#President Snow's Granddaughter

[dragoneyes618]

I just finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy for the first time and all I want to know is whatever happened to Snow's granddaughter.

(And the granddaughter's parents and grandmother, but I assume they're already dead because Snow is never mentioned to have any other family.)

[enixamyram]

Which The Hunger Games characters :

1. Do you relate the most?

2. Do you think missunderstood by fandom?

3. Do you want to know better?

Please give reasons for your answers. And you can pick more than one character for each question.

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

I've never really considered who I relate to the most. I think because the characters in these books are so damn strong and I don't really see myself that way. I don't mean I'm like all around weak, but I do believe I would die very quickly in The Hunger Games, let alone a war! I look up to character like Katniss and Rue and Finnick for what they do and what motivates them but I can't really can't say that I connect with them passed that. I suppose, if I did relate to someone it would probably be Prim. Just because I like to see myself as an incredible empath who feels greatly for other people and animals and believes the best and is generally a optimistic caring person. I suppose that also fits with Peeta as well and I do like to think I share some of Peeta's devoted loyalty to the people I truly love. (I would be very interested to hear what other people who knew me thought XD)

I feel like I've seen a few characters be misunderstood. But then I also think maybe it's less they've been misunderstood and more that my personal interpretation isn't the same as theirs? The first one that comes to my mind is Foxface. I have made a long ass post about how I passionately hate the theory that she knew the berries were poisonous. I won't babble my reasoning here since my post is there for anyone interested but I will sum up and say I feel like people are trying to make her so much more than she was supposed to be. She was a survival-smarts girl who died due to her own cleverness (aka, taking food others were going to eat because she knew that meant it was safe), not some tragic genius who realized and accepted her own inevitable fate. I also very much hate Gale's character but I do think some people go too far. They try to make out his actions were born from an evil vengeful person rather than a broken victim lashing out to the extreme, much like his abusers did.

I wish we could have gotten to know a bit more about some of the other Hunger Games kids. I know why we didn't and yet I would have loved if there was more of a personal interaction between Katniss and say, Rue's siblings or Cato/Clove/Marvel/Glimmers family and we had gotten a bit more of an insight into these other tributes and their families. I also really would have loved to learn more of President Snow's granddaughter. I wish we could have gotten some kind of a short story of her aftermath, a point of view of a child of the Capitol.

[katnissandpeetamellark]

Coriolanus’s Granddaughter: “look grandpa! I got a pet parrot”

Coriolanus: “that’s nice, dear”

Coriolanus internally:

[darlingsnow0]

President snows granddaughter????

she’s mentioned at the end of mockingjay and she’s in catching fire for two scenes then a slight one in mockingjay one?

I don’t think snow would have some random kid with him so maybe that’s her?

[icystorm76]

Im rewatching the hunger games and “Snow has a granddaughter” hits so much harder when you realize that this granddaughter looked up to Katniss. She wore her hair like Katniss. She looked up to her love with Peeta. And Coin wanted to throw her in an arena. Goddamn this series is deep.

[imperatrice21]

Am I the only one who thinks Snow would be a somewhat loving parent?

[eufezco]

THREE LIES AT ONCE

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!STYLIST!READER

this is based on a prompt from character.ai c:

SYNOPSIS -> You're his stylist and you discover bruises.

You liked it when Finnick visited the Capitol and Finnick hated doing it except for the fact that he knew you would be there.

You had already earned a reputation as a stylist in the Capitol when you two met. And it had been four years since Finnick won his games but President Snow had kept him close because nothing was more appealing than a charming boy in his twenties to the people of the Capitol.

You learned from the best. Cinna taught you everything he knew about fashion and then made you forget about it all so you could build your own style. It actually worked quite well because your designs were sold in the Capitol as if people needed them to live.

Your colors and characteristic shapes, your outrageous skirts, your long dresses, and your headdresses were worn by everyone, men and women fought over your designs and they spent all their savings on your clothes. President Snow was more than delighted with you, not only because his granddaughter deeply admired you but because you knew how to be liked, and he loved that about you.

That's why President Snow found the perfect match with Finnick and you and for once in his life, he did something right.

Finnick became your muse. From the moment you were introduced at the Capitol and you saw him walking towards you with those bright green eyes, his perfectly messy blonde hair, his tanned skin thanks to the way the sun in District 4, and his body that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. You knew you never wanted to design anything else but for him.

―When did you arrive and how is it that you haven't come to see me earlier? ―You threw yourself into his arms, your fingers dug into his blond locks of hair. This was not the typical relationship that stylists used to have with their models but after working with him for a couple of years now, it was inevitable that some affection would grow between the two of you. Especially when, during his stays in the Capitol, you spent most of your time together. You were the only thing that kept him from going crazy.

He would sit and watch you while you sketched out his next outfit. You would share a drink and ask him questions about how his life was back in District 4. Finnick loved to talk about his home and you loved to imagine yourself there, in the places that Finnick described to you so precisely. The sea reaching your feet, the sun shining against your skin, the sound of seagulls flying across the bluest sky you had ever seen... And for some reason that you were still trying to figure out, every time you imagined yourself in one of those scenarios, he was by your side. District 4 seemed like a lovely place.

Finnick's arms wrapped around your waist while his face hid in the crook of your neck. He inhaled your familiar scent when you hugged, too sweet for the Capitol, not like the perfume people there used to keep up with their continuous call for attention.

―Yesterday but I was too tired from the trip.

That was the first lie that Finnick told you that night.

There was an expression of relief on your face with something like a small smile on your lips, grateful to see him again after such a long time and when everything in your life was chaos thanks to the preparation of the next games. Your eyes were closed, enjoying him holding you until you heard him say those words and then they opened in a combination of surprise and confusion.

―Don't think that being tired is an excuse for not coming to see me, Finnick Odair. That should always be the first thing you do as soon as you set foot here. ―You said, still thinking about why would he lie to you.

You moved apart from the hug and Finnick had a big smile on his lips that inevitably made you smile too. ―I'm sorry. ―He apologized.

―You better be. But now I need you to tell me if you like it.

You turned to grab your notebook and showed him the sketch you drew. Finnick took the notebook from your hands so he could take a better look and admire every detail.

―This is beautiful. You're an artist. I doubt there is anyone half as good as you in the whole Panem.

―Oh, there's Cinna. I haven't managed to dethrone him yet.

―Come on, you outdid Cinna a long time ago. He says so himself. The student surpassed the master, there's nothing wrong with that.

