"You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers.
“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.”
I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”
Peeta ♡♥♡(via andypiedra)
"He’s not dead yet, Katniss." “We’re still in the game.” I try to say this with optimism, but my voice cracks. “Still in. And I’m still your mentor.” Haymitch points his marker at me.
Peeta’s still alive(via andypiedra)
This… just reminds me of…
” Far below, I can just make out Finnick, struggling to hang on as three mutts tear at him. As one yanks back his head to take the death bite, something bizarre happens. It’s as if I’m Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee’s trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it’s over.”
Now and then I then I think of all the times tou screw me over…
Now you are just somebody I used to know…