#young detonator

[hermit-frog]

happy danlou day to those who celebrate (why does Eric sounds like Tommy Wiseau while reading that quote? i hate him)

[roguesenses]

🍁 + is there anything Izuku wouldn't forgive? Or at least find very hard to forgive?

Send 🍁 + Any question you’ve been curious to know about my muse! (accepting)

Evil deeds without reason.

I think he's a lot more forgiving towards people who do wrong but have an explanation as to why they walked down the path they did. He has a lot of empathy and is willing to try to understand where people of different ideals are coming from.

For example, he feels for Shigaraki and wants to save him even after all the damage the guy inflicted upon the hero society. While he still won't condone villainous behaviors and will stop people from further wrongdoing, he's willing to try and reason, convince + coax others to see past the darkness. He's also more forgiving towards people who had hurt him versus people who had hurt others he cares about.

If at all possible, Izuku would really like to offer people another chance...he doesn't want to give up on them.

He's not as forgiving towards people who are just evil because they can be. People who hurt others out of cruelty and greed for power.

Part of this generosity is due to the fact he's still very young. I feel like Izuku's view of the world is still so innocent despite all the battles he'd had. As he grows, perhaps he will be forced to see the complications that exist in hero society and re-evaluate his stance.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

The Cranberries - Zombie 1994

"Zombie" is a protest song by Irish alternative rockband the Cranberries. It was written by the lead singer, Dolores O'Riordan, about the young victims of a bombing in Warrington, England, during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The song was released on 19 September 1994 as the lead single from the Cranberries' second studio album, No Need to Argue. While the record label feared releasing a too controversial and politically charged song as a single, "Zombie" reached number 1 on the charts of Australia, Belgium, Denmark, Germany, and Iceland, and spent nine consecutive weeks at number 1 on the French SNEP Top 100. It reached number 2 on the Ö3 Austria Top 40, where it stayed for eight weeks. The song did not chart on the US Billboard Hot 100 chart as it wasn't released as a single there, but it reached number 1 on the US Billboard Alternative Airplay chart. Listeners of the Australian radio station Triple J voted it number 1 on the 1994 Triple J Hottest 100 chart, and it won the Best Song Award at the 1995 MTV Europe Music Awards.

The Troubles were a conflict in Northern Ireland from the late 1960s to 1998. The Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), an Irish republican paramilitary organisation, waged an armed campaign to end British rule in Northern Ireland and unite the region with the Republic of Ireland. Republican and Unionist paramilitaries killed more than 3,500 people, many from thousands of bomb attacks. One of the bombings happened on 30 March 1993, as two IRA improvised explosive devices hidden in litter bins were detonated in a shopping street in Warrington, England. Two people; Johnathan Ball, aged 3, and Tim Parry, aged 12, were killed in the attack. 56 people were injured. Ball died at the scene of the bombing as a result of his shrapnel-inflicted injuries, and five days later, Parry lost his life in a hospital as a result of head injuries. O'Riordan decided to write a song that reflected upon the event and the children's deaths after visiting the town: "We were on a tour bus and I was near the location where it happened, so it really struck me hard – I remember being devastated about the innocent children being pulled into that kind of thing. So I suppose that's why I was saying, 'It's not me' – that even though I'm Irish it wasn't me, I didn't do it. Because being Irish, it was quite hard, especially in the UK when there was so much tension." The song was re-popularised in 2023 after it was played after Ireland games at the 2023 Rugby World Cup. It was picked up by fans of the Irish team, with videos of fans singing the song in chorus accumulating hundreds of thousands of views on social media. This offended other Irishmen, who identified it as an "anti-IRA" anthem, and said that that the lyrics failed to consider their experience during the Troubles.

The music video, directed by Samuel Bayer, was filmed in Belfast, Northern Ireland, in the heart of the Troubles with real footage, and in Dublin. To record video footage of murals, children and British Army soldiers on patrol, he had a false pretext, with a cover story about making a documentary about the peace-keeping efforts in Ireland. Bayer stated that a shot in the video where an SA80 rifle is pointed directly at the camera is a suspicious British soldier asking him to leave, and that the IRA were keeping a close look at the shoot, given "the British Army come in with fake film crews, getting people on camera.” While "Zombie" received heavy rotation on MTV Europe and was A-listed on Germany's VIVA, the music video was banned by the BBC because of its "violent images", and by the RTÉ, Ireland's national broadcaster. Instead, both the BBC and the RTÉ opted to broadcast an edited version focusing on footage of the band in a live performance, a version that the Cranberries essentially disowned. Despite their efforts to maintain the original video "out of view from the public", some of the initial footage prevailed, with scenes of children holding guns. In March 2003, on the eve of the outbreak of the Iraq War, the British Government and the Independent Television Commission issued a statement saying ITC's Programme Code would temporarily remove from broadcast songs and music videos featuring "sensitive material", including "Zombie". Numerous media groups complied with the decision to avoid "offending public feeling", along with MTV Europe. Since it violated the ITC guidelines, "Zombie" was placed on a blacklist of songs, targeting its official music video. The censorship was lifted once the war had ended. In April 2020, it became the first song by an Irish group to surpass one billion views on Youtube.

"Zombie" received a total of 91% yes votes!

[starry-crossing-zone]

General Storyteller - Rex

Summary: After the Battle of Kamino, Rex finds you surrounded by clone cadets. Length: 1.4k Warnings: Post-Battle; Lots of Teasing; Rex's Flirting is Improving

The battle of Kamino had yielded heavy and unfortunate losses, but the Republic managed to repel the Separatists in the end. Rex, after promoting Echo and Fives to ARC Troopers, sought out the generals. He walked over to where Jesse and Hardcase were relaxing, assuming they would have an idea.

“Has anyone seen the generals?” Rex asked, resting his bucket against his hip.

“General Skywalker’s at the south end of the city, but I have a feeling that you’re not asking about him,” Jesse quipped, causing Rex to narrow his eyes. “She’s with Kix in the infirmary.”

“You know how she always turns into a mother hen after battle,” Hardcase reminded his captain, leaning back against the wall. He elbowed Jesse with a mischievous grin. “She’s probably giving shinies heart attacks.”

“Well, if she can make our esteemed captain blush, what hope do the shinies have, Hardcase?”

Rex, tuning out the rest of their conversation, turned and made his way to the infirmary. Due to the overflow from battle, it had expanded into the mess hall. But Rex assumed that a Jedi would be easy to spot among the clones and Kaminoans. But when he didn’t spot you, Rex made his way over to Kix, who was setting another trooper’s ankle.

“Kix, have you seen the general?”

“She’s in the other room,” Kix stated, pointing to his right. “You won’t be able to miss her.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, but continued on his way. Stepping into one of the wings of the infirmary, Rex paused when he spotted exactly what Kix was talking about. You sat at the end of the room, smiling and talking with all of the young clone cadets gathered around you.

“And then the bridge started to collapse,” you retold dramatically as you carefully bandaged up a cadet’s wrist. “The Separatists planted detonators along the bridge and lured us onto it. And the tactical droid tried to blow us all up.”

“How did you escape?” one of the cadets asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Well, we started running. Anakin and I pushed your brothers to safety with the Force because all of you and all of your brothers in every corner of this galaxy are important to us.”

You gently poked one of the cadets on the tip of his nose to emphasize your point. He blushed bright red, reminding you of another clone, and looked down at his feet bashfully while one of his brothers grabbed his shoulders from behind.

“And no good leader and certainly no good Jedi would say otherwise,” you added, looking out around at the clone cadets. 

Rex was quite sure that the meaning behind your story was not part of the approved Kaminoan curriculum, but he couldn’t help but smile at his younger brothers’ reactions to your story. You smiled and finished up with bandaging a cadet’s wrist before continuing with the story.

“But then we had to run to safety ourselves. Now, Anakin was lucky enough that he was standing close to the edge. So, he escaped easily. But I wasn’t so lucky because a lingering detonator went off right behind me, causing me to lose my balance.”

“What happened next?” a cadet gasped.

“Shhh!” one of the other cadets shushed his brother.

“I’m getting to it,” you promised them with a chuckle. “As I was saying, your brother, Captain Rex, grabbed a long gun—right out of Mule’s hands, mind you—and shot a cable at me.”

“Did he hit you?” one of the cadets asked quickly.

“Do you think I’d miss, Cadet?” Rex called out teasingly.

“Captain Rex!” the cadets called turning around to see him walking towards them.

They all jumped to their feet and stood at attention. Rex stopped in front of the crowd of his young brothers and dismissed them, urging them to sit down again. He turned to you as the cadets got settled again. And even though Rex felt a familiar heat start to climb up his neck, he moved to take a seat on one of the beds. Clearing his throat as you offered him a soft smile, he nodded.

“You were saying, General.”

“Right, Captain,” you mused before turning back to his brothers. “No, Captain Rex didn’t hit me with the cable. It landed in front of me and I held onto it as the bridge tumbled down. And with some help from some of your other brothers, he pulled me up to safety.”

“Captain Rex saved your life?”