You shook your head and said nothing. Finnick rolled his eyes, he knew you didn't like hearing from him or anyone else that you were better than Cinna. Not even when Cinna himself tells you.

―Have you started sewing it yet? Can I see it?

―That's why I needed to see you. I haven't started yet because I need to measure you again. The last time you wore one of my garments it was too tight. I don't want to risk it not fitting you this time. ―You grabbed the measuring tape and pins from the table in your studio, full of fabrics and patterns for the new tributes. Cinna had given you his notebook with some beautiful sketches and had told you that he needed something similar but for the male tribute, a guy named Peeta Mellark from District 12, and you had been working day and night to meet Cinna's expectations. ―The robe is behind the dressing screen.

―Yes ma'am.

Finnick walked over without saying another word. You admired his figure as he walked away. Finnick's back was twice as wide as when you met him, his arms had grown stronger, now you could identify each of the muscles in them and his legs had also doubled in size, unfortunately, Finnick loved to wear long skirts, if it were up to you he would be showing them all the time. The features of his face had also changed, now they were more pronounced. Finnick's dimples were more visible and his jaw was so sharp you'd swear if you slid your finger along it you'd cut yourself.

―This looks great on you. I don't know why I try to design you something new every time. I should let you go around with that.

Finnick shook his head, failing in his attempt not to laugh at your stupid joke. ―You are not only the best designer but also the funniest one, huh?

You rolled your eyes. Finnick knew you didn't like it when he told you that and he did it on purpose to tease you. ―Come on, take it off.

Finnick stood before the mirror as you stood behind him. Once he slipped it off, you gasped and jumped back, horrified.

―Gosh, Finnick, what is this? ―You took a few steps backward at the sight of the bruises that trailed down his back. By their bright red color you would say were rather recent. You didn't know how to react, you were petrified staring at his back.

Finnick smiled, dismissing what you just saw with practiced charm. ―Ah, just a little souvenir. My lovers like to play rough. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.

That was the second lie Finnick told you that night.

Finnick's chest was heavy but he was trying to keep his cool. He had assumed that by the time the two of you saw each other the wounds would have healed, besides the fact that he didn't think he would have to undress in front of you.

―Your lovers? This absolute atrocity was done by one of your lovers?

―They were probably just a little too... enthusiastic. Besides, I don't have a problem with it, I like it. My skin heals fast so I'll be all good in no time.

And that was the third lie. His skin did not heal fast. You had always told him off for coming to dress rehearsals all bruised up from his training sessions and those bruises had lasted for days. These new ones were sure to stay on his skin for at least a month.

―How can some one like this?

Finnick could hear the disdain in your voice. You should be disgusted, horrified and definitely judging him, but don't worry, so was he.

―Honey, if you don't understand it's not my problem.

―No, you're right. I don't understand. I don't think you enjoyed that.

―Oh, you're gonna tell me what I can or cannot enjoy?

―Have you seen your back? Have you seen how bad this looks?

Finnick chuckled. ―I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this. Do you need all the details? Is the life of a stylist so boring?

―Finnick, listen to me. I don't want all the details I want the truth, and now it's the perfect time to start. ―You said. You grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him around to look at you. Finnick groaned as your hands were placed on his shoulders and when he stood face to face with you, he could see how upset you were.

―I don't know what you're talking about. ―He bit the inside of his cheeks, that was just what he had been told, not to tell anyone the truth about what had happened. He saw you roll your eyes and let all the air out of your body through your mouth, annoyed.

―I know that you didn't arrive yesterday. Cinna told me. Do you really think you can go unnoticed? Here? And I know for a fact that those bruises are not from one of your lovers, let alone that they were done to you a couple of days ago.

Finnick swallowed, looking at you with his head held high. He tried to keep the smile on his lips, pretending that everything was okay, that he did enjoy it when those bruises were inflicted on him, but his lower lip betrayed him and began to tremble. You bent down to pick up the robe and carefully threw it over his shoulders so he wouldn't feel so exposed. Finnick's head was bowed. You lifted it using your thumb and index finger on his chin very gently.

―I need you to tell me who did this to you. I can't help you if you don't tell me.

Finnick chuckled amid the sadness and shame he was feeling. ―Help me? You can't help me.

―I'm sure there's something I can do. I could―.

―They were Peacekeepers following Snow's orders.

Your jaw dropped and your heart rate accelerated. It was the first time that Finnick was admitting that to someone. It had been impossible to tell anyone, let alone a citizen of the Capitol like you. Finnick couldn't possibly admit that without compromising his carefully cultivated image. Besides, if he made himself out to be a victim, the Capitol would never allow someone they saw as weak to perform the role of the Golden Boy and all the people he cared about in District 4 would die. At that moment you realized that all the times he showed up at your studio claiming that his injuries were from training were not true and you felt sick to your stomach.

―How did it happen? ―You asked, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat

―I tried to leave the Capitol. Before I could get on the train back to District 4 I was arrested by Peacekeepers and they took me to Snow's mansion. A lot of people came and when I refused to see them... I've been locked up there since then, that's why I couldn't come to see you earlier.

You shook your head, feeling awful. ―Don't worry about it, Finnick. I'm so sorry this is happening to you. ―Your stomach complained and begged your brain to stop imagining everything that Finnick would have been put through since then. The beatings, the strangers paying to sneak into his bed, the Peacekeepers bursting into his room and leaving him bleeding on the floor...

―Snow likes me. There has to be something I can do for you.

―You don't understand. It's not something that I can quit.

―I can spend all day designing and sewing to pay Snow the money he would make with you. I can talk to Cinna to raise the price of our designs. People here are rotten with money, they'll keep buying them anyway.

―It's not that simple. You can't just buy my freedom.

―Has anyone tried before?

Finnick thought about it and shook his head. ―Snow wouldn't allow that to happen. ―You ran your hand over your face in despair, not knowing what else to do to help him and feeling a responsibility to do something about it. You were the citizen of the Capitol, the one who had superior status and the favor of Snow, there must be something you could do.

―What if I buy you?

Finnick's eyes widened in surprise. ―Buy me?

You nodded and realized how bad that sounded. ―But not in like, a slave type of way. Gosh that sounded awful. I would just― Do it so you can live your life in your district. I wouldn't― keep you here, no. You'd just have to come to the Capitol a couple of times, make a few public appearances, and leave again.

―Why would you do that for me?

You bit the inside of your cheeks and nodded. ―You're my friend. I care about you.

