#District of Misery

[s-e-c-t-i-o-n-8]

[mailperson]

Lies of P not at all bad but I feel like it’s just baaaaaaarely short of what it needs to like hard hook me.

The razzle dazzle arspects are just a little too few and far between. I’m not really the biggest fighter for majorly convoluted areas or inter connectivity just for the sake of it, but many areas are just kinda one corridor into the next and nothing more.

[ghostfacd]

SAVE THE GIRL

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!mentor!reader

summary: when you start to feel bad for the tributes, it’s when snow slowly starts to crack. when you snuck into the arena to properly send your goodbyes to one is when he loses it, making it his mission to get you out, even if it means costing his life

warnings: SPOILERS. descriptions of killing, Snow being a bad friend to Sejanus and manipulative, reader essentially replaces Sejanus in the movie’s original scene

“We all know how this works right guys?” Lucky Flickerman says, his eyes held a sparkle within them. “As soon as your tribute dies, you’re out!”

The screen flickers on the arena, its dusty surroundings filled you with a sense of dread.

You had gotten Lamina, a girl who you were afraid would die as soon as the timer went off. But she managed to impress you, and completely won you over when she had speared the other tributes’ pain and suffering by killing them with an axe.

“Coryo,” you whisper to the blonde hair boy who was almost drifting into sleep. “Coryo.”

“Hm?” He fixes his posture, “is something wrong with Lucy Gray?”

You shake your head, and only pointed to the empty desks surrounding you. “Many died.”

“Your point?”

It almost seems as if Coriolanus was bored of your commentary, he probably was, you did wake him from his sleep.

“This doesn’t feel right Coryo. Not at all. Any of it.”

Coriolanus lets out a breath of annoyance. It was always like that with him, he seemed always to be one step ahead—or at least he presented himself in that way, and he seemed like he was annoyed with anyone who wasn’t on the same level as him.

You and Coriolanus went way back. You were the first few to have known of the death of his father, Coriolanus had told you about it with tears in his eyes. Not because he missed his father, not really, but because he was afraid that there would be nothing left of the Snow family by the time the war was over.

When you first entered the Academy, Snow linked himself with Clemensia Dovecote, a pretty black haired girl who he had gotten close with, and if anyone didn’t know better, they might’ve been more than just friends. But Coriolanus and Clemensia came off as acquaintances by association to you more than anything.

He stopped doing group projects with you so he could do it with her, and he had made himself friendly with Sejanus, a boy who was originally from the Districts but managed to buy his way into the Capitol. Or at least, that’s what all of your seething classmates said as they looked at him in disgust.

“You sound like Sejanus.” Is all Coriolanus says, glancing back at his small television screen.

“Sejanus is our friend, Coryo.”

“Sejanus is district.” Coriolanus slams his hand on your desk, making you flinch. “No matter how much money he has, no matter how much he tries to fit in, he will always be district. And you? You might as well be district with him if you keep acting like this.”

Your brows furrow, and you start to get angry. Who the fuck does Coriolanus Snow think he is?

“And I suppose you’re so well off Capitol yourself, Coriolanus?”

The way your words drip with such venom makes Snow almost crumble, but he doesn’t, instead, choosing to inch his face just a meter over yours. “Don’t say anymore things you don’t mean, Y/N.”

And that was the end of it. Coriolanus Snow wins every argument, and you hated him so much. Why couldn’t he see this was wrong? You knew he had a heart in there somewhere, which was why he was helping Lucy Gray Baird in the first place. Unless he was doing it all for the Plinth prize, for the money.

As you watch your tribute fall to her death, the loud crack adding all to your misery, you wanted to throw the television and desk across the room, just like Sejanus had previously. They were monsters, all of them.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Coriolanus says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours.

But Coriolanus Snow can’t be sorry, he can’t feel empathy, he can’t feel pain, and most importantly, he can’t feel love.

As the games went on, Coriolanus was slumped into his chair, sleep overcoming his senses.

Dr. Gaul clears her throat, her loud but snake like movements made Coriolanus jolt awake, hissing as he accidentally hurt himself on the edges of the desk.

“I see you’re still here, Mr. Snow.”

“Is something wrong?” Coriolanus asks, eyebrows furrowing. “Is Lucy Gray okay?”

“Oh her? She’s fine.” Dr. Gaul waves the girl off like she meant nothing. “It’s your friend, I’m worried about.”

“My friend?” Coriolanus whips his head around to try and find you, but you were gone, leaving no trace.

“Yes.” Dr. Gaul motions to the wide television in front. “She’s in the arena right now. Doing this goodbye thing for her tribute.”

Coriolanus doesn’t want to believe Dr. Gaul, but how could he not when you’re shown so clearly in the cameras, putting flowers into the hand of your tribute. Almost as if you saw her as human.

“Now Miss. L/N hasn’t done anything like this in the past, so it does spark questions in my mind as to why she’s suddenly..” Dr. Gaul pauses. “Rebelling.” She says this as if it were poison on her tongue.

“From Sejanus, I would expect this. But from our own people, Coriolanus? Now this is absurd. I’ll make sure to get the name of the peacekeeper who let her in and have them executed.” Dr. Gaul gives him a smile, one that sends chills up Coriolanus’s back. “Now I happen to know you two are friends, close friends even; so I need you to go into the arena and fetch her out.”

“Me?” Coriolanus stutters out, hesitance clearly showing in his voice.

“Is that hesitance I hear, Mr. Snow?” Dr. Gaul steps even closer. “Everyone in the Capitol is asleep by now, which means they won’t see the foolishness Miss. Y/N is currently causing. You will go into the arena and take her out before she does anything more stupid. I will not let these rebels make mockery of my game, Mr. Snow. I will simply not allow it.”

And Coriolanus knows he has no choice but to obey Dr. Gaul’s orders.

He makes his way quietly into the arena, making sure his footsteps weren’t creating such loud noises to alert the tributes.

“Y/N,” he whispers as he gets close to your kneeling figure. He watches as you slowly put your hand over Lamina’s eyes, closing them for her. “Y/N.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you reply, not bothering to turn around to face the boy.

“But I am.” He grunts out in annoyance. “I’m here to save your ass because that’s what friends do, Y/N. So help me, and get up.”

You don’t listen to him, choosing to keep kneeling and watching your dead tribute instead. She looked peaceful, and you felt so guilty knowing there was nothing you could do to save her.

“Y/N, I mean it.” Coriolanus says in a more assertive tone. “You’re going to die out here. These tributes? They might as well be animals now, they’re gonna kill the both of us if we don’t get out.”

He grunts in annoyance when he doesn’t see you move, so he carefully walks over, placing his arm under yours, practically dragging your body up from your kneeling position.

“Cmon Y/N, you’ve got to help me.” Coriolanus whispers out. “You don’t want to die here, trust me.”

“HEY! YOU!” The two of you whip your head so quickly at the voice that it sends a dizziness into your head. “HEY!”

The remaining tributes, none of them were Lucy Gray, Wovey, or the boy from 11 with speed so quick that it took the breath in your lungs away.

“CMON!” Coriolanus grabs your hand, the both of you fiercely running towards the doors.

One of the tributes with one of his eyes shut had a sharp blade in his hand, successfully slicing into Coriolanus’s back and your arm. The two of you let out a moan of pain, the frenzy feeling of adrenaline overwhelming the both of you.

Coriolanus lets your hand go for a second, pushing the tribute back harshly, managing to make him drop his weapon. Coriolanus picks up one of the broken poles, repeatedly hitting the male tribute with it until his body stopped moving completely.

You thought he’d be done with it, but he lets out a scream of anger, plunging the pole into the tribute’s body, making you shriek out in horror.

“You’re okay, you’re okay!” Coriolanus breathes out to you, practically limping hand in hand with you as he sees the other tributes catching up from the distance. “Open the door!”

The peacekeepers opened the door, closing it right as one of the more fiercer tribute sticks her trident out. “You’re lucky you’ve escaped this time.” She growls out.

You fall onto the ground as soon as Coriolanus lets go of your hand.

“Hey,” he croaks out, kneeling to cup your face into his hands. “Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

He sounds so reassuring, so kind, and not like the Coriolanus you had despised from earlier.

“I..” you can’t even get a word out before you’re full on sobbing, not caring if you were embarrassing yourself in front of Coriolanus and the two peacekeepers.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He places his hand on the back of your head, bringing you into his chest. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

“No one will ever hurt you, Y/N.”

And if there’s one thing Coriolanus Snow is good at—it’s ensuring he gets what he wants.

[gremlingottoosilly]

what would emperor!Konig do if the reader who is pregnant gets sick. How do you reckon he would act?

Huge fan of you emperor series.Can't wait for the next update.

As the empress, you will always have the best healers on the continent at your side. Blessed doctors, scientists, professionals - he wouldn't allow any crazy research, of course, no experiments on his precious pregnant wife, but you will be treated up to the finest points in modern medicine. With a bit of elixirs, maybe some fancy medicine that costs like a small kingdom - empire has money for this, of course, only the best for the bearer of an heir...but most of all, you'd be finally afforded relaxation. As an empress, your main goal is to show up in front of the court and your people, always grazing the poorest districts of the empire with your visits so the peasants could feel like something bigger than themselves. Konig isn't the best public speaker and acts more as a military commander than a ruler - so you have to be his social lube, gracing peasants with your presence and making sure their needs are met. Orphans are getting families, poor are getting money, starved are getting food...and the whole empire wails in misery as your visits suddenly stops. You're loved as an empress - you're young, beautiful, with softness that acts so perfect next to the coldness of your husband. And you're not here anymore, your health deteriorating due to pregnancy. News about your state are flowing around the kingdom, and you will have so many little gifts send from each colony - it's almost cute if half of the assassin population also didn't decide on taking you down in something that would look more like a merciful kill...Krueger has to abandon his duties as a royal knight and be your bodyguard, which he fucking hates. Konig is often with you, however - he would push his duties aside and just lay beside you, always a hand on your stomach and feeding you only with food that passed through him first. No one would dare to attack you while he is around...and of course, he wants to cuddle as much as possible while none of you have royal duties.

[fatehbaz]

In just eight blocks of sidewalk in quiet neighborhood, walking through the not-quite-rain of a sunshower, today I encountered four missing shoe soles. Little pieces of plastic and rubber, detached from pedestrians' shoes, now lonely on the concrete, with the weeds.

