#◯ » the odds are never in our favor. ( v ; the hunger games )

[respnsibility]

03.

[mrs5sn0w]

Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> III : A Symphony of Heartbreak -> IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, HEAVY ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame: Before, during and after tbosbas

Synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The air was thick with unspoken tension as the First Lady, confronted President Snow about the revelation made by Mrs. Crane. The coming days brought a heavy shift in the Capitol's political landscape as she embarked on her plan to modify the Hunger Games and expose the Crane couple's illicit dealings.

---

The preparations for the 16th annual Hunger Games were in full swing, and the first lady was at the forefront, orchestrating the changes she envisioned.

The air in the control room hummed with anticipation as she outlined her modifications to the Game Makers.

"I want these Games to be more intense, more unpredictable. We need to give the districts a show they'll never forget,"

she asserted, her eyes ablaze with a newfound determination.

The head Gamemaker, Octavius, raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement. "Very well, Mrs Snow. We'll implement your changes."

As the arena was transformed into a nightmarish landscape, her influence was evident in every diabolical detail. The once calculated brutality of the Hunger Games took a macabre turn under her direction.

The night before the Games, the Capitol gathered for the traditional pre-Games banquet. She was adorned in a dress that mirrored the ominous atmosphere she had cultivated, took the stage. The cheers from the Capitol citizens echoed through the grand hall as she began her speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of the Capitol, thank you for joining me tonight. As your First Lady, I have taken it upon myself to enhance the grand tradition of the Hunger Games. This year, you will witness a spectacle like never before. I've modified the Games to push the limits of survival and test the resilience of our tributes. May the odds be ever in their favor."

The applause that followed was thunderous, but Coriolanus Snow, watching from the shadows, felt a pang of unease. He had underestimated the extent to which she would go to assert her influence.

---

The night after her speech and the modifications to the Hunger Games, tension hung in the air of the Presidential Mansion. Coriolanus Snow, unable to contain his frustration and anger, confronted her in their private chambers. The conversation quickly escalated into a heated argument.

Coriolanus, his voice laced with disdain, accused her,

"You've turned the Games into a bloodbath ! What were you thinking ?"

She was undeterred as she met his gaze with determination.

"I'm doing what needs to be done, Coriolanus. This is the Capitol's game, and I'm playing it better than anyone expected."

He scoffed,

"Playing it? You're reveling in the bloodshed! You think this is power? This is madness!"

"Madness or not, it's the reality of our world," she retorted, her words a counterpunch to his condemnation.

Coriolanus, fueled by frustration and a sense of superiority, underestimated her resolve.

"You're nothing more than a pawn in this game. Your modifications won't change a thing. You're not capable of understanding the true nature of power."

She was stung by his words but shot back, "You underestimate me, Coriolanus. I understand power better than you ever will. This," she gestured to the opulence surrounding them, "is just a façade. True power lies in the ability to shape the narrative, to control the minds of the Capitol."

His laughter was mocking. "You think you can control anything? You're a naive idealist. Your little modifications won't change a thing. The Capitol will continue to thrive, and you'll be nothing more than a forgotten First Lady."

The words cut deep, and she, despite her resolve, felt the sting of his disdain. Yet, she refused to back down.

"You may think I'm naive, but I'm not blind. I see the rot within the Capitol, and I refuse to be a silent spectator. I will change things, with or without your approval."

Coriolanus, unyielding, dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"Change? You don't even understand the concept. This is the way things have always been, and this is the way they'll always be. Your feeble attempts at change are nothing more than a momentary disturbance."

In the midst of their heated argument, she was undeterred by Coriolanus Snow's verbal assault as she seized a moment to confront him about his own role in the brutality of the Hunger Games.

"Why are you so pressed, Coriolanus? Isn't this what you wanted?" her voice, though tinged with anger, carried a genuine curiosity.

Coriolanus, momentarily taken aback by her question, retorted,

"I wanted control, not chaos! There's a difference between maintaining order and descending into senseless brutality."

She countered, her tone cutting through the tension,

"But you've always admired the Games for their brutality, haven't you? You've reveled in the suffering of others. This is merely an extension of your own desires."

Coriolanus, unwilling to admit his own culpability, deflected,

"This isn't about me. This is about the Capitol, about preserving our way of life."

Her gaze bore into him, her eyes challenging his evasion, she scoffed.

