There’s A Lot Going On In That Little Critter’s Head Right Now.

ohhhh my god webb got an image of the pillars of creation and it’s absolutely STUNNING.

here it is compared to hubbles image:

lilac - chapter 3

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn’t have the time anymore. good thing both miguel o’hara and spiderman do.

wc: 5.2k

tags/warnings: domestic dispute, unhappy relationship, pining, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, allusions to suicide, mentions of strip clubs

author’s note: got a lil carried away with my emotions for this one ngl

Your pink pen pressed harshly down on the science quiz you were grading, smearing a pit of the sparkly ink as the searing noise of an electric guitar being tuned submerged your little apartment from the floors to the ceilings. You glared up from beneath your brows, a predator chained just inches from her prey, as Ferris and his band of four barked and howled between themselves in your living room. From your perch at the tiny dining table, you watched them, your knuckles paling around your pen. They had moved the furniture around to make room for their equipment, shoved your couch, your armchair, your coffee table - fuck, even your television stand - against the walls so that they could spread out and practice for a gig the drummer had managed to score; probably by going down on the manager of the place, but you’d never say that out loud.

Unless they provoked you - which, with every ticking, prolonged minute that passed, you were getting closer and closer to your inclined tipping point.

Sniffing quietly, you shook your head and tried to go back to grading your quizzes. So far, your class had done a fairly good job. A few percentages below eighty, but not many. No matter what score they got, however, you were sure to place a sticker on the corner of the page. Of course, as you had expected, Gabriella O’Hara’s score was a perfect hundred. A small smile graced the corner of your lips. She was a bright kid, you’d give her that. While she needed a little extra help in mathematics from time to time, she practically excelled in every other subject. You scribbled out a little note praising her for a job well done before beginning to move on to your other papers.

From the living room, another glass-shattering, skin-crawling shriek was raised from Ferris’ guitar. You twitched in your seat, subtly raising your eyes to watch the band. Your boyfriend was downing his second beer of the day, despite it being barely eleven in the morning, and he had his feet propped up on some chick’s - the new keyboard player, because the last one stormed out of the group after realizing what a bunch of asswipes they were - and idly strummed a lazy medley on the taut strings of his guitar. It was hooked up to the speaker, so every note that he twanged out was amplified tenfold.

Downstairs, your neighbor knocked against their ceiling with a broom. Telling you all to shut the fuck up, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, you put on your best smile - which looked more like a grimace, actually - and cleared your throat. “Babe,” you said tightly, drawing Ferris’ attention away from the keyboard player. He regarded you with a roll of his head and hand on the strings to stop the vibrations. “Maybe it’s time to pack it up. You’ve been…” You hesitated. “Practicing for almost two hours now. Why don’t you save some of the music for the paying customers tomorrow instead of the neighbors?”

To your chagrin, like he was dumping fuel across the little flame that had flickered to life in your chest, he shrugged a shoulder and went back to his guitar and the girl across from him. “We’ll leave when we’re done,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes never meeting yours again. “Still got some more songs to run through.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed and went back to your work. “You look real fucking busy.”

“If you’re so tired of listening to us,” your boyfriend snapped suddenly, “why don’t you find somewhere else to go? This is my place too, you know.” He exhaled a venomous sigh and downed another swig from his bottle. “Always on my ass.”

By now, the rest of the apartment had gone silent. The other band members glanced between the pair of you, movements suddenly stiff with tension they had no idea how to release. It felt like no matter what they did, it would light the fuse on either one of you.

Feeling your cheeks heat and your palms become sticky with embarrassment, you swallowed thick and nodded your head slowly. Then you stood, began to gather your papers, and stuffed them into your purse.

“Hey,” said the band’s drummer, a pudgy guy with thick lenses that had, actually, always been nice to you despite their leader’s obvious intentions, “if you need us to clear out, we can. We can find another place to set up where we’re not bothering you.”