No such thing, really, as a "weed", though. "Weed" is not a botanical term. Instead, describes perceived pests, at the discretion of the observer. At the discretion of the authority. Designated as weed by the one with power over that land. The agronomist, the rancher, the plantation manager. The weed wastes space that could otherwise be given to a monoculture cash crop, an "economically significant" plant. The weed interferes with the productivity of the plot of land. The weed interrupts the extraction. The weed diminishes the value. The weed doesn't belong in this place.

People are made to be weeds, too.

Some cities will designate you as a weed, and then they'll take action to pull you out. They'll uproot you. But it's not always explicit, like "we're outlawing loitering" or "we're outlawing taking a nap in the park" or "we're defunding the library". Sometimes it's quite clever, it's written into the physical landscape. Self-congratulatory "progressive" cities learn to co-opt language, to obscure the violence, to use and abuse space.

Thinking about things you might encounter, you might perceive, after you've been destitute, broken, lived at a homeless shelter, for years. Little signs of other peoples' misery. Indicators of desperation that some might overlook. And the way that environment shapes, and is shaped by, these miseries.

A friend asks "why is there always an unusual amount of scuffed detached missing shoe soles on this particular stretch of sidewalk? There are hardly any homes around here, it's all asphalt and empty lots, so where are all these be-shoed people coming from?" Because even though this is a wide expanse without either home residences or any kind of commercial or recreation space someone would want to visit, these blocks are the straight-line direct path between a low-income apartment complex and the cluster of corporate big box stores, and there's no bus line that runs between the two areas. "But don't the vast majority of customers of shopping malls and box stores drive vehicles, hence the obscenely massive parking lots?" Sure, customers drive, but guess who actually has to work at those places? An underclass of people living at that apartment complex with harsh restrictions and cheap amenities, who can't afford car insurance or who might be too physically disabled to bike. And so that apartment complex is a de facto "company town", the residents are essentially in confinement. It is written into that landscape. It can be read. "Why is there always debris, wrappers, coins, etc. in this particular quiet couple of blocks of the boulevard?" Because these blocks are between a thrift store and a same-day drop-in clinic, so many impoverished people will routinely be walking between these two locations. They attend their appointment, and then have forty-five minutes to kill before the bus comes back around, so why not check out the thrift store? The city and county collaborated and placed all the low-income assistance offices on the far side of town, which conveniently forces the poor and disabled to both stay away from the luxurious downtown district and also to waste their time making a four-hour commute, catching various connecting buses or else riding the bikepath, across the city just to attend a ten-minute-long appointment.

Then this spatial layout, this city's physical environment, will shape the physical body. This violence writes itself into the flesh. The way the denim is chafed and discolored on the left shoulder of someone's jacket from carrying a small backpack around by foot, day after day after day. The way someone's heart rate increases when they see a white and black vehicle in the periphery of their vision, subconsciously recollecting institutionalization and institutional abuse, or fearing what a ticket fee would mean for their budget (they might not be able to afford rent). The way someone develops a painful limp, maybe occasionally depends on a cane, because they had to walk great distances every day to get to work and their shoe sole fell off on the sidewalk, but they can't replace the shoes because their employer is underpaying them, and they're forced to stand all day at work anyway, and they already had some modest nerve damage in their foot because they've been rationing their insulin and can't afford their prescriptions, and federal medical insurance keeps denying them because their physical letters in the mail always show up too late or not at all, and groceries are too expensive so it's hard to get good nutrition to heal, but the diabetic nerve damage has by now damaged their digestive tract too so they have a strictly limited bland diet and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal (if they can even afford a home, at this point), and all those "little" miseries add up, and now they're hungry, and in pain, because they were forced to walk kinda funny for a long time over all those decaying sidewalks with all those other weeds.

[mollywog]

Thinking about Katniss’s friendship with Madge (and also Gale)

I think Madge is important for several reasons, but one being: She shows us that Katniss doesn't 100% 'buy' the whole merchant vs seam thing.

The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door. She’s in my year at school. Being the mayor’s daughter, you’d expect her to be a snob, but she’s all right. She just keeps to herself. Like me. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities. We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine.

Katniss (and Gale) are actually progress thinkers in this way. They hold biases/resentment about the merchants, but also can recognize it as a Capital driven division.

Even though Gale snaps at Madge at the start of the book, Katniss credits him with knowing ‘his anger at Madge is misdirected.’ In fact he is the one verbalizing the idea to her.

You can see why someone like Madge, who has never been at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. The chance of her name being drawn is very slim compared to those of us who live in the Seam. Not impossible, but slim. And even though the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly not Madge's family, it's hard not to resent those who don't have to sign up for tesserae.

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I've listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. "It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves," he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn't reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I'm sure she thought was a harmless comment.

Madge and Gale inspire Katniss’s rebellious actions just as much Peeta

Madge’s pin is what makes Rue trust Katniss.

I unclasp the pin and hold it out to her. “Here, you take it. It has more meaning for you than me.”

“Oh, no,” says Rue, closing my fingers back over the pin. “I like to see it on you. That’s how I decided I could trust you. Besides, I have this.” She pulls a necklace woven out of some kind of grass from her shirt. On it, hangs a roughly carved wooden star. Or maybe it’s a flower. “It’s a good luck charm.”

And Katniss is reminded of both Gale’s rants and Peeta’s piece in their games speech in the aftermath of Rue’s death

Gale’s voice is in my head. His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored. Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us. But here, even more strongly than at home, I feel my impotence. There’s no way to take revenge on the Capitol. Is there?

Then I remember Peeta’s words on the roof. “Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games.” And for the first time, I understand what he means.

Please also check out this beautiful analysis of Madge by @wistfulweaverwoman!

[gatheringbones]

[“Poverty is embarrassing, shame inducing. Misery (misère), the French sociologist Eugène Buret once remarked, “is poverty felt morally.”

You feel it in the degradation rituals of the welfare office, where you are made to wait half a day for a ten-minute appointment with a caseworker who seems annoyed you showed up. You feel it when you go home to an apartment with cracked windows and cupboards full of cockroaches, an infestation the landlord blames on you. You feel it in how effortlessly poor people are omitted from movies and television shows and popular music and children’s books, erasures reminding you of your own irrelevance to wider society. You may begin to believe, in the quieter moments, the lies told about you. You avoid public places—parks, beaches, shopping districts, sporting arenas—knowing they weren’t built for you.

Poverty might consume your life, but it’s rarely embraced as an identity. It’s more socially acceptable today to disclose a mental illness than to tell someone you’re broke. When politicians propose antipoverty legislation, they say it will help “the middle class.” When social movement organizers mobilize for higher wages or housing justice, they announce that they are fighting on behalf of “working people” or “families” or “tenants” or “the many.” When the poor take to the streets, it’s usually not under the banner of poverty. There is no flag for poor rights, after all.

Poverty is diminished life and personhood. It changes how you think and prevents you from realizing your full potential. It shrinks the mental energy you can dedicate to decisions, forcing you to focus on the latest stressor—an overdue gas bill, a lost job—at the expense of everything else. When someone is shot dead, the children who live on that block perform much worse on cognitive tests in the days following the murder. The violence captures their minds. Time passes, and the effect fades until someone else is dropped.

Poverty can cause anyone to make decisions that look ill-advised and even downright stupid to those of us unbothered by scarcity. Have you ever sat in a hospital waiting room, watching the clock and praying for good news? You are there, locked on the present emergency, next to which all other concerns and responsibilities feel (and are) trivial. That experience is something like living in poverty. Behavioral scientists Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir call this “the bandwidth tax.” “Being poor,” they write, “reduces a person’s cognitive capacity more than going a full night without sleep.” When we are preoccupied by poverty, “we have less mind to give to the rest of life.” Poverty does not just deprive people of security and comfort; it siphons off their brainpower, too.”]

matthew desmond, from poverty: by america, 2023

[queersatanic]

We fuckin' won, y'all

It hasn't fully sunk in yet, but we did just get some truly joyful news.

The Satanic Temple lost AGAIN, and ours is a full victory here

The King County Superior Court just granted our motion for summary judgment in full, dismissing all claims with prejudice and ruling on our declaratory judgment counterclaim we have the right to use "the Memes Page".

facebook.com/queersatanic

It has been 1635 DAYS since The Satanic Temple filed their case against us in federal district court. We got it dismissed there once in February 2021; we got it dismissed again in January 2023 after TST re-filed.

The Satanic Temple appealed the second loss to the Ninth Circuit and also re-filed part of the case in state court in April 2023 — notably after the three-year statute of limitations had run out.

The Ninth Circuit affirmed most of the lower federal court decision but allowed TST to revive their defamation claims if they could specify what exactly had been said about them that was false and defamatory.

Apparently unable to do so, The Satanic Temple voluntarily dismissed the federal case against us.

Meanwhile, in 2022, TST sued Newsweek for writing about our case back in October 2021. The Satanic Temple dragged us into those proceedings to give depositions, but Newsweek seems to be prevailing with just one claim remaining and a bunch of embarrassing stuff coming out about TST.

TST sued a woman in Texas for making TikTok videos critical of them, after first forcing her to record a pretty upsetting retraction. This is despite the fact that she was right.

TST has threatened more people than we can make a reliable count of with litigation both before and after us.

The Satanic Temple's agents have stalked and harassed us and our loved ones, and there have been long periods of misery and where it seemed like the courts would let them keep doing this sort of thing indefinitely.

But today we won.

The Satanic Temple has lost every step of the way and shown themselves to be a toxic, abusive religious organization to everyone who has bothered to pay attention — tho unfortunately, too few people have.

Thank you all for your support over these long 4+ years.

Based on their pattern of behavior, The Satanic Temple is likely to appeal this loss or perhaps invent a new pretext to continue this SLAPP in a new venue. We know that.

The Satanic Temple, its owners, and lawyers have had had no argument justifying the last 1635 days beyond their wealth and desire to hurt and intimidate people. But TST also should have much bigger issues to deal with than lighting money on fire by continuing to come after us.

So, maybe The Satanic Temple will finally walk away now. They're definitely more vulnerable now than they have been in a long time.

Please let people know what The Satanic Temple is and how they behave, and also that however scary they seem, if you stand up to them you can win.

When it comes to The Satanic Temple, there's always more, and it's always worse, but they are at least as incompetent as they are malicious. They are ghouls, to be sure, but not ones who can survive any light on their actions.

