#and the capitol’s hatred for them

[dreambaited]

the fanfic writers need to work quicker i need a hunger games au NEOW

[faebriel]

hgs brainrot has returned due to tbosas .. speaking of hgs here’s an ask abt the hgs au: if things were totally different, and Wilbur were to be a 12 victor, what do you think a possible mentor-tribute dynamic would look like between him & Niki? I feel like it would be similar to Snow & Lucy in the way that he’s just going out of his way to cheat n help her

anon u have in fact struck jackpot because this is a concept i was spinning some thoughts abt before bee mentioned avoxes and we went OOOOH at that!!! so yes i have considered rainduo as a mentor-tribute dynamic and would love to talk about that concept too :]

so for this concept i think wilbur and niki would be close friends throughout childhood from 12, and then in their teens wilbur is reaped and, well, no one has particularly high hopes (he's a writer and a musician at heart, not a fighter) but through sheer trickery and dumb luck, he makes it to the end of the games. wilbur pulled some pretty fucked up tricks to win - when you can't use brute force, you have to use your brain - and partly due to the trauma of the games, partly due to his shame and survivor's guilt, he sinks into the capitol and relishes a new life there as a socialite. to him, the old wilbur died in the games and the new one has taken his place - to niki, and to his other friends in 12, whatever the games did to him made him into every vapid heartless capitol victor there is.

or. niki has her doubts. they all saw how horrible the games were, but surely there is some part of him left, some part that's hurting, even if it's buried deep?

anyway.

like og spin of the au, niki is reaped and this sucks - this time she does expect wilbur as her mentor on the train, and she expects some kind of warm welcome (maybe even an apology for leaving them so suddenly and silently? an explanation?) but she gets jack shit. wilbur is jaded and cruel and unrecognisable and niki entirely hates it. this is the part where i REALLY WISH we got some time of those two beefing with each other directly in canon (or at least interactions while niki was So Mad at him) but it's okay we fly blind. niki feels abandoned, lonely, thrown off of her kilter - she expected an ally in this place, but she doesn't recognise the person wilbur has become. she doesn't recognise his shallowness (...much), his ruthless advice for the arena, the way he doesn't seem to care for anything. she's scared and now she's lonely and it pisses her off - their mentorship is fraught. here are some thoughts from discord on that:

i tend to think of niki as a bit naïve before l'manberg or even doomsday - i think this is an au where this streak would come out real strong, and niki is stubborn that she can get through the games without losing herself. stubborn that she can stop things, that she can protect people. i don't think wilbur is cold enough (or, really, can bear to say aloud) to say that her odds in the arena are slim enough as it is, but he definitely tells her that she's making enemies and that her odds of survival dwindle with the more trouble she causes.

beyond that... hm. niki's trust in wilbur is almost unshakeable until nov 16, even when she outright says she doesn't recognise him anymore. i think she'd reluctantly listen re: don't burn down any buildings, but she would grow bolder each day she had to stay in the capitol. she gets more honest in front of the cameras. she makes more friends in training, and not the ones wilbur recommends. she throws barbs at him every time he makes one of those callous, cold-hearted comments about other tributes and rankings and odds. and besides, she's going in the arena this time, not him. she needs to practice her bravery.

it's like... she hasn't given up on him. she thinks the old wilbur is in there somewhere. (she is wrong. that is not how trauma works.) but she won't hold her tongue just because she

for extra angst points could definitely play up the whole 'feeling abandoned' angle between them as niki goes into the arena - probably due to how fraught their friendship gets leading up to the games. niki wants to focus on them and their friendship, wilbur has stringently cut off (almost) everything from 12 and refuses to let her in; he tells her to behave for the cameras, she tells him she never will. i think the last point in that screenshot would also make for a super tasty argument where niki feels wilbur has gone astray, that he's abandoned 12, and that he'll probably do nothing but sit on his ass and watch her die and he can't even bring himself to care about her anymore, can he? just more fodder for the arena. and honestly, i think wilbur would passively agree with most of that - he values niki's opinion, after all, even now, and if she says he's rapidly descending into a lost cause then she must be right. and it's niki, so she will be fine, and he goes to his bedroom that night and tries to pretend he is sleeping perfectly fine instead of feeling paralysed with fear.

okay now onto the games - YES HE SO WOULD. or at least i think he would go out of his way to help. as for cheating - he's a recent victor for 12 and i think he would value tommy (no doubt a link to him... i think they'd be in touch in this au also) too much to risk the punishment falling onto him as well. i get the vibes this is a games closer to 74th than 10th, so there are far fewer opportunities to cheat and the consequences of getting caught are higher. but schmoozing up sponsors? making stupid ass radio interviews or whatever to talk up niki's odds? sharing anecdotes from their childhood - some real, some entirely fabricated - across capitol airwaves to stoke their sympathy? 100%. with less to lose in this au, i think niki would be far less inclined to play nice for the cameras - i hope you starve, she spits at one of them, and wilbur appears on a talkshow two days later as she scrambles for survival in the arena to talk up how she always saved loaves from the bakery for the poorest mothers and children in 12. he borrows and begs and swindles to the point where it feels like cheating. but hey, this new wilbur is capitol-branded. he knows how to play the game.

if anything he probably sinks into the game a little too much. self-preservation is not his forte. probably wracks up a few heavy debts and favours to owe, but those are not priority until niki is out of the arena, alive. as long as she wins, and as long as the family he has isn't in danger, he will manage. wow it would suck if at some point those two goals became impossible to co-achieve. anyway

i kind of see niki's victory in the arena being similar to the one in the main au - if only because planning out an entire games is hard for meee >-< . she walks in bolder and braver for sure, and with a less strategic pick of allies, but they all get picked off and she spends a few weeks so terrified she can barely sleep and then she ruptures some fuel line and sets the arena alight with a fire that burns brighter and more ravenously than it should. but she wins, and she's airlifted out of a filthy, muddy creek she had resigned herself to die in, and wilbur barges his way through as many peacekeepers so that he can actually see her with her burnt skin and hair and unfocused eyes and trust that what was on the screens wasn't a fluke, and that they made it. and then it's just a matter of surviving the after.

i'm sure there are some other random quirks or tidbits i can think of re: this take on a c!rainduo hunger games au but these are my base thoughts!!

[yesimwriting]

omg i’m so happy ur taking young coriolanus requests!! i’d love a oneshot of him falling for reader (whos from the districts) and him trying to deal with it

Summary: Coriolanus has no interest in his assigned tribute beyond her potential assistance in helping him win the Plinth prize...or at the very least, that's what he tells himself.

Warnings: Coriolanus being kind of delusional (in deep denial) and possessive, jealousy, a crush being treated like a terminal illness, Coriolanus trying really hard to talk himself out of said crush by comparing the reader to an animal/pet in his internal thoughts

----

His nails dig into the soft skin of his palm with enough force to leave stinging crescents in their wake. He's too far gone to feel the marks, to know when to relieve pressure to avoid breaking skin.

When the idea of having the best and brightest of the Academy's senior class was initially presented, the concerns about having such prominent members of the Capitol interacting so closely with representatives of the districts was highly contested. Most of the outcry had been from concerned parents--wealthy fathers and overly doting mothers desperately attempting to convince their leaders to not subject their poor, innocent children to that kind of proximity with something considered so other.

After all, those from the districts are closer to animal than man. If an outburst of hatred doesn't result in a Capitol heir's life and potential being cut short, perhaps some sort of disease would take them instead.

Coriolanus had found that part ridiculous. Not the way the tributes were seen, but the level of coddling the Capitol elite were willing to openly mark their children with. There are ways to mentor from a safe distance and there hasn't been public knowledge of a strange and fatal virus running through the districts in some time.

Now that he's here, standing at the zoo's entrance under the cover of night, food that he can't truly afford to waste tucked into the pocket of his coat, he realizes how naive he had been to not head their warnings. He's come down with something, that's the only explanation for the sweat coating his palms and the nervous turning of his stomach.

This infliction is something that you've done to him. Unintentionally, of course--your lack of cut throat nature and maliciousness had been a disappointing discovery at the time--but still true. Why else would he come here to feed you when his family can barely feed themselves?

Coriolanus walks further and further into the zoo until the familiar cage is in view. There are a no peacekeepers inside of the space and less than a hand full patrolling the perimeter. It's late and the games are tomorrow morning, any of the tributes that wanted to cause problems would have done so by now.

It shouldn't matter to him, none of them would turn him away. The mentors weren't explicitly told to stay away which means that the peacekeepers wouldn't bother him. He could always say that he's here to discuss last minute strategy, that the earlier bombing had cut his time short and that Dr. Gaul had given Academy students permission to make up that time if they so wished. But the thought of having less of an audience soothes him slightly.

He stands where he had stood beneath the daylight, near the corner, as far from the other tributes as physically possible. Regret begins to knot his stomach. Everyone's asleep. This will be the most alone together the two of you have ever been. It's also so dark, and you're likely asleep as well. How will he find you? Is it wrong to disturb the last peaceful rest you might ever experience?

The more he thinks, the more an urgency he can't wraps itself tight beneath his bones. The sensation, a likely byproduct of his ailment, makes him wish that there was some way to scratch beneath his skin. Right no longer matters, and neither does his growling stomach that begs him to just eat the food he had taken from the Academy's lunch and disappear back into the night. He needs to see you, to see that--

"You're going to be okay." Your voice, a soft whisper that brings him back to the present.

You're awake, the vague shape of your crouched form resting against one of the artificial rocks. You're also comforting someone with a much larger frame. Something in his chest turns to stone.

Here he is, wandering the Capitol streets in the dead of night, a pocket full of food that he had hidden from his own family for your sake and you're--you're not thinking of him at all.

Maybe his infliction had been more intentional than he thought possible. Your kindness could be a ruse and Coriolanus has heard rumors of your people. Some say that your ancestors practiced spirtual arts in order to enchant others. Perhaps you've bewitched him.

His own naivety burns through his chest. You're supposed to be his. If that's how it is, then he's freeing himself of you and your kind eyes and honey-laced voice. He'll--

"Coriolanus," a surprised, careful sound that's much warmer than your attempts at soothing someone had sounded.

His name forces the pinching feeling in his chest to be replaced by an uneasy warmth that crawls its way up his neck. He's suddenly glad for the darkness.

He follows your silhouette as you quickly push yourself to your feet with no regard for the boy next to you. Your movements are swift yet quiet, and the care behind them keeps him steady. You don't want to wake anyone; you want this to be just you and him.

"You're--" You stand so close to the bars that it'd take nothing at all to reach for you. "You're here." You place a hand on the bars that divide you, fingers curling around the cool metal. "Are you okay?"

The question is laughable. He's at the tribute zoo only a few hours before the games begin because some instinct had made seeing you again feel as important and necessary as breathing.

But you're not asking about that. You're asking about him, about his injuries from the bombing. "I'm fine," he assures you, "A little scraped up from the debris and I did lose consciousness, but I was treated for all injuries."

You're finally close enough for the moonlight to make a difference. He can make out the unruliness of your hair from the way that life has treated you since your reaping, the form of your tattered dress, your facial features and...the long gash that now marks your forehead.

"And I was told that you were as well." Someone in passing had mentioned that the tributes were cleaned up after the bombing. They weren't prioritized or given valuable resources, but they were cleaned up. Injuries were cleaned and dressed to prevent infection from getting in the way of the games.

You frown, tilting your head slightly as if to hide the length of the mark. Something in his chest tightens again, the sensation much more aggressive than before. Your smooth, gentle skin now marred...

His own defensiveness hits him like a physical blow. Coriolanus blames the feeling on familiarity. The desire to keep you in the best condition possible is no different than what someone would feel for a prized pet. You're his tribute, after all.

"It sort of happened after."

Panic seizes at his chest. After. One of the peacekeepers or another tribute had hurt you. "Who?" The coolness of his own voice shocks him.

You angle your head downwards, the motion distinctly dismissive. Coriolanus won't accept that. Who are you to hide something like this from him? After everything he's done for you, don't you trust him? His arm moves forward without his permission, pulling at your arm so that your body shifts closer to the bars. His other hand then slips between the poles and grasps your chin firmly between two fingers.