You released a short huff, sounding more akin to a snarl than anything else. It seemed your judgment in men really was shit; you’d chosen the wrong fucking band member. “That’s okay,” you spat as you tugged on your shoes and checked that you had your keys. The drummer’s face flashed with guilt and you felt bad for a moment, but then your eyes flickered to where Ferris had wandered into the kitchen to fetch himself another drink. Like a raging wildfire, the flames in your ribcage roared and seared your insides, making them feel like you’d implode upon yourself if you stayed here - in your own damn home - any longer. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

With that you exited your apartment and slammed the door behind you, not stopping your frantic escape from Ferris’ snarls and rolling eyes until you hit the street down below. Before you on the road, traffic moved at a sluggish pace. Horns blared and street lights flickered. Shop fronts gleamed in the sunlight and bells over doors jingled. As you took a long, deep inhale that granted your lungs a wave of fresh air and your eyes with a certain wetness in the corners, you realized your crumbling relationship with your boyfriend was such a trivial little thing in this city. Nothing was going to stop, halt in its tracks, just because your world was falling apart.

Life went on. There was nothing you could do to stop that.

Plopping yourself down on the bus stop bench, you placed your head in your hands and tried to keep yourself from crying anymore. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry, because what if they did, and they turned out to be like Ferris? Told you that you were being dramatic, that you needed to pull yourself together and be a girl? Fuck, you didn’t think you could handle someone else telling you that. You didn’t need anyone else against you; it already felt like the entire world was.

What you needed, desperately, terribly, pleadingly, was someone else in your corner.

In your pocket, your phone chimed with an incoming text. Wiping away the tears sitting heavy against your lids, you pulled it out. It was an unknown number; your cyber security app had blurred the message, waiting until you accepted to see it. You swiped on the blurred screen, then clicked open the message.

Hi, it’s Miguel O’Hara. I hate to cross any lines here, but Gabriella is having a hard time understanding the homework assigned for this weekend. I tried to help, but it’s beyond me. Some sorry excuse for a geneticist I am, right? Anyway, I was texting to ask if you’d be able to meet us somewhere today and help Bri. I was thinking the public library? We’re going to be headed to the park afterward for soccer practice… you’re welcome to come along. She’s eager to show you a new trick she learned yesterday. Again, excuse my forwardness. We understand if you’re not available. :)

You sniffled slightly, rereading the text over and over again, trying to stuff down the fluttering feeling arising past the flames inside you. Your head snapped up and you were on your feet in less than a moment, hailing the first taxi that passed you. When you climbed inside, the driver asked you where to.

“The public library,” you said, and managed a smile at him in the mirror.

Half an hour later, you sat at a desk in the middle of the study section of the New York Public Library, already having drawn out fresh sketches and examples of the mathematics homework you had assigned for this weekend. Your foot bounced with anticipation under the table, and you found yourself constantly glancing over your shoulder at the wide, arched doorway that let into the private section.

You’d tutored students outside of class before, so you shouldn’t have been so excited. You’d met with them in diners and cheap restaurants, outdoor pavilions when the weather allowed, hell - you’d even sat with them outside their cramped apartment buildings on overturned milk crates and used cardboard as a back for the worksheets while their parents were busy working three jobs and balancing five other kids on their hips at the same time. You weren’t one to judge; you knew how hard it was out here for some people. You were a teacher; it was your job to love and nurture and teach your kids, no matter who they were or where they came from.

So you shouldn’t have been this excited to tutor one of your students. Even if she did have a smoking hot dad.

Small, quick-paced footsteps - like thunderclaps along the ground in the nearly-silent room - pricked your ears and turned your attention to the doorway. A wide, easy grin broke across your lips as you spied Gabriella breaking away from her father’s side to rush toward you and your table. In her arms she carried a wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she reached where you had risen from your seat, she pressed her face into your belly in lieu of a hug.

“Hi, Miss Y/N,” she said, rather loudly, then presented the flowers like they were sterling silver encrusted with diamonds and jewels unimaginable. An ear-to-ear smile stretched from one of her ears to the other. “These are for you.”

Miguel arrived behind her, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a gentle grin of greeting gracing his beautiful face. He tilted his head at you for a moment, then ruffled his daughter’s hair and said, “What are they for?”

“A thank you,” Gabriella rushed to say as you accepted the bouquet. “For coming to help me.”

You tried to squash the butterflies that fluttered through your stomach when he smiled at you, instead pushing your focus to the flowers clutched to your chest. They were fresh blooms, a collection filled with pinks and purples and a few yellows here and there. “Well, thank you so much, sweetheart,” you said as she rounded the table to go and sit by her father. “They’re beautiful.” You took your seat again and carefully set the gift beside your purse. “And you don’t have to thank me. I was already out today anyhow, so it wasn’t any trouble.”

