Hi! :) This is basically just The Raven Boys but gender swapped ( I might do the other books if anyone is interested ). I don't think a lot of people will read this, but I wanted to do this, so here it is! ( BTW this is my first Fanfiction, also has anyone seen Azeher's (She's an artist on Deviantart) gender swapped fanart of Gansey, Ronan, Noah, Adam, and Blue. It's amazing!) Anyways, Enjoy! :)

Blue Sargent had forgotten how many times he'd been told that he would kill his true love. His family traded in predictions. These predictions tended, however, to run toward the unspecific. Things like: Something terrible will happen to you today. It might involve the number six. Or: Money is coming. Open your hand for it. Or: You have a big decision and it will not make itself.

The people who came to the little, bright blue house at 300 Fox Way didn't mind the imprecise nature of their fortunes. It became a game, a challenge, to realize the exact moment that the predictions came true. When a van carrying six people wheeled into a client's car two hours after her psychic reading, she could nod with a sense of accomplishment and release. When a neighbor offered to buy another client's old lawn mower if he was looking for a bit of extra cash, he could recall the promise of money coming and sell it with the sense that the transaction had been foretold. Or when a third client heard her husband say, This is a decision that has to be made, she could remember the same words being said by Maurice Sargent over a spread of tarot cards and then leap decisively to action. But the imprecise nature of the fortunes stole some of their power.

The predictions could be dismissed as coincidences, hunches. They were a chuckle in the Walmart parking lot when you ran into an old friend as promised. A shiver when the number seventeen appeared on an electric bill. A realization that even if you had discovered the future, it really didn't change how you lived in the present. They were truth, but they weren't all of the truth.

"I should tell you" Maurice always advised his new clients, "that this reading will be accurate, but not specific."

It was easier that way.

But this was not what Blue was told. Again and again, he had his fingers spread wide, his palm examined, his cards plucked from velvet-edged decks and spread across the fuzz of a family friend's living room carpet. Thumbs were pressed to the mystical, invisible third eye that was said to lie between everyone's eyebrows. Runes were cast and dreams interpreted, tea leaves scrutinized and seances conducted.

All the men came to the same conclusion, blunt and inexplicably specific. What they all agreed on, in many different clairvoyant languages, was this:

If Blue were to kiss his true love, she would die.

For a long time, this bothered Blue. The warning was specific, certainly, but in the way of a fairy tale. It didn't say how his true love would die. I didn't say how long after the kiss she would survive. Did it have to be a kiss on the lips? Would a chaste peck on the back of her palm prove as deadly?

Until he was eleven, Blue was convinced that he would silently contract an infectious disease. One press of his lips to his hypothetical soulmate and she, too, would die in a consumptive battle untreatable by modern medicine. When he was thirteen, Blue decided that jealousy would kill her instead - an old girlfriend emerging at the moment of that first kiss, bearing a handgun and a heart full of hurt. When he turned fifteen, Blue concluded that his father's tarot cards were just a pack of playing cards and that the dreams of his father and the other clairvoyant men were fueled by mixed drinks rather than otherworldly insight, and so the prediction didn't matter.

He knew better, though. The predictions that came out of 300 Fox Way were unspecific, but undeniably true. His father had dreamt Blue's broken wrist on the first day of school. His uncle Jim predicted Maurice's tax return to within ten dollars. His older cousin Orion always began to hum his favorite song a few minutes before it came on the radio.

No one in the house ever really doubted that Blue was destined to kill his true love with a kiss. It was a threat, however, that had been around for so long that it had lost its force. Picturing six-year-old Blue in love was such a far-off thing as to be imaginary.

And by sixteen, Blue had decided he would never fall in love, so it didn't matter.

But that belief changed when his father's half brother Neeve came to their little town of Henrietta. Neeve had gotten famous for doing loudly what Blue's father did quietly. Maurice's readings were done in his front room, mostly for residents of Henrietta and the valley around it. Neeve, on the other hand, did his readings on television at five o'clock in the morning. He had a website featuring old soft-focus photographs of him staring unerringly at the viewer. Four books on the supernatural bore his name on the cover.

Blue had never met Neeve, so he knew more about his half uncle from a cursory web search than from personal experience. Blue wasn't sure why Neeve was coming to visit, but he knew his imminent arrival spurred a legion of whispered conversations between Maurice and his two best friends, Poseidon and Caleb - the sort of conversations that trailed off into sipping coffee and tapping pens on the table when Blue entered the room. But Blue wasn't particularly concerned about Neeve's arrival; what was one more man in a house filled to brim with them?

Neeve finally appeared on a spring evening when the already long shadows of the mountains to the west seemed even longer than usual. When Blue opened the door for him, he thought, for a moment, that Neeve was an unfamiliar old man, but then his eyes grew used to the stretched crimson light coming through the trees, and he saw that Neeve was barely older than his father, which was not very old at all.

Outside, in the distance, hounds were crying. Blue was familiar enough with their voices; each fall, the Aglionby Hunt Club rode out with horses and foxhounds nearly every weekend. Blue knew what their frantic howls meant at that moment: They were on the chase.

"You're Maurice's son," Neeve said, and before Blue could answer, he added, "this is the year you'll fall in love."