So Ave Satanas, and Hail Lucifer the Lightbringer

[libertyybellls]

FEMALE ROBBERY !

pairing; finnick odair x dist4!victor!f!reader

summary; meeting finnick at your capitol victor party, he is nothing short of entranced.

contains; fluff! just pure fluff, innocent- sweet, comforting, brief mentions of forced prostitution but no detail.

a/n; i was lowkey turning into anakin skywalker when i started writing about how much reader hates sand but it adds personality ok…

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you were shivering, teeth practically chattering. the wide doors that led to the back of the luxurious party-mansion were wide open. your dress offered little warmth and neither did the people around you- their arrogance and bright colors offered no heat, no coziness, no reminders of home.

your wearing a corset dress- low cut, your chest on great display, you feel like the short hemmed bottomed makes you out to flash everyone at this party.

your hair has braids scattered about- your original hair texture is long gone with the amount of heat styling they’ve done on it throughout your victory tour and interviews. bows adorn the ends of each small braid that lays on your now, flat- straight hair.

the meaningless conversation, and congratulations throughout this party is enough to drive you mad. you need air- oh-so cold but nonetheless you needed more air. you’re feet are moving past people- people who grab at you, yelling praises, trying to get a passing word with you.

but you’re mind is racing, you need to sit in silence and breath.

you find a garden- you don’t have enough greenery back in your district, more ocean, too much sand, too much heat.

the sand got everywhere. you couldn’t complain about the ocean- oh, how you loved the water. but once the sand got in your hair, your shoes, your towel, your clothes- it couldn’t get out. it seemed sand would never leave you alone- president snow reminded you all too much of sand.

it felt like an infirmary sentencing, a life estimation. once the words ‘capitols doll’ left his mouth, ‘desirable’, ‘young, sweet, and pretty’ you felt sick- you’d live your life in misery until another innocent tribute would come along and take all of the heat. but you’d always be in a hotel room, in the capitol, entertaining the people like a puppet on a string.

you don’t think you’ve been warm since you heard those words, you don’t think there’s been enough air- but now, in this garden, everything seems okay.

you sit on a bench, rose bushes surrounding you, a few flowers you can name but never seen- only in books.

your hands are in your lap now, fingers playing with one another- your deep breathes began to lower your blood pressure.

until you hear footsteps nearing on the cold- crunchy grass that’s been frozen over from the weather.

he’s tall- shirtless. what stylist would do that to someone in this nippy weather? but you think your stylist would send you off to these parties naked if he had no decency, too.

he’s finnick odair. even the wind flirting your eyes can recognize that. how couldnt you? the poster boy of your district, sex symbol of panem, but you don’t comprehend any of it.

“you’ve found my spot.” he’s smirking, you can understand why people in the capitol swoon over him- not even six seconds and your body rushes with warm blood.

then you process his words, slowly scrambling to grab your clutch and rising to your feet. he puts his hand up, signaling for you to halt your movements.

“it’s nice to have company.” and so you move your bag over , allowing him more room to sit on the bench.

you don’t speak, atleast you don’t know what to say- you don’t ask questions or say something stupid. finnicks voice breaks the thick barrier of silence; “nice party they gave you.”

he’s joking, and his slight laugh makes you laugh. you’d won nearly a month ago- many sleepless nights covered with makeup and fake eyelashes. “yeah, i’m so grateful for them all.” you breathily laugh off.

the playfulness of this all is refreshing. it almost makes you long forget about your grim past and even darker impending doom.

he turns his head towards you, scanning your face- then to the rose bushes surrounding the both of you- then back to your face. “too many roses every where, i’m starting to hate the smell of them.”

you pick up on his small talk, and you almost laugh a little- he’s acting like a grade-school boy. “i’m beginning to think it possibly the ugliest thing natures created now.”

“mags told me about how mentoring you went, we were all relieved when you won.” you wince when you think about that, he knows that better then anyone here. the heart sinking feeling when your brain slips up for a second- that you don’t let yourself think to hard about, nor too long.

“thanks.” he doesn’t even know you yet, but he know that even if you don’t speak too much the ones you do vocalize have meaning, no vacancy in them. “are you cold?” you can’t help but voice your curiosity.

he looks down on himself, almost as though his body brings him guilt in a way. like he’s ashamed to own it, you’re sure you’ll understand soon.

but within seconds his guard is back up, back to the capitol darling. he simply places your hand on his shoulder, he’s forcing your body to move but in the most genuine way anyone has ever done so.

you feel your cold finger tips merge with his radiant shoulder, like a hypothermic to a heater.

finnicks aura is simply heat, not a touch of coldness. you wonder if it’s his insides pouring into his physical being. does he not have any cold feelings in his heart? is he genuine? “how are you warm right now?”

he only laughs as you try to remove your hand from him in the least awkward way you can, placing your hands back into your lap. there’s so many things you want to ask him, tell him. his soul is like a confession booth, that you’ve heard before. all the secrets he knows, all of the words only he’s been told.

“does it get better? even if you’ve been told something that doesn’t make you think it will?” he can only imagine what your last words mean, and now his heart drops. no- not someone like you? so young so unsuspecting, but weren’t they all?

“if you have someone to lean on, you’ll be okay.”

you frown at this, despite your fear of making yourself seem like a complete and utter loser to the golden boy of panem- you say; “and if i don’t?” you can’t help but think about your overworked tired parents, never home, never cared too much. your friends who you don’t see all too much.

“if you don’t,” he looks up from his lap now, eyes locked onto yours, only your eyes ever- not your exposed chest or the dress that rides up your thighs. “you have me if you’re willing, i think we’ve gotten on well.”

this makes you smile to yourself, you can’t look into his eyes any longer you think you’ll get lost. you feel like a school girl, unable to breathe around the presence of your crush. “i don’t know you all that well, finnick odair.”

he shakes his head, “haven’t you read the news, y/n l/n?” he’s mimicking your words, almost in a sing-song way.

“i don’t tend to make premeditated decisions on who someone is based on what the capitol news says. i prefer to get to know them instead.”

“well, let’s get to know eachother then.” his body turns toward you. flattening his hands onto his lap. “favorite color?”

you look at the grass before you, the stems of the flowers around you, the feeble, poor excuses of barely full bushes that line the sand before the water in district four. “green, not a dark green. something in the middle.” your eyes flick back to his, almost the perfect green you were talking about. “and you?”

“blue.” his two fingers pick up the bows at the end of your hair, you almost roll your eyes at this. too charming you could laugh.

“what are you scared of?”

he thinks about this one, taking a moment to relay his thoughts. it wasn’t death, no. he wouldn’t be scared when his time came, he would just hope the people he loves would be okay, that they’d get through it without him.

“becoming one of them.” he nods his head back to the people scuffling about in frilly dresses and skirts around the main party center. “so moral-less, so demanding. so many things i don’t want to be.”

you shake your head now, “i don’t think you could ever be one of them.” to anyone else this would be an insult, being apart of the capitol was little girls and boys dreams. to live so lavishly and carefree. but once you’ve seen it all, you just want to be by the ocean- at peace, unbothered with those who meant the most to you. “you’re much too good for that.”

finnick believes you, it’s like all he’s needed his whole life was your words that had no hint of second meaning. only pure, true, clean. “if it means anything, i know you couldn’t be anyways. no matter how many bows they put in your hair.” he laughs again, that charming chuckle that sends a butterfly to your stomach. “you have a good heart, i hope that it stays that way.”

it’s all so honest , the whole interaction. but you’ve been away from your own party far too long and you’re almost scared to upset people. “i have to go. i’ll see you around, finnick.” his name is foreign to your tongue almost, but its welcome.

finnick then stands quickly, “when will i see you again?” he almost looks worried.

“soon. we live in the same village after all.”

-

inspired by my favorite, @mrsnancywheeler ‘s fic

masterlist

inbox open!

[saberlight1]

exit music (for a film) — coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

warnings: slight tbosas spoilers, mentions of past abuse, trauma, violence, ptsd, established relationship, reader almost gets assaulted, Y/N usage, possessive!snow, a toxic ex attacks you, hints towards past sexual assault, standard ballad of songbirds and snakes warnings.

authors note: soo i was needing some comfort, and i realized there are not a lot of hurt & comfort fics for coryo!! this is a big injustice so i decided to write this. just a fair warning: this fic contains themes that can be hard for some people to read; including sexual assault and domestic violence. if you aren’t comfortable with these topics, feel free to go read some of my other coryo stories here! i hope you all enjoy this, much love<3.

masterlist

When you first laid eyes upon the white-haired boy, you didn’t think he’d become as important to you as he is now. He was assigned to be your mentor in the Hunger Games, and you were slightly relieved when you saw him standing at the train station, waiting for you.

Although you were both cautious of the other, coming from different, yet similar lands. But once you warmed up to him, you never wanted to part.

After the arena got bombed with you all in it, Coriolanus getting injured aand trapped, you stayed behind even if there was a clear opening for you to run— because you found yourself caring for him.

He had protected you so far, treating you with kindness and respect as he guided you through this hellish period in your life. So you had to do the same. Anyways, that was what told yourself when you risked everything to stay back and attempt to help him.

You brushed your hair behind your ears, ignoring the stinging pain in your side from being burnt as you started off into a sprint towards the boy who was crying out in pain, the pole he was trapped under catching fire.

“Coriolanus!” You called out as you neared him. “I’m here, I’m here.” You tried to soothe him as you tried to push the pole off of him.

He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of your face, and almost looked confused at your act to help him.

After a moment of struggle, you finally got the pole away from him, but it had got him badly. You immediately bent down to his level, your hands going to cradle his face softly, he leaned into it.

“Oh, are you alright?” You whispered, his shaky hands coming out to grip your wrists, rubbing softly in thanks. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I—” You did your best to explain, but you were cut off by a sharp grip on your arm, dragging you away from him. The boy reached out for you as you were taken away, only making your heart sink further into your stomach.

“No!” You thrashed in their hold, but to no avail. You watched your mentor lose consciousness from the pain as you could do nothing to help him.

And even though you only met him a couple days prior, you realized in that very moment how much you truly did care for him.

That was one of your earliest memories of Coriolanus, the next time you saw him after that was the first time your lips touched. From that night on, you became much more to each other than you ever would’ve guessed.

You sighed, moving from your spot in your window as reality set in. You hadn’t seen the boy in question in over month. He had promised to protect you, and he kept it surely. He cheated to get you out the games, and it ended with him locked up, as you liked to believe. People around twelve said that the Capitol had him killed.

You wished he had left you to die if it meant he’d be free and you the one in the grave. You were in misery in your district, missing your lover deeply. But, alas, you had no choice. And with all the fighting you did in that arena, you refused to give up now.

Even if it meant living without the one you craved most.

You grabbed your bag, another hard breath leaving your lips as you walked out the comfort of your small home that was in the outskirts of District 12. You liked it better that way, being away from it all. When you were younger you used to live down by the Hob, which was located right next to the Hanging Tree.