“Really?” said Miguel. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder and gave it to Gabriella for her to begin pulling her schoolwork out. He quirked one of his thick brows, his sad-looking eyes meeting yours. Jolts of excitement, and pleasure, and adoration went sprawling down your spine all at once, like back to back shocks of raw, untamed electricity. “I figured you would have been staying in during a tourist weekend like this.”

You wanted so badly to tell him just what you were doing out, why you weren’t at home enjoying your two days of free time between your two jobs - one that required every bit of your soul and heart during the day, and another that required every bit of your body during the night. You wanted horrendously to confide in him the troubles plaguing you like an illness only he could cure you from, wanted him to secure those thick, sinewy arms of his around your form and hold you tight, assure you in that husky tone that everything would be alright.

But instead, all you said was, “Can’t let tourists drive us locals from our stomping grounds, can we, Mister O’Hara?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his eyes stuck upon your form even after you’d pulled your attention to the worksheet Gabriella had pulled out.

For a long while, the three of you sat at that table in the library. You taught Gabriella the maths lesson over again as many times as she needed it, helped her with the more challenging problems on the worksheet, then made up a few on the spot to give her for the extra practice. You even tilted around your textbook so that Miguel could see it and gave him a rundown of the next few lessons so that he could help her the following week, should she need it.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when you sat back in your chair, watching as your student set to work on the few practice problems you’d given her. You shut your eyes for a moment, exhaling a long breath, and allowing your brain to shut off for a moment. You’d succeeding in getting Ferris and his stupid, stubborn fucking attitude off your mind for a time, but now you were faced with the realization that sometime today, you’d have to go back home. You’d have to see him again, most likely get into another argument that would lead to one of you sleeping on the couch the next couple evenings.

Most likely you.

“How are you doing?” came Miguel’s voice from across the table.

You thought for a moment he was speaking to his daughter, looking over her work, but when no reply came, you opened your eyes and realized he was talking to you. You blinked a few times, watching as he smirked kindly and crossed his arms over the table. Fuck, he was so easy to look at. He was wearing a t-shirt against the sunny day today, giving you a generous view of the muscles in his arms. They sloped down to his elbows, and further still to wrists wrapped in Gabriella-made friendship bracelets, to large, wide hands that were callused at the fingers and bruised at the knuckles. You wondered briefly if he boxed during his workouts.

Sliding your hand up your face, you gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Despite only speaking to one another a few minutes every time at pick up and drop off, you felt you could talk to him better than even the girls at your nighttime job. “I’m alright,” you said, then added, “Just… tired, is all. Lots on my plate right now. Work, stuff at home, the whole ‘masked vigilante swinging around the city’ thing. Well… you know how it is.”

It was not the last detail that seemed to faze him. It was the second. “Is everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, like that of a curious puppy. The lines beneath his eyes deepened a bit, the untamed hair atop his head slipped to his temple. “Sorry if I’m overstepping a boundary, or anything like that. I just -”

“No, you’re alright.” You reached out to finger at a petal on one of the flowers in the bouquet, fondly brushing the delicate thing as if it would disintegrate if you handled it any rougher. His eyes followed your movements deftly. “And, everything’s… okay. Sort of… okay.” You sighed and pulled away from the flower, instead opting to rub at your temples. “Just drives me out sometimes, you know? Everything… happening in those walls. Sometimes it gets too much.”

“You’re never out on the streets, are you?” Suddenly his gaze had turned serious and stony, his mouth set into a hard line across his chiseled expression.

You swallowed thick, feeling the dropped baritone of his voice hit the bottom of your belly and head south to your core. You shifted slightly in your seat, crossing your legs over one another to mask the subtle movement. “No, never.” Forcing yourself to chuckle, you dropped a hand to the desk. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mister O’Hara. I’m just fine.”

Before you realized what was happening, Miguel had reached out to brush his long, thick fingers over your knuckles. Your skin was suddenly alight with a blaze you didn’t even know existed. He leaned forward slightly across the table, lowering his voice so that only you heard it in the cage between your ribs. “It’s alright to ask for help, you know,” he murmured quietly. You were caught in his gaze, unable to pull yourself away. “If you ever need something, some place to stay… our door is open.”

