we fools who love

the head is too wise. the heart is all fire.

“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.”

He was a  king. This was the year he was going to die.

are you listening Glendower? I am coming to find you!

“A hairbrush is not a gun.”

                   “as they scuffled in the grass, adam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. he could nearly scry just like this. the quiet and the cold breeze on his throat would take him away and the dampness of his toes in his shoes and the scent of living creatures would keep him here. within and without. he couldn’t tell if he was letting himself idolize this place or ronan, and he wasn’t sure there was a difference.                     when he opened his eyes, he saw that ronan was looking at him, as he had been looking at him for months. adam looked back, as he had been looking back for months.”

[…] it was every mile per hour Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every window-down, goose-bumps-on-skin, teeth-chattering-cold night drive.

In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.

Blue had gone through eighteen years as the town psychic’s daughter, and now, in her senior year, she had already held every single possible conversation about that fact. She had been shunned and embraced and bullied and cajoled. She was going to hell, she had the straight line to spiritual nirvana.

“You missed World Hist.” “Did you get notes for me?” “No. I thought you were dead in a ditch.”

Inside, they pretended they would dream, but they did not. They sprawled on the living room sofa and Adam studied the tattoo that covered Ronan’s back: all the sharp edges that hooked wondrously and fearfully into each other.

Adam had a strange, lucid beat of reliving the moment Ronan had offered his hand to help Adam up from the asphalt. Stripped of context, the physical sensations exploded: the surprising shock of heat from that skin-to-skin grip; the soft hiss of the bracelets against Adam’s wrist; the sudden bite of possibility—

↳ less is more…

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,“ Alice remarked. "Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”