"No, Coriolanus, this is about you. You've always been fascinated by the Games, by the power it gives you. You can't distance yourself from the very brutality you championed."

A tense silence settled between them as Coriolanus struggled to find a response. While she refused to back down, she continued,

"You can't play the victim now. You wanted a spectacle, and that's precisely what I'm giving the Capitol. You can't stand the reality of your own desires staring back at you."

Coriolanus, his composure slipping, snapped,

"This isn't what I wanted. You've taken it too far. You're jeopardizing everything."

"Jeopardizing what, Coriolanus?" she questioned, a note of frustration in her voice.

"The illusion of control? The carefully constructed façade of Capitol ideals? You can't blame me for embracing the very darkness you've always admired."

Their verbal sparring continued, each accusation and retort revealing the cracks in their marriage. The grandeur of the Presidential Mansion became a witness to the unraveling of a relationship built on political convenience and masked desires.

In that charged moment, Coriolanus Snow found himself confronted not just by the changes in the Hunger Games but by the undeniable truth of his own desires. The power he had sought now manifested in a form that challenged even his own convictions. His wife, unapologetic in her pursuit of change, stood as a reflection of the consequences of the very brutality he had championed. The intricacies of their relationship, once carefully hidden behind political maneuvers, were laid bare in the battlefield of their private chambers.

The argument reached its climax as her frustration collided with Coriolanus's arrogance. Hurtful words were exchanged, each sentence a dagger that severed the fragile threads holding their marriage together. The room echoed with the intensity of their discord.

"You're incapable of understanding anything beyond your thirst for power," Coriolanus sneered.

Her eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and hurt, shot back,

"And you're incapable of seeing anything beyond your own reflection. This marriage is nothing more than a political transaction to you."

The wounds of their verbal sparring ran deep, leaving a chasm between them that seemed insurmountable. The realization that they were on opposing sides of a battle, not just politically but emotionally, cast a shadow over the grandeur of the Presidential Mansion.

---

The Hunger Games arena became a grotesque stage where the First lady, his unexpected tether to humanity, faced an imminent, brutal demise.

In the grim arena, her delicate frame seemed fragile against the brutal backdrop. The poison, a sinister creation of Coriolanus Snow, introduced an insidious element to the already perilous games.

Coriolanus Snow's heart clenched as he watched her lift the poisoned chalice to her lips in the arena. A chilling fear gripped him, and he couldn't contain his desperation.

"No, don't drink it!" he pleaded, his voice echoing unheard in the arena's cruel expanse.

too late.

As she consumed the toxic drink, the effect was swift, a cruel dance of life slipping away.

The poison's tendrils took hold, and a cascade of reactions unfolded within her. A subtle tremor betrayed the onset of its deadly influence. Her gaze, once vibrant with determination, now flickered like a fading ember. The poison worked its way through her, a silent assassin claiming its victim.

Unaware of the treacherous nature of the drink, she looked toward him, a trusting gaze that stabbed him with guilt.

"Coryo, what is this?"

In that moment, fear etched lines on his face as he struggled to find words.

"It's poisoned, y/n. Drop it ! Please!"

A flicker of realization crossed her eyes, and the glass slipped from her trembling hands, crashing to the ground. The poison, however, had already claimed its place in her system, and an unspoken horror hung in the air

Every step she took became a struggle, the arena's terrain now a treacherous adversary. The poison's cruel progression manifested in her weakening limbs, each movement a testament to the inescapable grip of impending doom.

The tributes, initially mere pawns in the Capitol's game, sensed the shift in dynamics. As she faltered, they closed in like vultures, seizing the opportunity presented by her deteriorating state. The once defiant first lady, now weakened by the poison's relentless advance, faced the impending threat of the tributes' brutality.

In the cruel ballet of the arena, her demise unfolded with a tragic inevitability. The poison, a manifestation of Coriolanus Snow's malevolence, became the instrument of her tragic end,

His wife, weakened by the poison's relentless advance, managed a feeble smile while stuttering,

"do you hate me that bad ?"

"I didn't want this"

"I just wanted....the Coryo i knew back" she gently caressed his cheek while blood came out from her mouth, coughing the crimson red liquid out.

His heart ached.

The arena, once a grand stage for political machinations, now bore witness to a personal tragedy. In that moment of shared terror, the boundaries of power dissolved, leaving behind only the raw emotions of a man who had unwittingly set in motion the demise of the woman he had never intended to love.