Your tongue had ceased its ability to work, your heart its ability to beat properly. You could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as he settled back in his chair. Miguel O’Hara had just offered you his home. Fuck - he knew. He had to have known. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you whispered; maybe it trembled too much. Or maybe he could just sense it, feel it from the bottomless pit in your soul screaming out for someone to pull it back into the daylight.

Just when you trusted yourself to speak again, both your and Miguel’s phones alerted at the same time. Across the study section, other devices went off, as well. Simultaneously, you pulled out your cells and read the messages scrawled across the screens.

“Jesus,” you muttered upon scanning the message. A kidnapping had just taken place not a block from the library. Car details and plate numbers were attached, along with an urging for anyone with information to call the authorities. “This city gets worse every day.”

Miguel glanced up at your words, hesitated, then looked down at Gabriella. She was still busy with her work, tongue stuck out gently between her pink lips. You sensed him tense from across the table.

“...Miguel?” you asked, tentative to use his first name. “Is everything okay?”

After a short, brief moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something. He stood from his chair so abruptly that it squealed softly against the tile floor, throwing the backpack over his shoulder and rounding the table. “Excuse me just a second,” he said, already heading toward the doorway. “I have to make a call. Ten minutes, tops.” Then he was gone, jogging too quickly and hurriedly to be making a phone call - or so you thought. You wanted direly to follow him, see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. You had your student to take care of.

Inhaling shortly, you turned to Gabriella only to find her staring at the doorway her father had disappeared through. You were quick to find something to change the subject. “These flowers are so pretty,” you told her and nudged the bouquet slightly. She met your eyes, your gentle smile, and it seemed Miguel’s sudden absence was wiped from her mind. So was the inner workings of a nine year old.

“I got to pick them out,” she said proudly, then went back to her worksheet. “But it was Daddy’s idea to get them for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You did your best to maintain your smile, trying not to grasp at your chest and stop the oncoming heart attack making its way through your systems. It had been Miguel to get the flowers? “Yeah?” you said in a small voice.

Oblivious to your strained tone and the excited bouncing of your leg under the table, the little girl nodded and hummed. “Uh-huh. He like-likes you. He told me so.”

Holy fucking goddamn son of a bitch.

You cleared your throat because you knew if you talked about this any longer, you would explode into a little cloud of confetti. Then you’d never even get to see him again, look at him in this new light because fuck, was it a new light. It was a new light you could dance under, twirl and sing and jump under, because no one was going to judge you anymore, and even better, now you could invite him to be under it with you. And you knew you just might have a chance of him saying yes.

And fuck, what a dance that would be.

“Are you excited for the field trip to Alchemax on Tuesday?” you asked her, recalling the months it had taken Washington Elementary’s principal to get permission to bring classes there. She had insisted it was an important place for them to visit, considering all the work they were doing as of late. You guessed your suggestion for a trip to the zoo had been vetoed. “Your dad works there. Maybe we’ll see him. You can brag to all your friends that he’s a fancy scientist.”

“Maybe,” she said, scratching out a wrong answer on her paper. “He works on the seventh floor. I’ve seen his work badge thing. We probably won’t be able to go up there.”

“Here’s hoping we can,” you said to yourself beneath your breath.

Ten minutes passed since Miguel’s sudden disappearance, and then another. Thirty minutes was just approaching, as was the beginnings of sundown, before you sensed him approaching you from behind. Turning in your chair, the first thing you noticed was that he was out of breath, sweating at his temples and down his neck slightly. God, he looked good like that. But then your rational side kicked in. Had he been running somewhere?

“I think that’s enough homework for today,” he said as he reached the table and ruffled Gabriella’s hair again. She batted his hand away, but nonetheless began to pack up her things. As she did so, he switched his gaze to yours, tilting his head in that way he did. “We’re going to head to the park, kick a ball around for a while. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

Numbly, because now that you knew he not only liked you, but like-liked you, you heard yourself accept and follow them out the doors of the library and onto the street. The deep purple sky felt a bit brighter than before, and the steps you took together, side by side, seemed a little closer than necessary. The sidewalks were cramped, sure, but not enough so that your hands needed to brush every few seconds. Not enough so that your shoulders bumped when you stepped off curbs to cross roads.

The park was quiet this time of day, occupied only by a few elderly couples leaning against walking canes and teenagers out past their curfews sprawled out on benches making out like they knew they were going to die tomorrow.

How long had it been since you had kissed Ferris? The saddest part of you knew that you couldn’t recall.