He tilts your head, giving himself the space needed to examine the entirety of the cut. It stretches down the start of your hairline and stops just short of your eyebrow. Not too long or wide, but the dried blood still smeared on you implies that it's deep.

"Who did this to you?"

His hold on you is steady, but not so tight that you couldn't step away if you wanted to. You hold still as he takes the time to examine the rest of your face for injuries. Your acceptance leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Coriolanus releases you like you might burn him.

"I don't--" Of course you don't want to tell. Your nobility runs so deep, you don't care what it costs you.

An odd wave of distress washes over him. The night air feels wrong against his skin, too cold for the thin clothing he put on in his hurry to get to you. "You shouldn't alienate your mentor the night before the games."

Your lips pull down into what feels like a pout. You stare at him with wide eyes. "I'm not trying to alienate you." The genuineness of your words knots his stomach. "I--I'm glad that you're here, that you're okay." Usually, sugar coated words from you are enough to crack at his exterior. He's feeling a lot less amicable tonight. "The girl from district 4 was aggravated tonight. I think she wanted to intimidate the other careers into listening to her so she targeted Wovey and I was kind of--around."

Translation: your too-good-for-the-arena heart took over and you inserted yourself in a conflict that had nothing to do with you. "I told you to be careful."

You nod solemnly at the reprimand. Your lips part, but before you can say anything, the sound of your name steals your attention. You turn away from him, keeping one hand on the metal bars. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

The question jabs at him like a thumb finding a bruise. The tribute you were comforting may come from the same district as you, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. By morning, your destiny to be rivals in the arena will be sealed. He won't risk anything for you the way Coriolanus is. He'd snap your neck in an instant if it meant going back home. Surely, even you're not kind hearted enough to not see that.

You crane your neck to look back at him, but your body stays angled towards the other tribute. The urge to hold you in place, to bring your attention back to him physically aches. Is your final meeting before the games really going to be cut short because of some other tribute? The look you give him is apologetic enough to make his chest constrict. After all he's done for you.

"I'm talking to my mentor." Your response dislodges something from his chest. "Why don't you check on Wovey? I think that'll help."

The sound of shuffling fills the space, and then that's that. The two of you are as alone as two people like you can be.

"It was nice of you to come here," the admission leaves you carefully, "I-I tried to see what happened to you after, but they brought us back here so quickly, and I--"

"It's alright."

He never expected for you to be at the hospital. The mental image is strange enough as a concept in itself. You, sitting in one of those stiff hospital seats, waiting desperately at his bedside. You, in the same room as his cousin and grandmother, all three of you concerned and co-existing. It doesn't fit, you're not like them. You're district. That's inherently lesser, inherently replaceable no matter the level of your charm or--or appeal.

But if that's reality, than why was your name the first thing that stumbled past his lips when he woke up? Why was his first thought after being discharged about getting back to you? Why does the fact that you were sitting with the male tribute from your district turn his stomach? Why does he now have a personal vendetta against the girl from 4? These can't possibly all be things that someone would feel for a favorite pet, can they?

This train of thought is nauseating, and the last thing he wanted for the final night before the games. "I was worried." You force these words out in a jumble of colliding syllables, like if you didn't pry them out fast enough, they'd never manage to find their way out.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, imprinting the details of the small crease between your eyebrows and your nervous eyes to memory. The look tugs at something dangerously close to fondness. "Then you know how I'lll feel tomorrow." That, in itself, is a confession pulled from him the same way a rotten tooth would be extracted. "How I'll feel until you come back."

You stare at him, eyes wide. "If this is about the prize money the peacekeepers talk about, you're doing a good job."

There's a stiffness to the way you say this, a guarded quality that soothes him more than it should. The thought of him only being invested in you only because of what he can get out of your success displeases you.

It's instinct to want to ease you. It'd be easy, too. All it would take is a comment that implies that he can be here for more than one reason. The response sits at the back of his throat. Is that why he's here?

The natural answer is of course. Why else would he lose sleep? What other reason could he have for risking taking Academy food and exposing his poverty? Something he's rarely willing to do for himself and his own family.

"A person can want more than one thing at the same time."

You can't hold his gaze, eyes cautiously darting downwards. The display of shyness makes things feel a little warmer. It makes him bolder. Coriolanus moves his hand again, letting his fingers cover yours. You don't move away.

"I almost forgot." His free hand makes its way into the pocket of his coat, finding the carefully folded napkin. He's going out of his way to emphasize the casualness of food. The only thing caring about this gesture is that he had thought to come, not the food itself. There's no such thing as scarcity in the Capitol. "Here."

He offers the neatly tied fabric in the gaps between the bars. You don't attempt to take back the hand pressed between the pole and his own palm. You take the gift in your free hand and don't attempt to let go of him until you realize that you won't be able to untie the makeshift parcel with one hand.

You open it slowly, examining the contents of his offering carefully. Two biscuits, a few crackers, a small wedge of cheese, and another baked good that reminds him of a denser, more durable version of cake.

"Thank you," The truth to your gratitude forces something uncomfortable to wedge itself between his ribs.

You don't start eating right away, your head instinctually turning back. He realizes what you're doing almost instantly. "If you're going to share everything I give you, there's not much point in bringing it."

A little harsher than he meant to be out loud. It's not your fault. Your family is large and of a taking care of each other mentality. If there's food for one, there's food for all.

You nod, accepting the criticism the way you usually do. It's a good thing that you're so pliable, that you're eager to keep the usual comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Sometimes, though, it feels a bit like kicking a puppy.

Carefully, you bring a cracker to your lips, chewing cautiously. Taking anything makes you guilty, another byproduct of your upbringing. Sometimes Coriolanus wonders if all of this would be easier if you were brought up like the majority of district children, more ravenous and unapologetic.

You'd told him about your mother before, a free spirit who works in a textile factory that produces lavish fabrics instead of standard peacekeeper uniforms. Even though the work isn't much different, you spoke about it like it made all the difference. My mother loves beautiful things so much she doesn't even care about who they're for.

That had been the first time he had found himself thinking about your appearance. If your mother's love is reliant on beauty, he realized, then you must have grown up with consistent affection.

You speak of her, of your entire family, in a way that confirms his hypothesis. You've told him stories of the way she hangs up the prettiest fabric she can find to hang up and turn one room into two--a necessity with so many of you living in a set of conjoined apartments.

"You're..."

You trail off, pressing your lips together nervously in a way that he's gotten used to. It usually signifies that you're concerned about being impolite. That's another thing that doesn't fit the district mold, even here you hold onto manners and social cues. Even when you first met him, you had fallen back on habit. He had introduced himself as your mentor and you absentmindedly asked how he was in that way that people do when they run into an acquaintance.

Normally, if he presses or even just prompts you once or twice you'll reveal your initial thoughts. They're rarely what he expects them to be. Instead of responding to the light raise of his eyebrows, you pick up a biscuit before stretching your arm towards him.

"Oh, no I'm--"

"You're hungry." That's what you almost blurted out.

You don't mean anything by it, or, at the very least, not anything beyond the realm of worry. Heat rises up Coriolanus's neck slowly but surely. You know nothing of his world and yet you knew that to have his hunger exposed would be embarrassing. You know that it's not the kind of hunger that comes from missing a meal or two on a particularly busy or chaotic day.

"Don't worry," you tack on, "It's not noticeable unless you know what to look for."

The comment is a little too reassuring, too on the nose. Can you read him that easily? Coriolanus takes the biscuit before he can pick apart your comment any further. The corner of your mouth shifts into an almost smile. You then break apart the wedge of cheese and try to hand him that along with most of your crackers and a piece of the pastry.

"No, I can't take all of that."

You stare at him oddly. "You've been injured," you stretch your hand out again, "You need your strength."

There are several reasons why you need your strength more than he does, but he can't figure out how to insist on that without making it seem like this is a final meal. He doesn't want to give you a chance to see it that way, so he takes the a little less than half of what you're offering. "Compromise."

You nod, accepting his terms. He's unsure who starts it, but the two of you end up sitting in front of each other. You smooth the napkin out in front of you, setting up what's left of your food like a makeshift picnic. "My mother used to take me for picnics."

"Yeah?" There's something about your stories about your life back home that are attention drawing. It's not so much mundane content of life in district 8 and the fact that it still managed to produce someone like you, it's the way you speak. You're expressive and bright.

"Mhm," you finish off your first cracker, "Eight isn't exactly full of nature, but there's this wooded area past the factories and if you know where to go, you'll find this clearing that's practically untouched. She'd go there sometimes on days off when she needed to collect wildflowers to turn into paints and she'd bring who she could...me, my siblings, cousins..."

You pick up a piece of cheese, setting it on a cracker. "Neighbors, sometimes." Your voice wavers in a way that sticks out. Despite an initial tearing up on your first night, you haven't cried or behaved in anyway that indicates that this could be your end. He doesn't want you losing hope now. "Tanner used to go with us."

It's whispered with the intensity of a confession. The boy you came with, the boy you were speaking with--you grew up with him. That's a bond that's not as easily dismissed. That's something strong enough to challenge his connection with you.

Why does it matter? He's earned enough of your trust, you spoke in a way that earned more donations than anyone else. You trust him enough to actually fight in the arena. It--it doesn't matter if you...

"Do you care for him?" The question surprises both of you equally. His own bluntness, the slight edge to his tone...it's too much for a mentor.

"Uh," you sniffle once, "He was a good friend when we were little, our families know each other." An knot so tight it's difficult to stay sitting there twists his stomach. "We're a little less close these days."

If you comforting him during the dead of night, losing sleep during your last chance to rest is your version of less close, Coriolanus doesn't even want to imagine your normal. "You shouldn't expect any loyalty during the games, the second the count down begins, there's no such thing as friendship."

You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. "What makes you so sure?"

Your question isn't a challenge or an attempt to convince him that the boy would never hurt you. You're asking because you're curious, because you want to know his thoughts. "Human nature."

It's more nihilistic than he usually is in front of you, but his patience is wearing thin. The soreness of his body is starting to catch up with him and wasting the little time you have less discussing someone so insignificant is draining.

His annoyance has to stem from how little the other tributes matter to him. That's the only reason he can piece together, especially when his brashness is likely pushing you away.

"Then why can I trust you?"

Another question that you mean. It's not a slight or an attempt to indicate that you're not there yet with him. He didn't come here to cast doubt on the bond he so carefully helped build.

He can't look at you as he speaks, "Because I'm going to do anything I can to get you back."

You nod, your eyes retreating to focus on your lap. "For the prize money, for your school."

He picks at the edge of his biscuit, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "I already told you, I want more than one thing."

That's not exactly what he said...this reiteration of it is more blatant. Heat burns his face. You peak up at him through your lashes.

If you had been born in the Capitol, you would have done well. You're found of civility and social norms despite a lifetime in the Districts and despite only knowing you stained in various levels of grime, he can tell that our features are pleasing. Polished, dressed, and brought up differently, you would have been a regular Capitol darling.

Coriolanus shakes his head once, an attempt to dismiss his thoughts. Why care about what you could have been? Why imagine what you'd be like if you were part of his word?

"You're not going to--to rely on him in the arena." It's framed as a question, but in reality, it's more of a hopeful statement.

You pause, genuinely thinking about your response. "No." You rest a hand on your bent knee, gently scratching at the skin. "Not rely."

The answer isn't concrete enough, but he has no right or reason to say much else. "Don't let your guard down. Not for anyone."

You nod, reaching for what's left of your biscuit, "I won't, I promise."

"Good, I'll be watching and I'll remember when you get back."

Get back. You wipe at your cheek with the back of your palm. "Yeah, when I get back."

The dryness of your voice cracks at him. If you consider yourself defeated before even stepping into the arena, you won't come back to him. For him. For the Plinth prize.

He shoves the thoughts down as deep as they'll go. They don't manage to get very far, crowding his throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Coriolanus doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he slips his hand between the cage's bars. He lets his hand sit there, palm facing upwards in a silent offering.

Coriolanus stares at his arm as a way to prevent himself from taking in your reaction. A beat passes, and then the tips of your fingers are brushing against his before settling against his palm. He squeezes your hand tightly, so tightly he's aware that it's probably uncomfortable, but the prospect of holding you so tightly that you can't vanish is too assuring.