Her skin grew colder beneath his touch, each passing moment stealing away the warmth he had come to associate with her. The vibrant life that animated her seemed to wane, replaced by an unsettling chill that permeated the very air.

His fingers, once intertwined with hers, now registered a subtle but undeniable drop in temperature.

He could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat slowing, each thud echoing a painful countdown. The heartbeat, once a steady cadence that resonated with life, now played a haunting melody of departure. It was as if time itself conspired against him, dragging out the inevitable moment of separation.

In that dream-induced reality, the fear of losing her intensified with every passing moment, a visceral force that gripped him in its merciless jaws. It wasn’t just the loss of a piece on the Capitol’s chessboard; it was the unraveling of a connection he had fiercely denied.

In the disorienting aftermath of Coriolanus Snow's harrowing nightmare, the dimly lit room bore witness to the lingering echoes of his distress. The air was thick with tension as he gasped for breath, still caught in the clutches of the haunting visions that had unfolded within the recesses of his dreams.

Coriolanus Snow woke with a start, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. The remnants of the dream lingered, casting a shadow over the reality of the dimly lit room.

His breaths were ragged, and he could feel the wet trails of tears on his cheeks. In the disorienting transition between the nightmare and wakefulness, he whispered to himself,

“y/n…”

The room seemed to close in on him, the weight of the dream still clinging to his consciousness. He wiped away the lingering tears, the vulnerability of the nightmare etched in his expression.

As he gathered himself, the echoes of her imagined demise reverberated in his mind. He couldn’t shake the visceral emotions, and the tears that escaped his eyes were a testament to the tumult within.

“Why does it hurt so much?” he murmured, a question left hanging in the air, unanswered.

Sensing his palpable distress, she rose from her position on the sofa, sprang into action. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her swift movements across the room. Her usually composed demeanor gave way to urgency, her eyes reflecting concern as she approached him.

"Coryo," she called out softly, her voice a soothing cadence cutting through the lingering echoes of the nightmare. Her measured steps brought her to his side, where she knelt down with a graceful ease, a silhouette against the dimly lit room.

Reaching out, she gently placed her hand on his trembling shoulder, a gesture of reassurance and comfort. The warmth of her touch aimed to ground him in the reality that surrounded them, a stark contrast to the surreal horrors he had experienced in the dream.

"It's just a dream," she murmured, her voice a delicate melody attempting to calm the tempest within him. Her words were spoken with a tenderness that hoped to dissolve the lingering fear that had wrapped itself around his consciousness.

Coriolanus, still caught between the realms of dream and wakefulness, turned his gaze toward her. The dim light accentuated the concern etched on her face, the lines of worry contrasting with the usually composed features.

"I saw you die in the arena," he confessed, the vulnerability in his voice revealing a facet of himself he rarely exposed. The weight of the nightmare clung to him like a shroud, and she, perceptive to his unspoken turmoil, continued to provide solace.

Her eyes, pools of understanding, met his, and she whispered,

"It wasn't real. I'm right here."

With a graceful movement, she enveloped him in a comforting embrace, her arms a sanctuary against the residual fear that lingered in the air.

As she held him, the room became a haven, shielded from the phantoms of the nightmare. her touch was a balm, an anchor grounding him in the present.

The soothing repetition of her words became a mantra, gradually dispelling the haunting images that had plagued his subconscious.

Coriolanus, his voice a mixture of relief and lingering unease, responded,

"I don't know why it scared me so much. It felt too real, I hate you but I'm scared of losing you."

Her embrace tightened as she whispered,

"Fear doesn't always make sense. I'm here with you, safe and sound. The nightmare can't hurt you."

He nodded, the weight of the nightmare gradually lifting as her words sank in.

"I just... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you," he admitted, the admission hanging in the air.

"Then is it so hard to love me back?" she uttered, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. Coriolanus, taken aback, felt a pang of discomfort. The question pierced through the layers of his stoicism, and for a moment, the vulnerability he rarely displayed surfaced.

His gaze, usually unwavering, flickered with uncertainty. The weight of her inquiry lingered, and as she held him in that fragile moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his response.

She did not get a response from him but Snow began to confront a truth he had fervently avoided—the fear of losing the woman who had become an unintended anchor to his existence. As she held him, the barriers that had once defined their relationship crumbled, and the night unfolded with a raw honesty.

In that vulnerable moment, Coriolanus Snow, usually composed and stoic, let down his defenses. As he kissed his wife, there was a rawness to the emotion—an unspoken language that surpassed the political complexities of their relationship.

