If I’d had a private reunion with Peeta, he would have killed me. Now that he’s deranged. No, not deranged, I remind myself. Hijacked.
Snow has stolen him from me, twisted him beyond recognition, and made me a present of him.
(Source: joshyhutchs)
Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one.
(Source: killzmeded)
Bad. This is bad. It brings on the flood of images that torments me, awake or asleep. Peeta being tortured - drowned, burned, lacerated, shocked, maimed, beaten - as the Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion that he doesn’t know. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone.
But he is.
And I can’t help him. - Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins
(via onlyaskeleton)
“You Burn With Us…” By CueThemeMusic