You had managed to give him something he had long been missing. Hope. Maybe what you wanted to do would work or maybe not but at that moment Finnick felt that someone cared and that gave him hope that everything would work out.

Finnick took a step forward and placed his hands on your cheeks. He leaned in slightly and connected his lips with yours. Your hands ended up resting against his warm bare chest, closing your eyes and allowing him to kiss you. You knew it was the emotion of the moment, the adrenaline rush of knowing that maybe he could live his life in peace. You had given him hope and he was happy that someone had shed some light on his situation.

When you parted ways after the kiss, you both were smiling.

―Go and put your pants on, I'll treat your bruises.

―Do you know how?

―Well, not really, but I'm not short of needle and thread and I still have some alcohol from last night.

Finnick pressed his lips together and nodded. That would work. He walked to the dressing screen and you watched him as he walked away in the mirror's reflection. Before hiding behind the dressing screen, he said something that lit up a flame in your heart and made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

―I wish you would come with me to District 4.

my requests for the hunger games are open 📥

[berzahoes]

snow lands on top | tom blyth

summary: a sutherland (not donald) and the younger version of president snow walk into a bar . . .

an: terrible summary ik but eh <3

when tom told you he had auditioned for the part of a young coriolanus snow, you got flashbacks to attending premieres of the hunger games movies. your grandfather was always taking you to the set of whatever film he was starring in and you loved it. sometimes you even got to yell ‘action’ or ‘cut’. your favorite memories were always on the hunger games set when your grandfather played president snow and now you received the news that your boyfriend auditioned for the younger version of said character.

“what do you think your grandfather would say? it is his character. what if he hates that i’m doing this? say something, you’re making me nervous!” tom said when he noticed how quiet you got.

“i’m just thinking . . you’re going to bleach your hair. i love your brown hair so much.” you ran your hands through his soft brown hair.

“we don’t know if i have to bleach it, i haven’t gotten the part.” tom reassured.

“yet. don’t think about my grandfather, think about how you’re going to be coriolanus snow.” you kissed him.

“but-”

“tom, if it bothers you that much, you can talk to him about it. i’m having lunch with him tomorrow and i’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you joined.”

and that’s how you ended up having lunch with your grandfather and boyfriend. it had been weeks since you last had lunch with your grandfather and you missed him dearly.

“it’s such a beautiful day. we should go on a walk after.” donald said as he picked up his glass of water to drink.

“it is. a walk sounds nice, but i think tom would like to tell you something first.” you nudged your boyfriend side.

“is that so? don’t tell me you kids got married and didn’t invite me. i always told you that i wanted to walk you down the aisle.” donald said sternly.

“no, sir, we did not get married, but i do intend to marry your granddaughter. she is the love of my life and i know how much it means to her that we have a proper wedding with you there. this is about . . . something else. um . . i recently had an audition for a role you’re familiar with. i’m sure you heard that another hunger games film is being made, but this one doesn’t involve the original cast-” donald cut off tom.

“you’re playing president snow.” he said.

“nothing is confirmed yet, but i’m hoping i get the part. but if you want me to back out, i understand.” you could hear the hurt in his voice. you reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it.

“why would you do that, tom?” donald asked.

“it’s a role made famous by you, sir, it’s your character. i don’t want to mess up such an iconic character like snow.“ he admitted.

“tom, i’ve seen you act. my granddaughter made me watch billy the kid twice. you could never mess up our character.” your grandfather smiled warmly.

“our character?” tom questioned. your grandfather nodded.

“i think i’m going to cry.” you spoke.

it was days after the ballad of songbirds and snakes premiered and the fans were loving it. positive reviews about the cast and film came out and you couldn’t be more prouder of your boyfriend and his bleached hair. it took some time to get used to, but he was soon back to his brown hair.

tom was currently doing an interview in your shared office on his laptop with josh horowitz from mtv. you were catching up on your favorite show when you heard josh ask tom a question that caught your attention.

“your girlfriend, she’s part of the sutherland family. her grandfather is the og president snow, I need to know if you were nervous playing snow because of who your girlfriend is related to.” josh chuckled when he saw that tom laughed.

“i was and then the three of us had lunch. that’s when i told him i had auditioned for the role of snow and he was so nice about it. by the end of it, he actually called snow ‘our character’ and it just warms my heart that he supported me taking on this role.” tom explained.

“and did donald sutherland have any involvement with your take on snow? any advice?” josh asked.

“the first day of filming, he texted me the usual ‘good luck, have a great day’ but there is a line i said in a scene with peter dinklage that’s in the end of the film. ‘snow lands on top’ that line was actually written by donald sutherland and he told me to say it because he knew that it fit the character of snow really well.” tom explained.

you smiled to yourself as you listened to tom. who knew the character of coriolanus snow would come back into your life after many years?

[mswyrr]

why did president snow laugh as he died?

imo because katniss proved dr gaul and him wrong in the end. and he loved it. how wonderful, to be wrong and know the future will be better. what a wonderful way to be destroyed, how epic. knowing that justice doesn't sleep forever, that it does actually exist, that lucy gray was right and some things are "written in the stars," even if it is killing you - it means the world isn't the shithole you convinced yourself it was.

his granddaughter isn't going to be forced into her own Games or tortured or etc. there is life after him and it's better and good for it. good for katniss for refusing the darkness and fear and paranoia and survival-justifies-anything that consumed him. even though it tempted her.

imo i see them as very similar people as teens - and 80something him keeping his word to never lie to katniss is what was left of the boy who cared so much about being "honorable" (like katniss cares about "owing" and being honorable). and that one single solitary spot of light left in him is katniss' dark side telling her the truth nobody else will - about coin, about what is coming. and she uses that to set panem free from what his descent into darkness made it and what coin would make it. and he's glad to be wrong. it's freeing.

as poet jack gilbert put it "If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,/ we should give thanks that the end has magnitude."

or to quote the kind of folk songs collins references throughout THG:

Well, you may throw your rock, and hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's done in the dark will be brought to the light

You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later, God'll cut you down Sooner or later, God'll cut you down

if fate/god/lucy gray's ghost sends an angel to cut him down, well -- how marvelous that is, how strange and unexpected after a lifetime of believing heinous bullshit is all there is, all people can ever aspire to. and the end had magnitude.

