#s; the hunger games

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Enki S Ending: God Blocking Gambit

[motherhenna]

Haymitch around the time of the 74th Hunger games--sort of a sequel to my 50th Games piece. Figured he'd be the type of guy to open every booze bottle with his teeth lol.

Bonus 2010 Haymitch portrait as a treat here

[nightlocked-in]

“peeta is bisexual” you guys are losing the vision. peeta isn’t even straight. katniss INVENTED sexuality for him. whatever katniss identifies as, he’s like “yeah, i’ll take that one” no questions asked

[littledovesnow]

fem!flickerman!reader x coriolanus snow

summary: basically if you were one of the 24 mentors in the 10th hunger games as well as lucky flickerman's younger sister and if you were dating coriolanus snow

a/n: shoutout to me not having a good title for this!!!!! wahoo!!!!!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: canon violence, the usual y’know?

---

“Coryo,” you gasped, locking lips with your boyfriend. “I need to be at Lucky’s soon for dinner. We can’t go any farther.”

Breaking the kiss apart, Coriolanus pecked your lips once more before sitting back on your bed, both of your chests heaving.

You smiled wickedly at him, leaning on your knees to look in the mirror if there were any visible marks, humming when you didn’t find any. “At least he won’t lecture me on protection and safe sex this time.”

Coriolanus choked on a laugh, grabbing his shirt from where it was discarded not long after you two got home from class. “Do you know why he’s inviting you and your parents for dinner?”

Shaking your head, you slipped on the outfit your mother had asked you to wear, watching Coriolanus in the mirror, smiling at him when he looked you up and down.

“He said something about a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I’m sure it’s something absurd like when he invited us all over to show us his parrot.”

“Oh, that was definitely an occasion for dinner.” Coriolanus joked. “You look beautiful.”

Accepting the compliment with a soft “thank you,” you lead Coriolanus out to the front of your family’s home, promising him you’d meet him in the morning before heading to Heavensbee Hall for the Reaping.

“See you tomorrow, Coryo. When we all celebrate the Plinth Prize.” You smiled, teasing him as he departed to the Corso.

---

You rolled your eyes as you heard your older brother trying to get his parrot to imitate your father, each of them nursing glasses of whiskey.

“What silly men, hopefully you’re the brains of the next generation.” You whispered, smiling when baby Caesar babbled as he watched his parents and grandparents gather around the table.

Handing the baby to an Avox, you took your seat next to your mother, acaross from your brother and his wife.

“So, what’s this news that you’ve invited us all over for, Lucretius?” Your mother asked, carefully cutting the steak that was prepared.

“I got the most wonderful invitation from President Ravinstill and Dr. Gaul the other day, regarding this year’s Hunger Games.” Your brother started, wicked smile on his face. “They want to try something new, something to attract more of an audience.”

“Wonderful news, son!” Your father clapped him on the back. The two of them loved being in front of an audience, so this was a dream come true for the younger male.

“They asked you to host? What are you going to do, follow them in the arena? Celebrate their deaths?” You asked, picking your jaw up from the floor.

It was no secret to your family that you weren’t the biggest supporter of the Hunger Games, so this news wasn’t something you thought should be celebrated.

“No, no.” Lucky frowned, hurt that you weren’t in support of him. “Well, frankly, I don’t quite know what they’re going to want me to do. I have some meetings this week with the President and Dr. Gaul, maybe Casca Highbottom if he’s sober enough to make them.”

Snorting, you raised your posca class to the latter half of Lucky’s statement, agreeing that your professor and founder of the Hunger Games tended to rely on morphling a little too much.

“Either way, we’ll be watching in support of you, Lucky.” Your sister-in-law smiled at her husband, causing you to take a rather large sip of the drink in your hand.

---

Coriolanus smiled at you as he met up with you on the front steps of the Academy, lending you his arm. “Good morning, love. How was your evening?”

You wasted no time in telling Coriolanus about your brother’s new resume-builder, keeping your voice low to avoid your classmates’ listening ears. The Capitol was a hive of gossip, and you hated every aspect of it.

“I can’t believe they chose the weatherman for the host.” Coriolanus shook his head, looking down at you. “What did you say when he told you?”

Knowing you weren’t the biggest fan of your family watching the Hunger Games each year, you sighed and plucked a glass of posca off of an Avox’s tray. “I just asked if he was expected to join the tributes in the arena, narrate their deaths and celebrate the winner.”

Coriolanus chuckled, gently guiding you to your classmates with a hand on the small of your back. “Come on, let’s see what Arachne is complaining about now.”

---

“Hey, listen you guys, I know there’s talk about it, but there’s no Plinth Prize today, not anymore.” Sejanus whispered to you and Coriolanus, guilt written all over his face.

“What?” Coriolanus asked, freezing at the news.

Before he could say anything else, everyone was ushered to Heavensbee Hall, top two dozen students taking seats in the front of the room.

Your hand was threaded through your boyfriend’s, thumb rubbing softly across Coriolanus’ hand, grounding him.

Dr. Gaul waltzed to the podium, icy eyes staring at each and every one of the students before she began her speech. Your mind drifted elsewhere after her mention of today being an “auspicious day.”

If there was no Plinth Prize, Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to afford University, wouldn’t be able to afford rent, meals, life. You had offered to lend him money for rent dozens of times, but both he and Tigris were too kind to accept it.

A gentle squeeze of your hand drew your attention back to the present, glancing at your boyfriend.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, listening intently as Dr. Gaul introduced Dean Highbottom, letting him announce the changes to this year’s Hunger Games.

Expecting it to be the announcement of your brother hosting, you felt the air leave your lungs when he mentioned a mentorship between the top 24 students and the 24 tributes. “The Plinth Prize will be awarded to the best mentor of the Games.”

“Well, surely the best mentor will be the one who’s tribute wins the Games, no?” Festus Creed asked.

“Victory will not be the only measurement we analyze for the Plinth Prize, Mr. Creed. You are to make spectacles out of your opponents, not victors.”

“What if I end up with a runt girl from one of the poor districts, like 8 or 12? They’re just going to die in two minutes like they did last year and the year before.”

Rolling your eyes at Arachne’s whine, you did have to admit that she had a point. Those with stronger tributes had a much greater chance to creating a spectacle out of of their tribute, thus a much greater chance at winning the Plinth Prize.

As the trumpets played and the screens were brought to life, you spared one look at Sejanus as you looked past your boyfriend.

Sejanus mouthed an apology when he caught your gaze, moving his legs to let Highbottom take a seat on the step in front of them.

You watched on the large screens as tributes were called district by district, cheers coming from your classmates as the first districts were announced.

Dean Highbottom looked back at you when he rattled off your name, announcing the male tribute from District 10 as the one you would mentor.

Coriolanus nodded once he heard your name, though you could see the nervous beads of sweat on his forehead, his name had yet to be called.

“Oh, you’ll like this Ms. Crane,” Highbottom teased, looking back at the girl. “District 12, the runt girl, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend, his gaze locked on the screen as he watched the girl who would be his tribute get selected.

Turning your attention to the screen, you were mesmerized when the girl veered off the path to the stage and dropped something down the back of another, squinting as the cameras just barely focused on the snake as it slithered out of the dress and off screen.

“What is that dress, is she some sort of clown?”

Arachne’s judgements and comments were background noise, as you and Coriolanus were both watching the girl as she commanded the stage, voice picking up as she began to sing.

“You can kiss my ass!”

Laugher broke the silence of Heavensbee Hall, and Coriolanus looked at you with a smirk on his face.

His tribute had succeeded at one thing, she was certainly going to be a spectacle for the Games. ---

That evening, you had stopped at your home only for a moment to change into something more casual, before meeting Coriolanus at the steps to his apartment, the two of you walking up the dozen flights of stairs to the penthouse.

“When I’m president, I’m going to get that ladder fixed. Perhaps glass walls to see the landscape.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s comment, thanking him as he let you enter the home before him.

“What are you thinking for your tribute?” You asked, smiling at Tigris and the Grandma’am as they welcomed you to their home.

Coriolanus shrugged, depositing his school bag near the door. “I need her to sing again. You saw her, she’s malnourished, underfed.”

You bit your tongue as you subtly looked your boyfriend up and down. He wasn’t one to talk on being underfed.

“Well,” Tigris said, pulling a chair out at the table and sitting next to you, both of you watching Coriolanus pluck petals off of the rose in his hands. “I wouldn’t sing for you if I was her.”

You stayed silent as the cousins argued, Tigris pulling out on top when Coriolanus gave up retorting to her comments, pulling you back into his room instead.

“What are you planning, Coriolanus Snow?” You asked, knowing the look on his face all too well.

“I’m going to meet her at the Captiol station when they arrive in town.”

Gawking, you sat with your legs crossed and watched Coriolanus change into his night attire, frowning at his visible ribs. “You’re going to meet her?”