"Do you have to--to go soon?"

He adjusts his hold on you, bending his fingers so that they can rest between yours. The rest of his household is asleep by now, but they'd be able to tell if he spent the night here and that would worry them. It would also make the morning much more complicated...he'd have to shower and change before the games begin in order to hide where he spent the night.

"No," it leaves him before he realizes what he's saying, "I can stay as long as you'd like."

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, "Good."

That makes something in his chest feels like it's going to burst. He shouldn't care. He should see this open display of clinginess as an inconvenience. And why would he risk getting caught as someone that spent the night on the floor of the zoo when there's nothing left to convince you of?

The answer strikes him so harshly he nearly lets go of you. He didn't just want you to ask him to stay to prove something, he wanted the excuse to stay. He--he wants to be near you...and not in the way that someone wants to spend time with a puppy.

The truth to it is simple. Straightforward. He cares about you.

He can hear that you're speaking, but your words are too distant to mean anything.

"Coriolanus?"

No. No. He--he isn't meant to care about you of all people, to feel these kinds of--No. No, he can't. He's not biologically wired to. And yet, he can't let go of your hand.

"Coriolanus?"

He squeezes your hand even tighter. "You didn't ask me."

"What?"

"The other thing I want, you didn't ask me about it." The words leave him in a rush, an uneasy mess that he needs out.

Confessing turns these kinds of thoughts into reality, an undeniable force that he wishes he could vanish. But maybe if he gets it out, the ache of it will be expelled from him. Maybe he'll finally be able to think about something else that doesn't involve analyzing your every expression like your life depends on it.

"No," your eyes are wide, a deer realizing they're not the only ones at the watering hole, "I-I didn't."

A small part of him is disappointed that you don't take the opportunity to press. You usually do, chatting like you're a regular friend and not his tribute. "I'll tell you anyways." He swallows, gripping your hand like a lifeline. You squeeze back, a silent display of support. "It's you."

Your hand goes slack in his. Coriolanus warns himself that it's best to keep his eyes away from you, to not read any--he breaks, gaze snapping upwards to watch you.

"Me?" Your voice is fragile and impossible to read. You lift your intertwined hands as best you can between the poles that make up the cage. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the back of his palm. Your eyes briefly fall shut.

"I--" You set your intertwined hands back in place. "I think the practical thing to do would be to forget about me." The rejection cuts through him. All he can do is stare. "You know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Your twist your hand in an attempt to steal it back as you push yourself upwards, adjusting so that your weight is on your knees. Coriolanus instinctively shifts forward, grabbing your arm to keep you close. He moves to sit up on his knees. "You're going to come back." You stop trying to push him away. "Do you care about me?"

"You're being unfair," your whisper is harsh, "Even--even if I win, where would that leave us?" He's silent. "I'll be back in a cage and you'll stay on the outside, only this time they won't be in proximity to each other."

You're logical. You're right. And he can't bring himself to care. "Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do," the response is frustrated, exhausted, "I think I might even--" Your mouth clamps shut, eyes briefly leaving him. "I think I love you." You drop head, giving Coriolanus only the slightest glimpse of your now glassy eyes. "But what does that matter?"

The word loosens something in his chest. He gets as close to the bars as physically possible, pulling on your arm in a way that almost makes you fall forward. The new proximity seems to drain any remaining fight from you.

He leans forward, his lips finding yours in the space between metal. It takes you a second to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you return the display of affection. He pulls your bottom lip between his own before releasing you enough to let you breathe.

"Is this real?" The question takes its time coming out, slow and through pants. If he thought thinking about you before was a type of sickness, then this is something terminal. You nod instinctually, urgingly. "Then we'll find a way." You're both resting your head against the bars. If it wasn't for the invasive metal in the way, you'd be resting against each other. "Just come back to me, and everything else--we'll figure it out."

He can write to you. He can find an excuse to bring you back to him. Maybe another aspect of the games--something that requires victors to visit the Capitol.

You nod, acceptance finally coloring your features as you squeeze his hand. "We'll figure it out."

----

a/n i've gotten so many Coriolanus/thg requests,, pls feel free to keep them coming <3

[cloudywriting05]

dollhouse — coriolanus snow

“torture me to sleep, have your way with me.”

» part two of one of the girls, can be read after or alone.

word count: 2,965 words

warnings: borderline physical and verbal abuse [DDDE], blindfolding, p in v, hardcore smut, bdsm, rough sex, slapping, mdni

tags: @urfavnoirette < even helped with the plot ugh 🫶

“What? She fucked him?” The blonde boy asked.

“Trust me, I get it. It’s fucked up. I mean, Sejanus? And not me? We didn’t even believe him until we saw them talking, he definitely fell in that pussy, man.” Festus remarked as he stared at Coriolanus, the blonde boy gazing into the distance at nothing as he soaked in the information he was just told. "Before me too, it's fucking diabolical, dude."

It was true, you had sex with Sejanus. Coriolanus stood there, enraged. Were you, his girlfriend? No, you weren’t. Did he feel betrayed? Cheated? Yes, absolutely. The revelation had his chest tight, his temper soaring, his breath shaking. His girl touched a man, not just any man, the one he hated the most, Sejanus goddamn Plinth. The root of all his problems, self-doubts, and hatred. The boy with the perfect ending, a Capitol success story comes to life, a district boy who rose to the top with his family. Just the mention of his name had Coriolanus completely enraged. There’s nothing Coriolanus wanted more than to kill Sejanus, more than usual right now.

“Are you sure she did? I don’t care, just curious," he questioned, his attention now glued to Festus's lips, making sure he didn't mishear the information.

"Didn't you see them at assembly? They were totally giggling and touching each other, they're definitely fucking, man– plus, Sejanus said it himself, he's one lucky mother fucker, I'll tell you that."

Coriolanus tried calculating when and why you fucked Plinth, or what possessed you to. He knew of your friendship, but nothing else. He always despised when Sejanus would team up with you for projects, the idea of you two alone would kill him every time because he knew something like this would happen; and it did. He was right. Was it because he fucked Livia last weekend? What could possibly be the reason? He couldn't find a reason, but he found a very serious problem. In the blonde boy’s head, he could sleep with half the school, and you still weren't allowed to touch another guy. You were his when you played with toys in the sandbox in pre-k, and you are still to this day. It’s never been said explicitly, because to him it never had to be, he just expected you to know.

“That’s fucking disappointing, isn’t it?” Coriolanus remarked, anger brewed within him.

“I guess…? By the way, are you going to Arachne’s birthday tonight? Everyone is going and I don’t know what the fuck to wear. Exams are fucking me up, man.” Festus whined, rubbing his temples.

“Wear whatever, it’s not like it matters. See you tonight.” Coriolanus replied, walking away to his last period.

Coriolanus knocked on the front door of the overly large mansion, loud electronic music evading through the walls, red and pink lights flashing through the window, eliminating the grass in the front yard. He stood there for a moment until one of his peers opened the door, Clemensia.

“Coriolanus…” she cooed, throwing herself towards the boy into his arms.

He held her as her drink spilled down his side, rolling his eyes in disgust. “Get yourself together, are you alright?” 

“No, but you look good… I like your shirt,” she remarked, her finger tracing over the patterns as she leaned against him. She’s fucking insufferable, he thought to himself.

“Thanks, now get up, pretty.” He stated, lifting her onto her feet and turning her around.

With a firm grip on her shoulders, he guided Clemensia through the entrance of the house, closing the door behind him. The volume of chatter grew even louder, an interesting scene in the apparent living room where people were lounging around, kissing and hugging. Releasing his hold on Clemensia, she joined her peers in the room. The blonde boy proceeded down a lengthy hallway, exchanging brief smiles with classmates lining the walls, their conversations blending with the music. Reaching the end, he pushed through holographic streamers dangling from the ceiling and stepped into what resembled a second living room, where vibrant lights flashed, fruity alcohol lingered in the air, and the heat hit him stronger than expected.

He stood there, observing the people he’d been in class with a few hours earlier, now dancing relentlessly against each other under the pulsating music. The bright flashing lights washed over their bodies, while pairs, trios, and groups gathered around, indulging in drinks and cigarettes. Amidst the vibrant chaos, Festus caught his attention with an unfamiliar girl. Navigating through the crowd, Coriolanus reached the center, where he firmly grabbed Festus's shoulder, prompting a swift turn in response.

“Dude! You scared me! You’re here pretty late!” he yelled as he leaned in towards Coriolanus.

“Yeah! I know! Have you seen Sejanus?” Coriolanus yelled back, his body being pushed by people jumping and dancing around him. 

“Dude! Yeah! He’s on the dance floor with your girl, man! Look!” Festus’s arm extended and pointed towards you, lost in the music as you danced with Sejanus.

Coriolanus watched your body pressed against his as you winded your hips, Sejanus’s hands resting on both sides of you, pushing up against your back. He let out a sigh as you whispered something into Sejanus’s ear and led yourself out of the crowd. Coriolanus took the opportunity to pursue you, pushing through everyone. He followed you closely behind, watching your hands struggle as you turned the doorknob and entered the dark bedroom. Keeping his footsteps light he entered behind you, closing the door. He stood silently as you threw yourself onto the bed, letting out a loud groan as your chest hit the mattress.

“Nice dancing back there, whore.” Coriolanus remarked, sending you into a panic.

“Fuck! What the hell are you doing in here, you fucking psycho? How long were you standing there?” you shrieked as you glared at the boy in the corner, your heart pounding inside your chest as it rapidly raised up and down.

Coriolanus let out a dry laugh and sighed, “I knew you could be dirty; I just never knew you could be so fucking cheap, and easy.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Snow?”

“You fucked Sejanus— now give me one reason why I shouldn’t strangle you and shoot him,” Coriolanus spoke calmly, stepping towards you as you sat on the bed.

“Holy shit, you’re insane, Snow. Does it matter who I fuck? You slept with Liv on the weekend and my entire friend group over the summer, so kiss my ass.” you exclaimed, keeping your stance.

“You’re too pretty to be acting like this, doll. So, get some fucking self-respect and never go near him again.” Coriolanus suggested, his finger running down your cheek. 

You slapped his hand from your face as he stood in front of you, looking up at him. “But, why? You’re not my boyfriend, and contrary to your personal belief, you don’t fucking own me, Coriolanus.” 

“You said I did when I fucked you so good that you came back for seconds and thirds.”

“I hate to break it to you but, your personality is not as likable as your dick, Coryo. Now get the fuck out.”

“No, not until you apologize for having sex with the biggest bitch of Panem.” he protested, causing you to erupt into laughter. 

“Fuck, you really are crazy, Coriolanus... If you won’t get out, I will myself. Move.” you shot up from the bed, your chest grazing his as you pushed past him.

You stalked towards the door, Coriolanus grabbed your arm and pushed you, slamming your back into the wall. You cried out in pain. The boy stood an inch from you, his hands pinning yours against the wall. Your body was engulfed in complete fear, you were horrified.

“If you think for a second, I’m gonna let you go out and grind against that fucking bastard, you’re wrong. You’re staying here, I don’t care when the party ends,” he declared, his face centimeters from yours, your wild eyes staring at his.

“Coriolanus, let me the fuck go,” you spoke calmly.

“Why? Why are you acting like you don’t want this? I know you’re probably getting off to it because this is the type of shit your sick brain likes.” he sneered, adorning a vicious smirk.

You hated him. You hated him because you knew he was right. The heat between your legs, his breath against your neck, his grip on your hands. You wanted him so badly, and you hated that he knew it. “Why the fuck would I want you to touch me?”

He raised your hands above your head, keeping them first against the wall. He let his free hand travel down your side, his other hand clasping at your wrists, holding them in place. His hand wandered to your bare stomach, his fingers then wandering under your skirt. Drawing circles against your clothed pussy, the same pussy that was begging for his touch. “I can already fucking feel it, you’re wet. Such a whore, now tell me what you did with Sejanus.”

He spun you around, your chest slammed against the cold wall. His hands still clasping at your wrists which were now behind you, resting on the lower curve of your back. With the side of your cheek pressed against the wall, you breathed out. “I fucked Sejanus.”

“Say it again.”

“I fucked Sejanus Plinth and let him cum all over my face,” you admitted, your voice shaking. 