After years of hearing the grueling sounds of somebody loosing their life, the jabberjays in the wind repeating their loved ones cries, sometimes even their last words, you simply couldn’t bare it anymore.

So you left, opting to live out by the forest and the lake, giving you pockets of peace where you could forget it all. Or, at least the things you tried to forget. Some things seemed to haunt you forever.

You quietly walked into town to go get some food from the Mellark Bakery, your head down and gaze low the whole way. You could feel eyes on you— you always did when you came out of your home. You hated their stares, their judgement, that was the one thing that seemed to haunt you the most.

You finally looked up, meeting eyes with your ex boyfriend who was stood with his friends, a sly smirk being worn on his face. You internally shrank, your steps picking up as you tried to get closer to your destination.

Anxiety flooded your bloodstream as you heard loud, hard footsteps pick up behind you, sounding as if they were only inching closer and closer. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt like you were back in the arena again, your flight or fight instincts kicking in.

You tried to calm yourself down, repeating the words ‘It’s all in your head’ like a mantra under your breath. You had recently been plagued with the worst paranoia and anxiety, and the only reason of why you could think of was because of the time you spent in that godforsaken arena. Most of the time you felt as if you being hunted, all of the horror you felt when you were in that arena never leaving your nervous system.

Most days you had to talk yourself out of a panic attack, little things setting you off and sending you into a 20 minute state of panic. It was normal to you by now, and that is what you thought was happening.

Until a harsh grip yanked you out of your head, dragging you into an alley and pinning you to a wall. A loud yelp left your lips as you hit the wall, taking you a moment to process what was happening.

When you looked up, the pit in your stomach only grew further as an overwhelming sense of dread came over you. Your ex-boyfriend, Jay, was standing over you with that same soulless smile that used to haunt your dreams.

“My, Y/N. It’s been a mighty long time since I done seen you around here.” He taunted, his hot breath hitting your face, causing your eyes to screw shut as the past memories of him doing this very same thing to you swirled around your brain. “Thought after you got a taste of the Capitol.. of that Coriolanus Snow,” he said with disgust on his tone. “That you thought you were too good f’me. For Twelve.” He spat, harshly.

It was funny how with a few words he could turn you right back into that naive girl he manipulated all those years ago. You cowered in fear, refusing to look him the eye.

“Jay, please..” You whispered, your head turned away from him in an attempt to get as far away as possible. “Just let me go, please. I won’t come back around here, I swear.” You begged, tears filling your closed eyes as you fought for your composure.

“Nah, girl.” He whispered back, getting so close to you that you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I’m gon’ do what I want with you, like old times.”

Your eyes shot open his words. “No, God, please, no.” The tears fell from your eyes as you continued to plea with him.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N.” He coldly smiled. “You used to be fun,”You felt his grip on your forearms travel back down to your hips, squeezing. The act left a bad taste in your mouth, making you want to throw up. You sobbed as you prepared yourself for what was coming, wishing you had just stayed cooped up in your home.

Your wails from the alley only increased in volume as his touch began to move downward. “Shut the fuck up,” He hissed, his hand slapping over your mouth. You prayed to whatever God was above, wishing he would just kill you now.

And just as his hand ghosted over the waistband of your skirt, the man’s touch disappeared all together, being replaced with the sound of someone hitting the floor.

You opened your tear-stained eyes slowly to find your attacker on the ground, and in a flash of throwing punches you saw that white hair adorned by the boy you adored so much.

You stood there in shock as you watched Coriolanus, who now wore a Peacekeeper’s uniform with a shaved head, beat Jay into a pulp. Tears still left your eyes as you slid down the wall, your knees coming up to your chest as you began to process what almost just happened to you.

Anxiety took your breath from your lungs as the panic finally began to set in once you realized you were safe. Your vision started to go blurry with tears as the will to breathe got harder.

“Hey, hey.” Coriolanus appeared in your line of vision, his hands wiping the tears from your face. “I’m here, you’re alright, baby.” He sighed before sitting down next to you and bringing you into his arms. You dug your head into the crook of his neck, hugging him close.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, his hand on the back of your head, rubbing softly. He tried his best to comfort you, and tried to calm the fiery rage he felt when he saw that man on top of you.

“N—No,” You shakily got out. “He.. he tried to—”

Coriolanus’ head fell to your shoulder, hugging you just as tight as a sigh of relief left his lips. He had been walking by when he first heard your pleas with that man, and he dropped everything and ran at the sound of your voice. When he saw that man on top of you, the muffled sobs leaving your lips, your eyes screwed shut— God, he saw red. He would be lying if he didn’t say he didn’t miss you in the time you were apart.

Your body shook with your sobs, the boy’s heart hurting of the sight of you this upset. “Shh, you’re safe. I’m here,” He repeated, leaving kisses on your face, neck, and shoulders whilst he whispered sweet nothings in your ear in an attempt to calm you.

Once you somewhat calmed down you pulled back slightly, just to make sure he was real.

“Oh, Coryo,” You cried, your forehead resting on his. “Thank you, thank you.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he took in your state. He had never seen you like this, so scared, so vulnerable. The sight of it only made him bring you back into his arms, holding you impossibly closer.

“I’ve got you, my love.” He hushed your cries, leaving another kiss on your head. “No one’s gonna hurt you if I’m with you, it’s okay now.” You wrapped your legs around his waist as he stood up, you still in his arms. He placed you down slightly, his hands angling your jaw up so you’d look at him. “C’mon, let’s go to your house. Get you away from this piece of shit,” he pointed to the bloodied face of Jay who was unconscious on the ground. You nodded, trying to pull yourself together, your eyes flickering back to Jay to make sure he was still knocked out.

Sensing your anxieties, he pulled you back into his arms for once last hug. “Shh,” He rubbed your back. “You’re alright. He won’t hurt you, I won’t let him.” He comforted, leaning down to kiss your tears away. His movements made you smile as you sucked in a breath before you lead him out the alley and to your home.

Once you arrived and walked through the doors, it felt as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders. You were finally home, and you had Coryo with you.

Your heart felt full as it sank in that you were finally reunited with him, with Coryo. You got him back. A smile was on your face, despite your previous cries as you turned back towards the man who shared a similar smile to yours as he looked around at your home, and launched yourself into his arms.

He chuckled slightly, hugging you back like a delicate flower in his palm. After a moment of holding each other, you pulled back again, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I thought you were dead, Coryo. I thought.. oh, I thought they took you from me.” You sighed, leaning forward to connect your lips with his for the first time in months. You poured all of the longing, all of the tears, and emotion into that kiss, trying to show all your love with just an action.

He smiled against your lips, his hands on your hips being comforting as he leaned forward, tilting his head to deepen it. When the pair of you pulled apart for air, the smiles stayed.

“You should know by now that I’ll always find you, Y/N.” He joked, tucking hair behind your ear.

“Good,” You left one last peck to his lips, before going grabbing his hand and leading him to your bed. After all of the crying you had done in the past hour, all you wanted to do was lay with him.

He instantly knew what you were trying to do, a love-sick smile on his face as he laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest. You giggle as you settled in, your hand tracing patterns into his undershirt.

“I missed you,” He whispered after a while of quiet, looking down at you.

Blush dusted your cheeks as you rolled on your stomach to give him your full attention, your chin on his chest. “I missed you, too. Probably more.”

He smiled at your words, his hand coming up to grip yours lovingly, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “You’re beautiful,” He said after a beat of silence, admiring you in the candlelight.

You smiled at his words. “You’re prettier, Snow.” Your gaze flickered down to your laced fingers, noticing his cut and bruised knuckles.

“Oh, Coryo,” You sat up slightly, bringing his hand with you to get a closer look. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. That wasn’t your fault. I’m alright, baby, doesn’t even hurt that bad.” He tried to talk you down, a soft smile still on his face.

“Thank you, I mean it.” You met his eye. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you didn’t save me.” You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “You always save me.”

It was his turn to blush now, as you bent down to kiss his injured knuckles softly. When you finished he grabbed your jaw softly, bringing your lips to his. He kissed you hard, just like he always did. It seemed like he tried to show how much he loved you with just one simple action, and trust, he accomplished that goal.

You hummed happily against his lips, letting him pull you down on top of him, your lips still connected. When you pulled back for air, he continued to cradle your face, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He whispered, his lips still leaving kisses. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

You smiled, giggling as you snuggled closer to him. The pair of you had quieted down once again, sleep and comfort taking over your minds.

But you cracked your eyes open one last time, leaning up to leave kisses on his jaw. “I love you, Coryo.”

His eyes opened immediately as he stared down at you in shock, before a soft smile took over his face. “I love you, too.”

And just like that, all you had been longing for was under your fingertips, and you now thanked whatever God was looking down on you for bringing this man into your life.

[mommageto]

Moonlight (Himejima Gyomei x Reader)

Title: Moonlight (Himejima x Reader)

Word Count:  3232  words

Warning/s: This fan fiction may contain disturbing content that may not be suitable for readers.

Description: Days and days you wait for this torment to end, but under the glow of the moonlight you encounter a man that will change your fate. 

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You’ve been forced into marriage with a man you do not love. The family you were born into was unfortunate–you were poor and powerless. In spite of your unfortunate family background, it has always been your dream to start a family–a better one. Being sold to marry a drunk prodigal husband who spends most of his nights in the night district and wasting his days as a slothful being did not contribute much to your dreams. He was from a wealthy family who was desperate to marry him off to someone to try and change his ways. His family’s plan was far from successful as you only had to endure the misery of his well-being. Three months of suffering and disgust from the torment of being married to your husband changed everything in one night. 

It’s been a long day and looking at the hour from the clock, your husband came home earlier–drunk as you assumed from his usual nightly activities. As you hear him walk his way towards your house, there are shivers from your spine and your heart races fast. You were in the kitchen, gripping the end of the knife tightly to ease your anxiety and prepare yourself for the obstructive thoughts meddling in your mind. This shall end soon, you thought to yourself. 

“Honey, I’m home.” You froze and noticed that the voice doesn’t come from your husband but rather from an unfamiliar individual. You turn to see who the voice belonged to while gripping on the knife you held onto. A fearful sight of a demon has appeared in front of you covering his face with your husband’s head. This sight has made you terrified and weak on your knees. 

The grip on your knife has become loose as your body has weakened due to what you have witnessed. You knew you’d be happy to escape your agony from your husband, but the demon standing in front of you is not a sight one should celebrate. With all of your body in shock, you knew you had to escape. You ran to the exit of your house with the hope of escaping from the demon who has killed your husband. 