His lips, once reserved, now conveyed a longing that echoed the fears and vulnerabilities stirred by the haunting nightmare. The kiss held a passion that spoke of a connection beyond the Capitol's facade, an unexpected bridge between two souls navigating the intricate dance of power.

She who felt the intensity of his kiss, reciprocated with a tenderness that transcended the lingering unease. The dimly lit room bore witness to this unspoken exchange, where the weight of nightmares was replaced by the warmth of a shared moment—a moment that hinted at the complexities of love and longing in the tumultuous world they inhabited.

The lingering echoes of the nightmare were replaced by the warmth of genuine emotions, as if the haunting specter had unintentionally ushered in a new chapter in their shared existence, marked by the scars of anguish and the fragile threads of a newfound connection.

yet, she remained oblivious whether he would end up loving her or not.

Taglist : @randomgurl2326 @princessloveweird @rosewine-5 @cookielovesbook-akie @qoopeeya @corpsebridenightmare @bl0ndelilac @unclecrunkle @puredreamagination @lofhdfn

[pyrrhicmessiah]

Clarke Griffin, Victor of the 67th Hunger Games

Jake Griffin was publicly executed in District 7 a few months before the reaping of the 67th Hunger Games for suspicions of attempting to incite rebellion. It was really no surprise when Clarke’s name was drawn months later. Perhaps the only surprise was that Wells Jaha, the son of District 7′s Mayor Thelonious Jaha volunteered immediately after the would-have-been boy tribute’s name was called. They had been friends practically since birth, and she was furious with him for following her into the arena. Her sole motivation became ensuring that Wells would live.

In the Games, however, they were separated by happenstance almost immediately. In her hunt to find him, she was unable to completely avoid the other tributes, despite her best efforts. When the girl from 5 came at her with an axe, it was Clarke’s survival instincts that saved her and turned the tide in the struggle. She came out with a nasty slice to her shoulder, but she didn’t hesitate in that first kill. Not when it finally sunk in that it was her life or the other girl’s. When she did finally find Wells, their reunion was brief; a stray young girl from 10 after the meager supplies they had killed him in his sleep the next night and nearly killed Clarke, too. Grieved as she was for her friend, Clarke couldn’t bring herself to kill the girl after she subdued her -- she was barely old enough to have been in the reaping at all. Clarke decided to offer her an alliance instead of taking her life. If she couldn’t save Wells, then she would save this girl: it was what he would have wanted. It was a Career that eventually killed the young girl, and it was the girl’s death that finally snapped the tenuous grasp Clarke had on the remaining shreds of her humanity. Grief and loss and rage spurred her on to killing the remaining seven tributes, using the axe that she had taken from her attacker from 5. The deaths were efficient and remorseless, relying on her knowledge of anatomy from her mother’s medical training back home. 

After the Games, she was left to face the reality of what she had done. Even blinded as she had been by the loss of her friend, she couldn’t justify her actions to herself. So, naturally, she blamed the Capitol. It was their fault the Hunger Games existed in the first place! In spite of the warnings and advice from older victors, in those initial years she couldn’t shut up. Repercussions falling to her few friends back in 7 only served to fuel her anger, that well of grief in her running deeper by the day and fuelling the fountain of disobedience. 

How do you stop Clarke Griffin from hating the Capitol? Give her something else to hate instead: herself. They were running out of people to kill to control Wanheda, they had whittled every known interaction of hers down to the select few who meant the most. But kill them all and what are you left with? A loose, and very dangerous, canon. And so one day, President Snow took Clarke down deep below the surface, to a place where people went in and knew they would never see the sun again, and gave her a choice: kill this person, or your mother dies. Kill this man, or your friend dies. Kill this woman, or the people you love will die. She never knows when she will be summoned down to those floors, but when she is, her choice always remains the same. And it’s these killings that break her, because there’s no one to blame but herself. 

[aftgficlibrary]

Hey! Are there any AUs that give off a sort of dystopian vibe, if that makes sense? Thank you very much :)

these are a few-Halley

claw marks by flybbfly (M | 70,868 | 14/14)

The Foxes are an underground resistance group in a dystopian near-future. Neil is the shady new recruit.

Part 1984, part “The Lottery,” part “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” part V for Vendetta.

Skilled by wildfrancium (T | 46,925 | 22/22)

Neil has a talent for deactivating sensors that tell doctors when a patient takes their medication. Andrew, a famous Exy player, has a sensor that needs deactivating. 