For hours, you sat on the sweet-smelling grass of the park’s lawn and watched Miguel and Gabriella scrimmage, kicking around a ball worn by years of scuff marks and green stains from fields. The breeze blew their matching hair this way and that, the dying sunlight illuminated their identical smiles as they round about one another in only a way a parent and a child could know one another. You cheered when either scored a goal. You laughed when they called one another names. And when they urged you to come join, even though the night was throwing itself over the sky and the stars were beginning to wink down at the park, you got to your feet and played.

You realized, through your aching laughter and the grass stains on your knees, that you hadn’t been this happy in a very, very long time.

That night, after you had wished Miguel and Gabriella a goodnight and walked home, after you had found Ferris crashed out in bed and the dishes still in the fucking sink, you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building. It wasn’t quite silent up here, not with the helicopter chopping in the distance, or the occasional honk of a car down below, or the dog barking three stories down, but it was better than facing the quiet of your own home. You knew you would go mad in between those damned four walls, listening to your boyfriend snore and the clock in the kitchen tick and the floorboard creak when you walked to the bathroom.

You couldn’t face the quiet, not after the wonderful, deafening, blaring joy of this afternoon.

You let your legs dangle off the edge of the rooftop, sitting back on your hands and staring at the glaring screen of your phone. Your thumb ached slightly from scrolling through anything and everything you could find to keep yourself distracted. The newest clean energy replacement from Alchemax. The latest from politics. The child that had been kidnapped this afternoon, now home and safe, thanks to Spiderman snatching the kid from the backseat before plowing the speeding car with the kidnapper into a metal gate.

There came the soft, muted noise of a weight landing on the power box on the rooftop behind you, and you whipped around to find a familiar - but no less startling - red and blue figure sitting perched on the metal edge. Spiderman tilted his head at you, balanced on the balls of his feet despite the hulking frame of his muscles.

“Just came to check up on you after the other day,” he said through the mask. His eye lenses moved as his eyes roamed your figure. “Didn’t know you were this far gone.”

Clicking your phone off anxiously, feeling your heart thunder in your ears, you gave a little laugh and looked down at the drop beneath your feet. “I think if I was ready to end it,” you joked in return, “I’d go for something a little less traumatizing for pedestrians.”

Spiderman was still for a moment. Then he extended his wrist, and a string of web shot across the rooftop to stick to the space on the lip beside you. He used it to yank himself across the tarmac of the roof, landing again on the balls of his feet on the edge. He shifted himself, resting his forearms overink his thighs, and turned his masked gaze to the city before you both. Golden lights twinkled from skyscrapers and apartments and office buildings, creating a constellation of life between windows. The night air was crisper up here - as crisp as it could get, what with the smog from arsonist fires and churning factories and gas emissions - and the stars seemed to shine just a touch brighter.

“So… how are you doing?” the vigilante asked, keeping his gaze on New York. “After the robbery, I mean. Something like that, it can… stay with you.”

There came a fluttering in your heart. But rather than express such a sensation, because you had every right to be wary about giving yourself away anymore, you said, “It wouldn’t be the first thing like that to happen to me. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” You lifted a hand to the star-lit city, crowded to the rim with life and hatred and love. “We’re in New York. What more can you expect from a city like this?”

For a long while, neither of you said anything more. It was strange being so close to the man everyone had been talking about for the couple weeks he’d been active - so close you could lean right over and pull that mask off. But you kept your distance.

Spiderman took a breath and said, “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “As if I typically sleep at this time anyway.” Then you turned to face him again, locking your ankles together over the edge of the rooftop. The breeze swayed your hair back and forth, like you were suspended underwater. The tension in your lungs certainly felt that way. “Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

He was still for a moment. For two. Then he met your gaze through his mask, his eye lenses narrowing. Even through the cover that hid his face, the heat of his eyes scorched holes through you. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Feeling slightly bolder than you had a moment ago, you lolled your head at him. “You know what I mean.” You sniffed, leaning back on your hands. “Did you follow me? Or was it just a coincidence that Spiderman showed up to my club the day he saved my ass?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“...Sure.” You felt a flutter of embarrassment within you, of doubt and guilt. What if that hadn’t been Spiderman that night at The Menagerie? What if it was some other guy, with some other scar on his collarbone, and you had gotten it all wrong? Despite your sudden worry, you refused to let your confidence waver. “So… do you make it a habit of checking up on every person you help?”