As a normal human being, you can never outrun a demon. However, you can only try and survive as much as you can. The demon followed you as you ran outside your house and through a small forest. With the weight of fear on your shoulders, you lost your senses and energy which caused you to be on your feet as you slipped on an inclined slope of the forest. You screamed your heart out–you thought you could be free from your husband, but you were nowhere near to that thought. You could only cover yourself from the sight of the end of your existence and hope for a miracle to come your way. 

The sound of metal and chains around the air was present. You were too terrified to open your eyes and witness a flesh eating being devouring you the same way he did with your husband. 

“Worry not, I am here to help you. Please, let me bring you to safety.” You hear a calm, yet rich voice speak to you. You slowly unfold your arms. A tall, muscular, huge man with black spikey hair stands before you lending his hand. It was a strange moment, but tears suddenly fell from his eyes. Still terrified from everything, you look around to see the sight of the demon has vanished. You felt a relief, but still hesitant to accept the help of the giant standing in front of you. His tears fall from his eyes. “My name is Himejima Gyomei from the Demon Slayer Corps.”

Hearing his introduction gave you more comfort, you have heard of the demon slayer corps and what they do, but never thought you would encounter such a situation. “May I ask for your name?”

“My name…my name is (y/n).”

“(Y/n), please come with me. I shall bring you to our base where you will be treated well and safely be taken care of.”

Weakened from the attack, the man carried you on the way to the place he promised you could seek a sanctuary. It did not take you long to reach the headquarters Himejima was referring to keep you safe and get your wounds treated. As you arrived there, you were accompanied by the hospitality of the people there.You also seemed to notice how well-respected the man is by everyone in the headquarters. It makes you wonder what kind of person he is. The staff set you up in the infirmary and healed your wounds. They advised you to stay and recover for some time.

“You should be better soon (y/n),” said a girl named Aoi, who is one of the girls who took care of you. “I’m happy that Himejima-san was able to save you from that demon. He is the strongest hashira anyway, so that demon didn’t take long for him to kill.”

“Hashira?” you were oblivious about the whole idea of the Demon Slayer Corps, but quite intrigued about Himejima Gyomei. Aoi briefly continued explaining to you the idea of Hashiras. “Without Himejima-san and the others, we wouldn’t be able to be here right now.”

Hearing Aoi’s talk about the strongest and biggest hashira has piqued your interest quite more. He has caught your eye and you did not want to accept the fact that you’ve somehow had the attraction to him, but you do. Aoi also discussed how gentle and calm Himejima is which fueled your attraction even more towards him. How can a man that size be as gentle and soft as he is? You did not expect him to be the way how Aoi has described him to be. A few moments later, the giant entered the room as Aoi left you both alone. 

“(Y/n),” he called your name and walked towards you. You try to look away from him as much as possible as he gets closer to you. He sat beside you on a stool. “How are your wounds?” 

There’s something about his voice that also gets into you. Your cheeks are flushed and you feel the shyness at your core. You try to find the courage to find the right words to say. As you were unable to respond, Himejima felt that your shyness was rather fear. “I apologize (y/n). I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I know you’ve had a hard time after what happened.”

This caused you to freak out more knowing that tears started to fall from his eyes again. “Oh no! It’s not like that! I’m fine! I’m really fine!” You wave your hands frantically, flustered. You can sense that it has become an understanding between the both of you already. Your hands reached his face and wiped away his tears. Himejima lifted his head up to you and paused for the moment that the two of you had. He was in awe by the way you wiped the tears running from his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you pulled back your hands as you thought that it was an unusual encounter for the two of you–too personal. Your cheeks burned hotter. "I... I just didn't want you to be sad," you stammered. A small curve formed from his lips. "It’s all right (y/n). Your touch brought me comfort."

There’s a relief that could be found in your core. Himejima was called upon by another and left you with words of encouragement for your recovery. When he left the room, you’ve never felt this happy in your life. You lied on your side hugging the pillow that you have on your bed. The pillow does not make up for the comfort and small time you’ve spent with Himejima, but it was sufficient for now.

Days have passed since your recovery, the Demon Slayer Corps were aware of your story as you shared it and decided to give you a position in the headquarters to help out in any way you can. You informed them that you used to be a housewife tending mostly to your husband’s meal and chores and they put you on duty in the kitchen to prepare the food. This was the main headquarters and where Himejima stays often when he’s not on a mission. Being assigned in the same area as him made you more motivated to work harder. You were self-aware that you knew you had feelings for the stone hashira. Despite that, you still wanted to serve him for the kindness he has shared with you. He’s the one who saved your life after all. 

Everytime you cook from the kitchen, you get a nice sight of Himejima–either strolling around for a walk or just simply fulfilling his duties. Thus, each time he passes by you he never fails to greet you or have a small conversation with you. He usually goes around the mountains to train himself or the other members as well as meditate and pray. You were aware that he once practiced as a monk. 

You usually have lunch together with the other staff of the headquarters, but most of them seem to be occupied. You decided to eat your lunch in a river bank nearby to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. You cleaned the rock you chose to sit on while whispering to yourself, “okay, this is the spot.”

“(Y/n),” a familiar voice called your name which caused you to jump. 

“Oh, it’s just you, Himejima-san.” You heaved a sigh. There were barely any people in the headquarters so you brought extra onigiri. Quite many to be clear. This gives you a bright idea of sharing it with the giant who startled you. “Do you care to join me for lunch?”

Himejima sat beside you, you were on top of a rock while he was sitting on the ground. Both of you were in silence. Silence seems to be his demeanor considering how stoic and calm he is. You enjoy the peaceful and tranquil environment you shared with Himejima while eating lunch together. You have always been curious with Himejima so it would be the perfect moment to interrogate him some questions. “Himejima-san, I have a question.”

“What is it, (y/n)?”

“How come you knew it was me when you cannot see? I’m starting to think you’re just faking it,” you jokingly said to him. This comment made the stone hashira let out a small laugh. “I was born blind (y/n). I had to rely on my other senses to make up for my loss of vision. I can hear you whisper to yourself.”

This came as a surprise to you, but gained an understanding. “So this means you know a lot of things that’s going around then?” He lowered down the onigiri he was holding as he was preparing an answer for your question. "It takes more than just sight to be a Demon Slayer, (y/n). The world holds a symphony of information for those who know how to listen," he rumbled. 

Himejima is too good–perfect even. From staring at the symmetry of his facial features, scars, and smile to the way his mind works–you are in awe of his being. Though you feel emotions for the stone hashira, you feel hopeless that you’re not enough for him that you’re never gonna be. This makes you feel blue. In spite of that, you can only allow yourself to admire him from afar. 

After having lunch with Himejima, you take a walk with him back to the headquarters. “(Y/n), that onigiri was delicious. I cannot thank you enough for your service in the Demon Slayer Corps,” he comments.

His words made you feel flattered and so much more–it makes you feel acknowledged for your hard work that you put into. “I should be the one thanking you, Himejima-san.” You took a pause from your walk as you were nearby the headquarters. “If it weren’t for you, I would have never gotten free from my sufferings and possibly would have been killed by that demon.”

The seven foot two man looked down on you, as there was a difference between your sizes. You can see the delight painted on his face. “I am pleased that you have been freed (y/n). I could only hope that you are able to live your dreams.”

This man was never at a loss of words for you. You have never felt appreciated your entire life. Himejima makes you feel seen. It’s something you could have only hoped for after the years of torment from your tragic past. Himejima left to get caught up with his duties and you returned to your daily tasks as well. 

It’s been days since you shared lunch with Himejima. That moment is a blessing only you could thank the heavens for. Spending time with the stone hashira has made you feel better. It also made your feelings stronger for him. There are days you try to fight off your feelings because you are knowledgeable of the fact that Himejima does not exhibit the same feelings as you do.

Everytime you see him, your heart flutters even more. He is too kind hearted and gentle around you–but you know that it is in Himejima’s demeanor to be like that. Thus, he treats others the same way so it’s impossible to think that he would feel the same way. Nevertheless, he was on a mission for days and you did not have a sight of him. It was a good thing for you as you try to push away the feelings you had for him. 

One particular day, gossip around the headquarters spread around. The stone hashira should have been home by yesterday, but there was still no sight of him around the place. “Did you hear? The village Himejima-san was assigned to have an upper moon demon.” 

“There’s still no report from his crow. I wonder if he’s holding up.”

“They said they sent out the other hashiras for back up.”

All of the nonsense you hear. This gave you a little anxiety about Himejima’s well-being. For your knowledge, you knew that they shouldn’t underestimate him considering he is the strongest hashira. Though, you prayed for his safety everytime. Hoping that he would come back to the headquarters. The next day, you heard from the other staff that he already came back and was in recovery. This gave you solace and you cannot thank your prayers enough. 

Even though you have heard the news, you helped yourself not to look for him immediately. You are still trying to eliminate your feelings. Out of sight, out of mind. Himejima still crosses your mind. However, with his current absence around the headquarters, you were confident that your feelings were gone for him. 

One night, you woke up from your sleep to the bathroom to ease your bladder. As you return to your bedroom, a familiar voice calls you, “(Y/n).” This caused you to jump and frightened you half to death. Only to see the towering giant who you swore you had no feelings for anymore. “What are you doing awake at an hour like this?”

“H-himejima-san! Oh, it’s nice to see you…doing w-well,” you replied with a sense of demurral. “I..uh..c-came from the bathroom. Anyways, I have to go.” You ran away from him back to your room. It was a rude gesture, but you had to escape from him. It was over, you thought that your feelings were all gone. You knew you still felt strong emotions with him. This did not make you feel better. You were glad to see him, but not pleased with how you felt.

The next day you made sure to stay close to the kitchen area to not see any sight of the stone hashira. This was not the way you planned it to be. You followed your duties and tried to not think about him as much as possible. As the night falls, you are disturbed by the thoughts of Himejima. There were barely any demons near the headquarters and it was safe. So you decided to sneak your way out to get some fresh air nearby the headquarters to unwind. 

“I cannot fall in love with him!” you whisper to yourself. “This is not how it’s supposed to be.”

“(Y/n).”

Yet again, an encounter with the seven foot two giant you are quite familiar with. This caused you to scream and be scared for your life. “H-himejima-san! How long have you been there? You should stop sneaking out on me like that,” you mumbled. 

"I'm sorry, (y/n). You shouldn't be out at this hour," he said, his voice softer than the usual rumble.

You bit your lip, the memory of your behavior from yesterday is still stinging. "I know, I just have trouble sleeping," you admitted. "I just… needed some air."

