”