“Yes, he did,” you stated without hesitation.

“To be fair, you’ve saved mine a number of times, General,” Rex spoke up, causing you to smile.

“Yes, shall I tell all of you one of those stories next?”

The cadets cheered but Rex got back to his feet and motioned towards the door. You nodded and slowly stood up, causing the cadets to sigh and whine. Giving them a kind smile, you kneeled down so that you were eye level with all of them again.

“I must go back to being a general. But you should try and find General Kenobi, for he’s an even better story teller than me. But which battalion is the best in the GAR again?”

“The 501st!”

“And don’t you forget it,” Rex added, causing his younger brothers to grin.

Bidding the cadets goodbye, you stood up and walked with Rex out of the infirmary. The two of you moved in silence for a moment before Rex turned to you with a soft look.

“You survived the battle alright, General?”

“I should be asking you that question, Rex. This is your home. All of your homes.” You sighed and added quietly, “I’m sorry we didn’t defend it better.”  

“Kamino was always a target to the Seppies,” Rex stated, turning to look forward again. “But thank you, General.” Clearing his throat a bit, Rex turned forward once again. “And thank you for looking after the cadets. They were bred for war, but they were never trained for it to happen in their own home.”

“Of course,” you returned, nodding politely. “I have a soft spot for children. I believe my master’s habits rubbed off on me.”

“It’s not a bad habit to have.”

“Well, and clone cadets are adorable. In a way, the clones and the Jedi have a lot in common. We were raised communally as well. It’s a setup most citizens find unnatural, almost.”

“Well, your people can move things with their minds. My brothers and I all share the same face. They might not be far off,” Rex quipped, causing you to chuckle.

Stepping into the lift together, you stood side by side as you made your way back to the upper floors of the facility. No doubt that Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan were looking for the two of you. Placing your hands on your hips and turned to Rex with a mischievous smile.

“What were you like as a cadet, Rex?”

“Top of my class, of course.”

“Of course,” you agreed teasingly, causing Rex to tilt his chin up. “But don’t tell me that you were always this stoic and brooding.”

“Brooding?” Rex repeated, earning a laugh in return.

“Come on, Rex. You must have broken a few rules in your time on Kamino.”

“I would assume as many as you did when you were a padawan, General.”

“My master was on the Jedi High Council, so I had an image to uphold.” After a moment, you added with a grin, “But also more time unsupervised. And, well, Anakin was a poor influence on me.” Your smile softened as you turned back to Rex. “Perhaps I’ll tell you some of those stories one day, Captain.”

“I look forward to it, General.”

Stepping off the elevator together, you and Rex shared a smile before Commander Cody called out to the two of you. Rex winced when he spotted Cody’s knowing look and you pulled on a more professional expression in the presence of the marshal commander.

“General Kenobi requested your assistance with moving some of the larger pieces of debris,” Cody told you. “He’s in the eastern part of the city.”

“Thank you, Commander Cody, I will go meet him.” Nodding to Cody, you turned to Rex, who returned your burning gaze. “I’ll see you later, Captain.”

And with that, you walked down the hall and away from them. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder at Rex. Staring after you until your figure disappeared around the corner, Rex ignored Cody’s stare and smirk. Rolling his eyes, Rex brushed past his brother.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Cody called after him, causing Rex to wince.

“Stow it, Cody.”

[rootjin]

dear radfems,

i want to introduce you to Viyan Antar – a woman who fought against ISIS – and the controversy that followed after her death.

Born into a kurdish family, Antar married very young through a marriage arranged/forced by her family. After three months, she got divorced and joined the ranks of the Women's Protection Units (YPJ) to fight for the emancipation of women from the hands of patriarchal oppression in the region.

Antar gained international attention in 2015 when a photojournalist took photos of her and described her as "the Kurdish Angelina Jolie". Many media sites recirculated the photos, turning it into news and also comparing her with Spanish actress Penélope Cruz.

On August 30, 2016, three ISIS suicide bombers drove cars filled with explosives towards the Kurdish front line. Antar and other YPJ fighters destroyed two of the cars but the third detonated close to Antar, killing her. Her death was announced on Facebook on August 31, saying she was "martyred in battle against Daesh [ISIS]".

After her death, news headlines announced "the Kurdish Angelina Jolie has died," emphasizing the physical resemblance between the two as much as her participation in the fight against ISIS. This was condemned by supporters of the Kurdish cause including other fighters. This is how the controversy started.

The media's treatment of her as a person was seen as demeaning by many Kurdish activists, especially given Antar's feminist leanings. Choman Kanaani, an activist and Kurdish fighter who repudiated the Western media's treatment of Antar, told the BBC that, "The entire philosophy of YPJ is to fight sexism and prevent using women as a sexual object". He added:

We want to give women their rightful place in society and for them to own their own destinies. Viyan died for these ideals. In the media, no-one talked about the ideals for which she gave her life, nor what Viyan achieved for women in Rojava in the past years when she joined YPG.

Agrin Senna, a YPJ commander also lambasted the comparison with Angelina Jolie and said all of the women fighters who had died and had refused to live under ISIS’ rule were equal.

Look at their pictures, they are all angels, all beautiful, you can’t pick one just because she looks like a Hollywood actress, Angelina Jolie or Julia Roberts.

They have nothing in common with them. They prefer to die rather than live under one of the most anti-women groups in the world.

Rest in Power, all the women who lost their lives during their fight against ISIS!

BERXWEDANA JÎYAN E!

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[satellitebroadcast]

BOMBING OF BEIRUT:

The number of martyrs in the zionist bombing of the southern suburb of Beirut increased to 14. Over 66 are wounded and several are missing, including a number of young children. Rescue operations are continuing.

Lebanese Ministry of Health: Rescue teams expect to find more bodies under the rubble.

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine:

The occupation's raid on the southern suburb [of Beirut] in Lebanon is a new crime that will not weaken the resistance's resolve The Popular Front confirmed that the occupation's bombing of residential buildings in the southern suburb of the Lebanese capital, Beirut, today, Friday, is a new crime added to the record of crimes of its terrorist army and its criminal fascist government. The Front reiterated its full solidarity with the Lebanese people, its resistance, the resistance leadership and its cradle in confronting the zionist terrorist aggression and the ongoing and increasing crimes of genocide. The Front stressed that the enemy's crimes and the expansion of the war of genocide leave no choice for our nation and the peoples of the region with all its components but resistance and fighting with all available tools. What we are witnessing is a battle to defend our destiny and existence. Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department September 20, 2024

Hamas:

In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful We, in the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas), condemn the brutal terrorist aggression carried out by the enemy's "israeli" warplanes against the southern suburb of Beirut, targeting a densely populated residential area, which resulted in the martyrdom of several people and injuries to others. We consider this a new crime in the ongoing series of zionist crimes, a violation of Lebanese sovereignty, and an escalation of zionist aggression. What the occupying government is doing by escalating its aggression and intensifying airstrikes on residential neighborhoods, or by detonating civilian communication means to cause the highest number of casualties, without distinction between military and civilian in Lebanon, or the brutal massacres and acts of genocide in Gaza and aggression in the West Bank, is a blatant violation of all humanitarian rules, norms, and international laws and agreements. These are described war crimes that require urgent action from the international community to stop them and hold the perpetrators accountable. We extend our support to our brothers in Hezbollah and the Islamic Resistance, affirming our full solidarity with them. We value their courageous stances and their determination to uphold national, religious, and humanitarian values by continuing the struggle to support our people in Gaza. We affirm that this fascist aggression will not succeed in achieving any of its goals, and the resistance will continue on its path until complete liberation and freedom and the elimination of the zionist project in the region. The Islamic Resistance Movement – Hamas Thursday: 17 Rabi' al-Awwal 1446 AH Corresponding to: September 20, 2024

[northgazaupdates]

17 January 2024

A young man named Abdallah M Alborsh documents the detonation of flare bombs near the vicinity of Al-Shifa Hospital. After the IOF’s attack, people who had worked or sheltered at the hospital began to return. During the “truce”, people got to work cleaning up the grounds (which had been ravaged by the IOF) and re-establishing medical care, which had been completely halted by the IOF assault. People continue to return there for shelter and for treatment, although there is still very little treatment to be offered due to the IOF blockade and their destruction of medical storage and supplies during their attack.

Flare bombs are reconnaissance tools used by the occupation which usually an incoming attack.

Source: Abdallah M Alborsh via Stories on Instagram

[mrsnancywheeler]

the river (1) // finnick odair x f.reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

the end of a trilogy

the lakes previous chapter

next chapter

masterlist

7.2k words

warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, suicidal ideations, self hate, young finnick and reader dynamics, a love triangle that was never a love triangle, smug finnick, it's so cheesey, pining, this is not a slow burn, implied soulmates, unedited, no use of y/n, allusions to trafficking, mentions of torture

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick’s been staring blankly at the hovercrafts’ walls for longer than he can imagine, since it had stopped waiting and left you for dead in the dilapidated arena. He knew if he reacted the way he wanted too they would sedate him and currently he needed to live with his guilt. He should've refused to let you go with Katniss, or have torn out your tracker himself. Most importantly he should never have told you about the rebel plan, of course he only revealed the basics on how you were to get Katniss out of the arena and go to District 13, but that could seriously jeopardize any semblance of sympathy the Capitol would have for you. 