[this meta is inspired by @lonelyroommp3's lovely video of Donald Sutherland's comments on snow's pov on katniss]

[writersblockiskillingme]

delete this if you find it weird or confusing 🙏

But headcanons of what snow (old) would act like if he saw the granddaughter of his first love that he betrayed or something , like she looks exactly like her and she’s been chosen for the games

Reminder of His First Love | Coriolanus Snow Headcanons

Warning/s: Old!Snow, mentions of death, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: OMG THIS IS AMAZINGG!! I really tried and I truly hope that I did this justice it deserves and I'm sorry if this is not what you had on mind. Enjoy!

So you're a granddaughter of one and only songbird, Lucy Gray Baird.

After she escaped form Snows clutches, she made it look like she was dead just so he could leave her alone forever.

Her heart broke from his betrayal.

She moved to the furthest part of the District 12 once she returned back home.

She tried to live her life to the fullest after everything that happened.

Later on she married a nice man from her District and they had a son.

She sadly passed away not long after.

However, her spirit lived on and passed itself upon her dear granddaughter who she sadly never met.

She would've been proud if she knew you.

Your father always told you that you were your grandmother's clone.

And boy was that true.

Your face, your hair, your voice, the way you carried yourself... everything was just like Lucy Gray.

Your mom always used to joke that she was reincarnated in came back as you.

And just like your grandmother, you got picked for the Hunger Games as a female tribute from District 12.

President Snow was sipping on his tea as he watched the reaping ceremony and he could swear that his heart stopped beating for a moment once he saw you in a colorful dress as you stepped up.

He tried to not think of Lucy Gray Baird for a long time, now imagine his shock when she stepped onto that stage once again.

Once the interviews came and you were interviewed by Caesar Flickerman a usual question came up.

"What is your talent?"

You stopped to think for a moment and answered without hesitation.

"I can sing." You smiled at him and then looked at the crowd. "I know that it may not help me much in the arena, but I'm really good at it."

Snow thought that you proved that, alright.

You formed alias whith Foxface in the arena.

As she died you held her in your arms as you sang her to sleep.

"No, nothing you can take was ever worth keeping..."

Snow was frozen in his seat.

During the games, he found it hard to watch them somehow.

It was perfectly clear that Lucy Gray came back to haunt him and destroy him.

And boy did she do exactly that.

He never would have thought that Lucy Gray's daughter would become the leader of the rebellion.

He should've explained it, though.

The rebells won and you were supposed to be the one to execute Snow.

The words that you told him once you met up with him before his execution echoed in his mind until the moment he died.

"I am absolutely repulsed by you."

With that, Lucy Gray's clone left him speechless.

He couldn't believe that after all those years she still affected him.

But you now what they say, you never forget your firsts.

Pretty soon he was tied up against the pole as you stood a few feet away from him.

"You're as pure as the driven snow." You mocked him before you let the arrow fly, ripping through the air.

It seems like Lucy Gray's mockingjays did harm him after all.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[stop-ur-losing-me]

i think it's so funny that in mockingjay when president snow announces that anyone associated with katniss will be viewed as a traitor or whatever and then the camera just focuses on snow's granddaughter slowly takes the braid out of her hair. but it's also kinda sad cuz it shows that snow won't even show mercy to his granddaughter

[nerdygaymormon]

Below are excerpts from the article:

Steven E. Snow, the emeritus general authority and former historian for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is a bit of an outlier...the St. George native remains a staunch Democrat and a passionate environmentalist.

As the faith’s historian from 2012 to 2019, Snow is widely credited with helping bring openness and transparency to the church history department. He helped shepherd to completion the Gospel Topics essays, which tackled some of the thorniest of the faith’s historical and doctrinal issues.

Snow’s other signature achievements include overseeing the publication of the landmark Joseph Smith Papers and “Saints,” the new multivolume narrative history of the church. With Snow at the helm, the history department also took over supervision of church historical sites, where he placed a premium on education over proselytizing.

His beloved wife of 52 years, Phyllis, died from post-COVID-related issues eight months ago.

I didn’t always see eye to eye with all the brethren on environmental and political issues, but I can appreciate that. I tried to listen and be respectful of their points of view and understand them. I appreciate where they are coming from.

What did you think about the now-abandoned policy of not allowing the children of same-sex parents to be baptized?

I was surprised by the policy and was quite delighted when it was reversed. … I thought it was unnecessary, and I think it caused unnecessary hurt during the time it was in place. I was pleased to see President Russell M. Nelson revoke it.

How do you feel about the way the church addresses LGBTQ issues?

The church is trying. I’ve been really pleased with President Dallin Oaks’ and others’ efforts to try to find common ground. That’s why this recent action they took with regard to [transgender individuals in] the [General] Handbook seemed a little off, based on what they have been trying to do.

It’s a very difficult place for them to be. President Oaks continues to talk about gays in his General Conference talks. It’s as if he wants to draw a bright line that this is the way it is and there is not going to be a relaxing of that policy. It seems to me, that is what he’s trying [to articulate].

I have two gay granddaughters who have left the church. It causes me great sadness that we don’t have a place for everyone. They feel like there is nothing there for them.

How does environmentalism inform your faith?

We are given this beautiful planet upon which to live. As simple as I can state it, we should take care of it. We ought to make it a better place than when we came. We have to leave it in better shape, and we’re not doing that.

[enixamyram]

What are all your personal headcanons for President Snow's granddaughter? Either her life before or after the events of the books?

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 10

After the Doctor left Gallifrey, the Master and the Rani were so desperate to find him that they kidnapped and interrogated a retired CIA agent named Maris, who had been hired to find him. Maris unfortunately had no idea where he went, but before they could kill her, she was extracted from the situation.

Sabbath Dei cut out the Eighth Doctor's second heart and put it in his own chest.

In an alternate timeline, the Sixth Doctor was imprisoned in the Tower of London for a hundred years and had both of his legs cut off. By refusing to give the Dalek also imprisoned an order, he ensures that the Dalek will kill him.

William Shakespeare and Richard III swapped places in history, so anything "Shakespeare" did from 1597 onwards was actually done by Richard III.

After regenerating, the Ninth Doctor smashed every mirror in the TARDIS, swearing that he would never look at what face he was wearing after killing billions of people. He would eventually look in a mirror again after meeting Rose Tyler, and his meeting with Rose actually occurred after much more time had passed than you might think.

In the UNIT Black Archive, there is a photograph of Mike Yates and Sara Kingdom, suggesting that they interacted at some point.

The Fifth Doctor was once paralyzed from the waist down in a spaceship crash and remained that way for most of the adventure. By the end of the story, he had been healed by nanites.

