Roses

No, the last thing she cared about was whether people were staring at the boy and girl kissing by the river, as London, it’s cities and towers and churches and bridges and streets, circled all about them like the memory of a dream. And if the Thames that ran beside them, sure and silver in the afternoon light, recalled a night long ago when the moon shone as brightly as a shilling on this same boy and girl, or if the stones of Blackfriars knew the tread of their feet and thought to themselves: At last, the wheel comes to a full circle, they kept their silence.

unknown (via kirayukimura)

i don’t want them to rescue me again, it’s embarrassing. i need to clean up my own mess. captain, it’s the nine-nine. there’s nothing wrong with asking for help from people that care about you.

All the legends are true. We’re Shadowhunters. We protect the human world from the demon world.

       “Tessa.”        Her heart stopped.        A great wave of lurching dizziness passed over her, and for a moment she wondered if she were going mad, if after so many years the past and the present had blended within her memories until she could no longer tell the difference. For the voice she heard was not the soft, silent voice-within-her-mind of Brother Zachariah. The voice that had echoed in her head once a year for the past one hundred and thirty years.        This was a voice that drew out memories stretched thin by years of recollection, like paper unfolded and refolded too many times. A voice that brought back, like a wave, the memory of another time on this bridge, a night so long ago, everything black and silver and the river rushing away under her feet…        Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt as if it might break through her rib cage. Slowly she turned, away from the balustrade. And stared.        He stood on the pavement in front of her, smiling shyly, hands in the pockets of a pair of very modern jeans. He wore a blue cotton jumper pushed up to the elbows. Faint white scars decorated his forearms like lacework. She could see the shape of the rune Quietude, which had been so black and strong against his skin, faded now to a faint imprint of silver.        “Jem?” she whispered, realizing why she had not seen him when she’d been searching the crowd for him. She had been looking for Brother Zachariah, wrapped in his parchment-white robe, moving, unseen, through the throng of Londoners. But this was not Brother Zachariah.        This was Jem.

)

the sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. the moon is a loyal companion. it never leaves. it’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. every day it’s a different version of itself. sometimes weak and wan, something strong and full of light. the moon understands what it means to be human. uncertain. alone. cratered by imperfections.

When tragedy hits, who will she become?  Will she be able to control the power she wields and use it for good?

What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades’ underwear?

“Is that all?“ she whispered. Gansey closed his eyes. “That’s all there is.”

― Unravel Me, Tahereh Mafi

I never really understood why actors get paid so much money. But now I feel like it’s because they have to sacrifice their lives sometimes, you know? Some people may want that, but I said it: I’m shy and reserved, and there is nothing about me that wants to throw myself out to the world like that. I don’t resent those people or anything, but it’s hard to feel like you’re a person. You go around everywhere and people treat you like a doll.

Jace’s grin was a white flash in the darkness. “It means ‘Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234.’”

percy jackson minimalist: the seven