“Good girl for being honest for once, hm.” he sighed. 

He freed your hands, but they still found a way to stay put behind your back. The blonde boy raised his hand and landed it against your ass as hard as he possibly could, conjuring up all his strength to do it a second time. You shrieked in agony, as you bit your lip.

“You know, sluts like you should get worse, but I’m so fucking nice to you. So, fucking nice. You’re just so pretty it hurts to hurt you,” his hand traveled up to your chin, caressing it, then gripping it firmly, forcing your head to turn in his direction, “but your mouth, my love. Your fucking mouth gets you in trouble.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t care, doll. Give me the ribbon,” he tapped his finger against the ribbon around your left thigh, and you untied it, handing it to him shamelessly. “Get on your knees.”

You dropped to your knees, shuffling around to face Coriolanus. His pelvis hovered in front of your face; you peered up at him as he glared down at you. You could still make out his features by the bright lights flashing through the edge of the door frame. Your last look at the boy’s pretty face. He caressed your hair before tying the ribbon around your eyes firmly, and your breath hitched.

“Feel how hard I am, doll. Do what you do best, whore.” he remarked, grabbing your hand, and placing it against his achingly hard cock. 

Your hands scrambled to unzip it as fast as you could without your vision. The rush consumed you as you successfully unzipped his pants, sliding your hand inside his boxers, earning a groan from the blonde boy. You pulled his pants down slightly, completely freeing his hard cock. Your hands flailed in front of you until you found it, gripping it firmly. You let the tip of his cock into your salivating mouth. You spat on it mercilessly, stroking it with both your hands. You placed his top against the flat of your tongue, running it against it in circles. Coriolanus choked back moans, refusing to feed your ego. 

Your lips puckered around his tip, sucking on it, the pre cum now on your tongue. You began to take his dick into your throat, deeper with every head movement. You felt his cock slide in and out of your mouth, moving graciously against your tongue. Your hands moved to massage the base of his cock, alternating between his massaging his balls, and flowing the movement of your mouth. Coriolanus’s chest heaved as he moaned shamelessly, not caring about your ego anymore. 

His hand moved to grab a chunk of your hair, forcing his cock deeper into your throat as you mercilessly sucked his dick. Your head moved vivaciously as his cock thrusted in and out of your mouth. Coriolanus pulled his cock out of your frantically, not wanting to cum inside your mouth. He rested his tip against your open mouth. You sat there, tongue out and eager. He slapped the tip of his cock against your tongue a few times before stepping away. 

“Get up, pretty.” he purred, helping you off the floor and onto your feet. He began removing your clothes piece by piece, throwing them to the side without struggle, he’d done this before. 

You stood completely bare, blindfolded, solely relying on the same boy who swore he was going to kill you. Coriolanus led you towards your bed as you followed him blindly, silently instructing you to position yourself in the center of the bed, which you did without saying. He pried your legs open, revealing your glistening pussy. 

“Did Sejanus get you this wet?” he asked, you shook your head frantically in reply. “I know, darling, what a shame.”

He traced a finger towards your heat and then started running it through your folds, causing soft moans to escape from your lifts. His finger traveled up and down your wet folds, pressing against your clit with each movement. Coriolanus watched your body react as you arched your back towards him, he sat beside you, his hand between your legs, studying every bit of you. He moved two digits towards your entrance and pushed inside slightly, he watched your lips open to let out a staggered moan, your hair caught under the blindfold. His fingers went deeper within you a second time, causing you to gasp, and then the boy didn’t wait to pick up a rhythm.

His fingers slid in and out of you, your wet vagina aching, as its own lube, you began to moan out for the boy with your sight still completely covered. “Fuck, Snow.” 

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, lowering his mouth to your nipple, lapping at it before you could answer.

His fingers still pumped in and out of you, “I do, you’re so good.” 

He raised himself to look at your face again, he figured you weren’t in the state he wanted you to be in. His pace began to pick up, but instead, he used the flat of his palm to rub and press on your slit. The friction catches you off guard. His palm slid up and against both your folds and clit, sliding back to push his fingers further into you. His pace sped up, your back arched itself so your hips raised towards his hand. He watched your facial expression change as he mercilessly fucked your pussy with his hand. “Wait, Coriolanus!”

“No, I won’t. Now shut up and take it like you took Plinth’s dick, whore.” he snapped, breathing against your neck as his hand fucked you. He tapped on your side and without saying you flipped over, knowing what he meant without him having to say a word.

He snatched the thick ribbon from your chest and slid it around your neck, the two ends of the ribbon in his grip as it pressed against your neck. Pushing his cock into you, he smiled. “Does that feel good?"

You nodded through your moans as his cock slid in and out of you. He yanked on the ribbon suddenly, thrusting your head back towards him. You struggled as he restricted you from breathing while he fucked you. You didn’t know how you could be so helpless with him, how you let him do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted but he got you regardless. Coriolanus’s cock thrusted into you mercilessly, watching your ass bouncing against him. The door creaked open causing the boy to snap his head.

Plinth stood in horror, not being able to register the scene in front of him. Sejanus stood with his mouth open, Coriolanus briefly stopped thrusting and glared back at him. A smile crept up on the blonde boy’s face as he picked his pace up again you moaned beneath him completely oblivious, Coriolanus still glaring at Sejanus who began to close the door. You smiled to yourself as his cock filled you with every movement, completely satisfied, in complete bliss.

“Plinth could never fuck you like I do, okay?” he remarked through his moans, his cock still plowing into you.

“I know, I’m, I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry. You’re just so good,” you cried out, his hand pulling on the ribbon this time forcing you to look back at him, “Do what you want to me, I’m gonna cum, please!”

He watched your body retract against his cock, shaking. You fell onto your chest, the boy continued to fuck you.

“You’re so pretty but so stupid,” he stated, his pace not slowing down, “don’t know how to keep your legs closed.” 

His free hand landed against your ass. “Now, you’re gonna sit here and swallow Daddy’s cum, okay?”

“Yes, I will, please.” He pulled his cock out of you as you turned around to face him, not hesitating to place his cock on the flat of your tongue.

You stroked it slowly, watching his eyes roll, “Fuck, you’re so eager for me,”

“Always.” you breathed against his cock, his cum spilling against your tongue, cheeks, and forehead. 

He fell onto his back, your eyebrows cocked upwards. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Mrs Capitol, tell me,” he replied as you lowered yourself next to him.

“I never fucked Sejanus.”

[libertyybellls]

KNEW THE GAME & PLAYED IT ?

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; finnick has to let you go to save you- he can’t simply see you off if he still has his teeth sunk in- he has to make you hate him.

contains; ANGST, self hatred, insults, mean!finnick, manipulation, alcohol consumption, mentions of forced prostitution

a/n: this might be like a ballpark idea because in retrospect i don’t see finnick being rude but honestly as a last resort, i think he’d be able to suck it up and go for the throat… but that’s just me thinking w my dick…

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

all he needed was the right moment, the right moment where he’d be just barely drunk and in the capitol- waiting for his capitol facade to fall right into place, for his mask to be put on and become self assured, confident, charming, arrogant.

he loved you to the point of no return, he loved you so badly that he thought encasing himself around you would be able to yield the harsh bullets the capitol shot your way- his plans went awry when you had been reaped for the 70th hunger games.

it was only after panick attacks, after sitting infront of his screen- watching you kill, starve and scream, did he realize that if you came out of this- the only way he’d be able to protect you would be to have nothing to do with you.

finnick thought he was a plague, he held himself responsible for his parents death, for not being able to help mags out enough, for not being able to save his own tributes. he was a plague and it was sickening- he wouldn’t let himself hurt you any longer.

he’d held you after you won your games, showered you, comforted you at night, talked you through the nightmares-even when he had his own demons tormenting every waking moment of his life.

but once your victory tour had ended, he couldn’t quite let you go- it seemed you couldn’t either. he’d isolate himself, keeping himself locked away in the victor’s village. he feared if he even went outside his home, his feet would lead him right back to your doorstep, like a puppy.

but you would barge in, you’d cry to eachother, hold eachother, make up, tell eachother you’d never leave, that you can’t be apart from one another.

and that part wasn’t a lie, he couldn’t breath without your familiar scent suffocating him, he couldn’t sleep if you weren’t wrapped around him, he couldn’t eat if he wasn’t sitting across from you. but he’d give up the oxygen, the food, the sleep, just so you would be safe. he’d do it any day if you asked him.

so here you were, at a capitol party- one of many you required to go to. finnick had avoided you all night, staying put at the side of the older woman who’d bought his nineteen year old self for the night.

he’d laugh, drink, joke with these monsters only to hold back the inconsolable sobs that begged to leave his throat at the thought of what he would do to you later.

you were hugged in a black dress, sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of neons. it was only about halfway through the party that his eyes found yours, you swore you saw guilt and pity flash through them.

“excuse me, i’ll be in the restroom.” he smiled to the woman next to him, she didn’t seem to be too distraught at him taking leave.

you followed him to the outdoor terrace, shivering once the cold wind made contact with your backless dress and shoulders.

once away from all of the windows he leaned on the railing, sucking his lips into his teeth.

you stopped beside him, ready for an embrace- only met with his cold stare down at you.

it was then that finnick decided he would bite the bullet- and he could’ve sworn he could taste the gunpowder down his throat already.

“what wrong finnick?”you grabbed his bare shoulder with one hand, the other one touching his face. he swore he could’ve melted, could’ve forgotten all about saving you right there- to continue poisoning you with the fatal injection that was being associated with him.

finnick laughed that signitaure faux-money grabbing laugh. “oh come one princess, you don’t have to act like you need me anymore.” he shrugged out of your touch.

your eyes squinted, was this an act, was this him wanting to end things? there was a fine line between love and pure obsession and you hadn’t known where it started or where it ended. “what?” you move towards him again- it seemed being too far away made the cool air more unbearable.

“i’m sure you loved the money, the sponsors, the jewels, everything the capitol- everything i gave you” his eyes were dark, selling the act, glaring down into your soul. “but you won your games y/n, no need to follow me around like a lost puppy anymore.”

was that what you’d done? was that what it’d seemed like? like you were stringing him along for your survival?

you blamed the wind still blowing in your face for your watery eyes, but it was more so the sound of your heart shattering with each word he spoke. venom; hot and heavy on his beautiful mouth- and he spit it at you like you were dirt.

“i don’t understand finnick? i thought-“

he only laughs this time, so sinister, so in your face, he takes a step closer to you, sizing you up. “you thought we loved eachother?” he mocks, raising his eyebrows and amusement. his body is giving out and his heart is breaking inside- but he’d much rather live miserably and rot away than watch the capitol strip you of all you were good for simply because they had the picture perfect sex symbols as a couple. “i mean the sex was great, y/n- don’t get me wrong. but thats all it was. you trying to survive, and me taking the opportunity for pleasure.”

your first tear falls, he’s tearing you to shred. tearing through your sheer layer of clothes and the skin beneath it, reaching for you heart, grabbing it then throwing it to the concrete.”how could you say that? after everything how dare you say that?” you sob out.

“oh baby, i thought you knew?” he shakes his head at you, you feel like your a little girl again, but not free nor innocent and happy. you feel excluded- cut out, labeled as something subjective, so ripe, yet so very rotten.

“finnick let’s just leave.” blinking through tears, you go to grab his arm but he shakes out of your grip, disgust written on his face. if only you’d known it was all for himself. if only you’d known what the capitol would make the two of you do if this went any further- what snow would do. “let’s leave, we can go home, we can talk about this finnick.” you beg, raw emotion tears through you voice as you plead through tears.

he flashes you the most charming smile, “i love the flattery, but if you want to spend the night with me- all you have to do is take a bid and buy me out princess.” his smile drops as he turns around to walk out. “glad to know what the eroticism of your company brings though, tastes like a whole lot of tears and daddy issues.”

people have begun to flow into the terrace now, admiring the view. but your view was the man you’d given every last bit of your mind body and soul to, walking away without looking back.

your legs can’t bare to carry your body, can’t bare to keep up with his long strides that beg to put a distance between you two. “finnick!” you scream, almost growl.

but he’s gone, whisked away back into the party.

you want to scream, you want to vomit, your stomach is doing flips. every part of you feels violated.

some part of you wishes you died in that arena, and some part of him does too.

