simplywhimsicalher-blog

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Suite Française

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love awakens. 

Matthias Schoenaerts and Michelle Williams - Suite Française - 2014 

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awwwwwww

Suite Française  

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“Hardly a word of our true feelings had ever been spoken. Not a single word about love.”

So, Suite Francaişe has literally taken Forrest Gumps spot for Scarlett’s all time favourite movie, congratulations. (via justahopelessdelinquent)

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Tragic love story. 

(via Suite Française Film Review – A Compelling Love Story Set During Nazi-Occupied France)

This is a beautiful period film full of romance and wonderful characters. There’s also an amazing and tragic true story behind the writer who wrote the original novel this film was adapted from.

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DIVERGENT DELETED SCENE: Tobias and Tris Break Up

Veronica: In all the early drafts of Insurgent, Tris and Tobias broke up for a period in the middle of the story, leaving her very isolated – many of her friends or family are either dead or gone at this point, and without Tobias, she spent a lot of scenes alone trying to find new friends. I liked watching Tris find a community separate from him, and letting them go in two different directions, but ultimately I realized that I was breaking them up because I didn’t know what to do with them, and that didn’t feel right. Instead I chose to let them start making different choices and moving in different direction, but to keep them together, in conflict, fighting as hard as they could to navigate their relationship in the midst of so much turmoil. It was more interesting to me that way, and it felt more like something they would do. Sometimes it’s tempting to do things with characters that feel easy and familiar—a breakup, for me, is one of those things – when you’re just figuring out a draft, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good decision for the characters or the story, and that’s something I realized here.

  I return to my cot early that morning, and Tobias is already awake. I do not say anything, and neither does he. He turns and walks toward the elevators, and I follow him, because I know that’s what he wants. We stand in the elevator side by side, in silence. I hear ringing in my ears and blame it on my lack of sleep, but I think it’s more that everything is about to fall apart and I know it.

            The elevator sinks to the second floor, and I start to shake. It starts with my hands, but travels to my arms and my chest, until little shudders go through my entire body and I have no way to stop them. Outside the elevators, we stand right above another Candor symbol, the uneven scales. That symbol is also drawn on the middle of his spine.

            He doesn’t look at me for a long time. He stands with his arm crossed and his head down until I can’t stand it anymore, until I feel like I might scream. I should say something, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t apologize, because I only told the truth, and I can’t change the truth into a lie. I can’t give excuses.

“So you killed Will.”

Hearing him say it makes me feel the weight of it. Guilt is heavier than grief, almost heavier than I can bear.

“Yes,” I say.

“All those nightmares you were having … were they about him?” His voice is quiet and under control. I know better than to think that’s a good sign.

            I nod, once. “Most of them.”

            “And you didn’t tell me.”

            “I didn’t tell anyone.”

            “Here I was thinking I wasn’t just ‘anyone’ to you,” he says. He laughs harshly. “Guess not.”

            He isn’t yelling, but he is on the verge of it, his voice quaking with the effort of keeping it under control. He glares at me, and in his stare is an accusation, but I don’t know what he’s accusing me of. Lying? Keeping things from him? Murdering one of my friends? Not being in love with him?

            I don’t know where the anger comes from, because a few seconds ago, I was terrified of losing him. But my face is boiling hot, and the creature that has been clawing at my chest since Will died gnashes its teeth.

            “I’m sorry, was I inconsiderate?” I say. “How terrible at me, not to think of your feelings when both my parents are dead and I can’t sleep without nightmares about armies of mindless Dauntless and almost drowning in a glass box and shooting my friend in the head!”

            “Don’t even pretend that I am being petty,” he snaps. “You know as well as I do that this is just the start of the things that you lie to me about.”

            “I didn’t lie to you, I –“

            “You didn’t lie to me? Every time that I asked you what was wrong and you made up an excuse, every time that you crawled into my bed and pretended you were just grieving for your parents, those weren’t lies?”

            “I’ve known you for weeks,” I say hotly, “not months. Not years. Weeks. I don’t have to tell you everything, Tobias!”

            “You don’t have to, no,” he says. All the anger goes out of his voice like air from deflating balloon, and he gives me a weary look, “The fact that you don’t want to, though –“

            “I didn’t want to tell you one thing,” I say. “That’s hardly indicative of a pattern!”