He imagined you on the beach, devoting your life and love to him, and how before Snow broke or killed you, maybe even both, he'd never given you a proper wedding. All the traditions from back home, in a proper ceremony, with a dress would never happen. A large part of him didn't even feel like fighting the rebellion for you, since there was a probability that if the rebels one, you wouldn't be there on the other side to greet him. What was the point of a life if your future, the happiness, the children you could have had if all of this was behind you, if you were gone forever.

Plutarch begins to say something, but Finnick raises his hand as if to indicate he can't listen or speak right now. He's trying not to snap, not to take control of the ship so he can immediately perform his own rescue mission. Of course people were going to get hurt, even die, in the cause of the rebellion, but it was never supposed to be you. Why was he cursed to love someone who refused to patiently wait for him, who needed to be a part of the action? That's what had always been so magnetic about you though, the way you refused to fall into any constraints about how your life should be lived. Maybe, if you hadn't been left consumed by guilt after your first Games, you would've heard his plea and helped the rebellion from home, or he would've never told you about it at all to keep you safe. But that was wistful thinking, instead compassionate, worried, steadfast, beautiful you was in the grasp of the Capitol.

He decided he couldn't stay quiet any longer, he doesn't care if it's futile, what type of husband would leave his wife behind? For years you'd been fragile, like a bomb waiting to detonate, and he'd done whatever he could for you, he couldn't just give up on that now. You would have done it for him, you would have thrown yourself out of the hovercraft to save him, and knowing that hurt him and made him love you more. Finnick had spent years trying to prove to you that life was worth living even if you refused to admit that you felt that way, which in truth, caused him to grieve for the version of you from before the Games. The you that longed for a life that wasn't expected, to be lead by her heart and the wind, to be excited, until suddenly it was the you who didn't think she was worth being trusted, the you who stayed up wishing for death, and the you who wanted him, but felt guilty for it. Snow had taken that away from him, away from you, and now would take more from you. Finnick couldn't help but wonder how much was left to take, you had your compassion, your humor, your love, and if that was gone you'd be a husk of paranoia that he would desperately work to restore. Maybe death would have been kinder.

“Communications are down in seven, ten, and twelve. But eleven has control of transportation now, so there's hope of getting some food out." Plutarch says to Haymitch and Finnick can no longer be quiet.

"We have to go back.” His voice is hoarse, cracking with each syllable.

"I'm sorry, you know we can't do that. Her tracker was still in, they've definitely got her by now.” Plutarch tries to sound somewhat sympathetic, but it doesn't work.

“She's smart, she'll think of some way to pretend she knows less about the rebellion. If she can convince them of that, then she'll be used as bait.” Haymitch sounds so sure of himself, but Finnick isn't. You hadn't known too much, but not only were you willing to do anything if someone threatened him, you were like a glass sitting on the edge of the table, with one nudge you'd shatter.

Finnick starts shaking his head, “No, we have to-" Whatever plea he's started to make is interrupted as Katniss bangs through the door. 

“Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" Haymitch focuses on Katniss, “So it's you and your syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." He's chuckling slightly, but only Plutarch would also want to laugh right now. “Drop it." He's forced Katniss to get rid of the syringe and sits down by Finnick, who's been infested with thoughts about how if he hadn't let Haymitch convince him of putting Katniss and Peeta first, he could've focused on you. 

They're rambling an explanation of the rebellion to Katniss and Finnick is left once again wondering if he could hijack the ship. Snow probably wants him to, expects him too. You probably don't blame him, but Finnick knows your self-destructive ways. First, you'll try to find ways to end it all, and do nothing but mourn him, then you'll start to convince yourself maybe he left you on purpose, that you weren't stable or trustworthy enough to help with the rebellion, but you still wouldn't blame him, you'd tell yourself it's what you deserved. Finnick needed to be there to intercept the doubt before you ate yourself alive. Additionally, he didn't know how long he could last without you as an anchor, his sweet girl, refusing to acknowledge her own problems while trying to keep him afloat.

“I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan." Katniss is saying, her voice just as broken as Finnick's had been.

“Because when the force field blew you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and, the less you knew, the better.” Haymitch explains.

"The first ones? Why?”

"For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive.” Finnick finally chimes in although he resents the words he's saying. He should've instead let you work your magic, try to convince someone to volunteer for him ahead of time, and stayed at home with you. If he stayed there was a higher chance you would too, yet maybe you would've gone over his head and decided you still couldn't live with yourself if you didn't volunteer.

"No, Johanna tried to kill me.” Katniss argues.

"Johanna knocked you out to take out the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you.” Haymitch is seemingly getting exhausted and annoyed from all the explanations he owes her.

“What? I don't know what you're-"

Plutarch interrupts her, “We have to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss. While you live, the revolution lives."

More words are mumbled and Finnick's head buzzes, it wasn't worth fighting the revolution if he couldn't do it with you. There was no way he could stomach it without your help, there's no way you would admit to it, but you kept him from drowning.

The way Katniss hisses at Haymitch helps Finnick zone back in, “Where is Peeta?" She's finally caught on, that her survival is without the person she loves safety.

“He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna, Enobaria, and-" Finnick hits the table interrupting Haymitch's train of thought. No one can be outraged at him for long though because Katniss has launched herself at Haymitch, screaming, and scratching, he's screaming back and Finnick is forced to leap into action. Katniss is only doing what he so desperately has been holding back on, how dare these people not understand that you had to be saved too. Yet he's dragging her off, back to her bed, to be tied down, sedated.

“Katniss. Katniss, I'm sorry. I wanted to save all of them, but I couldn't move." Finnick whispers, he doesn't know when he started crying, but he has. When the lighting hit the tree and Katniss' arrow had flown, the burst of electricity had left him helpless, frozen on the ground when he could hear you in the distance, screaming for him. “It's better for him, they'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they can use him against you.

“Does she know too much or will she be used as bait, Finnick?" Katniss' voice is hazy in the mess of the sedation, but it's clear she's not very empathetic with her statement.

Finnick lets the tears take over him, weeping for you, how he couldn't save you. “I wish she were dead." He quietly admits, probably echoing something you'd agree with. "I wish they were all dead and we were too. It would be best.” Katniss is far gone, but Finnick can't stand his own thoughts any longer. He's basically begging to be sedated until they let him, he wants for it to stop the thoughts, leave him in a world where he's still with you. Even if you haunt his dreams. 

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He knew of you, from school, from the similar social scenes, and you were well liked enough, but although he'd never admit it, Finnick Odair had never been confident enough to talk to you. Maybe it's because so many people spoke highly of you, but you'd never approached him. Shamefully he was a passive admirer, watching as you laughed at parties, nursed drunk friends, charmed customers at the markets. Maybe though he was scared that the person who everyone considered genuine would reject him as a person worth being around, see him the way he saw himself.

One sunny day in the market though he decided he had to take the step, see if were really the way people described you as, and possibly put to rest the infatuation he'd had for you. One that had really sparked when one of fair-weather friends, Beckett, had mentioned how you'd basically saved his life when he was drunk by a dock after another party. Kind, but brazen especially when Beckett tried to pay back the favor the next day by walking you home. Eventually the same night he told Finnick about you, he'd left to find you at the party and your magnetic company. You just seemed to draw people to you, a charm that Finnick couldn't resist much longer.

So there you were, flashing your tooth bearing smile to every potential customer. He'd talked to plenty of pretty girls before, but usually they introduced themselves to him, and the fact he barely existed to you certainly made you more intriguing. The moment the customer you were with was gone he forced himself up to your booth, one that was full of crates with huge crabs. 

“Most of what the Capitol serves is from here anyways, so it's certainly not a downgrade." Your sweet, peachy voice spoke first and Finnick was somewhat taken aback, unintentionally sending you a quizzical look. “The crabs." You smiled, probably wondering why he didn't pick that up the first time.

“Oh, yes, of course, the crabs." He feigned interest in one, picking it up.

“You know, if you're not here for the crabs you better say something before I start listing off facts." Finnick decided he wouldn't mind that, your voice soothed his ears, but more importantly he'd been given a piece of who you were.

“Who says I'm not here to talk about crabs?" His natural playfulness shined through any persona he was scared he would have to put on if you weren't like he'd been told about, observed. For less then a second there was a flash of what must have been embarrassment in your eyes that quickly subsided with a shrug of your shoulders.

“They're caught in the-" Finnick couldn't stop himself from laughing when you diligently started on your promised list.

“No, please, you'll bore me to death. Guilty as charged, I'm not here to talk about crabs." He put down the crab he'd been holding, hands in the air.

You leaned on the counter, hands propping up your face, “Okay then, what are you here to talk about, Mr. Odair?"