-

send requests!!! i’ll be taking them asap!!

[queuestarter]

mirrors

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: mentions of sexual abuse and prostitution, talks of self hatred, ambiguous ending

→ reader comforts finnick when he's having a rough morning

open to submissions/asks !!

You know what kind of day it’s going to be as soon as you wake up.

Finnick’s not in bed anymore, which is unusual for him. He usually likes to stay in bed until well after you both have woken up. He likes to hold you against his chest, likes to whisper in your ear about everything and nothing. He likes knowing you’re there.

So when you wake up during sunrise and don’t see him next to you in bed, you can instantly tell something is wrong. You’re not worried or hesitant, you are more upset than anything.

Both you and Finnick have experienced the Hunger Games, so you’re no stranger to the nightmares that stem from it and bud out into real life. But when Finnick has nightmares, he tends to want to stay in bed rather than leave it, so you know that his terrors must not be what woke him up.

You sigh, getting up from the bed yourself. You smooth out the sheets and the duvet before grabbing your and Finnick’s mugs with old tea dregs in it to deposit in the kitchen sink. A pang of sadness hits you when you don’t spot Finnick at all during that time.

After throwing on one of Finnick’s knit sweaters and making two fresh mugs of tea, you set out to find your boyfriend, once and for all. It doesn’t take much looking- you find him sitting on the back deck overlooking the water.

“Finnick,” you say quietly so as not to startle him. “I brought you some tea.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you but by the way he flinches you know he heard you. You frown at his subtle action. 

“Go back inside. It’s too cold out here for you,” he eventually says after a long moment of silence. “I’ll be in soon.”

You don’t listen, instead choosing to sit on the step directly next to him, placing his mug on the table in front of you. “The tea will warm us both up.”

He finally turns his head to look at you. You try not to stare at the sight of the bags under his eyes or the way his frown has left a crease on his cheek. 

“What are you even doing here?” He asks, catching you off guard.

You don’t let the question faze you for too long before you respond easily, trying not to set him off. “I wanted to see you.”

He shakes his head before returning his gaze back to the water. “Not here, here. What are you doing with me?”

This question does cause you to raise your eyebrows. You set your mug of tea down next to his. “I’m here because I love you. You are the most perfect man in the world to me.”

You catch the way his face seems to melt at your words, how tears immediately come pouring from his eyes. Despite how hard it is, you don’t comfort him in fear of making his breakdown worse.

“I’m not. There’s nothing perfect about me. I’m dirty and used up.” He buries his face into his hands.

You’re speechless. You and Finnick have been together for a long time, and while he’s had moments where he feels like he’s not enough or that what the Capitol put him through made him less than, he’s never said anything like this. After a moment of processing his words, you try to soothe him by rubbing a hand up and down his back.

“Everything about you is perfect to me, Finn. And you are not dirty,” you say vehemently. “What they’re putting you through has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.”

With his face still buried, Finnick cries out, “then why am I like this? Why can’t I live with it?”

You grimace. Every word he says resonates with you. While you were never sought after in the Capitol after your games in the same way Finnick is, you’ve seen the aftermath of the attention. You can’t do anything to change the past or what’s to come, but you can try to make things more bearable for him.

Afterall, he’s done so much for you.

“Can you tell me what happened, honey?” You dare to ask, hoping he’ll let you in.

He lifts his head up and turns back to face you. Your heart breaks at the sight of his watery eyes and red cheeks. “I just… looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I hate my face for what it’s caused me.”

At this point you can’t help your own tears. “Finn,” you whisper. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with your face, or your personality, or anything about you. Those people are the ones that are wrong. The people in the Capitol who are too evil to see the hurt that they’re causing.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Not knowing what else to do, you wrap your arm around his shoulder and hold him until he tells you to stop. And when he does want to get up and go inside, you still say nothing as you make oatmeal for the two of you.

There’s nothing you can do or say to stop his torment. All you can do is promise to always be by his side.

-

[snowsinterlude]

misunderstood.

(coriolanus snow x f. reader)

summary: being the only district girl other than sejanus plinth and having to adapt to the capitol, you thought you could still count with coryo. it seems like you were wrong.

based on this ask

c.w: district n capitol reader, coriolanus snow, coryo being kind of a jerk, heartbreak, drama, quite the slowburn, fluffy, angst, reader has a crush on coryo, mentions to bullying, reader is shy and insecure

moving from district 4 to the capitol after the war when you were small, you never forgot your roots. or whatever was left of them.

your father and your mother made sure to educate you the best they could. private teachers, whatever they could afford witth the new money they had.

now, at the age of seventeen, the closet person you had within you at the academy was coriolanus snow.

athletic skinny, smart, pretty, blonde, gorgeous coriolanus snow. the one boy you knew that probably had a liking to you even if it wasn't much.

of course you would develop a crush on him. he was so gentle with you, so kind. so good to you, he was always there for you, specially since you were so shy, even more shy to defend yourself, so he was always taking the matters into his own hands, defending you from any dumb jerk who thought less of you.

however, as you walked through the academy in search of him, you found festus voice, and your name coming out of his lips.

“so, snow. why does the district girl is always clinging on you?” he asked, and you immediatly hid himself behind the wall, waiting for the answer.

now you could know his thoughts about you! now you would know of he really liked you, if he felt the same, if-

“man, she's a leech.” he said, and you gulped your heart back “i only tolerate her because the teachers always tell us to “be nice” to her, but honestly? sometimes i can't stand her.”

oh.

so that was it? what you thought to be love, kindness, was only tolerance? not even once of kindness was there on his voice, not even one bit of respect- he hated you. maybe he loathed you too. you were probably the same thing as an insect to him. a fly. buzzing on his ear, getting on his nerves.

with that in mind, you rejected every move he made towards you- you loved him, and it hurt. but more than that, the fact that he tolerated you during all those times, made everything worse.

“y/n! finally, i found you-” he said, and you passed through him like you hadn't seen him, like he was invisible. like the way he said your name didn't make your heart flutter and your eyes shine.

you distanced yourself from him the best you could. it didn't matter anymore. he didn’t like you. he never did. didn't even consider you a friend or anything. a leech. a leech. a blood sucking energia draining leech.

without coriolanus by your side, without him protecting you, the only one who could defend you was yourself, but would you do it?

of course not.

you're nothing compared to them. you're district. they're not gonna allow you to be or feel anything other than mediocrity.

you didn't stand up for yourself under any circumstance, letting the bullying be done, letting the food fall to your hair and letting your material things suffer further damage because of their hatred towards districts- towards you. no one was able to help you. no one wanted to help you. and even if they did, you didn't want to bother anyone.

it was humiliating.

"gosh, finally coriolanus noticed what a waste of time it is to be around you," a girl said, accompanied by whoever was by her side. you didn't bother looking up, seeing their faces and the way they looked at you was humiliating.

"c'mon now, don't be quiet just because we spoke the truth." she said, poking your head with her index finger. you closed your eyes shut. this corridor always seemed to happen something that would hurt you?

"hey," his voice. it was his, and you almost looked up to see him, to see him in this stupid uniform, in this stupid hair of his, those stupid expressions of him. "leave her alone."

"coryo-" the girl said, looking up behind you.

"don't call me coryo. i never allowed you to. leave her alone." he said again, and the girl flinched a bit, but she left after giving you a last stare.

"you were lucky, he's just taking pity on you."

"leave!" he growled, putting you behind his back and watching the girls go away.

there was an awkward silence between both of you, and then, when he began to spoke, you interrupted him.

"thank you," you said. "but you don't need to pretend anymore."

"what? y/n, i-"

"-i hear what you said." you interrupted again. "i'm a leech. i don't want to be a leech to you. not to you."

"y/n."

"i thought you liked me." you said, your voice hitched by how much you wanted to cry. to come undone.

"i do like you."

"no. you don't. if you did you wouldn't say those things. if you did, you wouldn't call me a leech. you don't like me."

"i lied"

"i know you did. that's all you do. you lie about a lot of things, i just didn't think you would lie about me too."

"i'm sorry, i was wrong. i don't know why i said that but please- forgive me."

you cried. finally, after so many days crying only to the warmth of your room, you cried freely at the sight of him, at the sound of his words.

"you're so stupid," you sobbed

"i know. i am." he hugged you, arms surrounding your shoulders as you cried on him. "i like you, y/n. i really do."

"you're gonna have to proof that."

" i will."

and he did. coming to the class with his hand on yours, sitting by your side, letting others know that he liked you, that he would protect you. that he loved you.

it wasn't a surprise to others when you began to date. it was a surprise to you.

but finally, the misunderstood was over. and just like that he was head over heels to you.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-two | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | canon typical violence, canon typical deaths, murder, coriolanus snow | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus and Sejanus have a talk, and oh! Coriolanus has blood on his hands again

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 most of this chapter is directly from the book! Hope you like it!

Beta read by @nowitsmissing 🩷

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Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth were given the job of taking care of the jabberjays that were sent from the Capitol. It seemed like yesterday he and Dr. Gaul had a conversation about these words. He swallows the bitter feeling down his throat. The things he would do to get that time back.

He sighs, checking out the jabberjays in the cages. Snow and Sejanus didn't talk yesterday when he had stopped him from going after the girl they captured yesterday. Coriolanus looks at Sejanus, only to see him not by his side

Coriolanus finds him a bit further away, near the prison window in which the girl was kept. Coriolanus' eyes widened, annoyance filling in his veins. How stupid was this of Sejanus! Anyone could see him right now and get his ass in prison as well. How fucking typical of him. Of course, he was going to try to be a saint. The privileged stupid fuck.

“Sejanus,” he hissed, “Get here right now.”

Sejanus turns, a surprised look on his face before he relaxes. “Coryo,” he sighed, clearly thinking that it was fine. It's not and Coriolanus is mere moments away from punching him for his carelessness right now.

Sejanus looks at the girl. “I promise I will come back,” he said. Coriolanus frowns as he hears the words. Sejanus follows him near the jabberjays again.

“Are you insane?” Coriolanus asked, his eyes conveying his anger.

Sejanus winces and replies, “She's innocent.”

“She's a rebel!”

“They just wanted to go to the north! They just wanted to escape!”

Coriolanus looked around, nobody was around. “Lower your voice, Sej,” Coriolanus warns. “I have something good going on here. You have something good going on here. Don't ruin it.”

Sejanus' eyes cast down and Coriolanus knows. He knows something is wrong. Sejanus Plinth is gonna fuck up again. Big time.

“What is it?” Coryo asked, trying to soften his voice.

“You told me I could do something. You told me I could make a difference.”

“Like this!” Coryo hisses, “By being a rebel?”

“There is a group of locals getting out of District 12 for good.”

Coriolanus' breath hitches, but he doesn't say a word. His eyes fell to the remote, the button was pressed, then the jabberjays would record the Plinth boys’ exact words. Sejanus is distracted enough by his rage towards the Capitol that he doesn't notice Coriolanus pressing the button.

“You have to impress Dr. Gaul,” your voice reminds him.

Snow signed Sejanus Plinth's death warrant and he prayed that it was enough of a price to get him back to the Capitol. Back with you. Back with his birthright. He is simply taking what is his. This was a golden opportunity. It's really on Sejanus that he's being irrational.

Sejanus continues to talk.

“They're going up North to start a new life, far away from Panem. They need money for supplies. They told me we could go with them if I got it for them. You could come with us.”

“You're giving money to the locals,” Coriolanus said incredulously. His hatred for Sejanus increased greatly, he no longer cared about what he was doing. It was deserved.

“I can't stay here. I won't. They're not planning to do anything dangerous, okay.”

“It’s all dangerous,” Coriolanus replied.

“The leader, Spruce, wants to get his sister, Lil, out of jail."

“Are you insane?”

“Hoff is gonna execute her just because she knows the man. It's wrong.”

‘That’s not your problem!’ he wanted to yell. He doesn't.

“I am gonna help him get her out,” Sejanus continues.

“It's treason, Sejanus.”

“Nobody is gonna get hurt,” Sejanus defends.

“I am just doing what you told him to do at the arena.”

