carry-the-sky reblogged
die, get resurrected, search for a sleeping welsh king in rural virgina, die, get resurrected again and you’ll find out who your real friends are
carry-the-sky reblogged
ALL MY KIDS ☆ BLUE SARGENT
She felt one thousand years old. She also felt like maybe she was a condescending brat. She wanted her bike. She wanted her friends, who were also one-thousand-year-old condescending brats. She wanted to live in a world where she was surrounded by one-thousand-year-old condescending brats.
carry-the-sky reblogged
Do U Know How Much This Scene Means 2 Me
carry-the-sky reblogged
his feelings for adam were an oil spill; he’d let them overflow and now there wasn’t a damn place in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if he dropped a match.
carry-the-sky reblogged
carry-the-sky reblogged
”Somewhere along the way, during this hunt for Glendower, he’d forgotten to notice how much magic there was in the world. How much magic that wasn’t just buried in a tomb. He was feeling it now.” ― The Raven King
carry-the-sky reblogged
boy kisses boy and a wildfire ignites / trees dance a yellow-orange haze / flames arch across the forest floor / burning / burning but not destroying / this is a fire born of creation / it is life-giving / bringing warmth back to a land previously 90% ice / half-abandoned to the cold.
boy kisses boy and three stars fall from their high thrones / they drop into the ocean and sink until they learn how to swim / how to be fish that shine just a little too bright to be normal / the kind of creature a dreamer brings to life with a soft smile / calloused fingertips resting on curved lips.
boy kisses boy and the world pauses / takes two gentle breaths / lets them out in a sweet breeze / every storm in the area is caught between cessation and precipitation / even gravity can’t help but hesitate / glancing up at the first press of mouth against mouth / a force to rival it’s own iron strong pull.
boy kisses boy and a king pulls a sword from a stone / this is destiny in motion / time is circular: the pauper and the prince / in which the pauper becomes the prince / who becomes the king / who takes hold of a sword hilt gilded in gold / in which king kisses king and no one dies.
BOY KISSES BOY & MOUNTAINS RISE & CITIES FALL // l.s.
carry-the-sky reblogged
The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master. This was the important thing. It had always been the important thing. This was what it was to be Adam.
carry-the-sky reblogged
after dark, it felt like anything could happen…
carry-the-sky reblogged
“I wish you could be kissed, Jane,” he said. “Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.” He flailed an arm toward the stars. “And then we’d never say anything about it again.”
carry-the-sky reblogged
what your fav TRC character says about you
Ronan: your normal face is a scowl and your vocabulary consists of 50% swearing, 50% well-crafted insults, and 100% snark
Blue: you're a raging feminist, you couldn't care less what people think about you, your fashion taste is light years ahead of your time
Gansey: you understand SAT words better than people and your vision is atrocious but at least you have a killer smile
Adam: you're a quick learner and a quiet protagonist, you never entirely fit into groups but who needs other people anyway
Noah: you've tripped over your feet at one point and complaining to yourself is your favorite hobby but you're an awesome best friend
carry-the-sky reblogged
herxnstairs asked: the foxhole court or the raven cycle
Why do we breathe air? Because we love air? Because we don’t want to suffocate. Why do we eat? Because we don’t want to starve. How do I know I love her? Because I can sleep after I talk to her. Why?
carry-the-sky reblogged
sorry not sorry
maggie-stiefvater
i laughed for 12 minutes
carry-the-sky reblogged
*TRK spoiler* These boys are killing me 😍😭
carry-the-sky reblogged
I. THE BIGGEST LIE YOU’VE EVER TOLD
It starts like this:
a dull roar. Everything is amplified,all freckles, all teeth. You look at him;
the world forgets to turn.
It’s hesitant at first, it’s not quite love,
not even quite like. His hands jut out like
something holy though,
something you know you could revere.
II. SECOND SECRET
Dreams are tangible things, until they’re held
in a palm. Unreality to reality. Maybe dreamers are weapons,
but their dreams are not. Your sweetest ones are about
fingers in mouths, kisses on cheeks.
Your nightmares are about losing him,
and a hand falling through yours,
disappeared.
III. TWO GODS IN THIS CHURCH
Churches are meant for worship, so you kneel.
Your mouth was destined for filth & curse words, but you pray,
your voice soft against the stained-glass ceilings.
You look at him;
he looks back, eyes glancing off and away.
You’d devour him if you could.(He thinks the same.)
IV. THE OCEAN BURNED
Here, the world stops.
Dream comes alive, touch to touch,
hand in hand, light alight. You hurl thoughts
of happiness through your subconscious. You didn’t know
you were capable of such a thing, but you are, and
so is he.
Here, the world is all light and love. Just mouths, no teeth.
Just touch, no consequences.
You fall asleep and for once, your dream is on the pillow next to you,
both laid bare.
MAYBE I DREAMT YOU, A. M. Jarvis (via admidala)
carry-the-sky reblogged
I went to Cincinnati earlier this month to see Maggie Stiefvater at a book signing. I stood in line for two hours, and when I came up, she asked me if I had finished reading The Raven King. I think she asked most people that. It’s a good question—an easy way to make conversation, to open the floor for a shy person. I explained that I had bought a copy, but I hadn’t finished it, not yet.
I told her I always recommended The Scorpio Races when introducing new readers to her work. I said something stupid, about how it’s the point where he writing crystalized into perfection. I didn’t mean it like that; each book Stiefvater writes is new growth, and her work only gets better. She didn’t peak at The Scorpio Races, but that’s when her writing started to really, truly resonate for me.
Anyway, I think I said something else. I feel like I did—I remember it, the gap of wasted time. There were words I wanted to say. They stuck in my throat. It was hot and hard to breathe and the woman behind me was taking out her books. I didn’t want to be rude, I didn’t want to take someone else’s time away from her, but I couldn’t say the words.
When I finally blurted them out, I was almost crying. I told her thank you for writing Adam Parrish. I tried to explain why it was so important, but there were no words for it, not in public, not like that. I sat down afterwards and cried for a few minutes. I shook most of the way home.
maggie-stiefvater
I asked her if I could reblog this so it might help others out there.