“Finnick." He said almost too quickly for his liking, “Just wanted to talk to you." It was cocky the way he said it, but he couldn't help himself when you seemed so ready to bite back.

“Flattered, Finnick." You paused, like you were waiting for him to say something, “I'm working."

“And I'm a customer."

“Are you planning on buying anything?" Your hands moved from your face to the counter top.

“Maybe." He shrugged, his usual smug smile making its appearance. 

You sighed like you were defeated, but your body language said otherwise. Maybe you'd wanted to talk to him just as much, but he'd been the one holding out on you. He'd like to think that even if it was presumptuous. “So, what does the Finnick Odair want to talk to me about?”

He didn't really know what he wanted to talk about, just that he wanted to talk to you. "The party, tomorrow night, are you coming?” It was a stupid question, you were at all of them, but much to his amusement you shrugged.

"Depends.”

"Depends on what?”

“Do you want me there?" You were bold and your aura exuded that even though if he stared deep enough into your eyes he could sense it hid other feelings.

“Are you flirting with me?" He clicked his tongue, head shaking as if it wasn't what he wanted.

“No."

“I don't believe you."

“Well it's your party, your house, I'm just asking permission." Your eyes widened, feigning innocence, and he decided you were nothing in short of perfect. Maybe he was just clouded because someone finally wasn't oooo’ing or ahhhh’ing at him. Or because he'd admired you from afar for so long that anything you said would be enough to draw him in. He also didn't really care because he'd made up his mind about liking your presence, more than that off any of his fickle friends.

“You've never asked permission before." The look on your face told him he'd caught you, that was your brain racking for a response before your face could slip back into its soft smile.

“You've never talked to me before." Maybe your words were even, but the way you fiddled with your necklace spoke measures to him.

“So you just show up at the houses of men you've never talked too?" Finnick teased, but he knew you'd always had plenty of invites from other people unlike the crazy fans who'd try to push their way into his home. Regardless, the parties were a way for him to keep up Capitol appearances and drown out his sorrows, so extra guests with actual connections to his social group hardly bothered him.

“If you wanted to talk to tell me it feels like I'm intruding, then you can just come out and say it. I get it and I won't go." You maintained a somewhat playful sound, but were so genuine it shocked him. So willing to give up your entire social scene if it made him slightly uncomfortable.

“No, I do want you there." He felt like he said it much too quickly, but he didn't regret it when your smile widened.

“Okay." You bit your bottom lip when another presence was ducking into the booth beside you. The local healer who whispered something to you. “You know you can have as many as you want for it, we can't thank you enough." You said earnestly. He handed you a couple of bottles of some type of medicine that you shoved into a netted bag before grabbing him a smaller box.

“Four or five?" The man said quietly and you filled the box with crabs before handing it to him. “Thank you, now you tell your mom I wished her the best and let me know how she's doing."

“Will do." You smiled as the man scurried off. “Sorry about that." Your attention was back on Finnick.

“Is your mom not well?" It was an obvious question but he wanted to show he cared, you just waved your hand in dismissal.

“She's okay, don't worry about it." So he respected the fact you didn't feel like opening up about it and moved onto playful banter again. “If you want me there and already knew I'd be there, why are you talking to me now?" You led the conversation back and it was obvious to him that it was a sore subject, perhaps you were one of those people who didn't like to trouble others with their problems. 

“I can't talk to a pretty girl?” 

"You talk to pretty girls all the time, Finnick Odair, and you've never talked to me before.” Your hands settled back up to support your face. 

He leaned in closer, “Don't tell anyone, but maybe I needed to hype myself up before I talked to the prettiest one." Your laugh was addictive and he wished he could've seen more of how your face scrunched up when you buried it in your hands. 

“God, you're treacherous." One of your hands decided to nervously play with an earring and the other went back to the necklace. “I bet that's what you tell all the pretty girls." Finnick's ears were blessed with another nervous laugh.

“Just you." He winked, grateful that he'd found an easy rhythm in talking to you. You were teasable, but would bite back, for the first time in a while he was glad he trusted his observations.

“You know flirting with the girl at the market to get free food only works for people not famous all across Panem."

“Good thing that's not why I'm flirting with the girl at the market then." 

Your face was once again buried in your hands with a giggle, "You're dreadful. Is this how you usually entrap a girl, don't speak to her, and then it's all sweet talk?” 

Finnick wished he could say it's because seeing you around gave him unexplainable butterflies deep within his stomach, but that wasn't a very suave explanation. “I had to make sure you didn't have a boyfriend first.” His voice was low and he could tell it was giving you goosebumps, or maybe you were just cold in your sundress.

"Oh, you're bold." You guffawed, “Besides you already have a hole in your story, there isn't a single person anyone would think I'm dating.”

"That's a bold-faced lie, sweet girl, most people think you do since he's always trailing around like a lost puppy.” If he was lucky you would melt at the pet name and you somewhat did before you scoffed.

"Who?" You didn't seem like the oblivious type, but so earnestly confused.

Finnick's eyes dragged over to a nearby booth where the subject stood, sulking and your eyes followed, “Looks like he might attack."

“Conway?" You shook your head so earnestly it made Finnick feel like he could blush from how ardently you wanted him to know you weren't taken. “No, no, no, no! God, no, he's just my friend. We're friends.”

"Have you told him that?” He smirked.

You were so cute, when you were biting back, when you were nervous, when you were embarrassed, he didn't know how a person could manage to be so adorable all the time. “Yes, he knows that, he's just, well he's just Conway. It's just a phase, he'll grow out of it." You rubbed your neck as a much more forced laugh escaped those perfect lips.

“Hopefully, looks like he's coming over to rip my throat out. Please come to my funeral, front row, no roses on the coffin, lilies preferably." Finnick pulled a faux terrified face as he clasped his hands together with his plea, successfully turning your laugh into a much more genuine one.

“Hi, Princess." Conway approached the booth and Finnick wondered how you could ever think he was getting over you. Behind the brunette's back he shot you a look, teasing you for as much which you seemed to instantly understand as you bit your lip with a shrug.

"Hey, Conway. You guys finished up?" You asked, that dazzling smile on your face.

“Yeah, mom was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight? Nixie and Delta had something they were excited to show you.” 

“Yes of course! Tell them I have something for them too, and I'll meet you guys after I've dropped everything off at home."

“I'll walk you."

“I'm gonna walk her home." Finnick seized the opportunity, even if you said you were just friends he couldn't let himself lose the build up he was working for. Conway looked at him like he'd forgotten he was there and was angered to have remembered. “If you want me to, do you want me to?" Finnick looked back at you and you genuinely had a look of complete confusion.

"I always walk you home.” Conway said softly and Finnick wished he felt worse for interfering with another person's love, but he couldn't help that he felt a spark just by looking at you and fireworks in your presence.

"You wanna walk me home?” Your eyes were glued on Finnick, like you thought he'd just been bored and was going to leave after finding his enjoyment in flirting with you. He wanted to get inside your head, see why you were so vulnerable, prove to you that you deserved to feel better about yourself.

"Of course I do, sweet girl.” His voice was less focused on being charming and so earnest it rewarded him with the happiest, biggest smile he'd gotten out of you.

“I'll walk you home after dinner though, that way you're not walking home alone in the dark." Conway inserted himself once again and after a pause you shook yourself out of whatever haze you were in to turn to him.

“Thank you so much, you're so kind, Conway. Either way I still have to wait until everything closes or I sell out, so it could be a while."

“Oh, mom sent me over to buy the last half crate for dinner tomorrow,we've got some extra wiggle room, and we're all tired of trout and crawfish all the time. So a little something special until I'm sure we'll all get tired of the leftovers. Do you want to come tomorrow too?" He pulled out the money from his pocket to slip into your hand.

“Lucky you, I hope you all enjoy it!" You took the money to put into the small metal box where you must have been storing the cash. “I've got plans tomorrow or else I definitely would." You picked up a box to move the crabs into.

“Is there a party? You should've told me, mom won't want me to miss tomorrow and you'll have no one with you."

“Conway, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don't need to be watched over. I'm perfectly capable of myself." You handed him the crate, “Besides you hate going to them and I don't want to drag you to one just for you to mope in the corner."

“And I'll be there anyways." Finnick raised his hand as if to remind everyone he was still there and you did seem to soften when you looked at him.

“Yeah, Finnick, will be there. I'll be fine!" 

Conway took a step closer to you as he filled his box, trying to whisper, but it wasn't hard for Finnick to eavesdrop. "You barely know him.” 

You glared back at Conway and mouthed a ‘Stop it!" The much taller man seemed to reluctantly relent as he stepped away. “I just have to close everything up then, and I'll be ready to go." You look back at Finnick who nods and smiles.

“Let me help you."

“Oh no, you don't have to do that!" You quickly assure.

"Angel, I want to.” You seem to respond well to that pet name as well whereas Conway is instantly glaring into Finnick's head. He doesn't mean to be cocky, but Finnick can't resist a cocky shrug to the other man the moment you're going to retrieve your bag and the little metal container of money to shove into it. Finnick’s nimble fingers are quickly undoing the ropes holding the top up.