Coriolanus subtly rolls his eyes. He didn't mean it this way. This was all Sejanus. “I was just trying to save you,” Coriolanus snarls, “the first time you did stupid enough to ruin my life.” Coriolanus questions, “What if they catch you bringing this woman off base?”

“It's worth the risk to do the right thing.”

“For you,” Coriolanus emphasizes, reminding Sejanus of his privilege, “Your father will just buy your way out of it like he always does. While I'll be hung just for knowing you.”

Coriolanus takes a deep breath, “Don't do this.” Despite everything Sejanus was his… friend for a lack of words. He would throw away the remote if Sejanus agreed with him. Instead, Sejanus walks away. A silent protest. He will do it. And that leaves Coriolanus with no choice.

He stops the recording before checking if it recorded every word. It did. He places the jabberjay cage on the supply train, knowing that it is to go to Dr. Gaul.

Coriolanus did what he had to.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Coriolanus was in The Hob, along with you. Your head was on his shoulder, his arm possessively around your waist. You both were in the corner, listening to Lucy Gray sing. Coriolanus wondered briefly if he should tell you what he had done but decided later would be a better time.

Coriolanus sees Sejanus walking inside the back door of The Hob. Coriolanus' eyes narrow. “I'll be back,” he murmurs to you, his lips kissing your temple before he leaves you alone to follow Sejanus.

As he took a step in, he froze, suddenly aware of the barrel of a shotgun positioned inches from the side of his rib cage. He drew in his breath and was beginning to raise his hands slowly when he heard the quick tap of shoes behind him.

“So you guys slip in,” Lucy Gray said behind Coriolanus. Before Coriolanus can say anything, Spruce pulls him in and Lucy Gray follows without understanding the danger.

Sejanus jumps in, “No. It’s alright, Spruce. He’s with me. They’re all with me.”

The rebel looked them over. “Thought we agreed this was between us.”

“He’s like my brother,” said Sejanus. “He’ll cover for me when we run. Buy us more time.”

Coriolanus had promised to do no such thing, but he nodded.

Spruce redirected his barrel to Lucy Gray. “What about this one?”

“I told you about her,” said Billy Taupe. “She’s going north with us. She’s my girl.”

Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray clench her fist, then drop it. He had forgotten that she and Billy had dated. “If you’ll take me,” she said.

Spruce considered it, then shrugged and lowered the gun, releasing Lucy Gray from its hold. “I guess you’ll be company for Lil.”

Coriolanus’s eyes fell to the cache of weapons. Two more shotguns, a standard Peacekeeper rifle like the ones they used in target practice. Some sort of heavy piece that appeared to launch grenades. Several knives.

“That’s quite a haul.”

“Not for five people,” Spruce replied. “It’s the ammo I’m concerned about. Be helpful if you could get us some more of that from the base.”

Sejanus nodded. “Maybe. We don’t have access to the armory. But I can look around.”

“Sure. Stock up.”

Everyone’s head snapped toward the sound. A female voice, coming from the far corner of the shed. Coriolanus had forgotten about the second door since no one ever seemed to use it. In the pitch-blackness outside the lamp’s circle of light, he could not say if it was open or shut, or make out the intruder. How long had she been hiding there in the gloom?

“Who’s there?” said Spruce.

“Guns, ammo,” mocked the voice. “You can’t make more of that, can you? Up north?”

The nastiness helped Coriolanus place it from the night of the brawl in the Hob. “It’s Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter.”

“Trailing after Billy Taupe like a hound in heat,” said Lucy Gray under her breath.

“Always keep that last bullet somewhere safe. So as you can blow your brains out before they catch you,” said Mayfair.

“Get home,” ordered Billy Taupe. “I’ll explain this later. It’s not how it sounded.”

“No, no. Come in and join us, Mayfair,” invited Spruce. “We’ve got no quarrel with you. You can’t choose your pa.”

“We won’t hurt you,” said Sejanus.

Mayfair gave an ugly laugh. “’ Course you won’t.”

“What’s going on?” Spruce asked Billy Taupe.

“Nothing. She’s just talking,” he said. “She won’t do anything.”

“That’s me. All talk, no action. Right, Lucy Gray? How’d you enjoy the Capitol, by the way?” The door gave a small creak, and Coriolanus had the sense Mayfair was backing away, about to flee. With her would go his entire future. No, more than that, his very life. If she reported what she’d heard, the whole lot of them would be as good as dead.

In a flash, Spruce lifted his shotgun to shoot her, but Billy Taupe knocked the barrel toward the floor. Coriolanus reflexively reached for the Peacekeeper rifle and fired toward Mayfair’s voice. She gave a cry, and there was the sound of her collapsing to the floor.

“Mayfair!” Billy Taupe bolted across the shed to where she lay in the doorway. He staggered back into the light, his hand shiny with blood, spitting at Coriolanus like a rabid animal.

“What’d you do?”

Coriolanus gave her a push, and her feet started moving toward the door. “Go back. Get onstage. That’s your alibi. Go!”

“Oh, no. If I swing, she’s swinging with me!” Billy Taupe charged after her.

Without hesitating, Spruce shot Billy Taupe through the chest. The blast carried him backward, and he crumpled to the floor.

In the stillness that followed, Coriolanus registered the music coming from the Hob for the first time since Lucy Gray had finished her number. Maude Ivory had the entire warehouse caught up in a sing-along.

Keep on the sunny side, always the sunny side.

“You better do like he said,” Spruce told Lucy Gray. “Before they miss you and someone comes looking.”

Lucy Gray couldn’t take her eyes off Billy Taupe’s body. Coriolanus grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” He propelled her to the door.

She opened it, and they both looked out. The coast was clear. “You were never here,” Coriolanus whispered in Lucy Gray’s ear as he let her go. She stumbled across the pavement and into the Hob. He slid the door shut with his foot.

Coriolanus hears a knock on the door. “Coryo?” He hears your voice call out. Against his better judgment, he opens the door. Letting you walk in. “She's my girl, she won't do anything,” Coriolanus lets Spruce know.

“I…” You gape at the bodies before saying, “You don't have to murder everyone you're jealous of, Coryo. You know that me flirting with Billy Taupe was just me getting back at you, right?”

Coriolanus feels his cheek getting hot, a boyish embarrassment taking root in his mind. “I didn't kill him!” He defended, “It was him.” He points at Spruce. “I killed her,” he reveals.

“That bitch? Good riddance.”

Sejanus whispers your name, with tears in his eyes. You immediately soften, and Coriolanus wonders if he should kill Sejanus as well because he got you to react like that. Then Snow remembers Sejanus' impending future and lets it go.

“It's gonna be okay, Sej.”

Spruce stuffed the weapons back into the burlap bag. “They’re dead. I’m planning to keep this to myself. What about you three?”

“The same. Obviously,” said Coriolanus. Sejanus stared at them, still in shock. “Him, too. I’ll make sure.”

“You might think about coming with us. Someone’s going to pay for this,” said Spruce. He retrieved the lamp and vanished out the back door, throwing the shed into darkness.

You watch the rebel go. He’d successfully made it in and out of the shed without touching anything with his skin. Except for the gun he’d killed Mayfair with, of course, no doubt covered in his fingerprints and DNA — but Spruce would take that when he left District 12, never to return. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the handkerchief scenario. He could still hear Dean Highbottom taunting him. . . .

“Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It’s the sound of Snow falling.”

You and Sejanus follow him. Until Sejanus goes back to the hob to be with Lucy Gray and Coriolanus goes back to you in your room. “What was that? Do we need to hide the bodies?” You asked, “I can do something.” Coriolanus shakes his head, as much as he wants the help. He didn't want you involved, not when he was so close to getting out of here with you.

“The rebels will take the gun with them. There will be no evidence left.”

You nod. You pressed your lips against his lips, giving him the softest kiss he had ever received. “Be careful, Coryo,” you whispered.

“I will. I am sorry that this happened,” Coryo said.

“It's fine,” you smirk, “It's not like I cared about them.”

‘Do you care about Sejanus? He wanted to ask. 'Are you going to leave me for his fate?’

He didn't. He smiles back at you, before leaving.

Tomorrow is a new dawn.

Hopefully, Coriolanus' luck will work out this time.

NEXT PART

[laceylavender]

Gale and Katniss are proof that you can grow up in the same circumstances and still learn to see the world in a different way.

Growing up in famine, abuse, violence, poverty and under control of a corrupt government gave them similar circumstances to grow up in: being the oldest sibling, their fathers dying in the mine, becoming the providers of the house at an early age, losing almost everything to said government. While Katniss developed a sense of empathy for everyone affected by this government (whether they were more privileged than her, or not), Gale developed a sense of hatred and thirst for vengeance because the people that weren’t his people had privileges that no one should have, while his family and his friends were being starved, or killed.

That’s why from an early age (pre-teen to full blown teenage years) he had always been thinking with the mindset of a hunter, only he wasn’t only hunting in the forest for prey and food, he was hunting in the real world and he was hunting his enemies, perpetrators and by-standers who did nothing to stop them, they all fit in the same category for him: the enemy. He grew up thinking of ways in which he could kill them if he could, that’s why earlier in the books he tells Katniss he would kill the Capitol citizens if he could, they were nothing to him.

When Gale sees the Capitol bomb and fire his district and kill his people, then gets evacuated to district 13 and has the opportunity to do something, to be of value and design strategies that can help kill said enemy, he does it. No second thought.

The thing is, both Katniss and Gale were right in certain aspects, especially in those they couldn’t agree on, and for me is easy to see from the perspective of both.

In war it should be common rule to offer the possibility of surrender first, but when your enemy doesn’t surrender and you see your own army lose more and more members, you attack - most of the time these are “last resort” attacks that end in lots of human life lost, but when you still give them a last chance to surrender like they did with the train in 2, it still shows a little glimpse of hope and empathy, that not everything has to be lost to war, and this is the part Gale didn’t understand, because if he paid too much thought to it, the lines would get blurred in his head, it was easier to see in black and white.

Personally, I’m in a grey zone when it comes to both of their thinking, and that’s why as a world with increasing and escalating issues we’ve created mechanisms like humanitarian law, war law, international human rights, etc, etc, we need to draw the lines, this is the playbook Katniss was referring to. What’s too much in war? A bullet to the head? Burying people in a mountain just for the sake of killing them? Where’s the line? Hijacking and manipulating people, stripping them of their consciousness and identity? Sending children into an arena to murder each other? Human trafficking? Sex trafficking? You see where I’m going? This is not about Gale, it’s about war.

Look at history, look around you. What do you see? What do you make of it? And please, use critical thinking. Is it acceptable to kill group B if they’ve killed people from group A? Do people from group B deserve a second chance, although their victims didn’t? Your opinion and reasoning depends a lot on the morals you have, and your own experience with war and abuse, which, if you’ve been lucky enough not to have a first hand experience with it, you should also take it into consideration before saying something. Just think, consider, see beyond yourself, see from different points of you, keep the definition of good and evil close to your hand and take note where they start to get blurry. What do you see?

[theaawalker]

Something to Feel, Something Real [Finnick Odair Smut]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x male!reader Song Inspo: Call Me By Your Name by Lil Nas X Word Count: 1,394 Summary: You've seen Finnick around, often through pitying eyes, but haven't spoken to him. The times you have seen, he's either with a client (flirting) or leaving them (shaking with shame, rage, and disgust). You decide to make him feel something real and mutually pleasurable. Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), emotional build-up, MxM, one-shot, begging, substance usage, cursing, narrator pov Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly) A/N: This is not attached to "I Promise", my other Finnick imagine. The second part will be here shortly. Just adding a little twist to the end. *smirks villainously* In the meantime, here's some gay smut to tickle your tentacles. Peep the easter egg tho ;)

You and Finnick have your first real conversation when he’s arriving back at the Tribute center one night after spending an upsetting few hours with one of Snow’s clients. He’s in a foul mood, anger bordering on despair and self-hatred, still feeling the ghosts of unwanted fingers on his body, when he steps into the elevator and finds you smoking a joint.

"Shit, shit!” you curse, hiding the joint up your sleeve and coughing, waving your hands in the air like you can disperse the smell. “Sorry, someone was smoking in here before,” you lie.

Finnick can’t help himself. He laughs. “Give me a hit and I won’t tell anyone.”