The Odds Are Never In Our Favor by MalikShah (M | 258,651 | 29/29)

A truly exciting development here in District 12. Let’s see who will be the other brave tribute traveling to the Capitol this year.” She simply grabbed the first slip she encountered and walked back to the podium. Neil didn’t even have time to wish for his own safety when she read the name.

“Neil Josten.”

A simple The Hunger Games AU because apparently the Foxes haven’t suffered enough already.

[jeanmorcau]

you said to rec andriel aus and idk if this is out of place but !! theres a hunger games au that im obsessed w right now called "the odds are never in our favor" and its so. good. I'm not super into hunger games but !!! also "find your way back to one" (zombie au) so!! good!! also "no mourners no funerals" (six of crows au) and the fear no fall series (mermaid au) my weakness is mermaid aus & its so good Im !!! sorry if this was awkward to just drop in ur inbox lol I just have a million fic recs

Hey that was not awkward at all, it was actually v sweet! Thx for the recs, I’ll surely check these out. Plus yeah mermaid aus are my weakness too

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled​ said: “ He can’t hurt me. There’s no one left that I love. ” from Victor Lexa, clock arena. // Catching Fire Sentence Meme

“ ---I don’t believe that for a second, so good luck convincing Snow. ” Clarke muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes and wiping away at some of the sweat that had gathered on her brow. The arena was oppressively hot, the air felt thick and difficult to breathe at times, especially having been raised in a deciduous climate. Summers were sometimes hot and muggy, but on the whole it was far more temperate than this miserable heat. They sat in a bit of shade, just on the cusp of where the tropical trees met the sand of the beach. By now, the horrors of the forest were evident and it was no small miracle that their entire alliance had finally united with each other. She, Kane, and Indra had found Diyoza, Lexa, and Octavia on the beach, both groups intent on escaping the various terrors in the trees. She looked at Lexa, though, and thought of all the tributes she’d fought so hard for over the past several years, the way she had made District 7 into a yearly contender. Lexa’s affection for the few younger victors ( who were now technically their mentors ) was obvious. Kane’s words echoed in her mind, You think you’re safe because you’re a Victor? No, they were the least safe of all. The best they could do was pretend they didn’t care about them.

“ Clarke! ” The sound of her mother’s shriek had Clarke up and sprinting away, right into the depths of the forest, before anyone had any chance to stop her.  “ Mom?! ”  

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@earthsplita​ said: “ Stay alive. ” // Catching Fire Sentence Meme

The words hung between them for a moment, the silence thick enough to choke the reply from her throat. Niylah was too soft, her heart was too big to survive the Games. When her name had been called, Clarke hadn’t even thought it through for a second before she’d volunteered to take her place. She had volunteered because she knew Niylah couldn’t do what she’d need to do to save herself, but what did that mean, exactly? That she could? That she would kill people, kids her age, or younger, even? Maybe saving Niylah was enough. They didn’t have long together, so Clarke didn’t waste anymore of their time. She pulled her in for a tight hug, burying her face in the crevice of Niylah’s neck and inhaling deeply to try to commit her smell to memory. “ I’ll try. I promise I’ll try. ” The words are mumbled against her skin, and followed by a gentle kiss there on her shoulder. She picked her head up to give Niylah one last kiss, but it was cut short by a Peacekeeper barging in and declaring their time was spent. When they didn’t immediately separate, he intervened to force Niylah out of the room. Clarke reached for her, her hands remaining outstretched even when Niylah’s fingertips were abruptly ripped away.

******************************************

Her body wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how hard she grit her teeth or clenched her fists. Without a word, she stepped into Niylah’s open arms and once again hid her face against her neck. The tight squeeze of her embrace helped the tremors, but couldn’t completely stop them. Clarke took a deep, ragged breath in to try and steady herself, her arms encircling the other woman’s waist. Stay alive. Niylah murmured against the crown of her head, very nearly making Clarke give in to the tears that were gathering in her eyes. She couldn’t make that promise a second time, she wouldn’t give her hope where there was none. The moment Clarke had realized what the Quell’s announcement would spell for her, she’d decided she wouldn’t be making it out of that arena. Not when more and more slaughter was all that awaited her in the Capitol. She was done killing for them. If she could avoid it, she wouldn’t kill a single person in the Quell, either. Taking another shaky breath in, Clarke managed to choke out, “ I love you. ” She could say finally say it, could finally admit it audibly to her, because even if Snow was listening, there would be no reason to punish Niylah while she was in the arena. “ Please stay alive, I love you. ”

[pyrrhicmessiah]

five times kissed -lou obvs

Send Five Times Kissed for a Drabble

one.