You exit the structure and walk up to him, “How'd you do that so fast, the knots always take me forever to undo."

Finnick can't hide his amusement with your awe,"Always been good with knots, I could show you sometime.” 

You're nodding in agreement when suddenly your mouth is agape and you're playfully shoving him, “Finnick Odair, I hardly know you!"

“That's not what I meant, honestly!" He defends, laughing, and he's being truthful. It hadn't crossed his mind when he said it, he would love to show you how to tie a rope, he'd always found it calming. “Says a lot that your mind jumped to that though." He tilts his head and the way your eyes widen makes him wish he could feel how hot your face must be by now. 

“You do barely know him." Conway mutters and Finnick wishes he would disappear.

You seem to regain your composure and point to the left, “I'm about 30 minutes that way, so you really don't have to walk me home if you don't want to, it's long."

“Stop worrying about me, I'm certain I want to walk you home."

You're nodding softly and biting your bottom lip, "Okay.” Swiftly you're leading the way, both men trailing behind and Finnick is annoyed that Conway is still sticking around, before he realizes his family's booth is in that direction. Suddenly you're stopping before basically leaping towards a booth, a fruit booth Finnick recognizes. “Douglas, you have peaches! Why didn't you say anything?"

The older man chuckles and gives you a knowing look, “Because you can't afford them and will barter me for them."

You gasp in mock offense, “So rude and after all this time too, Mrs. Damaris would be astounded by your behavior.” 

"You know if you sneak me a couple of crabs tomorrow I'd give you a whole bag.” 

"Your father would be angry-” Conway begins some sort of lecture when you're snapping at him like you'd also like to be rid of his presence.

"I know, Conway.” The look you shoot at him could kill, and Finnick feels a weird sense of elation knowing you're more peeved that Conway won't let you be alone with Finnick. 

“Then I'm sorry, sweetheart, nothing's going to work on me this time. I've prepared myself."

Finnick is already pulling out his money, “It's okay, I've got it."

“No." Your resistance shocks him, he's used to people begging to be around his wealth and to charm you he's more than willing to she'll it out. “You're not buying things for me, Finnick. I'm serious." He says nothing, but doesn't return his money back to his pocket. 

“Come on, princess, you'll live without one." Conway manages to still sound so kind and you purse your lips, refusing to satisfy the man you feel pestered by with a response. Finnick is busy trying to silently communicate with the vendor that whatever you try to barter he'll give him the money right after.

“My ring?" You hold up your hand, waving the finger around and the older man shakes his head.

“I can't accept every piece of jewelry you find on the beach."

You sigh dramatically and Finnick thinks he's finally been able to indicate to the vendor. “Mrs. Damaris would love this necklace, look it's got an actual ruby in it and I didn't find it. Someone gave it to me, it's worth a lot more than a peach and I only want one.” The man reluctantly exhales, glasses at the end of his nose, “Please Douglas, we barely ever get them here.” Your pout has to make you even more adorable and Finnick wonders how you can be so perfect.

“Fine!" The man grumbles with a sly smile and Finnick can tell the man would've taken the necklace even without the money he was about to give.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You gush as your fingers rush, struggling as you unclasp the necklace. Putting the necklace on the counter as the man hums. You take your time picking out the perfect peach before grabbing one, “I love you so much, Douglas, Mrs. Damaris is a lucky woman!" You began to walk off.

Douglas nods, “Sure she is, take care of yourself and bring some actual money next time." The moment your back is turned Finnick is putting the money on the table, with a little extra.

“Thank you." He mouths with a smile, grabbing the necklace.

“No, thank you. I've got no use for the necklace, or anything else she's given." The old man is shaking his head with a smile, grabbing the money. “You take care."

Finnick nods, catching up to you where he can hear another tense conversation between you and Conway. “God Conway, it doesn't matter. Tallulah gets me a gift every time I take care of her during a hangover because she feels bad, it doesn't matter. Yes it was pretty and I really liked it, but I'll tell her it fell off in the ocean and she'll buy me a new one.”

"You're just so careless sometimes, it's a fruit.” Conway shakes his head in disbelief.

"And it's just a necklace, what's your problem? It's not even from you, and it's not a big deal. I liked it, I'll probably miss it, but I might not have a peach for another year and Tallulah will have given me another gift by the end of the week for the hangover she'll definitely have from tomorrow night.”

"She's not a bank for you, and that trade was so uneven.”

"Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? That's not how I see her, I've been her friend for years and it's just how we work! You're being so weird about this and it's none of your business. I don't take her money, or ask for it, or let her pay for things, she just gives me them when I help her out!” Finnick finds himself being enraged at Conway for the way your voice shakes as you defend yourself, for the way he's making you seem selfish when you adamantly refused to let Finnick buy you something as small as a piece of fruit.

Finnick is suddenly standing beside you holding up the little heart necklace, it swinging in front of your face. You stop dead in your tracks, “Finnick." Your voice is so soft it makes him want to melt, "You don't even know me, Finnick. I don't need you to buy things for me, you don't have to do that. I traded it for a reason, go give it back.”

"He's much happier with the money, anyways, sweet girl. I have enough money to drown in, you're hardly breaking the bank with a peach. And I know you enough to want to do that for you. Can't a man buy things for a pretty girl?” You look like you might cry, but you don't allow yourself too and Finnick comes to the conclusion that you're not used to being helped, to have someone willing to just do things for you without some sort of transaction involved, and he's intent on changing that. "Red looks good on you, angel, let me put it back on you.” You're playing with your earrings as you finally slowly turn to let him clasp the necklace on. He adored the way you shiver when his fingers brush against your neck as he puts it on and the way you seem to miss his touch the moment it's gone. It's like fate designed the two of you to meet each other, to be perfect for one another and he's only just forced himself to talk to you.

He also gets a sick pleasure from how vexed it makes the other man vying for your affections. Within a few more steps you've arrived at the Delmare family booth and they're ecstatic to see you before they've calmed down. “I'll see you tonight?" Conway asks.

“Yes, of course." You offer a smile even though Finnick can tell you're still seething underneath and Conway nods somewhat sadly. You turn you back to him as keep walking, “So are you-"

“Yes, I'm sure I want to walk you home!" Finnick interrupts with a laugh and you accept the answer and finally begin to eat your peach.  “Let me take your bag." He offers, hand reaching for it.

"It's okay I've got it.” You must have decided you're able to slip back into your normal playful tone, and he curses Conway in his mind for making you anxious enough to ever stop in the first place, “I know you must be used to women throwing themselves at your feet, but we are in fact strong enough to carry our own bags."

“You have an indent in your shoulder from it." He remarks, with what he's sure must be an infuriatingly smug smirk. You don't look at him as you seem to reason in your head that it is quite heavy and slowly pry it off your shoulder. He's grabbing it from your hand before you're even reaching out and although it's nothing for him, he's surprised by the weight. “Good thing I want to carry your bag even if you're a woman throwing yourself at my feet." He clicks his tongue as the two of you stroll down the cobblestone street.

You elbow him softly, “I'd say you're throwing yourself at mine." 

“I'd agree and say I'm glad I am." 

“Finnick." Your voice is suddenly much more serious.

“Yes, angel?"

“Seriously, why are you talking to me?" He assumes you must be trying to protect yourself and it hurts him to think you'd ever imagine that his intentions were anything less than true. 

“Because I like you."

You laugh so delicately it could be carried into the breeze, “No you don't! We've never talked before, I mean you don't really know me at all."

“So you don't like me?" He teases, a glimmer in his eyes.

“No, I do, I mean, I just, that's different." You stutter through it, hands moving as you speak.

“How's it different?"

“Because you're you, you're Finnick Odair, everyone likes you and if they don't they're stupid. And I'm just, I mean I'm just some girl, who you've been trying to fluster."

“People talk about you too, I see you around, listen to you, what you say, what people say about you, and I've decided that I like you. And I think that if you didn't want to be flustered, you'd tell me. That's it, that's the explanation, and I'm talking to you so I can really know you.”

There's a silence where you must be deciding if you're satisfied with his answer, "What do you want to know about me?” The walk to your house seems to go by too fast with the stories and banter, the way you sass him back and then get ruffled when he makes flirty remarks before you make them back, and the way you savor each bite of that peach like you'll never have one again, which he'll make sure you will. He's already mourning your company when you're walking up to the door, “This is me, I know, it's not much to look at." It's a dilapidated little house, cracked, white brick and he can tell it used to be nice. You're slowly walking up to the door and he hopes you feel the same way he does.

"Go out with me tomorrow.” Finnick says abruptly.

"What?” You turn to him, trying to not act as giddy as he can tell you are.

"Tomorrow, just you and me, an actual date. It's a Sunday, so the market will be closed. We can picnic by the water, there's a lovely, private piece of beach in Victor's Village and we'll swim, we can do whatever else you want too.” He tries to sound nonchalant as he runs his hands through his hair.

"Okay.” You nodded, fingers running up and down the chain on your necklace. "Yes, I'd like that.”