The Doctor's older brother Braxiatel was Lord Burner at one point, the personal assassin of the President who burned people out of history. After being ordered to burn an old man and his granddaughter running away from Gallifrey, he let them go, and the President who gave him the order mysteriously died when one of the power relays in his office overloaded. Braxiatel led an inquiry on the matter and declared it to be nothing more than an accident.

River Song believes that the Doctor had a crush on the Rani while they were at the Academy.

At the summit of Mount Cadon on Gallifrey, one can see the whole of time itself, but people hardly ever reach it because a hallucinogenic compound in the snow stops them. While a TARDIS can materialize at the top, this is apparently "cheating" according to the Doctor. The Academy is at the foot of Mount Cadon, and it is also the site of the House of Lungbarrow.

The Doctor remembers attempting to climb Mount Cadon several times. On one such attempt, Vansell broke his leg.

When the Eighth Doctor ran into the Brigadier again after regaining his memories from another bout of amnesia, he said he felt much safer with him.

The Third Doctor's tattoo was given to him by the Time Lords to mark that he was in exile. It is basically the equivalent of a brand or a big scarlet letter.

Mustard gas can be fatal to a Time Lord.

Kamelion and K-9 can both be damaged by water.

As Time Tots, the Rani and the Doctor would play hide-and-seek. She was incredibly irritated by the Doctor's exceptional ability to find her hiding spots.

The physical appearance of a Time Lord is but a small aspect of their true forms. In reality, Time Lords are vast, multi-dimensional beings existing in the metaspace realm. These forms are completely invisible to humans.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

[mariacallous]

The snow lay in drifts over the railway lines at Auschwitz, when Keir Starmer went to pay his respects last week. His wife, Victoria, the granddaughter of Polish Jews who fled to sanctuary in England, stood beside him in the biting cold looking out over the tracks that once ferried unimaginable numbers of people to their deaths.

Afterwards, the prime minister talked about the relics of the dead discovered when the concentration camp was liberated: the piles of shoes, many in children’s sizes, and the suitcases hurriedly packed by people forced from their homes. What he had seen would stay with him, he said. It was “the ultimate warning … of where prejudice can lead”.

Starmer did not have to add that the shadow of war now hangs over Europe once again, or that once again dark forces are rising. There has been an apocalyptic enough feel to these past days leading up to Donald Trump’s inauguration, with Joe Biden warning of the US’s descent into oligarchy and a deep air of foreboding hanging over EU capitals. But nonetheless, the moment resonated.

Starmer was visiting Poland to make common cause with the country’s prime minister, Donald Tusk, who recently ousted a rightwing populist government and whose country would be on the frontline of any confrontation with Russia. By way of painful contrast, Liz Truss, Boris Johnson and Nigel Farage were meanwhile preparing to rub shoulders at the inauguration with leading lights of Germany’s far-right Alternative für Deutschland – a pariah in its own political system but apparently not at the White House – and Spain’s far-right Vox party, plus other guests of honour chosen to usher in the era of Trump.

The new order couldn’t “come soon enough”, Truss tweeted from Washington, alongside a picture of herself in a red Maga cap. Farage, meanwhile, settled for a triumphant: “We are so back.” He has a more longstanding friendship with the president than any other British politician – at the weekend, he bragged of having “genuine friends on speed dial”in the new administration – and knows Trump won’t necessarily stick to going through normal diplomatic channels. Last week, Trump aides reportedly met senior Reform UK figures to discuss how they could work together.

US presidents have always sought to promote like-minded leaders, including sometimes over the heads of elected governments. But previously that itch for regime change hasn’t felt like a threat to old friends in Europe. Now, even longstanding allies must watch their backs as money and ideas flow across the Atlantic to rightwing populists seeking actively to destabilise them, mining the same veins of anti-immigrant feeling and economic frustration Trump did.

Talk of the White House plotting to make Farage prime minister by 2029 still sounds wildly overblown for many reasons. Not least because there are powerful downsides for British politicians who get too close to a president still viewed with a hefty dose of suspicion on this side of the Atlantic, and because the president probably doesn’t care enough about British politics to expend that much energy on it. (As Farage discovered when Trump’s incoming counter-terrorism chief said Britain should repatriate the former Islamic State bride Shamima Begum from Syria, it isn’t always easy being his friend, let alone his enemy: there’s no answer to that conundrum that pleases both the president and Reform voters.)

But Reform will try to use Trump’s presidency as a battering ram to break down British norms, arguing that if the US can rip up net-zero plans to get growth or ruthlessly deport foreign-born criminals, why can’t we? Meanwhile, Elon Musk’s weaponising of the grooming gangs scandalshowed how destructive even sporadic missiles lobbed from Trumpworld can be, especially if British politicians are willing to help him identify targets.

Starmer’s first step should be to make clear that there’s nothing patriotic about colluding with foreign interference, and that Trump’s little helpers serve nobody’s interests but their own. But where there are legitimate grievances, those must eventually be confronted.

Last week, at an event convened by the thinktank British Future to discuss lessons learned from losing ignominiously to Trump, the blunt message from former Kamala Harris adviser Frank Sharry to his friends in the Labour party was that ignoring far-right wedge issues simply doesn’t work.

When record numbers of immigrants crossing into the US prompted talk of a border crisis, Sharry said, the Biden administration didn’t “lean in”, it ran away from the argument. Though by last summer it had developed effective answers – a combination of border enforcement, deals with neighbouring countries and undercutting people smugglers by opening more legal visa routes was actively bringing numbers down – it didn’t even defend its own record, fearful of upsetting the liberal end of its electoral coalition.

Sharry, who spent decades working for pro-refugee charities before joining the Harris campaign, had helped craft messages for her that were designed to sound tough but fair, in line with mainstream American views. But months of radio silence, he suggested, had allowed Harris’s opponents to misrepresent her as an extremist favouring completely open borders, even as the rightwing news ecosystem in the US platformed open conspiracy theories about the Democrats supposedly wanting to flood the country with immigrants who could then vote for them.

The lesson, not lost on Downing Street, was that it’s not enough just quietly to do what works: you have to shout about it, even when your own side hates to hear it. Millions now get their sense of what is happening not from the mainstream media but from emotive snippets on social-media platforms already rife with disinformation that are now (thanks a bunch, Mark Zuckerberg) scrapping factchecking. If governments can’t dramatise what they are actually doing, the truth will be lost in the coming hurricane.