“I am, you can meet your tribute if you come with.”

At the suggestion of meeting your tribute Tanner, you reminded yourself, you could get an edge in knowing him and figuring out to how “make a spectacle” of him.

“Well, it would be unwise for you to go alone, power in numbers and all that, right?” You asked, smile on your face.

Coriolanus laughed as he joined you on the bed, pulling the ratty, patched-up comforter over the two of you.

---

You stuck close to your boyfriend as you two approached the train station, Coriolanus moving to stand between you and the tracks.

“What time did the sign say the train would get here?” You asked, not wanting to stick around in this part of the Captiol any longer than necessary.

Coriolanus, who was fiddling with the long-stemmed rose in his hand, looked at the increasing number of Peacekeepers at the edge of the platform. “My guess is pretty soon.”

You two waited for only a moment before you heard the train approaching, both wincing as the breaks squeaked awfully loud.

The Peacekeepers paid the two of you no mind as they opened doors to cars, the tributes hopping out once they were able.

Coriolanus nodded over to your tribute, and you squeezed his hand before departing.

He watched you introduce yourself to Tanner, the boy looking nervous but thankful that at least one person in the Captiol was being kind to him.

Focusing on his own tribute, Coriolanus smiled as he walked up to Lucy Gray. “Welcome to the Capitol.”

He handed her the rose, which had been your idea at breakfast, and the girl plucked a petal off and stuck it in her mouth, mentioning it “tasted like bedtime.”

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” She said, gaze moving to you as you joined the two of them, wrapping your arms around one of Coriolanus’.

“Well, we shouldn’t be.” You smiled, introducing yourself.

The three of you couldn’t get too far into a conversion before Peacekeepers were shoving the rest of the tributes into the back of a truck.

“Let’s go with them.” You suggested, and Coriolanus shocked you by not putting up an argument. Perhaps the Plinth Prize lowered his inhibitions.

The two of you watched as the Peacekeepers went after one of the tributes who made a break for it at the rear of the truck, taking the opportunity to hop in along with the tributes.

Once the door closed, the two dozen tributes looked at you two like hungry animals.

“What’s wrong, in the wrong cage?”

Coriolanus pushed you behind him, replying that the cage they were in was delightful.

In the blink of an eye one of the tributes was up against the two of you, threatening to kill you.

“He’ll do it, too. Reaper killed a Peacekeeper back in 11.”

Your heart was in your throat, grip on Coriolanus’ uniform jacket tight as a vice, until Lucy Gray spoke up.

“You got family back home? You touch either of them and the Capitol will kill your family. Then you. Besides, blonde one is my mentor.”

At her comment, the tributes started arguing why Lucy Gray and Tanner got mentors.

Coriolanus explained that everyone did but was cut off when a back-up alarm started blaring.

The rear of the truck you were all in started dipping, and Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you and gripped on the edge of the truck, though it didn’t work too well.

Everyone tumbled out of the truck, a yelp coming out of your mouth when your knee collided with a large rock in the enclosure.

“You okay?” Coriolanus asked, dusting himself off as he stood up, worried gaze on you.

Nodding, you stood up, favoring your left knee. “Ow, maybe not 100% fine.”

Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you, taking most of your weight, and Lucy Gray frowned when she walked over to you two.

“Are y’all okay?” She asked, though her gaze was looking elsewhere.

You followed her gaze, face dropping when you saw your brother’s back turned to you, speaking into the cameras. “-in the gem of Panem? That’s an Academy rouge, no?”

Coriolanus looked down at you, knowing what was going on in your mind. “Lucy Gray,” he turned to the brunette, “would you like to meet our neighbors?”

Lucky persisted to get your attention, though when he realized who was in the zoo’s enclosure, his on-air persona faltered. “Wh-what are you two doing in there?”

You grunted as Coriolanus helped you to the edge of the enclosure, both of you introducing Lucy Gray. “Tanner, my tribute, he’s back helping his district-mate.”

“Are you okay?” Lucky asked, not listening while Lucy Gray talked to a young girl about her dress.

“I’ll be fine, Lucky. Meet Lucy Gray.”

Lucky, ever the showman, interviewed Lucy Gray, though you could see him watching you out of the corner of his eye, seeing you still leaning on your boyfriend.

Coriolanus, when asked if you two were told to hop in the enclosure, mentioned that if Lucy Gray was brave enough, you two were, as well.

“For the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray quipped, smile on her face.

Lucky saw the Peacekeepers approaching, nodding towards them. “Well, for the record, I think you two are about to be escorted out.”

You looked back to see the armed men approaching, eyes widening.

“Be careful with her!” Coriolanus commanded as you two were separated, the Peacekeepers not noticing your injured knee.

---

Due to your injury, you were permitted to miss the rest of the day at the Academy, with strict instructions to keep off of your leg for a couple weeks.

Coriolanus had gracefully brought your schoolwork, sitting next to you on the couch to discuss strategies for the Hunger Games.

“What in the gem of Panem was that circus act earlier?” Lucky asked, storming into his former home.

You and Coriolanus shared a look, having the same thought.

“Lucky, dear brother, they told us to make spectacles of the tributes. What better spectacle than us joining them?” You asked. “Nothing bad happened.”

Lucky looked at your face, down at your knee, and then back up. “Nothing bad?”

“Pfft, this is nothing, Lucretius. I’ll be fine in a week or so.” You waved off his worries, knowing between Coriolanus and your parents, you would heal perfectly fine.

“Now sit, tell us all about your plans to make the Hunger Games’ first host memorable.”

Lucky dropped into the seat across from the two of you, weaving tales about his plans to bring Jubilee to the Games, even though Highbottom despised the bird.

---

a/n: yuh i loved this i like writing w the reader being lucky's sister maybe perhaps a part 2 in the future!!!

[effieotto]

since we all agreed that we can’t rely on Katniss’s narrative to support or deny the relationship (romantic or not) of Haymitch and Effie. Our only way to know how they truly acted around each other -without Katniss’s blindness of how human interaction works influencing our judgement- is from how they were portrayed in the movies

And you will really look me in the eyes and say these two are not FUCKING EACH OTHER BRAINS OUT?

[inarmes]

always thinking about madge & the pin and how such a small symbol signifies so much. her aunt maysilee, who died within the arena in a game where the odds were so stacked against her. in a place where all was beautiful and sung with tranquility and yet looked to kill, every inch of the environment lined with poison. and how years later, her friend katniss burned a path so raging and bright that it eliminated the very games that her aunt had been killed in.

[pumpkinrootbeer]

a very uncomfortable thought ive had upon rereading the hunger games is the capital almost certainly timed the murder of haymitch's family to coincide with the cameras still being in district 12. we know snow wanted to make an example of him to use against other tributes, so imo snow would want the knowledge to be easily accessible. the only timeline we get for how long the camera crew stays with victors in their district post win is from katniss when she says they stayed "for several weeks", haymitch says his family was dead within two weeks of his return. they probably televised the funerals. ohhhhhhghghfjhfhfhfjjfjgjgkkgkfk haymitch prequel book when

[ellieslaces]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. one

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings: harsh language; violence; gore; class discrimination; usual hunger games/resident evil warnings

notes: please note this series will contain heavy themes of violence, gore, class discrimination, and torture. if these subjects trigger you, skip this series or proceed with caution; all the chapters will be super long, just be prepared

word count: 4.26k

now playing: enemy ; imagine dragons with JID

can’t catch me now playlist

the districts ; prologue

Spring had a poetic, two sided story. One of beauty and rebirth, flowers blooming in meadows, rain showers that brought rainbows to the end of a long day. But one also of death and destruction. Spring may as well be a double edged sword, one edge cutting away the dead to make room for the new. The other side a dangerous weapon to cut down upon that year’s newest crop of children unlucky enough to be Reaped.

Spring was a cautionary season, tales and preparations were made during the final months of long winter. Mothers being sure to hold their child close, fathers staying home from whatever jobs they were mandated a little longer in the mornings to get a glimpse at their children’s face before they went away for the day.

Though nothing could ever really prepare anyone for the possibility of their child’s name being called in the Reaping. No soothing words of how much they were loved and how strong they were would ever calm a child scared in their bones of dying — of killing. This was the reality of the Reaping Ceremony. A reality you’d been prepared for, thoroughly.

Since you were able to understand what the Hunger Games were, you’d been trained to survive them. Chris Redfield instructed you to hone your skills in combat, in knife throwing, in handheld weapons, in archery. You were skilled in just about every form of combat, of nearly any possibly thrown your way.

His sister, Claire, trained you to be smart. Not to fall for the similarity of berries, of mixing up plants, of mistaking the signs of infection, to fall into another Tribute’s trap. You were as prepared to survive any surrounding territory as you were to fight someone to the death.

