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I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book.

His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. […]

I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks.

One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was.

• Catching Fire

(Source: unicorn-feelings)

inspired by

(Source: rosereturns)

juliajm15:

Maybe Annie Cresta on her reaping day?

h-e-r-m-i:

“They have to have their victor.”

juliajm15:

Maybe Annie Cresta on her reaping day?

juliajm15:

“‘Finnick!’ And suddenly, it’s as if there’s no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.”

cookiekween:

Well they ain’t my favorite couple, but you asked nicely so here you go. I drew them post Hunger Games so they could be happy together. 

“What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?”

I tell him, ‘Real.’”

- Mockingjay (Suzanne Collins) - page 453.

hawtornes:

MY FAVOURITE SCENES  ▲ “Throw it”

Peeta and I grow back together again. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

(Source: canalcat)

I look more critically at the design on Peeta’s arm. The alternating pattern of light and dark suggests sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. I wonder how he knows this,since I doubt he’s ever been beyond the fence. Has he been able to pick this up from just that scraggly old apple tree in his backyard? Somehow the whole thing — his skill, those inaccessible cakes, the praise of the camouflage expert — annoys me.

(Source: wonderlandinmymind)