For the first time, you watched and listened as he cracked a smile and chuckled. The lenses over his eyes narrowed as his cheeks rose and his mouth spread into a smirk. You watched the bit of mask over his lips stretch. “You got me there,” he drawled in that low, husky tone of his that made you cross your legs a bit tighter, squeeze your thighs tighter. “Just… couldn’t really get you off my mind. You’ve got courage, saying no to that guy. That’s admirable.”

You felt your cheeks flush. Spiderman? Calling you brave? What an ironic sense of humor the universe had.

“I guess someone has to stand up and say no,” you murmured into the breeze.

“Yeah. Someone has to.”

Moments turned into seconds, and those turned into minutes. You almost wished you could stay like this forever; here, on the rooftop with Spiderman, with the breeze rustling your hair and the car horns beeping and the rest of the world forgotten.

But all too soon, it was over.

Spiderman rose to his full height in a seamless transition, turning his head to face the street away from you. “Should get back now,” he said, then switched his gaze down to you. You wondered, behind that mask, what color his eyes were. “Sure you’re not going to jump?”

You felt yourself smile. “Promise, Spiderman.” You watched as he nodded his head, then prepared to catapult himself off the building and swing onto the next one. Before he could, however, you called out. “And hey,” you said, drawing his attention, “if you ever drop by the club again, ask for the Monarch.”

He stared at you for the longest moment. Then he turned, stepped off the lip of the rooftop, and disappeared.

You didn’t bother leaning over, watching him spring a web from his wrist to flip through the air and parade down the street above the cars and streetlights. Instead you looked back to the city’s skyline far above yourself, silhouettes of buildings framed by a rich violet horizon.

Perhaps one day, you would see what it looked like without all this smog and the army of dark clouds hanging over it.

But for now, you were content with watching it darken until it was nothing but black and purple.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quantii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead

(strike through means blog could not be tagged)

i will admit i have looked upon men with a lustful gaze in my time

sorry for acting batshit crazy I was feeling a little unwanted

DELETE THIS POST

haymitch says himself katniss is like him, but luckier.

katniss realized the berries were nightlock before peeta ate them.

EVIL BOOP??? FRIDAY????????????

god, the way the hunger games truly reflects today’s political climate is so… daunting. i mean, from the first few chapters you’re introduced to the astronomical amount of censorship the capitol feeds into the viewers. only those who were there to witness the true atrocities are aware of the actual occurrences but they’re bound to a hopeless secrecy out of fear they’ll be the next victim lost to lies.

haymitch did everything to tell the true story, to show the people who the capitol is and what they truly stand for. but he was punished, condemned to live a life of suffering simply because he yearned to be heard, to be seen, to do what’s right.

it’s not unlike our own lives. the lengths people are forced to go to do exactly what haymitch yearned to do - the lengths we have to go to grasp onto our humanity and do what’s right.

actually i love the reveal that the only reason effie got involved with the hunger games at all was because her little sister needed her.

TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 5

Omega: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase?  Echo: I accidentally fell down.  Hunter: WRECKER PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HIS part of our rent!  Crosshair: Echo bet me fifty credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than he did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money.  Tech: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Crosshair.

Omega: *eating a cinnamon roll*  Hunter: Cannibalism.  Omega: *confused chewing noises*

Tech: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along?  Hunter: What did you just say-  Tech: Foetons! *Laughs*  Hunter: Wh-what? 

Wrecker: I give up. I am so tired.  Echo: Get the emergency supply!  Tech: *carries Omega and places her in front of Wrecker*  Omega: *smiles*  Wrecker: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO 

Hunter: Crosshair, Wrecker, I love y’all and all, but can I ask what in the hell are you doing?  Crosshair, trying to stabilize a tower of folding chairs that Wrecker is sitting atop: Oh nothing much.  Wrecker: I love you too :) 

*In a group chat* Hunter: A pegan just flew into my window. Omega: Pegan? Tech: A what? Echo: Ah yes, my favourite bird, Pegan. Wrecker: I thought you said penguin for a second, LMAO! Echo: Just a normal day with flying penguins crashing into my window. Wrecker: You have pigeons flying into your window? Can't relate, I have penguins flying into my window. Hunter: I literally just made a typo-

Crosshair: How do Hunter and Tech usually get out of these messes?  Echo: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out. 

