"Demons don’t die easily. Whereas we, we remained all too mortal…"

A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble for his own gratification. He can be destroyed or locked up. But if you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can’t stop you; then you become something else entirely…a legend.

shephaestion:

glitterarygetsit:

Sevan Biçakçi, for all your tiny city in a magic ring needs. Also: frozen birds, enchanted pomegranates and creatures of the deep.

I STOPPED BREATHING

wowowowowowww wow  wow WOW 

lostmyselfinparadise:

mrpink627:

the two levels of Josh Hutcherson. Actual puppy to The Smolder

How does he do that?

lostmyselfinparadise:

mrpink627:

the two levels of Josh Hutcherson. Actual puppy to The Smolder

How does he do that?

When I hear the screams of the crowd, I think it’s because I must look stunning. Then I notice something is rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year in the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress. I begin to panic as the smoke thickens. Charred bits of black silk swirl in the air, and pearls clatter to the stage. Somehow I’m not afraid to stop because my flesh doesn’t seem to be burning and I know Cinna must be behind whatever is happening. So I keep spinning and spinning. For a split second I’m gasping, completely engulfed in the strange flames. Then all at once, the fire is gone. I slowly come to a stop, wondering if I’m naked and why Cinna has arranged to burn away my wedding dress. But I’m not naked. I’m in a dress of the exact same design of my wedding dress, only it’s the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

To have compassion for a character is no different from having compassion for another human being.