They were the last two standing, but there could only be one victor. She knew what he would say before he offered it: just kill me. Clarke shook her head, throwing her axe to the ground with some tangible anger at his suggestion. “ No. ” A thought occurred to her then, and she produced the little knapsack of nightlock berries they’d collected earlier that day. Holding them out between them, she met his eyes solemnly. She would not kill him, they couldn’t make her do it. “ Together? ” Together. The berries had almost grazed her lips when the voice rang out pronouncing them the VICTORS. Plural. She dropped the fruit and pulled Lou into a tight hug, relieved sobs racking her body. But his weight suddenly sagged against her, and she sank to the ground with him, cradling his head. His shirt had ridden up enough with the movement that she could see the wound from earlier --- when he’d taken a serious gash for her --- steadily seeping blood. “ Lou? ” She whispered. “ Lou?! ” Panic seeped into her and she gently lay his head down on the ground so she could move to hold pressure on the wound. “ Please, Lou, please. Don’t leave me. Please. We made it, we won --- together. We can go home. ” The storm of emotions washing over her was too difficult to sort out in the moment, so she just acted on the strongest impulse. Still holding pressure with her hands, she bent and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. 

two. 

Their mentor stopped them before they went out to review the footage of the Games with Caesar, informing them exactly what kind of stakes they had set for themselves. You have to sell it. You have to convince them all that the only reason you were willing to eat those berries was because you were so damn in love, you couldn’t even think of living without each other. They had crossed a very dangerous line in refusing to give the Capitol what it wanted in the end. Unbidden, she took Lou’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and squeezing it softly. Although it certainly served the purposes of fitting with this new script they were expected to follow, Clarke just needed to hold his hand to steady herself. They’d face this together, too. Caesar welcomed them on stage with open arms and his enigmatic smile as everyone cheered for the star-crossed lovers from District 7. Rewatching the footage was hard to stomach, but whenever her heart started to race and that chill crept down her spine, she recentered her focus on his hand in hers. ‘Oh, this moment killed me, Clarke. I cried like a baby watching this!’ They had finally, blessedly reached the end of the footage. But they had captured those moments after they were pronounced victors, where she’d held pressure on his wound and kissed him. She could feel the blush all the way from her cheeks to the tips of her ears as the audience ooh’ed and ah’ed at the video. The sighs of the crowd turned into a deafening cheer when Louis’ free hand gently turned her chin towards him and he slotted his mouth over hers. The roaring only grew louder when she kissed him back.

three.

The Victory Tour was a horrible, awful experience. Having to face the families of the fallen tributes and give a speech full of the ridiculous rhetoric the Capitol wanted to feed the Districts made Clarke want to puke. And she was forced to share a very confined space with Louis, on top of the public appearances. Upon their return to District 7, they’d hardly spoken; everything was just... too confusing to unravel. She missed the days of their easy flirtation, from before they’d ever set foot in the Capitol. At least in 7 she’d had some ways to avoid him, but now they were rooming right next to each other. When she woke up screaming that first night, as she had nearly every night since the Games, she was shocked to see him standing in the doorway. His breathing was as rushed as hers, their chests rising and falling in quick bursts. “ Please stay. ” She blurted, as she noticed him start to turn from the door. He hesitated for a moment, but then joined her on the bed. From then on, they stayed with each other every night to keep the nightmares at bay.  One night, as they lay together in the dark, Clarke found her mind drifting to the kisses they’d shared in front of the cameras. Would it be different, if it was just the two of them, alone in the dark? Before she could really think it through, her lips were searching out his. The kiss was timid at first, but as the dam they’d so carefully erected to keep their emotions out of the situation burst, it grew quickly passionate. When they separated to take a breath, she was trying to find the words to tell him what he actually meant to her when he said: That was... great practice for the cameras tomorrow. She processed his words sluggishly, the heat of the kiss still tingling on her lips. Finally realizing what he’d said, and even more embarrassingly, what he’d meant, she cleared her throat, “ Yeah, uhm, thanks. ” What a perfect reminder that they were both acting.

four.

