angela

“Maybe I’m an asshole.” “You might be an asshole, but you’re not a selfish asshole.” “How do you know that, Amy?” “Because I couldn’t possibly love a selfish person,” I said.”
― Danielle Paige, Yellow Brick War

“Of course you can have a true Shadowhunter name," Will said. "You can have mine."
Tessa stared at him, all black and white against the black-and-white snow and stone. "Your name?"
Will took a step toward her, till they stood face-to-face. Then he reached to take her hand and slid off her glove, which he put into his pocket. He held her bare hand in his, his fingers curved around hers. His hand was warm and callused, and his touch made her shiver. His eyes were steady and blue; they were everything that Will was: true and tender, sharp and witty, loving and kind. "Marry me," he said. "Marry me, Tess. Marry me and be called Tessa Herondale. Or be Tessa Gray, or be whatever you wish to call yourself, but marry me and stay with me and never leave me, for I cannot bear another day of my life to go by that does not have you in it.”
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Princess

“You are the one who wanted a happy ending, my dear. So you tell me, how does the story end?"
Tears slipped from my face, and he wiped them away with his thumbs.
"The foolish young man lets the beautiful maiden go."
"Yes." His voice was clotted thick with unshed emotion. "He lets her go.”
― S. Jae-Jones, Wintersong

“His hands tightened around mine. “I love you,” he said. “I love you more than any other creature, because you are cruel, and kind, and alive. Nyx Triskelion, will you be my wife?”
I knew it was insane to be happy, to feel this desperate exultation at his words. But I felt like I had been waiting all my life to hear them. I had been waiting, all my life, for someone undeceived to love me. And now he did, and it felt like walking into the dazzling sunlight of the Heart of Earth.
Except that the sunlight was false, and his love was real.
It was real.
Very deliberately, I pulled my hands out of his. “You’re a demon,” I said, staring at the ground.
“Most likely.”
“I know what you’ve done.”
“The exciting parts, anyway.”
“And I still don’t know your name.” My hands trembled as I undid my belt, then started to unclasp the brooches. It seemed forever since that first day when I had ripped my bodice open so
easily. “But I know you’re my husband.”
The dress slid down to land on the ground about my feet. Ignifex touched my cheek very gently, as if I was a bird that might be startled into flight. Finally I met his eyes.
“And,” I said. “I suppose I do love you.”
Then he pulled me into his arms.”
― Rosamund Hodge, Cruel Beauty