"Okay, good, that's good.” He doesn't mean to seem desperate for your time, but he is. “I can be here at noon? I'll walk you." 

“Yeah." You muttered, by now you're both standing at your front door. Staring at him and he prays you'll never go inside and just stand here with him. “My bag."

“Sorry, yes, your bag!" He pulls it off his shoulder and feels more embarrassed than he ought to be, “Sorry!" But you just laugh it off as he hands it to you. 

"It's okay.” You're back is to the door, slowly pushing the handle. He wants to kiss you, but he's already moving so fast with everything else, he figures that he better let you have something to wait for even if it's disappointing to you know, it disappoints him too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, at 12.” He reiterates, feeling like a magnet being pushed away from his other half as he steps away, ready to fly back forward.

You do look somewhat let down as he moves away, but he has to be resilient,"Thank you, Finnick! Have a good night.”

"Have a good night, sweet girl!” He flashes his Panem adored smile and forces himself to turn his back towards you. Finnick decides he's glad he listened to the caverns of his soul when they called him to you. He can't help himself from being so forward with you when he's already so sure, like he's been with no one before, that you must be meant to be and he's running back to the marketplace praying that Douglas hadn't yet closed down shop.

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Doctors occasionally hover above him and the ceiling is white, which is all he knows when he's in his sedated state. Sometimes they let him be without, but he can't process their questions, not when he's thinking of you which sometimes leads him back to being sedated when he starts lashing out at the nurses and doctors. Screaming, insisting you need to be saved. He's not sure when he asked, but at some point they give him a piece of rope which he diligently ties knots in to calm himself. It always seemed to work until he thought about how hard he tried to help you master different knots, but your hands would fumble. At some point he'd become sure that you did it on purpose so that his fingers would be by yours and his back pressed up against you, but he didn't care, it was heartwarming. Then he would fly into a fit again.

The same thing had happened when they'd brought him some type of dry oatmeal usually with a mix of berries that made it barely tolerable, once he could've sworn he caught a whiff of peaches in it that had him desperately trying to inhale the scent. Sobbing over the bowl until his nose was so stuffed he could no longer smell it, smell you and the sobbing became too uncontrollable. The doctors couldn't calm him down and he was once again sedated.

For weeks that's all his life was. Haunted by you, what could be happening to you, all the things he missed about you and trying to stay calm enough that he wasn't being restrained or returned to a cloudy state. Although the sedation sometimes brought back good memories he could dissociate into, other times all he could picture were all the things the Capitol, that Snow could be doing to you.

What if you were still being sold off like some kind of doll on top of what you were having to endure. And you'd have no one to comfort you at the end of the day which would drive you to insanity. Or he could picture you hypothermic on the floor. Or being taunted with jabberjays screaming in his voice. Or it could be a violent torture. He could picture thousands of unpleasant things that made him wish the rope was long enough to be a noose.

Sometimes he'd picture the last time he saw you, begging with him to not be upset when you parted ways with Katniss' insistence. Each time he thought about it he'd come to a different conclusion. Most of the time he blamed himself for letting you go, for not fighting harder to stay together or not tearing out your tracker right before you left even if it alerted someone of the plan. Sometimes he'd blame Katniss for forcing your hand in the first place, why couldn't she have just followed the plan that had been so carefully structured out. And on a rare occasion he blamed you for trying to follow the objective of keeping Katniss safe and leaving him, for not remembering to take out the tracker, for not keeping your promise. Which would then make him sick with himself for thinking anything slightly negative about your actions when you were probably enduring unbearable lengths of pain for him, for the rebellion. 

On the lucky occasion where he wasn't heavily sedated he'd been anxiously tying small knots into the rope when the television began playing some mandated report from the Capitol and there was Peeta. Proclaiming how he and Katniss knew nothing about the rebel plan, that Katniss had coincidentally shot her arrow into the dome when the lighting struck, and how there needed to be a ceasefire. Finnick wished he hadn't told you about the rebel plan, that you would just be bait, not someone trying to hide that they had some semblance of information regarding the rebel plan to get out of the arena. He'd signed your death warrant and delivered it straight into the Capitol's cold hands.

Finnick got swept up in his thoughts of what he could've done differently, how much he despised himself for not doing so when suddenly it was your voice on that television screen.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

so exited to start the river with you guys and to explore reader and finnick's past more. thank you all so much for the endless support and for continuing to read my little series, ily all. as always reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated, and my ask box plus request are open even if they take a hot second more me to get through. again endless thanks to you all and love you 💋

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Confessions of a SWAT Team

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You and Deacon fell in love with each other, but didn't tell anyone. When officers closer to your age begin flirting with you, Deacon grows distant and won't tell you why.

Warnings: angst, fluff, age gap (not specific but I imagined ~15-20 years, so reader would be late 20s?), Deacon is protective, some arguing, mentions of insecurity, reader is somewhat shy, I used the term "suicide bomber" once in passing. Luca, Street, and Hondo meddle. I think that's all!

Word Count: 2.9k+ words

Requested Here!

Picture from Pinterest

Falling in love with Deacon Kay was easy. Telling anyone, including the man himself, is not so easy.

Deacon Kay never considered the idea of skydiving to be scary… until he found himself falling head over heels for you, the newest recruit. When you walked in on your first day, confident of your skills yet willing to learn your place in the team and receive feedback, he felt something new. You were quiet and reserved, willing to learn, and each time he complimented your skills or offered an idea to make something easier or for improvement, you opened up a bit more. More than attraction, there was a deep need to get to know you, to protect you, to stay close to you, and, later, to hide his biggest secret from you and everyone else. Deacon Kay was falling in love but knew it was wrong.

At the end of your probationary period, you and Deacon have a deep connection, secrets and all. His need to stay close and protect you has only strengthened with time, but every time he looks at you, sees your youth, and pictures the bright future you could have, he tries to silence his heart and listen to his mind. You’re too young and could do so much better, he thinks.

Two months into working with 20 David, you were trapped face-to-face with a suicide bomber. With no protection and no escape route, you maintained a brave act while hoping, praying, that your gear would keep you alive. With three seconds left on the detonator countdown, you feel someone wrap their arms around you as their shoulder blocks your face. The force of the explosion knocks you backward, twisting in your savior’s arms to land on top of Deacon. You feel the pressure build in your eyes as you yell at him never to do that again. He can never know, but his protectiveness scares you because it puts him directly in harm’s way.

After the bombing incident, Deacon gets closer. He puts himself between you and gunfire, taking several shots to his Kevlar while leading you to safety. During a raid with narcotics, a cartel leader jumps on top of you, and you struggle for the upper hand until Deacon hauls him off of you, finishing the fight on your behalf. After Deacon protects you, he always takes you back to the station, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leads you somewhere private. He tends to your wounds and reminds you that he’s always there if you need to talk.

You want to talk to him more than anything, but Deacon is a Sergeant II, and he’s older than you, and, most importantly, he likely frowns upon inter-team relationships. So, you bottle everything up. Forever.

“You think he’ll ever tell her?” Street asks as Deacon walks out, close enough to you that your hands brush with every step.

“He hasn’t even told us,” Luca points out.

“Maybe we should do something.”

“Their relationship is theirs, guys,” Hondo interjects. “We shouldn’t interfere. Yet.”

Street and Luca smile at the thought of intervening in the future and seeing their teammates happy. They know Deacon is single-handedly responsible for breaking you out of your shell, but they’d like to see it go one step further.

✯✯✯✯✯

“She’s gorgeous,” someone says.

Deacon’s brow furrows as he hears voices grow louder. He tries to focus on the computer before him, looking for blueprints for an entry raid.

“Care for a friendly bet?” a second voice asks.

Several young officers dressed in street clothes stop beside the door where Deacon is working. He can see them, but they haven’t noticed him yet. His focus wavers when he thinks he hears your name.

“Of course, we’re still talking about her,” the first guy answers.

Deacon’s focus shifts completely, turning to face them. They’re close to your age and attractive, but what bothers him most is how easily they discuss their attraction to you.

“If you suggest a ‘first one to get a date with her’ bet, I’m out.”

“I was thinking more we see whose pickup line lands better, then we let her choose. She’s not a prize, she’s a person.”

Yet you’re planning to use her as an object in a bet, Deacon thinks.

“Were you at the range yesterday afternoon? She was there. I can’t believe how good she is. 20 David is lucky.”

“For more reasons than one.”

Deacon clenches his jaw as they walk away, still comparing what they've seen of your shooting and fighting skills. He watches you in awe, too, but they have a shot to get close to you.

“Focus,” he whispers to himself, facing the computer.

“Hey, Deac,” you call as you enter. “Hondo wanted to know if you found the property record? Although, I’m still arguing that this is a waste of your talents.”

You stop beside him, leaning against the desk and smiling at him.

“Uh, yeah,” Deacon answers, trying to look anywhere but at your beautiful eyes. “I got it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m great. Let’s go.”

You nod slowly before following him out. Two men call your name, and you look over, tilting your head as they beckon you over.