Except it was becoming harder and harder to piece together when they were acting and when they weren’t. Their tour ended in the Capitol and they were expected to stay for a couple weeks, make appearances at important events and the like. And above all, continue to put on a show for the Capitol to shove down the District’s throats. They surely put on a show, but Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she was faking anything around him. Every touch, every sidelong glance, every time she said something witty just to make him laugh --- it was all real. They'd stepped outside on a balcony to cool off one night, the room full of people drunkenly dancing and laughing abandoned behind them. She was preoccupied looking at the city lights, the swirls of color having captured her attention so thoroughly that she was shocked for a moment when he was suddenly kissing her. It surprised her so much that she took a step backwards, which he matched with one forward. Then in one swift movement, they were out of sight of the party goers, just behind the balcony doors. Hidden from their view, this kiss was just between them. The intensity of it slowed to something sweeter, more precious and tender than any they’d shared in front of a crowd or camera. 

five. 

They kissed more frequently from that night on, especially away from the Capitol’s prying eyes, but they were both too afraid to address anything for some time. So the years passed and they mentored tributes together and they were featured stars in the Capitol every time the Hunger Games season rolled around. They still slept side by side, reassuring one another that their nightmares could no longer hurt them. They kissed on and off screen, but never really addressed how they felt; perhaps they were both too afraid to hear the truth. It was the night of the Quell announcement that proved catalyst enough to force her admission. They sat in the bed that night, holding each other close in a quiet state of horrified shock. The reality that they would be going back into the Games, facing people they’d come to know fairly well over the last few years, made all the dancing around seem so stupid. Still, her voice is hushed, aware that she won’t be able to take the words back once they’re out. Gently, she looked up at him, cupping his cheek with her hand and steeling herself to look into his eyes so he can see the truth written there. “ It’s not an act for me, Lou, it hasn’t been for a long time and I--- ” They didn’t say much else that night as he cut her off with a kiss that, although it was still tender, burned in a way that would inevitably lead to their consumption.

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled​ said: “ I’m not your problem anymore. ” from hijacked Kane // folklore memes part ???

“ Yes you are. Of course you are. ” Snow had done this to him because of her. Kane had dug that tracker out of her arm and practically shoved her into the hovercraft that had taken her to District 13. Two emotions battled for control in her: anger and guilt, guilt and anger. Her eyes hardened to chips of blue ice as she looked at him, that anger flaring briefly. He knew damn well she did not want to walk out of that arena, but he'd went ahead and decided that she should live and help the rebels in 13. The ice in her eyes melted into an inward-loathing as the guilt returned full force. They’d tortured him for helping her and the rebellion, for deigning to care about her and the others who had escaped. 

They’d made him into a weapon, and she’d given them the arsenal to do it. Those memories that made him want to kill her were the same ones that made her want to let him. She let her head fall back against a crumbling piece of concrete, memories like waking nightmares making her vision unfocus. She’d killed for the Capitol, with vindictive cruelty at times, because if she didn’t her mother would be dead, or Kane, or one of the few friends she had so stupidly made. Kane and Abby and her friends were alive, but at what cost? It was footage of her murdering people in those rooms beneath the Capitol that Snow had evidently used while highjacking him. When he had first started trying to decipher his memories --- real or not real? --- she’d felt a chill that seemed to freeze her bones as he described one of the scenes. She wanted so badly to say ‘not real,’ but he deserved the truth. 

“ You’re not... a problem, though, Kane. ” There was grief in her voice, and in the slight trembling of her lower lip. “ I just mean ---- it’s my fault. And I’m sorry. ” Her eyes slipped to the cuffs around his wrists and she bit her lip harshly to keep any real tears at bay. “ I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you. ” Because even though the rebels finally had momentum and their little star squad was on the way to the Capitol’s center, sometimes she really wished she had just shut up and been the Capitol’s good little Victor. 

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled​ asked: “ and when you’re gone, who remembers your name? ” from Snow // Hamilton Quote Meme

              No one remembers my name, you saw to that. When the girl from District 7 went into the games, she was Clarke Griffin; but when she came out, she was Wanheda. Her mentor and sponsors had collaborated to craft the image, playing off the final battle where she’d killed the last four tributes in one fell swoop. It had tipped her kill count to just over a third of the tributes, especially impressive for someone not from a Career District. The sponsors had rallied behind her in the last few days, as she went from one kill early on to taking out seven of the last eight tributes. So who remembered her name? Who remembered Clarke Griffin? No one, not even her. It had been eight years since the games, and every year she had to parade around the Capitol like a prized peacock, the infamous Wanheda back to prepare District 7′s new tributes. Snow was dangerous, she knew that well, and she knew the repercussions would fall to her mom at home if she failed to play his game. “ ----The people who love you will always remember. ” She replied, mouth pressed into a tight line.