            “You didn’t want to tell me about the water tank,” he says. “You never wanted to tell me about your parents. We haven’t had an honest conversation in weeks. Not since I had to pressure you to talk to me about your fear landscape.”

            I have nothing to say to that, because I know he’s right.

            “I am grieving,” I say flatly. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had to before.”

            “Aren’t you listening to me? He asks, scowling. “I’m telling you this ahs nothing to do with your parents’ deaths, or Will’s death, or the attack. I’m telling you that you have been like this since I met you; you have always been like this.”

            My lips part to release a word, but nothing comes.

            “You are impenetrable,” he says. “And I can’t do this anymore.”

            Can’t do this. I try to force the words into my mind so that I understand and what they mean, but they float around, detached from sense and logic. I hear the sound of them, feel their shape in my head, but I can’t make sense of them.

            And then I do.

            “This isn’t about me,” I say. My voice gets louder, straining to be heard even though we are in an empty room. “Don’t make it seem like it is! This is about you, and how you can’t take that I didn’t profess my undying love for you after a few weeks of dating. This is about your unreasonable expectations—not about me!”

            “Maybe it is,” he says calmly. “Can you blame me? I thought, when you almost died for me, that it was a sign. A sign that you felt the same way about me that I did about you. So I told you. I was honest with you,” He shakes his head. “And today I find out that you didn’t hand over the gun because you cared about me. You did it because you believed it was the right thing. You did it out of duty.”

            “I saved your life,” I almost choke.

            “Sacrifice with no feeling behind it is empty,” he says. “Useless. Meaningless.”

            “You’re unreasonable,” I say. “Unreasonable to expect me to have strong feelings for you after such a short period of time, and unreasonable to expect me to do the right things with perfect intentions.”

            “You can’t even see yourself!” He presses a hand to his forehead. “You’re arguing with me about the logic of what I’m saying. You’re angry because you don’t think my reasons make sense. You aren’t upset. You aren’t heartbroken. You’ll be just fine without me.”

            I feel like my brain is stuck in one place, one word—impenetrable.

            “I can’t be with someone who is the same with me as she is without me,” he says.

            “But I …” My throat feels tight, and there are a thousand things I want to say. I want to tell him that I do need him, that I wouldn’t have made it through the last few weeks without him. I want to tell him that I think I will love him, when the haze of guilt and grief lifts from my life. But I just stare at him, my heart pounding in my ears, thinking that he called me impenetrable; he called my sacrifice meaningless. He thinks I’m cold. Like Eric. Like Jeanine. Like an Erudite.

            And I can’t tell him I need him. The thought makes me feel sick, like the day I has to walk into the cafeteria with my head down after Peter attacked me.

            “That’s what I thought,” he says.

            Pride is the flaw in every Dauntless heart.

            And it is in mine.

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He kisses her …. REPEAT HE KISSES HER OMG THAT’S SO FUCKING CUTE 😭❤️💏

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the sweetest line. I almost went awww out loud in the theaters. 

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I just wanted to do something different. (x)

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love this

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Didn’t see this coming, did you? It’s been a year and half since my last make-up tutorial, and the way I do my make-up now has changed drastically from my first make-up tutorials from 2011 and 2012.

Chalk it up to age? Maybe! Nowadays, I don’t go for the all-out cutesy look anymore like I...

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he's rather good looking without tattoo..... haha 

Rick Genest  without tattoo

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theo james is hot

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He has a spare upper lip, and a full lower lip. His eyes are so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, and they are dark blue, a dreaming sleeping, waiting color. His voice is deep, and it rumbles. He smirks. He has a stillness about him. He appears tame from the front, by Dauntless standards, but there is a tattoo that peeks out from the back of his t-shirt. He is quiet, remarkably self-possessed, and intimidating. He has a faint hollow beneath his cheekbone and taut, defined forearms. His voice is low and smooth and almost soothing. The corners of his mouth turn down naturally and he has a scar on his chin. Even when he glares, his eyes look thoughtful. Their shade of blue is peculiar, so dark it is almost black, with a small patch of lighter blue on the left iris, right next to the corner of his eye. He is muscular, nothing on his body yields. His hair is dark, almost black, especially when he cuts it short. - Tris describes Four

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“Then I realize what it is. It’s him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.”  ― Veronica Roth, Divergent

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