Bleak as all this sounds, however, this is no time to abandon hope. Sharry opened his remarks by saying he was delighted to be in a country where democracy still has a future, which both was a joke and wasn’t. There aren’t many cracks of light in the darkness now, but Britain, like Poland, has somehow bucked the odds by turning left just as much of the world seems to be turning right. Whether by luck or judgment, we seem to be at a different stage of the political cycle; still four years to go until the next election, a system that for good or ill makes life hard for small insurgent parties, relatively stable institutions, the capacity to toughen social media regulation, and a national inclination (be honest) towards a quiet life. But first, we’ll have to ride the storm.

[tashs-stories]

Capital Princess 🔱🩵 (Part 1)

Finnick Odair × Fem!Reader

TW: mentions of sex and obviously more of the hunger games situations.

Finnick Odair had been brought to the Capitol many times before. His status as a victor from District 4, with his dazzling looks and charming smile, made him a favourite among the Capitol elite. They relished in parading him around like a prize, a jewel in the Capitol's crown. Each time, Finnick knew exactly what was expected of him: to play his part, to be the object of their desires. It was a role he had grown numb to, a twisted extension of his survival in the arena. But this time, as he was escorted through the opulent halls of the mansion, something felt different.

The mansion was grander than any place he'd ever been, with its towering ceilings, marble floors, and walls lined with rare artefacts. Finnick's senses were overwhelmed by the richness of it all, the wealth and power that oozed from every corner. He could almost taste it in the air. This was not just any mansion; this was the residence of President Snow himself.

As he was led through the corridors, Finnick felt a pang of dread. What did the President want with him now? His stomach churned with anxiety, his thoughts spiralling into dark possibilities. And then, as he rounded a corner, he saw her: Y/N Snow, President Snow's granddaughter. She was beautiful, with a gentle face that seemed out of place in a world filled with cruelty. Her eyes were soft and inviting, a stark contrast to the coldness Finnick had come to associate with the Capitol.

Y/N was around Finnick’s age, and there was an air of innocence about her that made him pause. She smiled at him, a sweet, genuine smile that Finnick hadn’t seen in the Capitol for a long time, if ever. His confusion deepened. What could she possibly want with him? His mind immediately jumped to the obvious conclusion, the one he had been conditioned to expect. This is what he was brought here for... sex. It was always for sex.

But as Y/N approached him, her demeanor was calm, almost serene. "Hello, Finnick," she greeted softly, her voice like a melody that cut through the tension in the room. "I’m so glad you’re here."

Finnick’s wariness remained, his body tense, ready for whatever was coming. “I think I know why I’m here,” he said cautiously, his eyes studying her face for any hint of the Capitol's usual twisted intentions.

To his surprise, she shook her head, her expression earnest. “No, we aren't doing that,” she said gently, her words surprising him. “We are going to have fun.”

Fun. Finnick blinked, trying to comprehend the word in this context. Fun wasn’t a concept he associated with the Capitol or its inhabitants, especially not in the context of these summons. He had expected the worst, prepared himself for the usual demeaning routine. But there was something about the way she spoke, the kindness in her voice, that made him pause. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cautious, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

Y/N’s smile only widened. “I mean, I thought we could just... enjoy ourselves. Talk, maybe play some games, just... be normal for a little while.”

Normal. It was a word that felt foreign to Finnick, especially in a place like this. He wasn’t sure he even remembered what normal was. But he decided to go along with it, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected turn of events. They spent the evening playing simple games, ones that required nothing more than imagination and laughter. They talked about trivial things, shared stories that had nothing to do with the Hunger Games, with death or survival. For a few hours, it was as if they were just two young people, finding comfort in each other’s company, far away from the dark shadows of their reality.

As the night drew to a close, Finnick couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you bring me here, Y/N? I know what they usually want from me... But you, you’re different. Why?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of sincerity. “Because I wanted to be your friend, Finnick,” she said softly. “I’ve seen you on TV, in the Games, and here in the Capitol... I’ve seen how people use you, treat you like you’re just an object. But you’re not. You’re a person. And I want to know the real you, not just the version they show us.”

Finnick was taken aback by her honesty, her kindness. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never been seen this way before, not since he won his Games. He was always the victor, the charmer, the puppet on a string. But here, with Y/N, he felt like just Finnick again, even if only for a moment.

As the weeks went by, Finnick and Y/N continued to meet in secret. It became a refuge for both of them, a way to escape the suffocating expectations that surrounded them. They found themselves confiding in each other, sharing their fears and hopes, their dreams and regrets. Y/N would often ask Finnick about District 4, her eyes lighting up with curiosity every time he spoke about his home.

“Tell me more about District 4,” she urged one evening, her voice filled with genuine interest. “What’s it like there? What are the beautiful things? And... the bad things?”

Finnick took a deep breath, his mind drifting back to the shores of his district. “District 4 is... beautiful, in a way that’s hard to describe,” he began, his voice soft with nostalgia. “The sea is the most beautiful thing. The way the sun sets over the water, turning it all to gold... There’s nothing like it. And the smell of the salt in the air, the feel of the sand between your toes. It’s like the whole place is alive, breathing. The people there, they’re tough, but they’re also... kind, in their own way. They look out for each other. We had to, especially after the Games took so many of us.”

Y/N listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. “And the bad things?” she asked gently, sensing the pain in his voice.

Finnick hesitated, the memories flooding back in a wave of darkness. “The Games... they took so much from us. From me. Even before I won, I lost so much. And after... the Capitol didn’t let me go. They made sure I remembered who was in control. The peacekeepers, the fear... the way we’re forced to live, always under the Capitol’s thumb. That’s the worst part. The way they strip away your freedom, your dignity.”

Y/N reached out, her hand covering his, a silent offer of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I hate what my grandfather does. I hate what he makes people like you go through. I wish... I wish there was something I could do to change it.”

Finnick looked at her, his eyes searching her face. “What’s it like, being his granddaughter?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Living in this... palace, surrounded by all this wealth and power?”

Y/N sighed, her expression turning sombre. “It’s not as wonderful as it might seem. It’s like living in a cage, Finnick. Everyone is always watching, always judging. People are so fake with me, always saying what they think I want to hear because of who my grandfather is. I can’t trust anyone. And... I hate knowing that everything I have comes from so much suffering, from people like you who have to live in fear and pain because of him.”