“I’ll be right there, Deac,” you tell him, tapping his shoulder twice.

He nods, watching silently as you walk to them. They smile as they say something quiet enough that he can’t hear. There’s a small smile on your face, and Deacon thinks you’re introducing yourself.

Pointless, he thinks, they know more about you than they should. Not as much as me, though.

The thought catches Deacon off guard, and when he looks back up, the taller officer is openly flirting with you. You laugh and push a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Deacon missed his chance. He walks away while you continue smiling at them, seemingly enjoying their flirtations.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’re uncomfortable; these officers are 1) flirting with you while you’re still working and 2) way too young and immature for you. Forcing a laugh and moving your hand to your hair nervously, you glance over and only see Deacon’s back as he leaves.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” you blurt out, interrupting the worst pickup line you’ve ever heard, “but it was nice to meet you.”

“Oh, okay. We’ll see you around?” one asks.

“I’m sure we will, we work in the same building,” you answer before realizing that it sounds a little too much like an invitation to come talk to you again.

Rushing to follow Deacon, you enter an office behind him, and Hondo immediately starts talking. You stand by Deacon, but he doesn’t look over and roll his eyes at Hondo’s bad analogies like usual. Fiddling with your fingers, you try to focus but wonder what happened. He could have a lot on his mind, or maybe you did something wrong. You decide to give it some time and hope that it passes.

20 David spends the afternoon training, and when you get in the ring with Deacon, you expect it to go as usual. Typically, you throw a few punches and have to beg Deacon to fight back and make it fair. However, today, Deacon has no problem immediately giving you a full-force hit. You step back and catch yourself before returning the hit. You lose the sparring round, and Deacon climbs out without a glance in your direction.

When you see him later while preparing to go home for the night, you stay quiet. Part of you hopes he’ll yell at you or something - anything to acknowledge you, but nothing happens.

“Goodnight,” you say as Deacon leaves the locker room.

He nods without looking at you. Your heart feels like it’s in pieces on the locker room floor, and you take a deep breath before gathering your things to go home.

“Heading out?” Luca asks as he walks in. You nod, and he adds, “We’re going out for a little bit, want to come?”

“No thanks,” you say quietly, closing your locker gently. “See you tomorrow.”

Street opens the door from the other side and holds it, his smile falling as you duck your head and rush past him.

“What happened?” he asks Luca.

“Deacon,” he answers.

“Want to tell me why Deacon is slamming doors?” Hondo asks when Luca and Street exit.

“Is it just Deacon?” Luca asks knowingly.

“Should we do something now? That distance isn’t safe in the field and if she’s nervous around him…” Street trails off.

“We may have to. She’s not the only emotional one, though. Deac looked a little green on his way out,” Hondo responds.

“What now?”

“Let’s see how tomorrow goes. We have the gala tomorrow night, so something needs to happen. And soon.”

✯✯✯✯✯

 Sitting on your couch, you replay every event of the day. Obviously, you did something wrong, which is why Deacon is so eager for space between you. The only ‘bad’ thing that happened before he changed was the officers flirting with you, but you were still on time, so you didn’t do anything wrong.

If Deacon wants space, you’ll give it to him. It’s the least you can do.

The garment bag in your bathroom catches your attention, and you cross your fingers that the gala is enjoyable and not an evening spent avoiding and being avoided by the one man you’d like to dance with.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, brother, you clean up nice,” Hondo taunts as Deacon approaches.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Deacon replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. He glances around but doesn’t find what, or who, he’s looking for.

“She’s not here yet,” Street says.

“What?”

Hondo shakes his head, and Street takes his cue, excusing himself to let Hondo and Deacon talk.

“What happened between you two?” he inquires.

“Me and Street?”

Hondo rolls his eyes before looking pointedly at Deacon. “You’re jealous.”

Deacon’s eyes stray from Hondo, locking on something behind him. Turning his head, Hondo laughs when he sees what is more worthy of his friend’s attention.

✯✯✯✯✯

Stepping into the large ballroom, you barely have time for a full breath before the officers from earlier sidle up to you and begin talking. You smile politely and nod, not listening to what they’re saying, as you scan the venue for Deacon. When you find him, he’s standing beside Hondo. Hondo steps away, and Deacon’s eyes lock on yours, his brown eyes wide as his jaw clenches. The eye contact doesn’t last long; Deacon turns his back to you and disappears into the crowd. Your heart and smile fall, so the men surrounding you switch tactics, openly complimenting you, though most of it doesn’t affect you in the slightest.

“Excuse me,” you mutter quietly, pushing between them to follow Deacon.

You deserve an explanation, and you’re going to get one. It takes a few minutes, but you find Deacon standing in front of a fireplace in what appears to be a private office off the back hallway.

“Deac?” you ask, wringing your fingers in front of your stomach.

Deacon doesn’t turn around, but he can see you in his mind (not that you ever leave), with your hair styled beautifully, an outfit that flatters you in every way, and glassy eyes and glossy lips. No matter what you’re wearing, street clothes, your uniform, or formal wear for a police gala, you always look perfect to Deacon. Tonight, though, you’re practically begging to be kissed breathless, to be adored, and if he looks at you, he won’t be able to restrain himself.

“What did I do?”

The question presents your insecurity and shyness, which take Deacon back to your first month when you could barely look him in the eye, and your answers had a five-word maximum. He rubs his hand down his face, hearing you shift behind him.

“Please tell me what I did to make you do this,” you plead.

“You didn’t do anything, I’m just working through some things,” he answers carefully, his back to you. “No big deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal then why am I losing you over it?” you snap, your growing anger overpowering your sadness and nervousness.

“You’re not losing me,” Deacon says, sighing.

“It sure feels like it, David.”

You never use his first name, and the moment Deacon hears it, he turns around. He sees you and loses some of his jealousy and anger but says what he needs to anyway.

“I just needed some space to think,” he replies. “Is that wrong?”

“Needing space to think and avoiding me are two different things.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you-“

“Then why did you leave? Why haven’t you said more than fifteen words to me in the last two days?”

“Why didn’t you talk to me at first?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. He regrets the question immediately but can’t apologize before you speak again.

“If this is what talking to you is going to be like from now on, maybe I never should have started,” you admit, dropping your head as tears gather at your waterline.

“You don’t mean that,” Deacon says quietly.

“Just tell me why. Tell me the truth.”

Deacon doesn’t say anything, and you bite your bottom lip as you think. Deacon wants nothing more than to grab your face, tug your lip free, and kiss you until you don’t talk to him, not because he created a rift between you but because he steals your breath. You’re all he’s ever wanted and more, but the idea still terrifies him. The rejection alone could kill him, but having to see you at work would be worse.

“If you want me to join another team or something, tell me,” you demand. “But I deserve to know why you decided I wasn’t worth the lack of space.”

Deacon’s eyes race to find yours. “This is not about your worth,” he answers, anger spilling through. Not at you, though; at himself, at the situation he put you in, and at those officers who have a chance at what he craves most.

“Then why are you acting like you hate being near me?”

“Because I cannot lose another person I love!” he yells.

You freeze, unable to form a reply. Deacon takes a deep breath when he realizes what he confessed. Your silence is worse than yelling at him.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“I love you too,” you whisper, a single tear breaking free when you smile. “I’m in love with you.”

Deacon steps forward, closing the physical and emotional gap. Taking your left hand, he raises his to wipe your tears. His hand lingers by your face as you smile up at him.

“I was jealous,” he explains. “Those cops were flirting with you yesterday and you looked happy. They’re closer to your age and you have more in common. It made sense for you to go for them, not me.”

“Deacon, I was uncomfortable, not happy. I turned around to find you and you were gone and then you just kept getting further away. I want you, Deacon Kay. No one else.”

“Care to dance with me?” he asks quietly.

“I’d love to. I’ve been wanting to all week,” you answer.

His smile grows, drawing your attention to his eyes as he leads you back to the ballroom. You don’t see any members of your team as you walk onto the dance floor. Deacon leads, letting you lean on him again, something you missed in the short time it was gone. The song ends, and you straighten, preparing to pull away.

“I want you too,” Deacon says. “But I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

“Then don’t,” you encourage, smiling as you tap his hand twice.

Deacon smiles and pulls his hands from yours, cupping your face and kissing you without hesitation. You slide your hands up his chest to rest under his lapel. Deacon feels your heart race, his thumb against the pulse point below your jaw, but his beats steadily below your hand. With each of Deacon’s movements, more of your breath, more of your life, more of you becomes his.

“Aye, Deac!” Luca yells from the crowd. “Way to go!”

“About time!” Street adds, leading a round of applause from the entire LAPD.

Deacon pulls back from you, smiling when you hide your face against his neck. He sees the flirty cops from earlier awkwardly clapping with the crowd. His hand rubs up and down your back, glad that everyone, you included, knows that you’re his and he is yours.

“Told you,” Hondo teases as he walks to Deacon’s side. “Green ain’t your color.”

“He only means figuratively, you look good in everything,” you mumble against his skin.