“It seems we both did.” There were no other signs of injuries with Himejima’s physical form, only the wrapped bandage around his arm which was noticeable. “How’s your arm?” you questioned him.

“Nothing to be worried about,” he answered. Under the soft glow of the full moon, Himejima seemed even more captivating than usual. His gentle nature, the way he always prioritized others... your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel the words bubble up, a confession threatening to burst from your lips.

“Himejima-san,”His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern replacing his usual calmness. "What is it, (y/n)?"

You met his gaze, your cheeks burning red. "It's about... how you make me feel. Every time I see you, I feel different. I feel things that I only hold with you. I know this might be sudden," you rushed on, "but I can't keep these feelings bottled up any longer."

Himejima’s tears fall down from his eyes. The stone hashira knelt down to meet you. His hand rose, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. You can feel the weight of his fingers which felt rough, he then cupped the side of your face. “(Y/n), seeing you here tonight… It made me happy too.” His face felt closer when he knelt in front of you. With a flickering gaze, she met his eyes, unsure of how to respond. A part of your system feels shaken by his response. Your breath hitched, and a barely perceptible tremor ran through her fingers.

"Perhaps," he finished, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "these feelings are not entirely one-sided."

The stone in your chest, a weight that had been crushing you for so long, seemed to crack under the gentle pressure of his words. Suddenly, all of your torment has soon ended. The trickle of consolation that has soothed the ache of your heart allowed you to heave yourself to pull Himejima for an embrace. The stone hashira froze for a certain while, but gracefully pulled you closer to him–for a tight hug. The night is still young, the fresh breeze of air can be felt through the night, and under the moon's watchful gaze, the two lovers sat bathed in its tender light, a silent promise of a love waiting to unfold.

[lucy-gray1075]

On the Sea

synopsis: finnick teaches you to surf, the only water activity you never learned

dear reader: i know nothing about surfing lol. all i know is that i'm in love with this man and would very much be more head over heels for him if he taught me how to surf <3

w/c: 1.5k

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

"Come onnn, babe," Finnick runs ahead of you, surfboard clutched under one arm. "It's gonna get dark soon. And cold." It already is. Although it never really goes below 40 degrees in District 4, the water still feels frigid to you. Finnick, however, pretends it's a sunny summer day like the golden boy he is.

"It's freezing, Finn," you complain. You hate being whiny, but you can't bring yourself to take off the thin shawl you're using as a cover-up.

He turns back to see you struggling against the wind, shivering in your skimpy swim clothes.

"Aw, c'mon babygirl," Finnick pouts at the unmistakable misery on your face. He jogs back to you, stooping to pick you up with one arm and throw you over his shoulder like you're a sack of potatoes. He runs full speed toward the water, giggling like an overexcited toddler when you yelp.

"Let's go!" he booms, jiggling your body as you hold onto him for dear life. You scream the entire way to the water, but he doesn't mind.

Finnick wades in a few feet until he can safely set down the surfboard, then plops you down on it. He instructs you to straddle the board so you don't fall off it.

"Okay, baby, I'm gonna push you out a little bit here." He gently turns the board around so you're facing the waves. He pats your bum lightly, earning a scowl from you that he repays with a cheeky grin. He really is a twenty-four year old teenage boy.

You clutch the sides of the board as you feel Finnick pushing you further out to sea.

"Alright, this seems like a good spot to start out." He turns you back around to face the shore before coming to stand beside you. He's chest deep in the water now, meaning you would be covered up to your eyes if you fell in. You try not to think about that as Finnick instructs you to lie flat on your belly.

"You're gonna paddle, keeping your arms close to the board. Then, I'll instruct you when to pop up." He holds your board steady as you shift from your seated position onto your stomach. You look down to see your hands trembling.

"Aw, you cold, honey?" Finnick seems genuinely concerned, but you don't want to disappoint him.

You plunge your hands into the water, smiling wide despite your now-frozen fingertips. "Nope, all good."

"M'kay." He looks skeptical of your cheerfulness but takes it in stride. "Paddle forward and wait until you catch a wave. I'll tell ya when to pop up, okay baby?"

"Wait!" You place a hand on his arm to stop him from pushing you out to sea. "How do I pop up?"

"Oh, we should probably practice that," Finnick laughs, tapping a fist to his forehead to chide himself for being too eager. "I'll hold you in place. Now, I want you to grip the board with two hands and shift from your belly to your feet."

You use your arms to give yourself enough momentum to pull your legs up under you in a crouch. You can tell by the way his arms are flexed that Finnick is holding the board as steady as possible for you. Even still, it's hard for you to keep your balance, and you have to throw your arms out as you wobble from side to side trying to stand up.

"That's my girl!" Finnick booms when you're successfully on two feet.

"I didn't even do anything yet," you roll your eyes, smiling down at him. You sit back down on the board to avoid falling in.

"Oh, you did too. You popped up on your first try! Most of the kids I teach don't get it until an hour of practice." Finnick reaches up to place one hand on your midback and the other on your cheek, leaning up to capture your lips in his. Somehow his hands are still warm despite the frigid water. You lean down to deepen the kiss, straddling his broad chest. He tastes of sea salt and the green apple he had as a snack before this. You could never tire of your golden boy.

You pull away because he's smiling brighter than the sun now and he can't seem to stop. "What're you so happy about?" You giggle at the mere sight of his dimples.

"Nothin'," and just like that his grin is cheeky again. He slides his hands down your body seeming to drink in your appearance. He gives you a quick pat on your bum before his hands leave your body to find the edge of the surfboard again. “Off you go, now.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the worst before lying flat on the board and peddling yourself forward. After a few seconds, you feel yourself catching a wave and wait for Finnick's direction.

"Okay, baby, pop up now!" he yells.

You try your best to do it like before, but it's harder without Finnick's steady grip on your board. You end up taking a headlong tumble into the water sideways. You come up spluttering to hear Finnick chortling his head off.

"Hey!" You wade over to splash him, forgetting about your surfboard for the moment.

"Hey!" Finnick mocks you with a teasing smirk painted on his stupidly handsome face. He wraps his thick arms around your waist, forcing you to wrap your thighs around his middle so that you can't splash him.

You pout down at him but wrap your arms around his neck anyway, allowing him to kiss yours.

After a few more failed attempts, you finally pop up and stay on the board long enough to ride out the wave. You're tired but it's all worth it when you see Finnick's face.

He's looking up at you like you're made of starlight.

"Baby, that was so incredible!" He pulls you off the surfboard and into his arms, spinning you around and around until you think he's dizzy enough to drown. You revel in his congratulatory embrace before realizing it's gotten much colder. What with all your tumbles into the sea and the wind picking up speed, you are now shaking like a leaf.

"I think it's getting a little chilly," you glance down at him. Even Finnick notices how violently your teeth are chattering now.

"Ohh, let's get ya home, honey," he rubs his arms up and down your back, trying to convey the warmth he seems to radiate like a furnace.

Once you're back on shore, Finnick takes off, running full speed toward your cottage. "Race ya back!" he has the decency to holler after he's already fifteen feet ahead of you.

"Hey, no fair!" you call out. Your legs feel numb and leaden. They're absolutely unresponsive to any sense of urgency you feel. Even with the surfboard tucked under his arm, Finnick is somehow faster than you.

A few seconds later, he turns back around, presumably to wait.

"Can you walk any slower, grandma?" Finnick taunts. His smile is a mile wide. Everything had to be a competition with him.

"Almost there!" you call back sweetly, not taking the bait. If he sees that you're annoyed, he'll be overjoyed, and you are not letting him win today. "Oh my god, is that a pelican?" You point up at nothing.

In the time it takes him to confirm your ruse, you speed ahead. You use up every last ounce of your energy and almost make it to your porch before you feel a big arm snake around your waist. You're flipped to face away from the porch as Finnick cheers for himself.

"Finnick!" You can't hide your annoyance now. You won fair and square. Just because he's twice your size, doesn't mean he can throw you around like a spare surfboard.

"I won!" You yell up at him.

"I'm the one on the porch, sweetheart," he chuckles, putting his arms up.

"I won, and you're giving me a foot massage," you storm past him opening the front door. "And a back rub." You slam the door then giggle. You don't actually mind his antics. But acting annoyed now ensures you an evening of relaxation, courtesy of your handsome boyfriend who is extremely talented in masseur-ly duties.

"Yes, ma'am," Finnick walks in. "You just go start the fire and relax for me, sit real pretty. I'll make your favorite soup and we'll have some of that bread Peeta sent us last week. And after we eat, I promise to give you the full Finnick Odair spa experience."

"That's what I thought," you smiled, pointing at your cheek for a kiss he happily delivers.

[binarisunset]

I think a lot of people in the fandom don’t give credit to how smart and capable Sejanus actually is.

It gets swept under the rug because a lot of his actions during Parts I and II may seem irrational and impulsive, but that’s only because we’re seeing them through Coriolanus’s eyes, who of course can’t empathize with the misery he’s going through by being forced to participate in the Games (and as a mentor to a former friend, no less); and the way it makes him act that way.

But in Part III? When he’s finally free from the games and the Capitol? He thrives. He instantly becomes friends with his bunkmates, with other peacekeepers, with the Covey. He adjusts to District 12 like he’s always belonged there.

When Coriolanus needed help to find out where Lucy Gray lived, Sejanus is the one that gets the information for him –anticipating Coriolanus himself. Discretely, because he correctly deduces that Coriolanus wouldn’t want other people to know they were looking for her.

It’s also Sejanus the one who gets him to the Covey’s place, taking charge of their trip there, asking around for directions and guiding them through the Seam. We know damn well Coriolanus would’ve never reached the place by himself.

And most impressively, he managed to infiltrate a rebel plot without any of the peacekeepers noticing it. And I’m not counting Coriolanus because the only reason he realized Sejanus was involved in something shady was because he was obsessively watching his every move (and literally went through Sejanus’ stuff behind his back to find some dirt on him). If Coriolanus really didn’t care about Sejanus like he proclaimed to, he would’ve been none the wiser to the rebel plan, just as their other bunkmates and fellow peacekeepers were.

Sejanus knew how to lie, how to play his cards right. Spruce wouldn’t have trusted him with the escape plan if he thought Sejanus was incapable of handling it.

When the murders happen, he doesn’t panic —he’s shocked (understandably so), but he’s able to remain calm.

What I’m getting at is — give my boy his flowers! And recognize that he’s not this helpless, emotional boy who constantly needs saving. That’s what Coriolanus thinks. He was a smart, capable young man who was willing to lie and get his hands dirty for something he believed in. Give him credit where credit is due.