Finnick felt a pang of sympathy for her, realising that in her own way, Y/N was as much a prisoner of the Capitol as he was. “You’re different, Y/N,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d find someone like you here, in the heart of all this.”

They continued to meet, their friendship deepening with each encounter. It wasn’t long before friendship turned into something more. There was a warmth in Y/N’s presence that Finnick found himself drawn to, a lightness that made the darkness of his reality a little more bearable. He found himself looking forward to their secret meetings, the stolen moments where they could just be themselves, away from prying eyes.

As their bond grew stronger, so did their feelings for each other. They began to steal glances, their hands brushing accidentally, sending electric shivers down Finnick’s spine. He knew the risks of what they were doing, of letting his heart get involved. But he couldn’t help it. Y/N was a breath of fresh air in a world that had long since suffocated him.

One evening, as they sat under a blanket of stars in a hidden garden within the mansion grounds, Finnick finally gave in to his feelings. He reached out, gently cupping her face with his hand. “Y/N...” he began, his voice barely a whisper. “I... I think I’m falling for you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She had been waiting to hear those words, fearing them and craving them all at once. “Finnick,” she breathed, her hand covering his. “I feel the same. I’ve tried to fight it, to keep it hidden, but... I can’t anymore.”

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, a moment of pure, untainted bliss in a world that seemed intent on tearing them apart. From that night on, they were inseparable, sneaking around the mansion, stealing kisses and sharing whispered confessions. They knew they had to be careful, that if anyone found out, there would be consequences. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Finnick and Y/N felt alive, as if they had found a piece of themselves that had been missing in the darkness. They continued to meet in secret, in hidden corners of the mansion or secluded spots in the lush gardens, their bond growing stronger with every shared smile and stolen kiss.

Finnick had never felt this way before. With Y/N, he wasn’t the Capitol’s puppet, not the charming victor paraded around for entertainment or manipulation. He was just a boy, lost in the eyes of a girl who saw past all of that. She was a sanctuary from the storm that raged both outside and within him. And he knew that she felt the same. In Y/N’s presence, the weight of being President Snow’s granddaughter seemed to lift. She laughed more freely, her smile genuine and unforced, not the polite mask she wore for the rest of the Capitol.

One evening, after a particularly close call with a servant who had nearly caught them together, they found themselves back in their favourite hiding spot—a small, forgotten alcove in the east wing of the mansion, hidden behind a heavy curtain. It was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single candle Y/N had smuggled from her chambers, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Finnick held Y/N close, his arms wrapped around her as they sat on the cold stone floor. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, a steady rhythm that matched his own. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the silence that surrounded them, “do you ever think about... getting away from here? From all of this?”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. “Every day,” she admitted softly. “I dream about it. About what it would be like to just... be free. To not be a Snow, not to be trapped by the Capitol’s expectations. To go somewhere no one knows who we are, where we could just be ourselves.”

Finnick’s heart ached at her words. He knew that feeling all too well. The desire to escape, to be free from the chains that bound them both in different ways. “We could,” he murmured, the idea forming in his mind even as he spoke. “We could find a way to leave, together. We could start over somewhere far away from here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at his suggestion, her breath catching in her throat. “But Finnick,” she began, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and fear, “how could we? My grandfather... he would never let us go. And even if we managed to escape, he would find us. He always finds a way.”

Finnick knew she was right. President Snow was a man who held onto power with an iron grip, and he would never willingly let his granddaughter go, especially not with a victor from the districts. But the thought of leaving, of being free with Y/N, was a light in the darkness, a hope he hadn’t dared to entertain until now. “We’d have to be careful,” he agreed, “but we could plan it out. Find a way to disappear, to make sure no one knows where we’ve gone. I don’t know how yet, but... I can’t stand the thought of you being trapped here forever. Of us being apart.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, and she reached up to cup Finnick’s face in her hands. “I don’t want to be apart from you either,” she whispered. “You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have—a chance to feel... alive. To be loved for who I am, not for who I’m supposed to be.”

Finnick leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Then we’ll find a way,” he promised, his voice filled with determination. “For us. For our future.

They spent the next few weeks discussing their plans in hushed tones, mapping out potential routes to escape, and talking about places they could go where the Capitol’s reach might not be as strong. It was dangerous, reckless even, but the idea of freedom kept them going, kept their spirits alive in a world that had tried so hard to crush them.

But with every plan they made, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on them. President Snow’s influence was vast, his reach seemingly endless. And Finnick knew that leaving wouldn’t just be a matter of slipping away unnoticed. It would mean breaking free from the Capitol’s grip entirely, something that no one had ever truly done.

One day, as they sat together on a bench in the garden, Y/N turned to Finnick with a serious expression. “Finnick, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, her voice low and cautious. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while now.”

Finnick’s heart skipped a beat, fearing the worst. “What is it?” he asked, his voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling in his chest.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his with a resolve he hadn’t seen before. “I want to talk to my grandfather,” she said slowly. “About you. About us.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in shock. “Y/N, that’s too dangerous. If he finds out—”

“He already knows, Finnick,” she interrupted gently, her voice calm. “He’s not a fool. He’s known something was different for a while now. I’ve seen the way he looks at me, the questions he asks. I think... I think he’s testing me. Seeing how far I’ll go. And I need to show him that I’m not afraid, that I’m not going to just sit back and let him dictate my life forever.”

Finnick felt a surge of fear for her. He knew how ruthless Snow could be, how he used fear and manipulation to maintain control. “Y/N, you don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s not someone you can reason with.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But I have to try. For us. For a chance at a future where we don’t have to hide anymore.”

Finnick nodded slowly, his heart heavy with worry but also filled with admiration for her bravery. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

“I promise,” Y/N replied softly, resting her head against his chest. “I won’t lose you, Finnick. Not now. Not ever.”

The next day, Y/N requested a private audience with her grandfather. The tension in the mansion was palpable as she made her way to his study, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this could go horribly wrong, but she also knew she had to take this risk. For Finnick. For herself.

When she entered the study, President Snow was sitting behind his large, imposing desk, a faint smile playing on his lips as he regarded her. “Y/N, my dear,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deceptively warm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I want to talk to you about Finnick Odair,” she began, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. “I care about him, Grandfather. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And I know you don’t approve, but... I can’t help how I feel.”

Snow’s smile faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You’re right, I don’t approve,” he said coldly. “Finnick Odair is a distraction, a toy for the Capitol’s amusement. Nothing more.”