“Want to get out of here?” Deacon asks, his hands still on your back as he holds you against him.

“Please,” you reply, tapping his chest twice.

He leads you out, stopping you after you’re outside.

“Why do you tap me twice?” Deacon asks gently, his arm around your waist and his jacket over your shoulders.

“It’s the only way I could tell you without actually saying it,” you say with a shrug.

“Say what?”

“That I love you.”

Deacon smiles, tapping your waist twice as he moves you to stand closer to him.

His lips meet yours again, and when your hands reach his jaw, you’re not sure where you end or Deacon begins, and it’s perfect. Deacon Kay was easy to fall in love with, easy to be in love with, and he was absolutely worth the wait.

[roguesenses]

🍁 + if Izuku could change one thing in his life, whether it's a present aspect of it or something that happened in the past, what would it be? Would he actually go through and change it?

Send 🍁 + Any question you’ve been curious to know about my muse! (accepting)

How would the change work? Can he go back in time and change something?

If so, he'd like to prevent the war from ever happening because it hurt many people that he cares about. Maybe go back in time and see if he can somehow swipe little Tenko before AFO and hand the child off to heroes he trusts. Actually, in fact, why stop there. Let's go save other villains too. See if we can fire extinguisher Toya Todoroki + call the kid's dad so he never became Dabi etc.

When it comes to saving people, Izuku can become quite greedy.

If this is not a you can go back in time thing, then he wishes he complained less about being quirkless. It hurt his mom to see him suffer, and he wants to free her from it.

[zweiginator]

Stepbro!patrick having to spank reader’s ass after he let her come to a club with him and his friends and she kept grabbing him and biting his neck in front of everyone🙂‍↔️ like wtf are you doing girl

this happened early on; you had just met patrick three weeks prior. one of those weeks was pure. patrick opened doors for you and pulled your chair out for you at the dinner table. tried to impress upon you that patrick is a nice boy. that he is respectable. he thought it would help get you in your panties, ironically enough.

and it did. it was easy to give you a lopsided smirk, to lean over you with just his little tennis shorts on after a match one night in early june and tell you how pretty you looked. he fucked you in his car that night, rocking you on top of him and neither of you really had to worry because it was all so new and it was late at night in an abandoned waffle house parking lot and the talk of boundaries was far, far into the future.

except it never happened.

patrick invited people over; some friends of his who were in college were back in town. they shook your hand, told you it was nice to meet you. whispered in patrick's ear.

your step sister is fucking hot.

patrick bit his lip. he joked being upset with them.

"hey watch it, perv."

in reality, patrick was feeling like shit. for obvious reasons. because his eye twitched when his friends ogled at your body when your back was turned and you were laying a towel out by the pool. you looked innocent and sweet, wearing an old bikini of yours that was a bit too small. your skin was sunkissed and you clutched the book you were reading under your arm as you straightened the towel out, your lip tugged between your teeth.

he was feeling like shit because there were plenty of girls out there for him. young and pretty and obsessed with him. girls who batted their eyes and twirled their hair and pushed their tits out. it was a fucking joke that the physical embodiment of his dream girl was sucking on a grape popsicle in his backyard, his step sister.

so he told his friends

"we should go out tonight."

they agreed. and patrick thought he would put all this behind him. he would tell you this was over and your eyes would grow glassy but he would rip the band aid off and that would be that.

but as they were leaving just before midnight, you came out of your room, tugging on the hem of a tiny black mini skirt. your lips were an iridescent sheen of vanilla lip gloss and patrick rubbed his temple.

"where do you think you're going?" patrick asked, gesturing to your outfit.

"out with you guys." you blinked up at him, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. you weren't even in the room when he had brought the plans up.

patrick's friends didn't care, in fact they welcomed it. but patrick was searching for an excuse to get you to fucking stay home. he saw right through your facade. you knew how he felt about that mini skirt; he fucked you in it last week. bunched it around your waist and told you not to wear that skirt around unless you want me to fucking fold.

so he knew you were full of shit. but it was getting late and his friends didn't see the big deal and it's not like he could've explained his reasoning. so he said fine.

you were drinking too fast. guys were lining up to buy you shots and you happily accepted every single one. to the point where patrick couldn't flirt with anyone else. he couldn't fucking do anything because you were being stupid. pushing all his buttons to see which one was the detonator.

and you were so drunk that patrick coming to save you from the eyes of a creepy older man ogling you made him your knight in shining armor--and you just wanted to thank him. so you hung all over him. held onto his bicep and stood on your tippy toes to press kisses to his neck.

patrick's friends looked at him quizzically and he yanked you away from him but you were fucking velcroed to him.

you whispered in his ear, pulled him by his belt. ghosted your palm over his growing erection.

"want your dick in my mouth. we haven't done that yet. you wanna fuck my mouth?"

it wast too loud for anyone else to hear it. but patrick's cock twitched and he blushed.

"she feels sick. she's drunk." patrick explained to his friends, as if that answered their slew of questions.

he dragged you to the bathroom, cutting everyone else in line. he could do that, when he had you in a death grip and he told you to act sick. you felt it. you had never seen him this pissed.

patrick locked the door and sat on the toilet.

"what're you doing--" you asked, giggling.

patrick pulled you over to him.

"bend over my lap."

"why?"

he forced you to.

"you wanna be a slut in public? i'll treat you like a dumb little slut."

he pulled your skirt up.

"you're a dirty fucking girl."

you were still confused and the room was spinning but then patrick spanked you. yanked your hair back, and delivered them one by one. he wasn't gentle; every smack was done with every ounce of his strength and he told you to fucking take it.

this would teach you, he thought. but as he pulled your skirt down over your red cheeks, his finger brushed against your cunt. it was the wettest he had felt you--which was saying something.

[kawaiifireunknown]

Men categorize women into two category exploitable n non exploitable....thats the only one you need to know

While he is exploiting one ,he dreams of exploiting non- exploitable one ...

Chase n game continues ,victims are replacable in his eyes...while he grows more n more despicable...

Where is society when such violent hate crime happens....oh yes , fooling another victim ( naive young girls) into one-sided fake romantic relationship with monsters ...where he will take take take n take everything from her leaving her lifeless n then on to another prey

No one is more hateable than parents of girls /women who are aware of how much evil men are...yet they always want them to pursue romantic relationship....teach them cooking,cleaning n other nonsense.Teach them ( your girls) how to kill people ( men)...thats your job to protect your kid ( girls) nd make them fit for society...society which is standing on debris of women's personhood .

And case above ...i hope somebody put detonator in this animal ( mouth n a**hole) ..blow it n say wht a silly prank!

[captain-price-unofficially]

On April 1st, 1945, USS West Virginia (BB-48) was struck by a kamikaze. The bomb carried by the aircraft did not detonate and WeeVee suffered minor damage with four sailors were killed. This photo of a young woman wearing her finest was found on the body of the kamikaze pilot.

[words-on-a-tightrope]

Hunger Games Relevance

(Please read/boost if you’ve ever read/watched the hunger games or you care about what’s going on)

I don’t know if other people feel the same way but especially with the new hunger games film coming out I’ve been absolutely floored by some of the parallels between the world in the series and the current conflict in Palestine.

Firstly, Suzanne Collins did say that she partially got the idea from flicking between channels showing reality TV interspersed with footage from the Iraq war so I guess there’s a good reason for me to be seeing similarities now.

But the fact it’s being live-streamed - the carnage - the propaganda - the fact that lots of us have been following the same few (often very young) journalists who have become the ‘face’ of Palestinian resistance (because right now journalism IS resistance being actively targeted by Israel) - it’s all crazy familiar.

I saw a clip of Israeli’s sitting on a hill watching and laughing at the bombs dropping on Gaza today as though they were fireworks just minutes before Israel bombed the 3rd floor of a paediatric hospital. The same ‘Sderot Cinema’ where Israeli’s bought deck chairs and snacks to ‘watch the spectacle’ of the 2014 bombing campaign on Gaza.

The way not everyone in the capitol was evil or bad and some people actively supported the districts but realistically they were still complicit in the exploitation - even if just through ignorance.

The incredible amount of children dying - the bombing of hospitals and withholding of resources (like in District 8 in Mockingjay), the taking of people not involved in Hamas into administrative detention (hundreds arrested in the West Bank - like how the victors were taken in Catching Fire even the ones who weren’t involved in the rebellion), the collective punishment of Gaza (the firebombing of District 12).

The way Israel dropped pamphlets from the sky to tell Gazans to evacuate south and then bombed the route (literally straight out of the games I swear - the video of the pamphlets falling was like the scene with the parachutes in Mockingjay which represent hope and then detonate).

It’s so eerily similar and I just wonder how so many watched those films and read those books and are silent now - why could they identify resistance and oppression and desperation and exploitation in fiction and not reality?

And I wonder if maybe it’s because we have to remind ourselves that we aren’t Katniss in this situation - we aren’t the heroes - we are the Capitol and District citizens watching it all happen on our screens - and that’s an unfortunate and uncomfortable concept to grapple with.