You share the joint in the elevator, not hitting any button to go up to either of your floors. The chatter comes easy with both of you, but it’s not long before you’re stepping over friendly small talk into a genuine conversation about the wild shit you’ve seen in the Capitol and in your case, at home, too. District 2 loves to rub elbows with the Capitol, something you despise. Your comparisons and imitations have Finnick barking laughter.

During one of the lulls in conversation, he takes in your face and form, basking in the fact that he’s responsible for the smile on your face right now. He’d like to get to know you better, and fuck it, maybe he’s a little horny right now, too.

“Come to my floor?” he asks, the joint between his fingers. He takes a slow drag, watching you.

You stare at his lips as he exhales. God, the high must be hitting because all you want to do is cover his lips with yours. Like, it’s the only thought rattling around in your peanut brain. His lips curl into a smile and--Oh, shit. He asked you a question.

“Sure,” you answer.

One expression Finnick identifies all too easily is lust. And he sees it plain on your face. “Then let’s go.”

Finnick leads you to the lounge on the fourth floor, well away from the bedrooms. The giant windows let in light from the Capitol’s nightlife.

“I miss the stars,” you say once you’re both settled next to each other on a loveseat. “It’s not like there are a ton of them back home with all the light pollution, but still. There are more than here.”

Finnick gazes at the dark sky. “You should come to District 4 sometime. You can see the entire Milky Way. And instead of listening to all those cars you listen to the ocean. And you can forget everything for a few moments.”

Despite the lounge being much, much larger than the elevator, this feels far more intimate. Finnick and you face each other, your eyes flicking to his lips. He’s the Capitol sex icon and has always acted like an absolute peacock on camera, but you’ve seen him trying so hard mentoring his own tributes and taking care of Mags. There’s a lot more depth to him than what the cameras show. And you like the bits he shows off camera far, far more. Those bits are coming out tonight; a funny, deeply caring, deeply hurt young man with a vast capacity for kindness.

When he came into the elevator, he looked positively miserable and so, so defeated. Like he had been stomped on and ground down. You wanted to make him smile, a real smile, but then you couldn’t stop at just one, and now here you are. You know about his and Snow’s “arrangement”. You also know you can treat him better than any of the “clients” do even when they’re trying, and you wonder if he’ll let you treat him like that.

Your intense stare has Finnick shifting, feeling a few degrees hotter than before.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally ask, voice low. If there’s one thing being a Career has taught you, it’s to grab at any opportunity you see. Finnick swallows. “Yes,” he croaks. “Please.”

You lean forward and capture his lips, one hand on the back of the couch and the other securely in your lap. You’re close and leaning into him, but not holding him. The restraint surprises him at first. But he’s grateful for it and he relaxes. He sinks into the kiss, his own hands venturing to fist in your shirt collar and hold you there. You let him lead, let him feel your arms and touch your face and chest, but never move your own hands from their position, just pour your all into your lips against his.

The lights flick on. You and Finnick snap apart like a rubber band snapping back into shape. It’s Mags. She looks between you both with wide eyes before a mischevious smile breaks across her face. “No, no, Mags,” Finnick protests.

She winks, grinning, and flicks the lights back off. She exits.

Finnick groans. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

You grin and wink. “Well, if you’re never going to hear the end of it, we may as well make it worth it, right?”

His seafoam eyes lock on yours, an eyebrow lifting. He smirks. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “I’d like to suck you off.”

All thoughts leave his head and all blood flows straight to his groin. For once, he’s speechless. No one has ever offered this before. All the people he spends time with want his attention on them, want him to fawn over them, wants him to boost their egos with his attention. And if they did off, he’d wonder what they want in return. Exactly like he’s wondering right now. He should ask, but his brain is too focused on the thought of your lips around his dick. Does he really care what happens after as long as he gets what he wants, first?

At his silence you withdraw. “Only if you want me to, of course,” you add. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he hastily replies. “Yes. I’d love you to suck me off.”

That affirmation is all you need. You kneel in front of him and slowly unzip his pants, revealing plain boxers beneath. Finnick watches you, his heart pounding. With agonizingly slow movements, you touch his length and guide it through the gap in his boxers. He grips the cushions of the loveseat as you lick up the underside of his member, from the base to the tip. Your tongue is deliciously wet. Finally, you take Finnick into your mouth and work him slow, slow, slow. One hand balls into a fist on his leg and the other slips in your hair. He moans, a low sound that barely reaches your ears.

You can’t believe no one has ever done this before. You’ve barely started, and he looks absolutely wrecked and so goddamned pretty. His head falls back against the loveseat and he lets out a shaky breath.

Fisting him, you take your mouth off to quip, “Have I made the Finnick Odair speechless?”

He huffs a laugh, meeting your gaze. “Just wait until I have you on your back and—oh.” His words end in a strangled moan as you suck his head. You ease him a little bit further into the rhythm before you deep-throat him. By then both hands tangle in your hair and he’s whimpering and trembling, muscles taut. “Fuck. Fuck.” It’s so warm, so hot, feels so, so good.

He comes shortly after, cock hot and stiff in your mouth, his entire body rigid. As he comes down from his high he melts into the couch, both his hands gently tugging at your head. “Get up,” he pants. You comply and stand, bracing your arms on either side of his head, and kiss him. There it is again, that restraint.

“Touch me,” he moans. “Please.” He might combust if you don’t.

You obey and cup his cheeks. His hands mimic yours, holding your face to his while you kiss. His stomach feels warm and body completely relaxed, for once completely in the moment, his brain pleasantly quiet.

He opens his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You press your forehead to his, cheeks hot. God, there’s so much you want to do to him, with him, but not tonight. “You can go to bed and get a full night’s sleep,” you answer.

What? He knows he heard you right, but what? “That’s not what I meant,” he says hesitantly. You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“I know.” You brush back a lock of his hair. “And as much as I’d like to fuck you or you fuck me and make out well into the morning, you taking care of yourself is what I want the most. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

Finnick can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I promise.” He feels almost bashful. How do you know what he needs? Beneath your soft gaze he feels vulnerable and open, and while it’s foreign, it’s not unwelcome.

You smile at him, a brilliant smile that lights up the night. “Thank you.”

You’re thanking him. You just gave him a blowjob and you’re thanking him. Who the fuck are you?

After exchanging a few more minutes of sweet nothings, you leave to head to your floor. Finnick stays on the loveseat a while longer, smiling, watching the twinkling lights of the Capitol. The content expression gradually falls from his face and he sinks into the reality that is his life. At least this has been a sliver of good in what is his constant parade of masking for the Capitol. Maybe he can have a few more of those slivers when you’re around. He’s certainly going to try to grab the chances when they present themselves.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[satisaranea]

thinking about the victors of district 12 and what food means to them. katniss cherishing whatever food she's had because of being in a constant limbo of hunger has starved her of the richness of it. appreciating her game and even more so capitol food despite her hatred for the place. cherishing the bread that peeta gave her both in the moment and forever then on because food is love to her, and it is the solution to hunger.

peeta bakes because he has a fondness for creating art, while also making something that can be consumed. not only it is the family business, but he finds a hobby and a safe haven in icing cakes, kneading dough, displaying rows of pastries and confectionery in the shop window. to him, food is comfort. and it is a pleasure for him to feed, to give, to sacrifice, whether through that simple personal toil of making food, or simply just giving himself.

haymitch however, has no pleasant ties to food. the times he's seen eating in the trilogy, it's small bites or nothing at all. his hunger is sated, but he starves himself as a part of his suffering (the alcohol, which is unwillingly,) and possibly as a sense of punishment. he is rich, and he lives a life where he doesn't have to question when or where he'll get food from. but he starves despite, whether from a general lack of hunger or a self-inflicted withdrawal to something that keeps the average person alive.

[burst-of-iridescent]

now that i've finished my re-read of the hunger games books, it’s even more baffling to me than before that people compare everlark to kat.aang when they are so incredibly similar to zutara.

a fundamental aspect of everlark’s characterization is that they are star-crossed lovers. and while it's true that that is a gimmick the capitol forces on them, it’s also a reflection of the reality that peeta and katniss were never supposed to fall in love, let alone make it last.

from the very beginning, the odds are stacked against katniss and peeta. their class division keeps them apart in district 12, and in the games you're naturally not expected to do anything but kill your fellow tributes. what peeta does in loudly declaring his love and respect for katniss from the beginning is revolutionary because it goes against everything he's been told his entire life. saying he's in love with her and valuing his life over hers is absolutely radical in a situation that forces you to prioritize yourself and dehumanize your fellow human beings. and this framing of love as resistance is something that repeats itself in zutara's arc, in the catacombs where zuko and katara reach out to one another against everything that tells them to do otherwise, and again in the final agni kai when zuko gives up everything for a girl he had been told was nothing.

they’re love stories because they stem, first and foremost, from love for your fellow human beings — especially in the places where it shouldn’t exist. love for a starving child from a lower class whom you’re supposed to kill. love for a weeping enemy who represents everything you were told to despise. both zutara and everlark are about the importance of unity amidst division, about coming together when the entire world is trying to force you apart. about looking at the person you're supposed to hate and saying no, i refuse, and reaching out in love, in compassion, in empathy instead because you understand that they're not as different from you as you were taught to believe.

and this carries on to the other theme that both ships represent: the need to break the cycle of violence.

one of the main themes that underlies each of these characters’ narratives is how easily (and even justifiably) they could’ve perpetuated the harm that was done to them. peeta, katniss, zuko and katara have all suffered without cause, and it would have been understandable if any of them had let that suffering twist them into vengeance and inflicted it back upon others. it would have been encouraged even, in the societies they live in, for them to unleash their rage upon those seen as deserving of it. to become like zhao or hama or gale or president coin. but what defines each of these characters is that instead of allowing their suffering to overcome them, they choose to help — not harm — others, even the people they would have every reason to hate. that’s why katniss and peeta refuse the chance to hold another hunger games with the capitol’s children, why zuko helps an earth kingdom town, why katara risks the invasion itself to free a fire nation village from tyranny. all of them have been victims of unjust violence and oppression, sometimes even at the hands of other victims, and that’s exactly why they refuse to stand by or be complicit as others suffer the way they did. both everlark and zutara are about looking at the darkest version of yourself, the person you might have been, and refusing to go down that road. to understand that you are more than what your circumstances make you into. to choose kindness over hatred, peace over war.

at their core, both ships exemplify the themes of love and unity and holding onto your humanity against impossible odds. but more importantly, they exemplify hope. the dandelion in the spring. the fire that means rebirth instead of destruction.

choosing to do better, be better, make something better, together.

[libertyybellls]

KILLS TO KNOW !

part one

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; set in his ways, finnick got the best of you- you’d forgiven him- but you are so quick to temper.

contains; ANGST, self hatred, insults, mean!reader (she got her get-back fr fr), if ykwim, manipulation, mentions of forced prostitution.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you and finnick had talked, briefly. you’d formed an alliance- it killed you like a disease. all for plutarchs plan of rebellion which had worked, except for peeta and johanna- oh, peeta and johanna

you felt physically sick seeing the young boy on capitol news, and to have the intuition of knowing what they’d likely done to johanna- it all made you sick.

katniss and finnick had been sedated upon arrival to district thirteen, you’d been much too preoccupied with the bullet wound in your abdomen to care. it seemed it was torment after torment after torment in the third quarter quell.

blood rain, monkeys, poisonous fog, and worst of all- after you, johanna, beetee, and wiress found the others after the blood rain and unfortunate death of johanna’s district partner, finnick looked at you with pity.

soaked in somebody else’s blood, frantically washing it off in the water whilst johanna gets it out of your hair, how dare he look at you with pity?

now here you were, in such an extravagant set of a hospital gown, unable to make any moves without the hawk eyes of a nurse.

it wasn’t until your curtain flew open- your hopefulness begged it to be news of a rescue but much to your dismay, it was only finnick.

he didn’t say anything, he just looked into your careless eyes and face that lacked its old vibrancy.