[ulltraviolences]

let the light in | haymitch abernathy

pairing: haymitch abernathy x fem!covey!reader

synopsis: deciding to indulge in old habits after a particularly hard night & glimpses of his past life, haymitch doesn’t expect to be comforted by the voice of a beautiful songbird in the hob of 12.

warnings: mentions of war, canon violence, ptsd, alcohol, mention of blood, flirting, age gap (reader is in early 20s), slight sexual themes, kissing, fluff-ish, sweet haymitch

song included: the ballad of lucy gray baird

a/n: this is something I’ve had for so long in my drafts & now that we’ve got the prequel announcement, what better time than to post it! <3

Maysilee’s loud screeches echo through the trees, the mockingjay’s repeating the blood curdling sound as they start to encircle him. Haymitch’s feet moving fast beneath him against the dirt trail in order to lose the career pack behind him. His movements beginning themselves before his mind can process them and the fact that she’s gone. The wind being his sole helper in drying the tears that threaten to keep flowing, catching a glimpse of his hands still stained red from the way he held her before she passed.

The only thing on his mind now being that he survives this, for her, for his family, for his district, and more importantly so he can show that they don’t control him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of glass shattering against the hardwood floor is what finally pulls his consciousness out of the nightmare of the arena. Flailing his arms around as if to protect himself from ever being touched again, haymitch is quick to his feet to stand up and surveil the empty dining room for the slight hint of the ghost of a past tribute looking to attempt to take his life once more.

He stands completely still as he finally takes into account his surroundings, his heart still pumping out an extra beat per minute and silently waiting as he catches his breath. it’s just a dream. you survived. you’re here. you’re home. He repeats the mantra in his head over and over again till it hopefully sticks this time.

It isn’t until he feels a slight trickle drip down onto the table that he sees the fallen glass shatter all over the floor and mixed with the hint of crimson from the shards stuck to his palm.

It feels like a cruel joke almost, a reminder. The blood that he’ll forever have stuck to his hands. The mess of blood that no matter how hard he tries to clean up will just keep flowing in an endless cycle no matter what he does to prevent it from happening again.

A bitter chuckle escapes him at the thought. Amused by his own misery and the situation he’s found himself in. He backs up and slowly treks himself to the kitchen sink to turn on the faucet, relishing in the slight sting that the lukewarm water elicits from his wounded hand.

A small price to pay for the families he thinks about every waking moment that he’s, no doubt, wounded for life by surviving the games against their children. Their loved ones that they’ll never get the chance to see again. Yet, whose faces and names haunt him every night since he’s stepped foot out of that arena.

The pain of not only them but his parents. His sisters. His girl. And Maysilee. Her family. People who he couldn’t save even here at home and after the games. All because he wanted to show them, the capitol, that they couldn’t control him they way they did everyone else.

The growing pit in his stomach now feeling inescapable the longer he stands in front of the running faucet. Shaking his head, he slams the faucet switch off, grabbing the alcohol beside him to disinfect the wound. Hissing and banging his leg against the drawer beneath his sink when when the liquid hits his palm. He slowly bends down to open the drawer and finds the bandaging wrap that he keeps for instances like these, which have happened to become routine for him. He bandages up the rest of his hand until he looks down and hums in slight satisfaction at his work.

As soon as he’s finished, his mind is already preoccupied with what the next choice, or beverage, of distraction he is in need of. It can’t be here though. Anywhere but the empty, cold house in the almost unoccupied, lone victor’s village.

Walking towards the front door, he quickly shrugs on a light coat and his boots. Stepping out into the cool, autumn night out in district 12. He continues down the path towards the main part of the district. Letting the sound of the wind be the only thing present in his mind before he decides to sit down at the hob and think more about his decisions in life so far.

As he nears the hob, he can hear the slight sound of music making its way through the open doors to the outside. Both young and old residents of the district out tonight and drinking, the only semblance of fun and normalcy you’ll find them indulging in despite the circumstances of their situations.

He walks in, immediately making a straight beeline towards the bar. Trying as hard as he can to ignore the lingering stares and pointed whispers of those who recognize him. The only lone alive victor of district 12. Eyes filled with both curiosity and pity as they follow his frame to the bar. All were surprised that he had decided to grace them with his presence for once. As his absence was growing long enough for him to almost be forgotten till the painful reminder on reaping day each year.

Haymitch settles onto the stool near the end of the bar, ordering whatever scarce brew is available for the night. Once it’s placed in front of him, it’s almost gone just as it was full. Already raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender for another glass. Opting to ignore the judgmental stare and low warning given to him before the bartender hesitantly slides another glass his way.

Lost in thought of the nights earlier events and his second helping of beer, his mind is pulled away by the loud cheers of the people in the hob. Still nursing his beer, he takes a small peak from the corner of his eye to where everyone else’s attention is on to the girl twirling her way onto the stage with guitar in hand.

He’s a bit taken aback for a second, not ever having seen much of her before around the district or even hearing of her name. Yet, he might be the only clueless one as to who this girl is, he thinks. Spotting even, off duty peacekeepers who’ve decided to join in once they see the young woman take the stage.

“Well hey y’all!”, The girl beams, “Now just how might all of you fine folks out here in district 12 must be doing tonight?”

The crowd roars in excitement at the question. Never had he ever seen in life someone command the attention of a majority of a district in such a way that wasn’t related to the games. In a joyful way, nonetheless.

“Alright! Alright! Settle down y’all, I hear you all quite clearly, no need to go rupturing my ears now!”, You say as you playfully roll yours eyes at the crowd, “For those of you who may not know, or have been living under a rock, my name is Y/n Ivory!”

As the crowd around him laughs at the charming display of your personality in full force, Haymitch finds out he’s not immune to the power of your charisma either. He finds himself, still secluded in the dark corner of the room, cracking a small smile at your undeniable stage presence.

Pale white dress flowing freefully over your body landing just right above your knees with flowers woven through your hair and all. You’re the purest untainted vision of beauty he’s ever seen dancing in a place that has seen so much violence and pain as 12. It’s a wonder, he thinks to himself, how he’s gone so long without ever seeing or hearing of you.

He doesn’t know if he should be mad at himself for not getting out more or grateful for the fact that he chose to leave tonight. By having it lead him right here tonight as he watches you illuminate the room with every step you take and smile never breaking off of your face for even a second.

“Now don’t you worry, I’m gonna sing y’all a special one tonight,” you say, strumming the guitar as you continue to speak, “this one is a little tune some of you might know, a ballad we’ve all heard passed down, figured something slow is fitting for a nice night like this”

Haymitch watches you slightly clear your throat a little as you strum the chords on your worn leather guitar. He marvels at the intactness of it, such a prized possession to be in hold of that he’s sure has seen so much in its time. Figuring to himself that it has to be some sort of heirloom, as he knew at least no one, not even him, could afford such a luxury except if you lived in the capitol.

“ When I was a babe I fell down in the holler

when I was girl I fell into your arms

we fell on hard times and we lost our bright color

you went to the dogs and I lived by my charms ”

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. Melodically beautiful, just as he expected, yet it doesn’t take away his surprise nonetheless. The glide of the strings paired with your voice forces him to shake his head a bit just to make sure he wasn’t dead yet from the alcohol and your voice was mistaken as angel from above.

He concludes that regardless, there’s not much of a difference. As he takes in your frame, almost floating above the crowd as high as the sound of your lungs can take you, he figures that you might as well be an angel.

“ I danced for my dinners, spread kisses like honey

you stole and you gambled, and I said you should

we sang for our suppers, we drank up our money

then one day you left, saying I was no good

well, all right, I’m bad, but then you’re no prize either

all right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new

you say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither

just let me remind you what I am to you

‘cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

and I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I’ll take that and more to my grave ”

The lyrics are familiar, he concludes to himself. He remembers the ballad well, one his mother would often sing to him & his sisters when they were younger. It would be a way for her to calm them down each night before a reaping.

He remembers the stories she would tell along with it, of how before the rebellion, there were these people who’d call themselves, “covey”, traveling from district to district singing to their hearts content for the enjoyment of others. She knew them well, she’d tell them. Telling them how the covey eventually settled into district 12.

His mother would talk about the nights where she would go to the hob and dance away. Making great friends with the girl who sang these infamous songs that had been passed down. The girl who also coincidentally introduced his mother to his father one night. Pushing his father until he asked his mother for a dance.

She would end each story by telling Haymitch, “well, now you know that you have someone to be thankful for making sure that you exist”.

The story seemed so mythical to him then, as it still does now. To think of a time when there was so much free will that people once held, especially outside of the Capitol’s restraints. To how something so frivolous as singing was enough to be one’s way of survival. A life of fulfillment and light melodies sung with no threat or existence of the games to ever ruin them.

The sound of Y/N’s voice sweetly coaxes him out of his thoughts. It is then, as he hears her, that he does believe in the stories. That if he continued to hear her voice for the rest of his life, it would be enough to ensure his survival for good. Not even the games would be enough to take him away from her. Not if he could help it.

This line of thinking scares him as it does entice him. He hasn’t felt this way since his first love, the one that they took away him. He feels like a teenager once again, heart practically bursting at the sight of the girl in front of him.

Her eyes roam the crowd as she continues singing, before they eventually catch his awe stricken expression. She smiles slightly, lightly fluttering her lashes at the attention. All before closing her eyes, swaying and losing herself in the music once again.

Not one for ever caring about appearances, he suddenly feels hyper aware of himself. He’s not used to feeling like this, he’s not quite sure how to process it. Just desperate, hoping that when her eyes linger a bit longer on him that she hopefully is feeling what he is too.

When she eventually looks away, he finds a part of himself chasing the high that she had bestowed upon him. Thinking how nothing could ever compare to the way he’s feeling now, not even the smooth liquor that would soothe his mind enough to make him forget things that have happened to him.

Now abandoning the half drank pint in front of him, he finds himself wanting to remember this night. This moment where he doesn’t need anything stronger than your presence to tell him that everything is okay.

The song ends, much to his dismay. The last few chords of your guitar lingering in the air before the hob breaks out in a harmonious applause, praises & hollers being shouted out your way. He watches you graciously thank the crowd, letting the band behind you take over. His eyes linger on you as you exit the stage, watching you laugh & thank everyone who meet on your way through the crowd.

It isn’t until he sees your frame slowly getting nearer that he suddenly feels shy, quickly diverting his attention down to his drink. Hands getting slightly clammy as he registers your sweet voice beside him, asking the bartender for a pint for yourself.

