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The Only Thing Holding Her Boobs Up Is Hope

( HIATUS )

I'm Marcia and I cry about facial features and bone structures of middle-age British actors. I love films and TV shows, and had legally sold my soul and sacrificed my children's children to the gods at BBC. Photoshop enthusiast. I like necks. I probably don't like you.


My Stuff → #Gifs, #Graphics and #Edits





















“You love me. Real or not real?”
I tell him, “Real.”




“It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear. You almost feel ashamed that someone could be that important, that without them, you feel like nothing. No one will ever understand how much it hurts. You feel hopeless, like nothing can save you. And when it’s over, and it’s gone, you almost wish that you could have all that bad stuff back, so that you could have the good.”

“It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear. You almost feel ashamed that someone could be that important, that without them, you feel like nothing. No one will ever understand how much it hurts. You feel hopeless, like nothing can save you. And when it’s over, and it’s gone, you almost wish that you could have all that bad stuff back, so that you could have the good.”




from a little spark, may burst a flame.




“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?” says Caesar encouragingly.
“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning…won’t help in my case,” says Peeta.
“Why ever not?” says Caesar, mystified.
Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. “Because…because…she came here with me.” 




“They never thought you’d make it this far.”