“they had to sedate me.” he doesn’t look too good either, his under eyes are grey and red- but what do you care, right? “they had to sedate me because i wouldn’t stop screaming for you.”

you had to bite back a snarky response, or bile- you didn’t know. “will you leave me alone if i tell you how much i care?” to you, right now, that wasn’t snarky. that was honest.

he only pinched the bridge of his nose- it seemed he’d purposefully locked himself out of your mind and couldn’t get the door to open again. “there’s so much i wanted to say, that i couldn’t. because i have cared, y/n. each and every minute since i met you i’ve cared and it didn’t stop after that night.”

you laughed- in his face. your ears must be deceiving you. there was no way finnick odair in his right mind had come to his knees and begged you to understand him? to reason with him?

“the capitol taught their darling well, i almost believed your act for a second, finnick.” you spit his name out- like fire on your tongue, desperate to have the word leave your mouth- it left a bitter taste. “if you came here to have me understand you- you’re four years late.”

you knew how to press his buttons, but he knew how to press yours too- how could you forget? it was the last thing he’d ever done to you- defile you at your most vulnerable- desecrate you when you had only ever beamed at him with pure love and adoration.

“i had to protect you, if only you’d let me speak you’d understand-“

“no! i don’t want to understand finnick! i don’t want to hear you speak or explain. i healed myself from the torture that is you. so i hope im not spoiling your glory or satisfaction from winning me over again, but i will not be left to put myself back together again because of you- i’ve lost the hatred and anger, all i am now is over it.”

you were right, he was a form of torture- knowing him was a dark sickness of death and pain- but he thought it would have been left in the districts- not here. he thought he could explain now- but you were utterly closed off at him. finnick held his pleas in- his wails of sorrow- all these years he held them in, all he had to do now was manage to snuff them out.

“things are different now.” he annunciated each word, made then sharp, made you really listen to what he was saying. “i’m not going to excuse what i said, or how i left you. but it was different then- we aren’t in the capitol anymore.”

you were confused at what he was insinuating, so you let him continue this time.

“it was the only way to keep you away from harm.” if by harm, he meant the life or death prostitution you faced on a monthly basis- then he’d failed miserably at protecting you- but you were wrong.

“i’ve heard whispers of what they’d make us do, y/n.”

us?

“snow had made his points very clear, i had two options but i made my own choice- i had to leave you.”

your eyes were burning into his, red brimmed and damp. you wanted to speak but the sinking feeling in your stomach suppressed it all.

there was something in his eyes, something you hadn’t seen since he held you all those years ago- kissing your forhead as the sobs wrecked through your body. the blood of kids your age still so fresh on your hands, heavy on your mind.

“i believe you.” it was all you could let out, you didn’t want to cry in front of him- you didn’t even know why this all hurt you so much. all these years you spent hating someone who had only done what he had done to protect you from him. you hated someone who already so deeply hated himself he let go of the only good thing in your his life to save it.

“it’s not your fault.” he reached out to you- hand running over your knuckles that lie in your lap. you don’t respond, your jaw is clenched and it doesn’t matter how long you’d been apart he can read you like an open book. finnick knows you’re fighting back tears, that you’re blaming yourself, you’re almost as self destructive as him. “y/n, it’s not your fault.”

he could repeat it all he wants but it won’t stop you from thinking it’s true, not now- maybe not ever.

but maybe he’d teach you how to forgive yourself- he who knows best than anyone. and maybe you’d teach him too. maybe you’d be help eachother heal.

-

masterlist

[inke-ri]

So I couldn't help but browse the THG tag bc those books own my whole heart. I actually check it now and again, and it's been interesting see how opinions have changed over the years, especially in regards to Gale and Peeta. Going through the evolution of them as just potential love interests to being far more complex than I could have expected has been a wild ride. Crazy how this reads different than from when I was a preteen.

That said, I wanted to give my unsolicited two cents on my boys, because though I have been enjoying the discussion on Peeta and Gale and what they mean to the story, I also feel like reducing them to Peeta = peace and Gale = war is far too simplistic... and oftentimes unfair to one or both of them.

See, I don't think Peeta and Gale are peace and war/destruction. They're compassion and indignation.

Peeta worries about the other tributes, or their families, or how to repay people like Rue and Thresh for what they did.

Gale is indignation at how the Capitol treats its citizens, it's anger at the injustice of inequality and brutality.

Both are needed in a story like THG. You can't have people like even Peeta not say something like "maybe we're wrong about keeping things quiet in the districts", you can't have him not drop the baby bomb, you can't start a revolution without Gale's indignation at the status quo. At deserving a better life but being denied it, at having your kids be mercilessly killed for literal sport.

However, if you start a rebellion and loose sight of your compassion, you end up no better than the people you're fighting against. Gale wasn't a bad person, imo. His heart was in the right place. He was flawed, yes, but so is everyone in this series. Gale, most importantly, lost sight of the line between fighting for the people he cared about and fighting against the people who hurt him.

Reducing Gale's indignation to just revenge and hatred ignores so much of what he stands for. Who hasn't seen laws passed that dehumanize people, who hasn't been angry and furious when someone is elected who fundamentally hates everything you are, who doesn't think some people need to pay for the atrocities they committed? There's a little bit of Gale in every single one of us - and it's important that it's there, because that's what gives us strength to challenge the status quo and make life better for the future generations.

But. You can't let it take over. You can't loose sight of your compassion or your empathy.

That's where Peeta comes in. Peeta is the voice in your head that worries about how many good lives will be lost when they give themselves up for this cause. Peeta is the worry about the people caught in the crossfire. Peeta is rebuilding when it's over and believing that the next generation will have a better life than your own. Peeta is being kind, even to people who may not deserve it.

And Gale... Gale looses sight of his compassion, and he doesn't realize it until it smacks him in the face when the bombs go off and Prim is gone and he's too far gone. Meanwhile, Peeta advocates for the end of the war even though it means the status quo remains - and regardless of what he believes himself, I don't think Suzanne chose him to say those lines by chance. It means both mindsets have their flaws: too kind and things that shouldn't remain will never be challenged and changed, too angry and you may loose sight of what you're fighting for.

And that's just how Suzanne uses her characters, both of them, all of them. Just look at who is with Katniss depending on the situation:

- Katniss chooses to "rebel" after Gale is brutally whipped. She kisses him.

- Katniss realizes that in order for D12 to rebel, everyone would need to be in on it, and she realizes most of them are not like her, that they're scared and she understands, emphasises with them. Peeta walks by her side.

- Katniss finally does it though, shoots the arrow at the force field, and Peeta is taken from her, it's now Gale by her side.

(You can't start a rebellion without indignation, and sometimes you HAVE to do it or things will never change, regardless of the inevitable pain that will come along.)

- Katniss is righteously angry at the Capitol bombing a hospital full of innocents to make a point. Gale remains there.

- Coin twists people's compassion into an army to fight for her own personal gain. Peeta is hijacked and looses his sense of self.

- Katniss and Gale go to District 2 and even though she tries to be like Peeta, she's still shot- reinforcing Gale's views, the person who was with her during that sequence.

- Katniss is angry at Snow, Katniss goes to the Capitol to kill him. Gale is there.

- Katniss gets in way over her head and realizes she is responsible for the death of most of her squad. She shares the lamb stew with Peeta, and later cleans his wounds.

- Finnick dies and she's at her lowest up until that point and all she wants to do is give up and give in to the anger. She kisses Peeta and begs him to stay with her.

... Claiming that Gale is destruction ignores the fact that he's with Katniss through her own moments of strength. Her desire to change things, to fight back, is as important as her compassion. Mockingjay just brutally shows you what war does to your indignation, to your compassion. How easy it is to cross a line between righteous anger and revenge, or how your sense of empathy and compassion can be manipulated into something monstrous by others, or by all the terrible, brutal, painful things you see.

How easy it is to loose yourself- and that goes for both of them.

Peeta and Gale aren't static characters, they go from representations of sentiments regarding an injust government to what happens to those feelings when an extreme situation such as war breaks out. All of that, by the way, while dealing with this duality themselves, because they are still characters who think and feel and struggle and have flaws of their own- and while I love what they stand for, I've seen too many comments that pin everything into what they mean, that they forget that Peeta and Gale are still people, they aren't perfect metaphors. They're human.

Ultimately, Katniss doesn't really choose peace. She wants peace, yes. But what she chooses is compassion. empathy. hope. There's a time and place for anger at injustice. There's a time when fighting back is the right thing to do. There are even times when you wanna give in to your despair and lash out. But if you want peace, then you have to choose Peeta, because Peeta represents what you need to focus on to achieve that peace. You have to let go of the anger or you won't ever rest. So Gale leaves, and does not come back... And yet, Katniss still has her moments of indignation, of making a stand, even as he goes - she still casts her vote at that meeting, she still shoots Coin. Katniss does not abandon that part of who she is. It's just not her main drive anymore.

So then she goes on to make the choice, every single day, to be compassionate to others. To have hope. To rebuild. Of course she chooses Peeta.

... Idk, man. These boys are so much more than what I see them so often reduced to. They're in all of us. There will be times to stand and fight, and times to show mercy and be kind. We just need to find that balance, as Katniss eventually did.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I followed you for your DNC 2024 commentary and the links to the PBS broadcasts. The DNC has been great this year! I have a special interest in US politics that stems from childhood and being brought to the voting booth with my mother, who hated W and wanted to vote against him.I’ve been watching all of the DNC livestreams on their official website, but the PBS broadcasts and videos on their YouTube channel are great for seeing them again.

Walz was amazing last night! I loved his acceptance speech! And I can’t wait for Kamala tonight! I’ve been sharing DNC 2024 highlights with my sister, who’s usually checked out of politics unless something big happens, but is incredibly excited for the Harris-Walz ticket.

Thanks, and I'm glad you've enjoyed my fairly off-the-cuff commentary, aha. I think we're enjoying the DNC so much not just because it feels like a rock concert, though it does, but because of all that pent-up fear and dread and anger and hatred that the Orange One has been so good at stoking and which we might FINALLY just be able to make go away for good. That is a powerful motivator and a beautiful dream, and I am going to do whatever I can to keep interest, enthusiasm, and hope for the basic task of saving America, at long fucking last, from Trump. It is hard but necessary and possible, and it must be done.

That being so, I am still holding onto the delightful notion that on January 21, 2025, having watched Kamala get inaugurated as the first female POTUS (having sailed to the Capitol on an ocean of MAGA tears), I will not have to post about politics on the blue hellsite for at least another 12 months. AT LEAST. In the meantime, though, we've all got work to do, and the last night of the convention is coming up tonight. I'm not sure it's possible for people to be MORE pumped, but I am eager to find out.

[spideyhexx]

I love how Coryo is all like "how does Sejanus of all people have a relationship before ME".

It's been a while since I read the book but there's a part I vaguely remember where he's kinda salty over the fact that Lucy had been in relationships before and he hadn't. So I can only imagine how pissed he would be if Sejanus managed to date someone before him, especially since it's a capitol!reader and we all know with Coryo's elitist mindset he's gonna be convinced Sejanus is not worthy of them.

yes I see this happening 100%

especially if Coryo also had feelings for you (capitol!reader) that he can't admit to himself so instead he just takes it out on sejanus and how could you choose Sej over anybody else (over him).

And I think he'd have this crush on you for a long while, but just not want to admit these feelings to himself cause he doesn't want to be weak. But because of this, he's a bit of an asshole to you. He's constantly bickering with you and teasing you and while there's some part of you that likes it and likes how handsome he is, you never imagine being in a relationship with him.

So when Sejanus comes along and sweeps you off your feet, you're like, this is what I'm supposed to be feeling, not whatever Coriolanus is making me feel. You and Sej fit together perfectly. You're one of the only ones who treated him with the utmost respect despite his background. You liked how Sej was clearly not after your money or your family's power. He was simply after you.

And Coriolanus hates it. He thought you were smarter than that. See, in his mind, despite his relentless teasing towards you, you would come to the conclusion that Coriolanus is the right person for you. So when he sees this not coming to fruition, he finds every excuse in the book besides it being him.

He thinks about how Sej is below you, below both of you. How upsetting it is that you may not advance in the capitol in the same way Coriolanus will, all because you fell in love with Sejanus Plinth and not him.

He'd begin to act even colder towards Sej. All of this bottled up hatred boils inside of him and it's bound to burst at some point if he can't keep himself controlled.

let's chat about coryo, sejanus, or both, here :)