“Well my, my, to what do I owe the pleasure of dragging a victor out to one of my shows tonight?”, you say while letting out a slight giggle at the sight of him.

He’s a bit bewildered at first. Not exactly not knowing how to respond out of fear of embarrassing himself. His mouth slightly opens, letting out a playful scoff at the nickname victor, before replying back in the same playful manner you had.

“Just had to come down to hear what all the yapping around the district was about a pretty girl singing her heart out here each night”, he lightly flirts, hoping it lands well with her.

The action is thankfully welcomed as her laugh floats through the air. He wishes he could bottle the sound up so he could hear it over and over again.

“Now you’re just a peach aren’t you? Trying to butter me up .. hm?”, she says. Poking fun at his attempt of flirting before adding on, “And? Did I meet your expectations?”

His heart flutters at the question, chuckling to mask his nervousness that she so easily seems to trigger.

“That you did, sweetheart. Better than I could’ve thought”, he says, relishing in the way her wide eyed expression lights up at the praise he gives to her.

He feels himself mirroring her contagious smile. Nerves still present, but easing themselves when he sees her relaxing into his gaze.

“You’re a very sweet man, Haymitch Abernathy”, you tell him. Warmth slightly flooding your cheeks as his eyes remained fixed on you.

Quickly, taking the opportunity to glance away from the intense eye contact to take in the details about him. You take notice of the way his hair falls around his face, carefully framing it in a way that was too-professionally done to be of his own doing as the rest of the men in the district. A small testament to his time back and forth between his home and the calling of the Capitol. His slightly rugged appearance combats this, a small show of rebelliousness in the appearance the Capitol attempts to smooth over in a Victor, yet still seeming so distinctively him.

To anyone else, his demeanor would have been enough to ward off lingering stares here in the district. To you, it radiated a rare aura of comfort & warmth around him that you had never felt around another man before. You had wanted to get lost in it, envisioning yourself spending late mornings, running your fingers through his locks and humming a secret tune just for you both.

He chuckled dryly, swirling around the ale in his pint before glancing back up at you, “Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, tell anyone else here that and you might get a different answer”.

He watches as you cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face, “Well good thing I wasn’t planning on asking anyone else”, sternness lacing your tone before scooting closer towards him, “Anyways, I think I like that I might be the only one in this damn district that can tell the difference”.

Haymitch could feel the way the way his heartbeat practically sped up, his hands fidgeting around the handle of the pint in front of him. Taking a deep breath before turning his attention back to the way your wide eyed gaze is fixated on him, eyes slowly analyzing him as if he’ll run right off. The thought crossed his mind for a minute, more so out of fear of embarrassing himself.

Taking a leap of faith, he brings his hand up to run his hand through a lock of your hair, tucking it behind the flower adorned between your ear. He hums at the pretty detail before plucking it to hold out in his palm, “A primrose?”.

You can feel your body still at the motion, warmth pooling in your chest at the feel of his hand. Carefully eyeing his expression, something that reads as a mixture of wonder and adoration at you. You remember to let out a small breath in the midst of the intimacy this situation, softly smiling as he hums in notice of the flower that lays against your hair.

“It was one of my mama’s favorites”, he can feel the wistfulness in your tone as you recall her, “She used to tell me stories of how my grandma and her great aunt would collect different flowers from their travels in the covey to use to bathe her and her cousins, since the borders between districts closed in the dark days, she gathered primroses here from the fields instead for me”.

He takes notice of the way you softly grasp onto his hand, your smooth palm contrasting with his hardened one and its tiny scars littered that hold unspoken memories of the arena. Your finger lightly traces the petals he holds in his palm, he watches as the mixture of nostalgia and sadness battle in your mind as you recall these memories.

Haymitch feels his own heart twinge, thinking back to what he can remember of his own mother, her voice, her stories, her mannerisms, anything. There’s a thick layer of understanding in the air between the two of you, unspoken feelings and experiences of loss and familiarity. The scattered chattering of the hob and instrumentals seem far away as the two of you take in each other’s presence.

He makes the first move to break the stillness between you two, bringing his hand back up to place the flower in your hair once again. You sigh softly as you feel his hand go to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb softly tracing back & forth on your skin. Haymitch feels the ghost of a smile threatening to overtake his lips as he feels your nestle your face further into his grasp before asking, “Would you wanna get out of here?”.

You softly nod at his question, not trusting your own voice to betray you and tremble at the delicateness in which he’s treating you. Standing up, you envelope your hand into his as his other finds it’s way onto your waist to lead you through the crowd. A motion so easily done as if it is second nature to you both. There is nothing but comfort and safeness in the act.

The cold air hits you both as you walk out, not feeling quite sure if the goosebumps forming on your skin is a result of that or the proximity of the man that still has a firm hold on you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You take a small peek over to him, watching the internal battle with himself as it plays on his face, eyebrows creased in deep thought. Yet still, he holds onto you, as if it’ll ground him.

You stop walking after a minute or so, watching the confusion in his expression as he snaps out of his thoughts. You pull him over to the small alley way, taking his face in both of your hands and forcing him to look into your eyes. His eyes trace over your questioning expression, taking a hard swallow before he speaks, “I .. I haven’t done this in a long time, sweetheart”.

“And what exactly are we doing?”, you say while lightly laughing.

He feels his nerves dissipate little by little at the sound of your amusement, still battling with the lingering fear in the back of his mind. He hesitates in his action, slowly leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, hands tightening their hold around your waist.

He can feel your breath hitch, your nose slightly touching against his own as your lips part, begging for him to make a move.

“If I do this, I don’t think I’d want to ever have another day where you’re not near me, at least to where I know you’re safe”, he whispers gently as his lips begin to ghost above yours.

“You won’t have to, I’ll be right here”, you whisper back. Your voice filled with reassurance and desperation, willing to give almost every part of you to him if it takes.

You feel the wind knocked out of you, as if you’ve forgotten to know how to breathe once you feel his lips against your own. Your mouths molding perfectly against one another as if this is what you’ve both have been waiting for your entire lives.

You whine softly as he deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming you with purpose. Whether it’s his way of subconsciously ensuring to himself that he won’t let anything happen to you or to convey his own worthiness to you, he can’t tell. The only thing taking up space in his mind being the way you sound as he familiarizes himself with you, tongue exploring yours while his hands grasp at your body.

You both finally break apart after what feels like an eternity, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. Unable to shake the burning feeling of that his lips left against yours in their wake. Your lids flutter open, already finding his gaze with what reads as both love and protectiveness staring back at you.

“I …”, he clears his throat before finding a way to gather the right words he wants to say to you. He goes over every possibility of what this could mean between the two of you, of letting you in. It would be easier if he could just act like this was meaningless, that he could walk away now and never think of it again. But as with everything else, he knows that you will ruminate in the back of his mind forever with no avail. Not now that he already has you in his arms.

“I won’t be able to give you much”, is all he is able to choke out. A twinge of disappointment lacing his words.

“That’s okay, I’m not looking for much anyways”, you hum. You tip your head up slightly to look at him, “Just want you, it’ll be enough for me”.

“Yeah?”, he says softly. His eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, relief blossoming in his chest when he doesn’t find any. The only thing staring back him being the firmness in your vulnerability as you hold him in your palm. He pulls his hand from your waist to grab ahold of your hand against his face, bringing your knuckles to his lips, before leaning back in to press another kiss to your lips.

A part of him knows that it’ll always never be this simple. He will do his best to make sure he can protect you from what he can, if it ever comes to it. But right here, right now, in this moment. It’s not something even, Snow himself, can ever take from him.

[darby-rowe]

cw NONCON(!!!), peacekeeper era coryo & sej, corrupted sejanus

and if i said peacekeeper!coryo sitting in a chair, watching peacekeeper!sejanus force himself into you, a sweet district girl. he’s fucking crying and saying sorry over and over and over again but his apologies are basically fruitless because he can’t stop fucking you. your pussy just feels way too good on his cock. his hips snap into you, his pelvis smacking against the flesh of your ass.

quite frankly it’s a fucking mess, and coriolanus is two seconds away from getting up from his chair and talking some sense into sejanus, to tell him to stop fucking crying. he knows he doesn’t have to be there! he can just call up daddy to help buy his way out of peacekeeping all the way back to his cushy home in the capitol. he doesn’t have to be here. coriolanus has been forced into his current punishment. all because he wanted to save a district girl.

maybe this way coriolanus’s way of making sure his misery is forced onto others. even if they “don’t deserve it”.

[hildegardladyofbones]

Something I've yet to rant about is the inherent sadness and misery of post-tribunal disco elysium. Of course it will *feel* different each time depending on the outcome, but I think I had one of the worst one of all. Everyone fucking died, I didn't have a gun, and I failed all but two skills checks. One of them had a 97% success possibility, so it was almost impossible to fail *that one*. Safe to say it was a shit show. When Harry wakes up, Kim is tired. He is running on his last drop of fuel and he is *so* close to done, but he is Kim Kitsuragi, the entire RCM's finest, he doesn't give up. Still, the air in the post massacre streets of Martinaise feels thick with defeat. Everyone has fucked off, closed off. People are only left with a burning memory and the task to accept what happened, because there's nothing to be done now. The choices you've made snicker at you trying to accept the consequences now. You will never know if you made the right decision.

Not only that, but this game doesn't let you forget for a second, that Harry is severely wounded. When he sleeps in the flak tower it is mentioned multiple times that his wound is bleeding, the game makes a point to comment on how his pelvis hurts, how it's hard to run... and in the final cut scene, the Finale, Jean outright says that Harry is actively bleeding everywhere. This game doesn't let you forget what the character has been through, wounds don't heal when the health bar is full.

Harry has been a broken man from the beginning, not even the beginning of the game, but the post-tribunal gameplay doesn't play along to his madness anymore, it has given up on the fanfare. The tie stops talking and something within me compelled me to turn down on the out-of-pocket replies. It didn't feel appropriate anymore and honestly, it didn't feel like the same game anymore. All that is left is the death and misery present all around him, not contained to inside him anymore. Martinaise is a district that has had to go through the worst, but *it* has learned to cope. Now it just needs time to get back on its feet again. But Harry... Harry is down low, but he's still going. He's not going to take the time to get back on his feet until he's forced to, I think. This pitiful relentlessness only highlights how truly fucked everything in the moment is.

Disco elysium is truly a wonderful game for portraying this misery so bone-chillingly. It forces you to feel the last bit of hope they chased. The ending, the confrontation with his past, can only be described in a word I don't know the English translation for. I don't think it exists.

Õõvastav. The ending is exactly that. Harrowing is the closest word I could think of.