Despite not really being allowed to train you as you weren’t a Tribute, the siblings did it anyway. They had no family save for each other. No parents, no other siblings. Just each other — and you.

Your crumbled, soaked form had been found by the pair when you were a mere eight. A ruthless school bully had taken your pack, jacket, and shoes. Leaving you in the rain on your way home from school.

They’d taken you home, cleaned you up and sent you on your way. It wasn’t until a few days later they realized you had no home. Not really, you were an orphan too, living in the local orphanage. So, they took you in. Despite not really being allowed to, they did. They loved you as their own family. And one of the ways they showed their love, was by teaching you how to survive.

Today was your final Reaping ceremony. Eight years of terror, eight years of worry for your life every time Spring rolled around. This was the final time you had to worry — if you were lucky. If you were lucky, you’d make it out alive, without being subjected to the horrors of the Games that the Umbrella Corporation were so proud of.

You’d heard the tales of what people witnessed — of what Claire and Chris had witnessed. Though they didn’t outright speak of their times in the arena, you’d watched clips of their Games. You’d heard rumors from the people who had seen their Games on broadcast.

The Mutts Chris had to take down by hand and sword to survive and become Victor. The horrors that chased Claire through the woods to push her and the final three Tributes into a cutthroat fight.

These were things you hadn’t experienced yourself, things you hoped you’d never have to experience. Things Chris and Claire prepared you for nonetheless. But even they knew — no amount of preparation could save you from the lingering fear of what you could see. The nightmares you’d have for the remainder of your life. The fact that every year, you’d be dragged out and forced to relive the past for the Capitol’s entertainment. And today was the final day they could ever even try to prepare you.

Your morning was spent as it usually was — an early breakfast and training. Chris had worked with you on your hand to hand combat, while Claire worked with you on your survival skills. Once training had come to a close, you were taken home to be prepared for your final Reaping.

There was no need for Tessarae, you didn’t need to put your name in more than the eight times it would be in the bowl. Chris and Claire provided for you, they never let you starve, never let you go without the things you needed. And it seemed comfort was one of those things.

“Don’t worry, your chances are low.” Claire soothed you as she and Chris walked you toward the square in District One. “And even if you are Reaped, you’re prepared.”

“I know,” you mumbled, nodding. This was the eighth time you’d heard this pre-Reaping speech from Claire. She said this every year.

“You’re strong, you’ll be fine.” And Chris said that every year too.

You appreciated their support, really. It was just hard to think about anything other than the possibility your life could come to a quick and brutal end in a matter of weeks if things took a turn for the worse today.

“I know.” You mumbled, again. And you did know. You were prepared, you were strong. You were all the things the Redfield siblings proclaimed you to be. Despite being the mere age of nineteen, you were a ruthless person, you had a human understanding of mercy, yes. But you also knew how to survive, no matter the circumstances. And anyone would be stupid to forget that.

Although you weren’t the only person who was given the opportunity to prepare for the Games longer before they were even Reaped. It was common in Districts One and Two for the children to be familiar with combat, with survival skills. Most Tributes ended up volunteering for the ability to compete in the Games. Many a sour face had come from the stage over the years a someone stole the Reaped’s chance to fight.

You’d decided long ago that if someone wanted to take your place and volunteer, you’d be happy to let them have your spot. Anything, anything to stay away from the Capitol. Or as far as you could, being from District One. But, being a part of the Redfield family — even if it was unofficial — you weren’t too far out of the Capitol’s reach. It would be the Games or your connection to the Redfield’s that would catch their attention eventually.

“We’ll see you after?” Claire’s voice brought you back to the present, her ever soothing tone causing you to look up at her. She smiled at you, patting your arms with gentle affection. “You’ll be fine.”

You nodded as Chris gave your bicep a small punch before brushing his knuckles along your cheek with playful affection. “We’ll break out that apple crumble tonight, yeah?”

His suggestion made you smile — even though you had luxuries being the family of District One Victors, they still tried to teach you some humility. They taught you to be human, to have compassion and sense and a heart.

“Okay,” you nodded, smiling a little as the pair left you in the lines to sign in for the Reaping. You watched them walk to the stage, greeting the representative from the Capitol who was sent to preform the Reaping — a short man with half shaved hair that was dyed a shocking orange.

The line moved quickly, it always did. The woman at the table pricked your finger, taking blood and registering your name to be entered eight times. Probably one of the least amount of times in the group of children here. You were ushered by the crowd to the section of fellow nineteen year olds, craning your neck for so much as a glimpse of Chris or Claire to soothe your nerves.

You were much different than many of the other around you. Some thrummed with energy, for the chance to swoop in and volunteer if they weren’t lucky enough to be Reaped. You didn’t want to be like them. You didn’t want to be a killer. You didn’t want to be another one of the Capitol’s playthings.

The video of Panem history began to play on the screens flanking the stage, the anthem ringing through the speakers. The sound of President Spencer’s voice echoed through the square with his grand speech of the relationship between the Capitol and the Districts. Peace, he called it. Compliance, he called it. No, it was control. But really, what was the difference at this point?

Once the film came to a close, the Capitol representative stepped forward toward the mic, his smile startlingly white and far too wide to be genuine. He tapped the microphone few times before clearing his throat and speaking.

“Good afternoon, District One, and happy 98th Hunger Games!” His voice matched his face — eccentric, high pitched, grating on the ears.

“Before you all claw up the stage to get your chance, I’ll start with the gentlemen’s names.” The man — whom you remembered was named Allium Copperhead — giggled at his own stupid joke before removing the mic from its stand as he shuffled over toward the bowl containing the boys’ names.

All you could think was how dumb Allium Copperhead looked trotting over toward the bowl. This was another example of the difference between the lesser Districts versus the Careers. Girls always went first, except in the richer Districts. Possibly an advantage, but not really. Boys were the most likely to try to volunteer, most likely to start a fight in the square to get their chance of glory and fame.

This particular part didn’t concern you — your name wasn’t in the boys’ bowl. And it wasn’t as if you had anyone to worry over. Allium reached his hand into the large glass bowl, his citrus orange nails grazing over the slips of paper before plucking one out and shuffling over to the mic stand once more.

“Our District One male Tribute is,” he purposely drew out the suspense, the square collectively holding its breath. This was his thing, suspense. Attention grabber — that’s what Claire called him. “Piers Nivans.”

A collective groan fell from each older boy’s lips as Allium announced who was the male Tribute. Piers Nivans was a bit of a prodigy amongst the District One boys. He was strong and level headed and ruthless as he was kind. Chris had trained him alongside you.

Piers didn’t seem all too happy though as he walked toward the stage. Chris’ eyes followed the boy, face set in an unreadable expression. But you could tell — he wasn’t ecstatic about this. No one dared to volunteer. Not because Piers wanted to be in the games. But because they knew Piers stood a better chance the any of them.

Once Piers had reached the stage and Allium shook his hand a little too excitedly, he took his stand on the right side of the stage, his eyes scanning the crowd. As if he were waiting for someone — anyone — to volunteer. To save him from this fresh new hell. No luck.

“Now, for the ladies.” Allium announced in the microphone with a giggled smile, practically skipping over to the girls’ bowl. If you hadn’t been so worried about your fate, you would have rolled your eyes at how childish this grown-ass man was.

But you couldn’t focus on anything other than the thousands of slips of paper in the bowl as he reached in and snatched one up. The square was dead quiet. You heard a girl to your right let out a sigh of anticipation.

The air was thick, the energy unbearable. Your heart raced in your ears, blood thrumming through your veins as Allium stood in front of the mic once more, unfolding the paper.

You almost didn’t hear him call out your name. Almost thought you were hallucinating. It wasn’t until he called out your name once more, all the people in the square turning to your direction that you realized you hadn’t dreamt it. You wanted to cry, throw up, beat up Allium Copperhead and claw the ridiculous make up from his face.

But you did none of those things as you braced yourself, walking up toward the stage. An entire desert ecosystem was born in your mouth as you walked up the steps to the stage. Claire and Chris’ sad gazes caught your eye. God, why’d they have to look at you like that?

You waited, prayed as Allium shook your hand — the feeling of his clammy hands against your own made you even more nauseated than before — for someone to volunteer. No one did. Not even that girl you’d seen before who seemed so eager for her name to be drawn.

No one would volunteer. Because while Piers was the boy prodigy of the District, you were his counterpart. You were the strongest girl in the District, the most capable of winning. Maybe even over Piers. No one dared to take the chance of winning the Games away from the Redfield’s top student.

You stood on the left side of the stage, looking out upon the crowd of children — some relieved not to be Reaped, others irked. How you wished you were able to go home, to not be sent away to the Capitol to kill and possibly die. Maybe, you wouldn’t even try. But you had to, you couldn’t leave Chris and Claire.

“Our District One Tributes, ladies and gentlemen!” Allium announced with a sickeningly cheerful smile. He waved a dramatic hand toward where you and Piers stood at opposite ends of the stage. “Oh, go on now! Shake hands.”

You turned toward Piers, ignoring the way Allium bounced on his heels — you wanted to rip his fucking vocal cords out so you’d never have to hear his agitating voice again. Piers held out his hand, and you took it. Being a good sport you offered a small, sympathetic yet understanding smile.

The irony, two of the strongest and most capable possible Tributes in the District didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to kill and hurt and fight to survive. Despite being molded to do just that. Despite being the only ones with a fighting chance.

You let go of Piers’ hand, turning back toward the crowd as Allium Copperhead made his final goodbyes. Thank God, he would finally leave you the fuck alone. Maybe dying in the arena wouldn’t be so bad if it meant never having to see this crack job ever again. The orange-headed man placed the mic back on its stand before gently guiding you and Piers toward the back of the stage.

Peacekeepers took you from there, offering you a chance to say goodbye to anyone you wished to see one last time. But you had no one, other than Chris and Claire who were coming with you. So, you denied the opportunity, saying you just wanted to go to the train.

Piers took his chance, bidding a sad goodbye to his family. They were proud of him to taking it in such stride, you could see that. And you could also see how they knew that this wasn’t something to be cheering for. These Games were ruthless and they knew that their son would either return a murderer or not return at all.

Peacekeepers guided you and Piers toward the train, standing at the doors as you both walked in one after the other. The train shook as it started up, before lurching forward smoothly. You wandered into one of the cars and took in your surroundings.

Yes, you’d been raised with a certain modem of luxury. But it was District level luxury. This was true richness. Velvet chairs, patterned textured wallpapers, smooth carpet, rich wood furniture. God, it was like they were flaunting it in your face. Which they were.

“Oh my God,” you heard Claire’s voice echo through the train car and before you could even look over your shoulder, she was rushing toward you and enveloping you into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” her voice was muffled by her face pressed into your hair.

“Jesus kid, you got the Redfield bad luck, huh?” Chris grumbled as he walked in, shaking his head.

Piers’ eyes ticked between you and the Redfield sister that held you, and Chris with recognition. It seemed he hadn’t recognized you until just now.

“Chris,” Claire frowned, scolding her brother as she loosened her grip on you to hold you at arms length. Her attention turned back on you, hands smoothing down the fabric of your blouse. “You’ll be fine, we’re going to do our best to prepare you. Both of you.”

“I know you will,” you nodded, offering your best attempt at a smile. Like you even felt like smiling right now. You looked over to Piers. “At least we’ve got the best of the best.”

“Maybe we’ll have an actual chance.” Piers mumbled as Chris walked over to him, clapping the boy on the shoulder roughly.

“We’ll make sure you have a chance. Both of you.” Chris nodded as he crossed his large arms over his chest. He gave an eye roll as a cheery voice was heard distantly from behind one of the close train doors. He let out a grumble. “Brace yourselves, here comes traffic cone.”

“Chris,” Claire scolded as she narrowed her eyes toward her brother. But before he could even think of defending himself, the automatic train door opened and Allium Copperhead skipped into the train car.

“My tributes!” The man cried with a grin, clapping his hands beneath his chin — which you just noticed had a patch of bright orange hair to match the half curtain of hair on his head — and paced over to you and Piers. “I am so proud of you two!”

You wanted to move away, but the man was deceptively quick as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and his other around Piers’ shoulders. He hugged you close, and you could see Piers physically cringe out of the corner of your eye. “I am going to be sure that your time in the Capitol is as enjoyable as it is productive!”

“All right, Allium, they’re overwhelmed right now,” Claire said with a gentle tone that held a bit of authority behind it as she raised her brows.

“Right, right! Of course,” Allium agreed cheerfully as he let go of the both of you. Which lead to you and Piers to let out a simultaneous exhale of relief. You watched the man’s eyes land on a television and he walked towards it. “We should watch the Reaping broadcast! It should be all uploaded by now.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Claire and Chris, silently begging for them to put a stop to it. The last thing you wanted was to watch your own Reaping ceremony. Chris gave an apologetic grimace as Allium flicked on the television with a small remote. It seemed to be preset to the Capitol broadcast channels.

“Come here, come here. Get comfortable. I’ll have some food sent in, you two must be famished.” Allium waved you and Piers over with a cheek splittingly wide grin.

Of course, you much be absolutely famished because you lived in one of the Districts. He had no tactfulness. But with Claire’s nod of approval, you slowly paced over toward the small semi-circle of armchairs and a sofa that proved betrayingly comfortable. You took a seat on the sofa, Piers beside you. And much to your disgust and discomfort, Allium took his seat on your other side.

Chris and Claire sat on the armchairs on either side of the sofa. “I know you don’t really want to watch this, but it’ll be a good way to get an idea of who you’ll be up against in the arena.”

Chris was already in mentor mode. He was leaning forward, his elbows propped on his knees as the Capitol anthem played and the Umbrella Corporation logo flashed across the screen. The Reaping ceremony of District One played first, your own Reaping.

God, did you really look like that? Like a deer in headlights on that stage? Piers on the other hand looked great. Strong and intimidating. But you looked weak, like you were about to throw up and pass out. Which you’d almost done both.

As your Reaping came to a close, Allium gave a swift — and what was supposed to be an affectionate — pat on your knee. He grinned at you, nodding as you gave a weary smile back and looked back at the huge television.

District Two’s Reaping played next, a girl with long blonde hair and bangs that covered one eye stood on the stage as she was Reaped — Rachel Foley, that was her name. She was eighteen and had a menacing look on her face. The boy that was called up was Brad Vickers, a nineteen year old with a stocky build who looked a bit too relaxed on the stage.

Chris had previously informed you of the Victor for District Two, Jill Valentine. He had warned you not to underestimate her as most people did. And despite having won her games years ago and fought to prove herself in the Capitol, people believed she was weak for the way she’d won her games. However, with the glimpse you saw of her on the screen during her District’s Reaping, you decided maybe it was best to heed Chris’s warning.

District Three’s Reaping was as equally uneventful as the previous two. Though you suspected the girl tribute — Cindy Lennox — to be an immediate target for violence. She seemed too soft, too sweet to be on that stage. The male Tribute, however, looked up to the task. Steve Burnside was tall and seemed confident enough to be able to get through the arena alive.

Their mentor and Three’s most recent Victor was Ada Wong, someone that you didn’t want to mess with, as Claire warned you. She was ruthless and clever and cutthroat as she was deceiving and alluring. There were rumors around the Capitol she had ways of getting information, secrets. It wasn’t ever clear if those methods were ones of violence or sexual advances. Though no one ever questioned much. She was too beautiful to want to question.

All you could think as you watched the District Four Reaping was how fucking unlucky these Tributes were. Ashely Graham was what was called a ‘sympathy win’ in the Capitol. Meaning someone had the means to send her enough sponsor gifts that she managed to outlive the other Tributes in her games. Though her two — Jessica Sherawat and Kevin Ryman — seemed strong enough to handle themselves, so maybe they had a chance. No matter how small. Because if Chris and Claire taught you one thing, it was never to underestimate anyone.

District Five was where things got a bit dramatic. There was a volunteer for the girl tribute, Caroline Floyd taking the place of a girl who seemed to be blind. Which, in your mind, was a brave and selfless thing to do. Until you remembered there was so such thing as selflessness in the games. Her male counterpart was Billy Coen, whom Claire later told you was suspected to be close to his now mentor, Rebecca Chambers.

District Six was boring, as usual. Tyrell Patrick — a tall man with kind eyes — towered over the female Tribute, Christine Yamata who seemed entirely unemotional. Their Mentor was praised to be somewhat of a genius, despite Chris promising he wasn’t. Carlos Olivera was as cocky and unthinking as the next Yribute who wanted to stay alive.

Things were quiet in Seven, Josh Stone and Sienna Fowler being the Tributes. Chris praised their Mentor though. Sheva Alomar, he said, was trustworthy and dependable. He liked her, you could tell. Other than Jill, she seemed to be the only one he favored.

District Eight produced the Tributes nineteen year old Karen LesProux — who was rumored to have married extremely young at seventeen and then killed her husband after he’d hit one of their children, but those rumors were quickly shut down — and sixteen year old Richard Aiken who looked to be young, but strong enough to hopefully carry his own.

Their Mentors — Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller — were rumored to be cutthroat and did whatever it took to make their Tributes survive. Despite knowing that Claire had an obvious soft spot for Sherry when she’d made a connection with her a few years ago, Chris warned you it was wise not to trust the Tributes from Eight. And something about the way they looked made you believe him.

District Nine’s Reaping was quiet and uneventful as Moira Burton — a fifteen year old girl who was scrawny as she was fearful — and nineteen year old David King — who refused to speak at all — were chosen. Their Mentors, however, were the topic of conversation. Ethan and Mia Winters. Many rumors circulated around the Capitol concerning the now-married couple. Apparently, Ethan Winters had pulled many strings to get Mia — previously Mia Jensen — out of her games alive. Most of the other Mentors had been bitter and they weren’t the most popular amongst the current pool of Victors. Except for Chris, who had a soft spot for the pair.

The Tributes for District Ten were named Bruce McGivern — a charismatic looking seventeen year old boy — and Fong Ling, who looked extremely intimidating for a fifteen year old girl. Their Mentor was somewhat of a flirt around the Capitol, Luis Serra. He was rumored to be similar to Ada Wong in terms of how he survived his life in the spotlight as a Victor. Sexual favors and the payment of secrets. He wasn’t bad to look at, you had to give him that.

The Reaping broadcast was close to an end as District Eleven brought forth an increasingly devastating Tribute. Twelve year old Natalia Korda was picked from the bowl and stood on the stage, trying her hardest not to cry. She seemed to have at least some last sliver of hope though as her male counterpart, Parker Luciani, seemed to want to try and take care of her.

Their Mentors were a mix, that’s for sure. Zoe Baker who seemed determined to get Natalia out alive, and Lucas Baker who was rumored to have lost his mind after his games. Another batch of siblings — God, the Capitol loved that.

Finally — and much to your relief — the District Twelve Reaping began. Chris and Claire had told you before of the Victor for Twelve. Jack Krauser. He was cutthroat and viscous and had a bad run in his games. He’d been chased through the jungle by Mutts, Mutts that no one knew looked like but were rumored to resemble his fellow deceased Tribute. So, ever since then, he’d been hellbent on making live a living hell for all of his Tributes. Somehow a twisted revenge on the Capitol.

His Tributes, however, caught your eye. Helena Harper, seventeen years old and volunteered for her younger sister. Noble, very noble of her. But it wasn’t Helena who caught your interest. Rather, it was the male Tribute.

Leon Kennedy — nineteen years old with golden hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. He looked mortified as his name was called, like he was wanted to drop dead then and there. You couldn’t blame him. Twelve had the least advantage. There were only around five Victors to come from Twelve in the history of the Games.

But there was something about him. Some innocent yet driven nature he had that made you lean forward in your seat, eyes glued to the screen. This did not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. Chris and Claire exchanged a look, Allium thought close to nothing of it. But Piers, he knew what it was. Fascination, the way your eyes widened and your focus never unwavering from the boy your age on the screen. The way he composed himself and took his fate with stride.

Something in you — all the survival instincts that Chris and Claire had put into you — it all vanished. And it was replaced by a lingering sense of fascination for this boy. And the need to make sure he made it out alive.

Even as the screen shut off and Allium mentioned something about having dinner served, you didn’t move. Not as Piers started up a conversation with Chris about what the arena may be this year. Not as Claire decided to come and sit beside you. You knew what was coming.

“What’re you thinking about?” She asked, looking at you as you sat on the sofa, eyes still trained on the blank television screen. She knew full well what you were thinking about. She wasn’t born yesterday. She just needed you to say it.

You sat in silence for a moment, pictures of Leon Kennedy running through your mind. He was from Twelve, you were from One. You weren’t supposed to mix. It was like oil and water. But, something about that boy drew you in. Maybe the kindness in his eyes that made it so obvious he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe the way he’d quickly recovered and took his Reaping with stride. But no, there was just something about him. He wasn’t supposed to be subjected to this.

With this on your mind, you turned your head, looking at Claire as she awaited your answer. You knew this confession would damn you, you knew it could be the reason you may die in that arena. But consequences be damned. You knew that you had to do it.

“I’m thinking about how I can get that boy out alive.”

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[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top: chapter 4

summary: Coriolanus returns home to the Capital with two women from district 12 plaguing his mind. One a (presumed) dead mystery but another well within his reach.

warnings: unco, dark!Coriolanus, possessive!Corirlanus, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, kidnapping, violence, somnophilia.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

S. lands on top; 4

Strabo Plinth was waiting for Coriolanus as he exited his university class. 

“Mr. Plinth, sir,” Coriolanus greeted, his voice carrying his annoyance. 

“Coriolanus,” the older man returns, placing a hand on Coriolanus’ shoulder and propelling him forward out of the crowd of his peers. 

“We haven’t seen you in a while. Mrs. Plinth was asking about you.”

“I’ve been busy, sir, with University.” 

More, in truth, with Mabel. 

“Of course, but perhaps you could manage dinner on Saturday night. We promise not to keep you long.” 

Coriolanus swallows his distaste. He hated being at the beck and call of district blood. Now that he was a Gamemaker, he earnt a decent wage and could afford to distance himself from the Plinths. But Strabo Plinth offered far more than money. He was a powerful ally to have in Coriolanus' corner.

So he smiles at the older man and doesn’t jerk from his touch. 

“Why don’t you and Ma come up to our penthouse Saturday? There’s someone I would like you to meet.” 

It would be a good opportunity to test Mabel’s training on people who don’t really matter.

Strabo seemed pleased with the news, and confirmed that both him and his wife would be there. He finishes his sentence with ‘son’ and Coriolanus couldn’t help but flinch. 

—--

With Reaping Day coming up, Coriolanus and the other Gamemakers were working overtime to get everything organized on time. 

It frustrated him to no end. Dr. Gaul had already set him an impossible target and now she was shortening the deadline. 

He had been forced to authorize a heavy hand with Mrs. Fox. Mabel’s hands were often red and sore from the cane by the time he came home, but her temper flared bright still. 

She was a dog with teeth and he was yet to get her to eat from the palm of his hand. 

She loved a challenge, but so did he. 

By the time he got home, the house was dark and quiet. Normally Tigris would sit up and wait but she wasn’t talking to Coriolanus much these days. Another problem that would be solved the second Mabel learned to submit. 

Coriolanus finds his way to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. 

He could see Mabel’s outline on the bed as he dropped his bag by his desk. He isn’t quiet as pulls his pajamas from the drawer, and heads to the bathroom. He hears Mabel move as he switches on the light in the bathroom, he turns back to see if she had woken. 

She had not but the sight before him struck a match. 

She was back in his top and underwear. Her soft hair seemed to shine with its new care and was sprawled around her. Long locks curled on her shoulder towards her breasts. She laid on her back as if she was showcasing her beauty to Coriolanus. Her neck stretched out to him as her head rolled to one side. Her legs slightly parted as one rested on the pillow she used as a barrier. Pretty pink lips and long eyelashes called out to him, taunting him, ‘You can look but you can’t touch’. But why couldn’t he? He owned her now. He was soon to own Panem. 

He drops his pajamas and crawls on the bed over her. She doesn’t wake from his presence, and he takes it as a go-ahead to unbutton her top. The cold air does wake her. She instantly knows what he’s doing and screams for Tigris. 

Covering her mouth with his hand, he brings his lips down to her ear, “Shh, don’t wake the house.”

She screams into his hand and he removes it to backhand her. She lets out a moan of pain, but nothing more. 

He is rougher with his movements, yanking the shirt off her shoulders and pulling her up by the neck to get rid of it completely. He uses both hands to pull her pants off her ankles before returning. 

“Get the fuck off me!” she yells and he covers her mouth once more. 

“You’ve cost me quite a bit of money these last few weeks. Your governess, the peacekeepers, food, chocolates.” 

His hand lowers to rub circles over her sex. 

“You should really thank me.” 

Her hips buck at his touch. She was no virgin and knew of the release Coriolanus was offering. 

He presses his lips down against hers harshly. It was their first kiss and it was intoxicating. She doesn’t kiss back but makes no move to hinder his kiss. His hand goes back over her lips when he’s done and he undresses himself one-handedly. 

He tries not to hurt her as he clumsily tears his clothes off but as she wiggles and fights under him, he is forced to press her back into the mattress with his elbows and knees. 

He presses his naked body down on Mabel to stop her from wiggling. His strong fingers grip over her mouth and her nails claw into his shoulders, trying to hurt him. 

“Put your hands on the headboard,” he demands. 

She brings them up to his neck and digs in. 

“Headboard,” he repeats with a firm twist of her hair. 

She does put them up, curling her little fingers around the rich material. 

One day, when everything was settled, he was going to take his time exploring every inch of Mabel. But for right now, he just needed to reach the end goal. 

He inserts a finger into her to pleasantly find she was wet. His eyes darted up to her at the sensation. 

She had chosen to close her eyes. He takes it as another victory. 

He breaches her entrance with his finger but never fully enters. Just pushes his finger back and forth. 

“Let see, your governess is on a thousand panem an hour and you districts make only one panem an hour. Add that to all the chocolate you eat, and well, you’ll be laying down, taking my cock for a while to come.” 

In anger, she lowers her hand to give his curls a harsh pull. He slaps her thigh in retaliation. 

“Keep your hands on the headboard.” 

She places them back on the headboard.

He used to imagine sneaking out the back of the Hob with Mabel like he watched her do with so many other men. This was better. 

She tossed those men aside when she was done. Never to be spoken about again. 

Here, the only man who would touch her would be him. 

He lines himself up with her and pushes himself as far as he could go. She arches her back at the feeling of him inside her. With a hand over her mouth, he begins to thrust into her. He could feel her lips part under his hand in quiet moans. She used her feet to push back at his hips but it was a half-hearted effort at the least. 

He reaches up to the headboard and clamps one of his hands down on hers ensuring that it stays there. His thrusts are hard and fast.  

He hits a particular spot and her hips buck. 

“You like it there?” he targets the same location. Her hands grapple the headboard almost as a praise. 

“Bet those boys in 12 never fucked you like this. Never gave you the proper attention you deserve.” 

She said something into his hand but it was muffled and surly from her lust. 

Her breathing hitches as the pleasure builds, he can feel her little puffs of air fall on the skin of his hand. Giving her the full treatment, he lowers his hands and rubs two fingers over her clit. She jumps and whines from the attention. It was better than any song Lucy Gray ever sang. 

Between his thrusting and his fingering, she came within seconds. 

He lets out an unintended moan as she clenches around him. Her fight returns as her orgasm is flushed from her and she begins to wiggle underneath him. 

He barrows down again in retaliation, so she was forced to lie there and take it. He shows her mercy by taking away his hand and using it to hold her hips in place.

“You’re used to taking charge, aren’t you? Once you’ve had your fill, you would toss them aside without theirs. Rude girl.” 

She throws her head back and his hand follows as his thrusts become painful. When she lowers her hands to his arms without permission, he doesn’t mind. 

His head spun. For the first moment since childhood, he was living in the present and not plotting and scheming for the future. 

Heavy pants accompanied his thrusts as the hard and fast movements worked his body.

He lowers his head to her neck as he feels his end coming. The position meant his lips were pressed against her collarbone as he came inside her. His hips buck weakly a few times at the end to ensure that he had fully emptied himself. 

Coriolanus rolls off her and into his side of the bed. 

She lays there as Coriolanus’ cum drips out of her, deathly still while he pants breathlessly. 

She doesn’t say anything as she rises and takes Coriolanus’ shower, slamming the door behind her. 

The next morning he rose in good spirits. After so long he finally got a taste of Mabel. He was right to say she was addictive. Still, he didn’t want children running around his feet. He had only just got her. He rang down for Profeous, a pill that worked within a 24-hour time frame to ensure that nothing stuck. 

It was delivered with his morning paper. Mabel was still not up yet. He doubted she went to sleep until the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t his problem, he needed her to get up now, take the pill, and have some breakfast. She could nap later on. 

He brings her the pill and a cup of water. 

She lay curled into a ball on her side. He shook her until she unrolled herself. 

She sat up, with her eyes stuck together from sleep. She won the battle against them and looked at Coriolanus sitting on the end of the bed. 

“Good morning,” he greets, holding out his palm with the little white pill. 

“What is it?” she asks. 

“It’ll stop you from getting pregnant.” 

She snatches it off him and downs it without water. He places a hand on her shoulder as he leans over to place the cup of water on the bedside table. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she brushes his hand off. 

“You didn’t seem to mind me touching you last night.” 

She glares at him with a fury that doesn’t suit her beauty. 

“That had nothing to do with you.” 

“That had everything to do with me.” he cockily replies. 

“It’s a natural reaction. God's gift to any man who can find the clitoris.” 

She takes the water off the table and gulps it down. 

“I knew you were going to,” she admits softly. 

“Well, you’re not stupid”. 

“So that’s how it will be now? It’s begun.” She rested her head against the cool glass as she spoke. Before regaining herself and placing the glass bedside table, forfeiting her comfort in an effort to seem more put together. 

“Sex doesn’t scare me,” she remarks. 

“It’s not supposed to.”  

“You can’t use it to break me.” 

He places a hand on her thigh in comfort. She tenses under it but doesn’t move it off her to show him that intimacy couldn’t be used as a weapon. 

“Mabel, your life here can be comfortable or it can be very uncomfortable for you. Sex can be something enjoyable for both of us, or it can just be enjoyable for me. You can have food and clothes and as much chocolate as you can eat.” 

“So long as I open my legs,” she had a habit of interrupting him that he had yet to break. 

“And keep your mouth shut.” 

He gets up from the bed, shoving his hands in his pocket and standing above her. 

“There’s a dinner on Saturday night where you will be presented to the Plinths. A trial run for you to show me that you can learn your place here in the Capitol.” 

“My place as you captive,” she bit. He yanks her chin up to him, 

“Your place as my pet.” 

She glares at him. 

“My little lap dog,” he mocks, releasing her.

Intimacy didn’t scare her, the loss of independence did. 

—————-

Coriolanus spent his Saturday completing an assignment that wasn’t due for another two weeks. But the quicker he got school out of the way the more he could focus on Mabel. 

He hid at his writing desk, penning the paper while Mabel sat with Tigris in the living room sewing.

He had left the door open to hear any commotion but he only heard laughter and the occasional scolding of Grandma’am. 

The night was fast approaching and he still had to organize the meal for tonight. Despite being district, Strabo had particular tastes that he demanded to be catered to. 

He sighs as he places his pen back in its holder. Two assignments down, four to go. 

Coriolanus rises from his chair and heads to the living room to organize dinner with the chef.

Mabel paid him no mind as he entered the room. She makes a point to not look at him but continue her sewing as if he wasn’t there. 

He plays the same game as he continues his way to the kitchen and calls down for the chef to be brought up. 

While waiting in the living room for the chef, Coriolanus calls for Tigris. Mabel doesn’t turn at the sound of his voice but Tigris scurries over to him. 

He produces two tickets from his pocket and passes them to her. 

“I’ve made dinner reservations at the Venezia at 6 and requested a lounge with Pluribus at his nightclub for after the Opera.”

“Opera?” Tigris checks the dates of the tickets, “Tonight!”

“For Grandma’am and you”. 

She eyes Coriolanus suspiciously. 

“I’m not so sure, Coryo.” 

“Mabel will be fine here with me.”

“She’s been funny recently. Quite. I don’t think I should leave her.” 

“You leave her every day, Tigris, when you go to work,” he flicks the tickets in her hands, “Besides I’ve already told Grandma’am that you’re taking her.” 

There’s a knock at the door from the chef and Coriolanus pats Tigris on the shoulder as he leaves. 

He passes the living room, crossing directly where Mabel sat but she still refused to look at him. 

—----------------

Coriolanus digs in Tigris’ closet while Mabel was taking a shower. No dress was up to his standard. He wanted something that let Mabel’s beauty speak for itself. Tigris hid behind her clothes. They were all too colorful. Too eccentric. Nothing Mabel wouldn’t drown in. 

His hands went still over a simple black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline and small cap sleeves. He takes it for Mabel along with Tigris’ makeup bag off her vanity and brings it to his room with the dress. Still hearing the shower running, he leaves the items on the end of the bed and joins Mabel in the shower, leaving a trail of clothes as he strips. 

She gives no reaction to him. Showers together were a regular occurrence. 

He picks up the scented soap and lathers it over her body. 

“I’ve put a dress on the end of the bed for you. And some makeup. Do you know how to use it?”

She grabs the soap off him and distances her. 

“We had makeup in District 12.”  

She goes to pass him out of the shower but he catches her arm and pulls her back under the stream. 

“Nothing clownish. Keep it simple. And mind your manners tonight. Plinth doesn’t take disrespect easily.”

Coriolanus leaves the shower first to prepare himself. He brushes and dries his curls into submission. Rubs an expensive cream into his skin to give it a healthy, glowy look and then hunts in his closet for something to match Mabel. He knew he had a black suit that had dark patterned printing on it. But amongst his many clothes, it was difficult to locate. 

When he finally locates it, Mabel had already dressed and begun styling her hair and makeup. He could hear her behind him as he then went to find the perfect pair of shoes to match. 

She hums as she does her makeup, finding joy in once again dressing up.

It was nearly time for the Plinths to come up from their apartment just below. They had brought the floor below the penthouse to stay close to Coriolanus after the death of their son. They latched on to him quickly when he returned home. Replacing the hole Sirjanus left before it bled too much. At first, Coriolanus relished in the attention and the money. But as he rose in society, they got in his way more often than not. 

While Strabo was often an ally, one that Coriolanus was surprised to find had a lot in common with, Ma was a hindrance. Her outdated fashion despite her money, and her babying of Coriolanus in public made it almost not worth the connection to her husband. But all people still had their use. She had brought him the suit he now wore. 

The jacket buttoned upon his right shoulder, giving the suit an almost military feeling. 

He turns around to see Mabel putting on her red lipstick using a small standing mirror. She looked stunning. Her dress was tight upon her body, exemplifying her curves and pushing up her small breasts. She pinned her hair up in a loose bun and followed his instructions on the minimalistic makeup.  

His breathing hitched looking at her. He thought she was beautiful as district scum, he had no idea how beautiful she could be as a Capitol debutante. 

She catches him staring in the mirror and tosses her lipstick down. 

“They’ll be here soon. It’s custom to wait in the living room.”

She rises and spins for him.

“Happy?”

“You look fine,” he dismisses but a glint in her eye tells him she knew how good she looked. 

The doorbell rings as soon as they reach the living room.”

“For a party of a higher standing, we would have servants answer the door. Being as the Plinths are close family friends, I will answer,” he spoke as he walked to the door. 

As soon as it opened, a short woman in a dark green skirt suit popped in. 

“Coryo!” Mrs. Plinth croons and he bends down to her level so she can plant a kiss on his cheek, “We’ve missed you horribly!” 

“I’ve been busy, Ma. With school and work.”

“You mustn't work too hard,” the older lady looks concerned at Coriolanus' schedule. Her eyes softened at his before they caught Mabel out of her peripheral vision.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Plinth had not told her about the special someone Coriolanus wanted them to meet and was surprised to see Mabel standing in the living room. Mr. Plinth smiles as he lingers behind his wife, holding a plate of food. It was a pleasant surprise, one that he knew would make Ma happy.

“Hello,” Mabel greets politely. 

Ma was happy with the surprise, grinning from ear to ear as she walked towards Mabel. 

“My, aren’t you pretty!” Ma compliments. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Mabel returned humbly, “I’m Mabel.” 

Ma pulls Mabel down into a hug, “I am Ma. You can call me Ma!”

Mabel instantly warmed to Ma the same way she warmed to Tigris. Still, Mabel had not passed any test. Impressing Ma was hardly a feat. 

Strabo follows Coriolanus to the living room and holds out the hand that was not carrying a plate. It engulfed Mabel's entire hand as they shook. 

“Strabo Plinth.”

Mabel nods her head back. Coriolanus noticed an instant shift in her demeanor as he approached. 

Her sassy mouth shut, her shoulders dropped, and she kept her head slightly down. 

Coriolanus felt jealous that he did not have the same effect on her. He wondered if it was Strabo’s dark features or large frame that he did not have that produced such a result. 

“Coriolanus never mentioned you.” He could see Strabo drinking Mabel in. He eyes her hungrily as he stands next to his wife. They cloud with darkness, and Coriolanus feels a certain pride. He had what others wanted. The boy in the too-tight shoes came out on top. Snow came out on top.

“He never mentioned me to me either.” Coriolanus’ fingers balled into a fist at her jab. The Plinths looked perplexed at her answer, sharing a glance between them. 

“Can I take that?” Mabel quickly moves on, taking the plate out of Mr Plinth's hands. She uncovers the cloth wrap and looks up in excitement. 

“Are these rock cakes?”

Mrs Plinth laughs, “Yes. You know them?”

“My mother makes them for every birthday.”

Mrs. Plinth looks fondly upon the girl, “My mother used to as well.”

“I’ll put these in the kitchen for later.” 

Coriolanus grabs her arm to stop her from going. Her first fail of the night. 

“Ring the bell and have the maid come out. You don’t enter the kitchen when guests have arrived.” 

Mabel huffs but does as she is told. “There are so many rules in the Capitol. It’s hard to keep up.” Mabel talks squarely to Ma who stands surprised. 

“Yes,” she agrees in a soft voice, “I had trouble at first too.”

“You’re not Capitol?” Mr. Plinth cuts straight to the chase. 

“You’re not Capitol?” Mabel shoots back. 

“Yes,” Ma answered at the same time as Mr. Plinth answered “No.” 

“No,” Mr. Plinth reiterates, “Not anymore.”

Coriolanus finds this time to intervene, “The same is to be said about Mabel.” 

He snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him. 

“Mabel lives here now. In the Capitol.” 

The maid enters the room and Coriolanus takes the plate off Mabel and passes it to her. 

“Bring it back out with dessert,” he instructs. She bows in response and takes back off into the kitchen. 

“Goodness, what a surprise,” Ma couldn’t hide the look of shock off her face.

“Coriolanus, perhaps it is best if we continue with dinner.” The man puts his hand on his wife's back and urges her forward. She sits at his side and Coriolanus follows suit, pushing Mabel to the table. 

He rings the bell and the first course is brought out. Mabel smiles at the familiar maid but it is not returned. 

“What district are you from?”

“I told you before that we are not district.” Strabo had started to eat his meal and did not look up as he spoke.

Ma sighs answering the question, “We are from District 2.” 

“Oh! I went there once with my father. When they needed workers for the railway developments.”

Just as Coriolanus went to reprimand her, Strabo slams his fist down on the table. 

“No more talk of districts. Eat your food and be quiet.” 

Coriolanus could see a glimmer run across Mabel's eyes. He hoped she could contain it before she embarrassed him. 

“So Coryo,” Ma began, “How’s school going?” 

“I hear you're top of the class,” Strabo added. 

“Yes, sir. Although there is not much competition. Most of the students pay for their place in the university rather than earn it.”

“Have you made any friends yet?” Ma often got Coriolanus confused with Sejanus. Coriolanus was friends with everyone, or at least enough to be able to call upon them for a favor. However, if he said yes, it would start a line of relentless questions. 

“It is difficult with work. I miss a lot of the social events, and I often leave straight after the lecturer has finished.” 

Ma looks upon him with undeserved sympathy. The maid returns from the kitchen with champagne and pours out the glasses. 

“How is work going, Coryo? Dr. Gaul is not too hard on you, I hope.” Ma asks almost meekly. 

She hated that he had followed Dr. Gaul as a  Game maker. She tried for months to pressure Coriolanus into the family business, but he needed to separate himself from the Plinths as much as possible. 

Coriolanus smiles politely back at her, “Fine, Ma.” 

“Oh that’s good,” she answers, taking a bite of her entree. 

“You know, you don’t have to study and work. If you want to focus more on your studies, we would be happy to increase your allowance.” The Plinths had offered several times, to the point the conversation had become dull. 

His allowance was far more than he could spend anyway. He worked to separate himself from the Plinth fortune. One day because of his work and education, he would be president. 

“I like the challenge,” Coriolanus contends. 

“What do you do for work?” Mabel asks. He realized that Mabel doesn’t know a thing about him. 

Coriolanus hesitated to say ‘Gamemaker’. She was in a relatively settled mood. It was sure to disrupt that. 

“I work for Dr. Gaul,” he says instead. 

“Doing what?” she pushes back.

An awkward silence crosses the table.

“Oh, something bad.” she guessed. 

“Mabel, we are having dinner. Eat it or I’ll take it back.” He reaches out under the table and squeezes her thigh in warning. 

“Mabel, what a beautiful dress you are wearing.” Ma was trying to save the night and Coriolanus mentally thanked her for it. 

“Thank you, Ma. So Coryo, do you kick puppies or rip blankets off sick children?”

Coriolanus passes Mabel's plate back to the Maid waiting by the wall to serve drinks. She takes it from him and returns it to the kitchen. 

Strabo gives Coriolanus a head nod of approval. 

Ma clears her throat, “Truly a beautiful dress. Is it one of Tigris’ designs?” 

Mabel nods her head.

“You look fantastic in it.” Strabo comments. 

“And what do you do Mr. Plinth? To earn such respect from Coriolanus?”  Mabel ignores his compliment.

“I am a weapons manufacturer,” Strabo eats quickly. 

She turns to Coriolanus with a glare, “What do you do?” 

“Ma,” Coriolanus ignores her and focuses his attention on his guests, “How’s volunteering at the hospital?” 

Mabel stews over what it could be. While Coriolanus stews over Mabel’s conversation etiquette.  He could not have her talking like that in front of Dr. Gaul, she would be sure to demand Mabel’s tongue. 

He takes her wrists in a tight hold as a warning as he eats and listens to Ma prattle on. 

The first course was done and the plates were cold and empty as Ma finished her tales of working in the hospital. 

Coriolanus offers her a smile as he rings the bell for the next course. It was ready and waiting, coming out almost as soon as the bell was heard. 

Mabel’s servant friend goes to place the dish in front of her but Coriolanus waves it off. 

Mabel looks at him annoyed but doesn’t say anything. Neither do the Plinths. 

They eat in silence while Mabel sits looking at them. 

There was no bread on the table for her to even pick at. 

“Hm, this is good,” Ma tried to break the tension but her cheeks flushed at her words, “Oh I am sorry Mabel. I didn’t-” 

Mabel laughs as if she thought it was funny and Ma unshrinks from herself. 

Her laughing sets the mood of the night back on track and Coriolanus mentally praises himself for making the correct choice to withhold dinner from her. 

Polite conversation passes around the table. Mabel even uses some of the questions and responses learned from her governess. 

He felt proud of his girl. Maybe she would impress Dr. Gaul on reaping day. Maybe Coriolanus was ready to be hailed president of Panem. 

The servants come back and the girl holds the dish of the balled sugar bread known as rock cakes. 

She was silently asking if she was to put it down. 

Coriolanus stares still deciding. 

“Oh Coriolanus, surely she can have dessert. She said rock cakes are her favorite.” Ma pleads. 

“Don’t spoil the girl. She still has lots to learn.” Strabo interjects. 

The decision lay with Coriolanus who allows her to have just one. 

She looked pleased with the decision and it helped to settle her into a better mood. She ate with her hands which would have earned a scolding from Coriolanus if Ma also wasn’t forgoing her utensils. 

He and Strabo choose the cheesecake on offer. 

“If you're free any day Mabel, you should come down to our apartment and I’ll show you how to make them.” 

Mabel perked up at the news but Coriolanus was not pleased with the offer. 

“Maybe once Mabel has settled.” He was quick to respond before Mabel could accept. 

“Oh, of course. There is no rush.” 

Mabel quickly finishes her cake and reaches for another from the plate in the middle. Coriolanus intercepts it and throws it back. 

She huffs but accepts he was serious about only allowing one. 

Strabo finishes his last bite and snaps at the wait staff to take it. 

“Strabo!” his wife chastises.

Another maid brings out a tray of tea and places it in the living room. She takes a small silver box off the tray and brings it over to Coriolanus. She opens the box in front of him showing the cigars. 

He turns to Mabel explaining, “You and Ma will go to the living room now to have tea. Mr. Plinth and I will have our cigars, and join you later on.” 

“I am not one to argue.” Mabel jests, holding out her hand across the table for Ma, who gladly takes it. 

The women were happy together in the living room where the conversation was lighter. Mr. Plinth had moved to take Mabel’s seat next to Coriolanus so they could talk privately. 

“She’s gorgeous. I can see why you sent for her.” Strabo comments. 

“She knows it too. Far too sassy for her own good”. He felt this information was safe with Strabo. 

“Yes. I picked up on that. She needs a strong hand.” 

“Well I am trying, sir, but it’s a fine line between dampening her spirit and extinguishing it completely.” 

Strabo flicks the ash from his cigar into the tray, looking solemnly down at it. 

“I always wondered what would’ve happened if I got Sejanus a woman, if maybe it would’ve refocused his attention,” his eyes flick back to Coriolanus, “A woman like Mabel would have done him wonders I think.” 

Coriolanus felt jealous at just the thought. Sejanus wouldn’t have been able to control Mabel. She would have ended up the family’s avox, eating Ma’s custard. 

But verbally he agreed with Strabo. 

The talk changed to new developments in weaponry and Coriolanus’ teachers that Strabo knew. 

The cigars finished before the tea. The women were too busy talking to finish their cups. 

Mabel had no trouble in conversation with people she deemed worthy of it. 

The men join the living room conversation. 

Strabo went to stand behind his wife and placed a loving hand on her shoulder. 

After Coriolanus poured Ma another cup of tea, he copied Strabo by standing behind Mabel and placing a hand on the back of her neck. She jumps away from him. 

It was not a good look in front of the Plinths and Coriolanus wanted to smack her for embarrassing him but he restrained himself. 

Strabo took it upon himself to compel Mabel into a better attitude. He moves from his wife towards Mabel. 

Strabo takes her shoulders into his hands and rubs up and down her arms. 

“I know how scared you must be. Capitol life can be a tough adjustment. If you ever need anything to help you here. You just let us know.” 

Mabel tore free from his hold, a look of disgust upon her face. 

“Help? From a man who killed his own people for scraps at the Capitol table? I’d rather lay with dogs than take that company.” 

Coriolanus groans at her words. Strabo Plinth was not a man to cross. 

“Oh!” Ma had a hard time with the subject of money and how they required theirs. Her eyes filled with tears and she choked as her throat closed up. 

Mabel reaches out to comfort her, but Ma is taken into the hold of Strabo who demands she go back down to their apartment. 

He leads her to the door, ensuring she gets into the elevator before coming back inside. 

Coriolanus held Mabel’s arm in a tight grip as he scolded her for her behavior. 

Strabo pulled her from Coriolanus and struck Mabel across the face with such force that it knocked her to the ground. 

“Learn what my son did not; submit to the ways of the Capitol or die.”

Mabel glares up at him from the floor, “I’ll tell him you said hello.” 

Before Coriolanus could stop him, Strabo had her by the throat.

‘‘Do you think your beauty will save you?” 

“Strabo,” Coriolanus calls, grabbing the man by the shoulders and pulling him away. It was the first time he had ever used the man's name. 

Mabel gasps for air on the floor.

“I think my beauty will get me killed,” she heaved out. 

Strabo shoves Coriolanus off and straightens back into his sophisticated demeanor. 

“Coriolanus. I am sorry.” Strabo apologizes, “She wasn’t mine to correct”.

“Your wife is waiting for you, Mr. Plinth”, Coriolanus takes the older man to the door by his shoulder, leaving Mabel on the floor. 

Coriolanus closes the door behind them and Strabo turns to him once more. 

“I am not sure what came over me.” 

Coriolanus looks at him bored. It was hardly surprising that Mr. Plinth was a violent man. In so many ways Coriolanus felt understood by Strabo. They could have been father and son in another lifetime. But if they had been, Coriolanus never would have been sent to District 12 and Mabel never would have caught his eye. 

“I apologize for Mabel’s behavior. She was out of line with her comments.”

Strabo nods his head, looking down at his shoes.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t marry her,” Strabo addressed, “You could see how it would reflect upon us.” 

Coriolanus fixed the cuff of his shirt. There would be nothing worse for his reputation than to play son to district-born Plinths and then go and marry a district-born girl. 

“No one will know she is from the districts. I plan to introduce her as a long-lost heiress.” 

“A long lost heiress,” Strabo scoffs, “She’s more district than I am.”

His movements are rash as he pulls on the flaps of his jacket.

“For now. She improves daily.” 

“I thought the same thing about Sejanus and now look where he is.”

He presses the button to the private elevator down to their apartment, “My son would have really liked her.”

There was truth in that comment. Their willful and unshakable values would have made them fast friends. 

“Goodnight, Coriolanus.” Strabo bid entering the elevator. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Plinth”. 

Coriolanus enters back into the apartment to find Mabel had moved off the floor. The experiment had failed and Coriolanus found himself disheartened. She didn’t have long left until the reaping.

He storms to find her in their room. She sat at his desk and tore the pins out of her hair, angrily. 

He takes hold of her ear and pushes her against the wall where he could pin her. 

“Anyone else and your actions would have got you killed tonight.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“I care,” he foolishly admits. 

He pushes off the wall to take off his belt. Spinning Mabel around to face the wall, he lays the belt across her back. 

She yelps as it comes down. The staff in the kitchen would be able to hear her but Coriolanus was so angry with her that appearances didn’t matter. 

He didn’t stop until she was sobbing so hard, it interfered with her breathing. 

“I want you to write an apology to the Plinths before you go to bed.”

Mabel wipes the tears from her face.

“Yes, Coryo.” she bit out. 

With only two weeks before the Reaping, Mabel was nowhere near ready to meet Dr Gaul. 

tag list;

@bruher

@hiatuswhore

@swimmjacket

@immyowndefender

@namelesslosers

@lovelymoonkiid

@queenofshinigamis

@acidaciruela

@briefwinnerpersonaturtle

[gaykarcist]

The white haired alchemist gives you a smile that seems almost too genuine.

[evilkitten3]

the thing about fear and hunger hard mode is that you're doing really really well until you very suddenly aren't doing that anymore

[oblivionsdream]

If your fav isn't here then add it in the comments!

[solangelostars]

ANNIE CRESTA IN MOCKINGJAY PT 2 (2015)

Stef Dawson and Sam Claflin

Dir. Francis Lawerence

[britney-rosberg06]

i’m sick i’m Sick because before Chaff and Katniss hold hands on stage and before the old man whistling to Katniss and Peeta, before Thresh saves her, before 11 sends her bread as a thank you and before Rue is even a name in a bowl there’s Reaper. Taking the bodies of his comrades and enemy’s laying them down in a row and closing their eyes and covering them with the best “burial shroud” he could find and sitting vigil beside his nations flag begging them to do something about this rebellion

[daily-acvoid]

what a strange catch

(special thanks to @/thatonetwig for making the inspiration happen!)

[malice-kingdom]

Of course I loved the “asshole man become significantly worst” movie. Nobody is surprised 😔

-

Also made a version with gold foil and I pretty proud of how it turned out :) (see under the cut)