the raven cycle female characters: three psychic women with very different personalities who live together and raise a kid together, a 600-year-old witch, a tall girl who wears bell bottoms and orange nail polish and flirts with her customers over a psychic phone line, a morally ambiguous woman who earns the disapproval of her family by dabbling around in the darker parts of magic and doing it for fame not morality, a rich socialite with a helicopter license who’s described as beautiful but unattainable
the raven cycle fandom: CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW MISUNDERSTOOD DECLAN LYNCH IS
what he says: i'm fine
what he means: You know, I get it. Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you’re physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.
Hot Dog: Regular Fellows Monthly, November 1922
suffering with Gansey and Blue
They do bad things because they’re scared.
They’re gullible or misinformed. Example: somebody who has been told the heroes are out to hurt them.
They are desperate for interaction, validation, kindness, or attention, and the dark side gives them those things.
They want to change their allegiance, but are pressured by people close to them to stay evil.
They have an otherwise noble goal that they will do literally anything to achieve. Example: somebody who wants to protect their child, even if it means throwing other children into danger.
You wake in the night with your arm hanging over the side of your bed. It is still dark, and your bedroom is shrouded in deep shadow. Something unseen seizes your hand.
You grasp it tightly, knowing that first impressions are important and a firm, confident handshake will establish dominance.
“What is it like to be immortal?” Icarus asks.
“Think of it like this,” Apollo explains, ”when I was small, so was my world. The only sky I knew was the one at the foot of my father’s throne. But as I grew, so did my world. I soared the skies above Sparta and Athens and all I asked for became mine. To be immortal is to know that greater victories always await.”
Apollo rakes his eyes over Icarus’ beating wings, “What is it like to be mortal?”
Icarus says nothing as the gentle brush of Apollo’s fingertips leave burns along his jaw. He says nothing as his lungs fill with ash after every kiss. Nothing as his body begins to feel the weight of his wings pulling him down.
And finally, as the wings give in to the heat, and Icarus falls through the clouds, he closes his eyes and says with a smile,
“It feels like this.”
—If you have to ask, then it was never meant to be yours anyway. (i.s.)