“When I was younger, I used to be very afraid of doing anything out there with my makeup because I felt like my hair was such a big strong piece, and then I learned from this show, specifically, that you can really use brighter colors to play up your hair, as well. I used to never wear red” - Madelaine Petsch.
chris evans as erwin smith | matthias schoenaerts as mike zacharius | dane dehaan as levi ackerman | carrie coon as hanji zoe | jai courtney as dita ness | ricky whittle as gunther schultz | devin paisley as erd jinn | tom wlaschiha as auruo bozado | rhian rees as petra ral | erika linder as nanaba | christian serratos as ilse langnar | luke newberry as moblit berner
book pairings: ♥ Adrian Ivashkov and Sydney Sage from Bloodlines by Richelle Mead
No, you will listen. For once, you’re going to hear something that doesn’t fit into your neat, compartmentalized world of order and logic and reason. Because this isn’t reasonable. If you’re terrified, believe me this scares the hell out of me,
too. You asked about Rose? I tried to be a better person for her—but it was to impress her, to get her to want me. But when I’m around you, I want to be better because, well, because it feels right. Because I want to. You make me want to become something greater than myself. I want to excel. You inspire me in every act, every word, every glance. I look at you, and you’re like… Like light made into flesh. I said it on Halloween and meant every word: you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth. And you don’t even know it. You have no clue how beautiful you are or how brightly you shine.
This feeling was different. I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This and this and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender or too slow. This and this and this!
At first it is strange. I am used to keeping him from her, to hoarding him for myself. But the memories well up like springwater, faster than I can hold them back. They do not come as words, but like dreams, rising as scent from the rain-wet earth. This, I say. This and this. The way his hair looked in summer sun. His face when he ran. His eyes, solemn as an owl at lessons. This and this and this.