#chloesff

Enter the players. There were seven of us then, seven bright young things with wide precious futures ahead of us, though we saw no farther than the books in front of our faces. We were always surrounded by books and words and poetry, all the fierce passions of the world bound in leather and vellum. (I blame this in part for what happened.)

“Do you think Gansey’s Latin is that good?” Adam replied tersely. “It was your handwriting on the rock, Ronan, that said they spoke Latin. Shut up.”

“i could recognize him by t o u c h alone, by smell; i would know him b l i n d, by the way his b r e a t h s came and his f e e t struck the earth. i would know him in d e a t h, at the end of the world”

Nobody ever says, ‘Noah, you know what you were right thanks for saving my life because being dead would suck.’

Ask Jordie, Kaz thought with a bitter pang.

"That's not exactly reassuring. From you 'fine' could mean anything from 'I'm going to hitchhike across the state' to 'I'm beaten to a bloody pulp but I can still hold a racquet'."

Pekka Rollins couldn't count the threats he'd heard, the men he'd killed, or the men he'd seen die, but the look in Brekker's eye still sent a chill slithering up his spine. Some wrathful thing in this boy was beginning to get loose, and Rollins didn't want to be around when it slipped it’s leash.

happy birthday, noel ♡