*Tech teaching Wrecker to drive and taking Crosshair along for the ride*  Tech: That's a pothole. To the left!  Wrecker: Take it back now y'all *Drives into pothole*  Crosshair, sticking his face into the front over the center console: Cha Cha real smooth.  Wrecker: I don't think that's how the song goes.  Tech, crying and gripping the handle: Please just take me home.  Wrecker: Country Roads.  Crosshair: To the place.  Wrecker and Crosshair in unison: I Belong!  Tech, crying harder: What the fuck?

Hunter: BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Wrecker, putting his hands over Crosshair’s eyes: Guess who!  Crosshair: It's either Wrecker or the cold, clammy hands of death.  Wrecker, putting his hands away: It's Wrecker!  Crosshair: Dammit.

Echo: So oxygen went on a date with potassium, it went... OK. Hunter: I thought oxygen was dating magnesium, OMG. Echo: Actually oxygen first asked nitrogen out, but nitrogen was all like NO. Wrecker: I thought oxygen had that double bond with the hydrogen twins. Crosshair: Looks like someone's a HO. Hunter: NaBrO. Tech: I'm done with all of you!

Crosshair: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Wrecker: Oh god, he texted you ‘hi.’’ Punctuation only means one thing, Tech. He's mad at you. Tech: No, it's Crosshair. He's just being gramatically correct! *meanwhile* Crosshair: And then I used a period so he'd know that I'm mad at him. Hunter: A period doesn't say 'I'm mad', it says 'you're dead to me'. Crosshair: I stand by my choice.

Echo: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Wrecker: Several traffic violations. Tech: Three counts of resisting arrest. Crosshair: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Hunter: Also, that’s not our car.

Tech: Hunter is late again. Echo: How did this happen? I called him at 8 o’clock this morning and pretended it was 11. Wrecker: I printed up a fake schedule for him saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon. Omega: I set his clock to say PM when it’s really AM. Tech: Oh boy. We may have overdone it. *Hunter bursts through the door* Hunter: WHAT TIME IS IT?

Tech: Would you slap Wrecker- Crosshair: Yes. Tech: I didn't even finish! Crosshair: Sorry, continue. Tech: Would you slap Wrecker for 10 dollars? Crosshair: I would do it for free. Wrecker: Rude...

Omega: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Tech: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Hunter: Three of us saw it, Tech. How do you explain that? Tech: *points at Crosshair* Sleep deprivation. *points at Hunter* Paranoia. *points at Echo* Delusional personality disorder.

Hunter: I think this might be a bad idea... Echo: Don't start thinking on me now!

Echo: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Wrecker! Tech: So Wrecker knows about this? Echo, walking away: No, this is between me and me!

Echo: Wrecker- Wrecker: *sighs* Crosshair used to call me Wrecker... Echo: ...Because it's your fucking name.

Crosshair: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer. Hunter: Crosshair: Hunter: ...Please, go back to bed.

Wrecker: Do you mind if I slyly mention that you’re single? Tech: Do not do that. Wrecker: You won’t even notice! Phee, entering: Wrecker, you wanted to see me again? Wrecker: Tech's single Tech:

Hunter: I'm cold. Echo: Here, take my hoodie. *meanwhile* Omega: I'm cold. Crosshair: I can't control the weather, Omega.

Omega: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Crosshair: I only like dark humor. Omega, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Crosshair: Omega: An IMPASTA!

Omega, trying her first ever cup of coffee: I am ENERGY! Hunter, an avid coffee drinker, on his twelfth cup of the day: Someone slap me awake or I am literally going to fall into a coma in ten seconds.

Tech: It's called cauliflower, not ghost broccoli. Wrecker, eyes wide: I know what I saw.

Omega: Hey, Crosshair? I need advice. Crosshair: I’m pretty useless at giving advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment instead?

*Crosshair and Wrecker's house is on fire, but they don't know it*  Crosshair: Damn, it's hot in here.  Wrecker: I know, it's so hot there's smoke coming out of the vent!  Crosshair:  Crosshair: First of all, I'm assuming you have no idea what the problem with that statement is.  Wrecker: What?  Crosshair: Second of all, we need to get the fuck out of here, NOW. Wrecker: I think I did fairly well on my anatomy quiz! :)  Omega: I forgot I was doing a test.  Echo: Omega.  Omega: I said the vertebrae was the back stick because I thought it was funny....  Tech: Omega.