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled continued from x // clarke & lexa

Where she had been cold and distant, that reply is kindling to the smoldering resentment she’s harbored ever since that fateful end to the Quell. White hot fury blinds her. She can’t see or think or breathe, her heart pounds in her ears and her fists shake as she endeavors to contain herself. “ What you HAD to do?! ” Clarke demands, her burning blue gaze meeting green. Once she’d found it easy to get lost in those eyes. Now they make her gut twist for different reasons ( at least, she’d never admit some of that old attraction still existed ). The line between love and hate is so thin.

She knows Lexa’s right and they need to move, but that sane and reasonable part of her is buried beneath the anger. “ You BETRAYED us. ” And to Clarke, that’s the worst thing she could’ve done. Her trust is fragile to begin with, so breaking it even once is enough to shatter it entirely. “ You realized what was going on and you sided with the CAPITOL. ” She’s spitting the words with all the venom that had poisoned her memory of this person she’d once admired. “ For all I know, you’re just biding your time until you can do it again. ” Her hateful gaze drifts to the sword in Lexa’s grip and then snaps back up to her face, “ If I turn my back, are you going to gut me, too? ” Perhaps she’d succeed where Kane had failed.

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled​ said: ✋ brush fingers/hold hands (kane, post capitol siege) // soft intimacy meme

“ So now what --- ? ” Her question doesn’t necessitate an answer, she’s standing there on the grounds of the president’s mansion wondering where they’ll go from here. They’d... won. It was over. But as she stares at the building before them, she knows that this victory will not bring her peace. 

It’s so soft she barely notices at first, but as his calloused hand came to encircle her own fully, her entire body stills. She knows it’s Kane without looking, not just because he was the one at her side, but because the comforting touch of his hand is something she was so accustomed to prior to his torture in the Capitol. Since he’d been brought to District 13, he'd hardly been able to be in her presence without wanting to murder her and he’d nearly succeeded in that endeavor when she’d seen him for the first time. 

Her throat tightens with emotion as she slowly looks down to see his hand holding hers. Although Kane was not really her father, he’d stepped into that role in all the ways that mattered since she’d left District 7 for the first time. That’s what the Capitol had taken from her in highjacking him: her father. To receive even this small form of physical affection from him now brought tears to her eyes. She still didn’t want to move, afraid to push him over the edge she was sure he could topple over at any moment, so the tears tracked down her cheeks as a strange feeling bloomed in her chest. Hope. It had been so long since she’d felt that.

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@headstrongblake​ said: “ You promised me! You’re a liar! ” // Catching Fire Sentence Meme

“ I promised you that it would get better, Octavia. It doesn’t get better because the situation improves, we just have to learn how to.. carry it. How to bear it. ” Clarke wasn’t convinced herself that she had anything actually figured out in that regard. She bore the weight of her sins --- the now countless lives that had ended because of her --- in silence because she knew the reality. “ Listing the people helps me. One by one I list every person that I know they will hurt or kill or torture if I screw up. ” They may as well have printed her a written copy as a reminder for how perfectly every choice of names was etched into her memory. “ That’s how I bear it. You have to figure out how you’re going to or something bad will happen. ”

[pyrrhicmessiah]

@griefprofiled​ said: “ history has its eyes on me. ” from Tacita // Hamilton Quotes Meme

             She had voted no. NO. Absolutely NOT. But she was outvoted. Clarke looked at the girl before her, a confusing flurry of emotions swirling in her chest. There were undercurrents of hatred for everything she stood for, for her grandfather and all that he’d put her through. She hated who the Capitol had made her so thoroughly that just looking at the young girl stirred it in her. But over and above that burning hatred was a fierce instinct to protect. Tacita was so young. She hadn’t asked to be a maniac’s granddaughter anymore than she had asked to be in the Games. If there was some way Clarke could save her from what she would experience in that ‘symbolic’ arena, she would do it, just because she didn’t think anyone should ever have to suffer through that kind of terror. Taking the girl’s hand, she offered a gentle squeeze to comfort her. “ Then show history who its dealing with. ”