"If I don’t have anything to do all day I might not even put my pants on."

(Fonte: lipgallagers, via mockinjjay)


better than joult 


My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that.

"Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep" - I say.

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his.

“Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence.

“Stay with me.”

As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

- Catching Fire

(Fonte: unicorn-feelings, via fuckingplebe)


(Fonte: killipan, via killipan)