“He’s more than that,” Y/N insisted, her voice gaining strength. “He’s a person, with thoughts and feelings and dreams. Just like you and me. And he deserves to be treated with respect, not as some plaything to be used and discarded.”

Snow’s expression darkened, his gaze icy. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Y/N,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Remember who you are. Remember where your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalties are to what’s right,” Y/N shot back, her anger flaring. “And what you’re doing to Finnick, to all the victors, is wrong. It’s cruel. And I won’t be a part of it anymore.”

President Snow’s eyes bore into hers, his jaw clenched in anger. “You forget yourself,” he said quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “You forget who gives you everything you have, who protects you from the consequences of your own foolishness.”

Y/N took a step forward, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not a child anymore, Grandfather. And I’m not afraid of you. I love Finnick, and I won’t let you take that away from me.”

There was a long, tense silence as Snow regarded her, his face unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but filled with menace. “You’ve made your choice then,” he said slowly. “But know this, Y/N: there are consequences to defiance. And you will face them.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to back down. “So be it,” she replied firmly. “I’m ready to face whatever comes. As long as I have Finnick by my side.”

Snow’s expression remained cold, calculating. “We shall see,” he murmured, a chilling smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We shall see.”

Y/N left the study, her hands shaking with adrenaline and fear. She knew she had just made a powerful enemy, but she also knew she had done the right thing. And no matter what happened next, she wouldn’t regret it.

Y/N returned to Finnick's side, her resolve hardening with every step she took away from her grandfather's study. She had confronted President Snow and spoken her truth, and though the consequences loomed over her, she felt a sense of freedom she hadn't known before. When she saw Finnick waiting for her in the hidden alcove, the worry in his eyes evident, she couldn’t help but smile despite everything.

“What happened?” Finnick asked, his voice tense with concern as he pulled her into his arms. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nodded, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I told him,” she whispered. “I told him about us, about how I feel. He wasn’t happy, but I don’t care. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being afraid.”

Finnick’s arms tightened around her, his heart swelling with a mixture of fear and admiration. “You’re so brave, Y/N,” he murmured. “I just hope... I hope he doesn’t do something to hurt you because of this.”

Y/N pulled back slightly to look up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “Let him try,” she said fiercely. “I’m not afraid of him anymore. We’ll find a way to be together, Finnick. No matter what.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the reality of their situation weighed heavily on both of them. President Snow had made it clear that he would not tolerate any disobedience, and Y/N knew he would be watching her even more closely now. They had to be more careful than ever, stealing moments together when they could, always aware that the Capitol’s eyes were on them.

Then, the announcement came. The 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, would be different from any that had come before. In a cruel twist, the Capitol decreed that the tributes would be chosen from the pool of existing victors, pulling them back into the nightmare they had fought so hard to escape. Finnick’s name was drawn from the pool of District 4 victors, sealing his fate.

Y/N’s heart shattered when she heard the news. The man she loved, the one who had already endured so much, was being sent back into the arena. She could hardly breathe as she watched Finnick’s face on the screen, his usual calm facade masking the turmoil she knew he felt inside. She knew that President Snow had orchestrated this, his way of punishing them both for their defiance.

Y/N managed to find a way to see Finnick before he left for the Capitol, sneaking into his quarters under the cover of night. When he saw her, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her as if he might never let go. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t—”

“No,” Finnick interrupted gently, pulling back to look into her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, Y/N. This is Snow. He’s doing this to punish us, to remind us who’s in control. But we can’t let him win. I’m going to go into that arena, and I’m going to fight. Not just for me, but for you. For us.

Tears filled Y/N’s eyes as she cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing away the single tear that escaped down his cheek. “Just promise me you’ll come back,” she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Promise me you’ll survive this.”

Finnick leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll do whatever it takes to come back to you.”

As they shared a final, lingering kiss, Y/N knew that their love had become a beacon of hope in a world that was intent on breaking them. No matter what happened, no matter how far apart they were, they would find a way back to each other.

---

The 75th Hunger Games began with the fanfare and brutality the Capitol was known for. Finnick entered the arena with a resolve hardened by the promise he made to Y/N. The arena was a nightmare, a maze of dangers designed to test the victors’ endurance and break their spirits. But Finnick fought with everything he had, driven by the thought of Y/N and the future they dreamed of together.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the Capitol, Y/N’s resolve was put to the test. She had been approached by members of the rebellion, people who had seen her defiance against her grandfather and believed she could be an asset to their cause. At first, she had been hesitant, fearing the repercussions of getting involved in something so dangerous. But as she watched the Games unfold, saw the horrors that Finnick and the other tributes were being put through once again, she knew she couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Y/N joined the rebellion, using her position within the Capitol to gather information and help coordinate efforts to undermine the Games. She became a vital part of the underground network, her knowledge of the Capitol’s inner workings proving invaluable. She worked tirelessly, driven by the hope that if they could just bring down President Snow, they might finally have a chance at a life free from the Capitol’s tyranny.

As the Games wore on, the rebellion gained momentum, their ranks swelling with those who had grown tired of living under the Capitol’s oppressive rule. News of their efforts began to spread, and soon, the world was watching as a new hope began to take root.

Then came the moment that would change everything. The rebellion had managed to orchestrate an attack on the arena, a daring move to rescue the remaining tributes and strike a blow against the Capitol. Finnick was among those rescued, and as he was pulled from the arena and brought to safety, his thoughts immediately turned to Y/N.

He was taken to District 13, the hidden stronghold of the rebellion, where he was met with cheers and relief. But all he could think about was finding Y/N, holding her in his arms, and finally being free from the Capitol’s grasp.

When Y/N arrived at District 13, her heart raced with anticipation. She had heard that the rescue mission had been a success, that Finnick was among those saved. As she stepped off the transport, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for him. And then, she saw him.

Finnick pushed through the crowd, his eyes locking onto hers with a look of pure relief and joy. He reached her in a few long strides, sweeping her into his arms and holding her close, as if he were afraid she might disappear if he let go.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief and wonder. “You’re really here.”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to him. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I told you I’d find a way.”

They held each other tightly, the weight of the past months melting away in each other’s arms. The war was far from over, and there were still battles to be fought. But for now, in this moment, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, a symbol of hope and resistance in a world that had known only fear and oppression for too long. And as they stood there, surrounded by the flickering lights of District 13, they knew that no matter what came next, they would face it together, side by side, ready to fight for a future where they could finally be free.

Bit of a long one, hope you enjoyed

And thanks for reading 😊