Wrecker: Hey, Hunter. Why did the chicken cross the road?  Hunter: To get to the other side?  Wrecker: You were supposed to say “I dunno, why?“  Hunter: Uh... fine. I don’t know. Why did it cross the road?  Wrecker: To get to the idiot’s house.  Hunter: ...Ok?  Crosshair: Hey, Hunter. Knock knock.  Hunter: No.  Crosshair: You were supposed to say “who’s there?”  Hunter: Fine... let’s get this over with. Who’s there?  Crosshair: The chicken.  Hunter: Crosshair: Wrecker: Hunter: Listen here you little shits-

Echo: You know what?  Echo: When I joined this group I thought you guys would be dealing with my bullshit.  *Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech continue screaming about mold water*  Echo: Not the other way around. Hunter: I dunno, sounds like you need to drink the mold water.

Echo: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!  Tech: How can you still say that?  Echo: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Crosshair: Come on, Wrecker! How any times do I have to apologize?  Wrecker: Once!  Crosshair: ...No.

Echo: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture.  The Squad: Awwww-  Echo: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything."  The Squad: Oh.

Wrecker: Everyone thinks I'm this soft cute person but I'm not!  Tech: Wrecker, you cried for an hour after stepping on a bug yesterday.  Wrecker: It had feelings! It was probably going home to dinner and I killed it!  Crosshair: ...It was a bug.  Wrecker: It was a BEETLE, and its wife is definitely worried sick, wondering where it is, and I really don't get why you all think I'm so sentimental because I'm not!  Tech: ...  Crosshair: ...  Wrecker: Stop looking at me like that!

Tech: Did you win? Or just not die?  Tech: Either way, hooray.  Hunter: ...Is "no" a valid answer?  Tech: The hooray is redacted and you frighten me.

Hunter: I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.  Crosshair: Hunter, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.  Hunter: Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.  Crosshair: Well, I mean yeah.  Hunter: So come downstairs while they’re still hot.  Crosshair: Wait, you just made them?  Hunter: Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.  Crosshair: Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time Hunter.

*The Squad when asked about their earlier confession of love*  Echo: Yeah, you're lucky. I like you.  Tech: I'd understand if you didn't feel the same way...  Hunter: *has a panic attack* What confession?  Wrecker: *winks* I know, babe. You like me too.  Crosshair: So what? Are you going to date me or not? 

*Tech sends more than 5 messages in a row*  Crosshair: I ain’t reading all that.  Crosshair: I’m happy for you tho.  Crosshair: Or sorry that happened.

Omega: Problem, I can't tell if this food is over-sauced or undercooked.  Hunter: Solution, just pop it back in the oven for another 10 minutes. There's at least a 50% chance that'll fix it, right?  Tech: Result? Food has somehow become unpleasantly soggy and unpleasantly crunchy at the exact same time.  Wrecker: No better time than this to pull out my favorite word! Slunchy!  Crosshair: ...put it away. 

Crosshair: I’m quick at math.  Tech: Ok, what’s 38 times 76?  Crosshair: 24.  Tech: That wasn’t even close.  Crosshair: But it was quick.

Echo: While I'm gone, you're in charge Tech.  Tech: Yes!  Echo, whispering to Hunter: You're secretly in charge, but I don't want him to feel bad.  Hunter: Obviously.

Omega, piloting the Marauder: We have fun, don’t we, Tech?  Tech: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

Wrecker: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?  Omega: Yes?  Wrecker: We’re in too deep.

Hunter: When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?"  Echo: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

Crosshair: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Wrecker will and will not eat.  Echo: Grass? Yes!  Crosshair: Moss? Yes!!  Echo: Leaves? Ohh, yes!  Crosshair: Shoelaces? Strange but true!  Echo: Worms? Sometimes!  Crosshair: Rocks? Usually nah.  Echo: Twigs? Usually!  Crosshair: Tech's cooking? Inconclusive!  Hunter: How did you… test this?  Crosshair: You just hand him stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it.  Hunter: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.  Tech: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Omega, gesturing to Echo: Wrecker, look what you did! You made Mom upset!  Tech: Mom, please don’t cry, we’re sorry!  Wrecker: I’m sorry Mom... :(  Echo, near tears: I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU!