An endless list of books you should read - The Hunger Games trilogy, by Suzanne Collins

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“Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.”

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15 days of my favorite things:

day 1: favourite book/book series

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and that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.

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Happy Christmas!

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My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

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allinablur:

How Katniss describes the real, old Peeta in Mockingjay:

It’s only now that he’s been corrupted that I can fully appreciate the real Peeta. Even more than I would’ve if he’d died. The kindness, the steadiness, the warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it. […] Peeta sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. Ironic, encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone’s expense.

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One moment he’s standing across the room from me, and the next my feet are about a foot off the ground and Peeta’s clutching me as hard as he can without hurting me. I let my feet dangle, let Peeta sway back and forth with me. He’s crying full force now. In this moment I’m not sure how I’ve said no to him for fifteen years. I expect Peeta’s wanted a baby since he was one himself. He kisses me for I don’t know how long, my feet still dangling. Then he pulls back and smiles at me. I start crying then. Peeta Mellark hasn’t smiled like that since the day on the rooftop of the Training Center before the Quarter Quell. I didn’t know how badly I missed that smile. All I can think about when I kiss him is how I don’t ever want it to slip away again. - Worse Games to Play by Belmione

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For the first time, I get a good look at them. A mix of human and lizard and who knows what else. White, tight reptilian skin smeared with gore, clawed hands and feet, their faces a mess of conflicting features. Hissing, shrieking my name now, as their bodies contort in rage. Lashing out with tails and claws, taking huge chunks of one another or their own bodies with wide, lathered mouths, driven mad by their need to destroy me. My scent must be as evocative to them as theirs is to me. More so, because despite its toxicity, the mutts begin to throw themselves into the foul sewer (…).

“Climb!” Gale barks at me. I’m back up, hauling him in, peering into the gloom for more. “No.” Gale turns my face to him and shakes his head. Uniform shredded. Gaping wound in the side of his neck.

There’s a human cry from below. “Someone’s still alive,” I plead.

“No, Katniss. They’re not coming,” says Gale. “Only the mutts are.“ 

Unnable to accept it, I shine the light from Cressida’s gun down the shaft. 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.

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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.

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Only Peeta can give me that

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