Coriolanus Snow - Blog Posts

it just hits me out of nowhere sometimes how it all started with Prim and for Katniss it all ended with Prim. Katniss' depression after the war is forever buried somewhere at the back of my mind, truly all for nothing at all.

just saw a tiktok that said “me when two characters can be compared to jesus and judas” and I was trying to look in my mind for an example but I just couldn’t. So I decided to open the comments… the first comment I read was “sejanus and coryo" GOODBYE! THAT WAS ENOUGH! THANK YOU!

mouthful.

young!president snow x gn!reader - smut

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Anonymous asked: Heya!! I really liked teeth and it sort of inspired me dkfjdkfk I was wondering if you‘d be down to write a small smutty oneshot for young president snow x trophyspouse!reader where Coryo leaves a lot of hickeys and bitemarks on their neck to sort of show that they’re his and only his. pls feel free to make it dubcon teee heeee

warnings: smut (mdni), dub-con, bite marks, hickeys, possessive Coryo, penetrative sex (vague), not proofread

author's note: thank you for requesting!! had fun writing this one hehe

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Several layers of lavishly plush blankets and pillows litter the large bed you're sprawled out on. It's the bed you and Coryo share and he decided it had to be ridiculously big, offering far too much space for just two people. A deep red canopy surrounds it, which you're staring up into at this very moment.

Your legs ache from being on your feet the entire day. Fortunately, Coryo is usually the one that does all the talking because if you had to speak with any of the snobs of the Capitol's upper class for longer than a minute you'd probably choke yourself to death. You just stand there, hands wrapped around his arm, looking sweet and alluring.

Some people though, seem to interpret that as a sort of invitation to try and woo you. As if their attempt to get into president snow's spouse's pants wouldn't result in nothing more than getting themselves poisoned.

Not that you've made the connection, of course, but there is a sliver of suspicion nibbling away at the outskirts of your mind.

Today was no different. A tall and, admittedly, handsome young man sat down next to you. With one hand on your arm and a smug smile, he inquired about your name. You chuckled at his brashness, making sure he understood that your last name is Snow.

It didn't seem to deter him, though. He continued to let his fingers trail down the length of your arm, playing with the bracelets adorning your wrist.

You shot down any attempt of his to flirt with you, mainly for his sake, because you feared what your dear husband would do to him.

Positioned at the opposite end of the room, Coryo was meant to be conversing with a few of the gamemakers, but instead, his icy stare was boring holes into the back of the unfortunate fellow's head.

When the stranger dared to grasp your chin between his index and thumb, even after you'd pulled away from his advances multiple times, Coryo jumped up. With quick, powerful strides he'd made his way over to the two of you. You silently begged him not to hurt the man, fear glistening in your eyes.

Coryo simply placed his hand on the side of your face, making you look up at him before placing a quick but fervent kiss on your lips. He positioned himself behind the chair you were sitting on, his hands sliding down to settle on your shoulders. You just wanted to rest your poor legs, nothing more.

"Please introduce me to your friend here, sweetheart. I don't believe we've met yet." His tone seemed pleasant but there were clear undercurrents of tension and malice to it. Thinly veiled bloodlust.

The man stood up, holding out his hand for Coryo to shake, not even faltering in his audacity. "Ferric Blacaw. It's an honour to meet you, president Snow." He sing-songed, an infuriating smirk on his face.

You felt Coryo's grip tighten on your shoulders and even without looking at him, you could tell one of his eyes was twitching.

In a way, it was strangely humorous to watch someone so blatantly disrespect the president, even if he’s your husband. Maybe he didn't know? How would that even be possible? Some people just like the idea of seducing president Snow‘s little trophy spouse to knock him off his high horse. He’s not known for being a humble leader, after all.

You watch the door to the adjoining bathroom creak open, flooding the dim bedroom with its cool light. Coryo steps out from behind it, lingering by the frame as he studies your figure for a few seconds. His face is shrouded by darkness but you can still tell that his expression is grim.

"Everything alright?" You ask. He's been eerily quiet since you both stormed out of that party and you can't help but worry about what must be going on inside his head. You've come to understand that Coryo is quick to spiral, far from a rational thinker. One day, there’ll come a time where you won’t be able to soothe his temper anymore and you’ll have to pay for it.

Without responding, he quietly closes the door behind him and walks over to the bed. You sit up, shuffling to the side to make space for him to climb into it next to you. However, instead of joining you, he reaches forward to grab hold of your ankle and pulls you back towards him.

You let out a surprised yelp.

He moves to climb on top of you, caging you between his arms and pushing his hips in between your legs and forcing them apart. Your breath hitches at the action, wrapping your hands around his forearms to steady yourself.

"Coryo, I'm a little tired. I don't think-..." He presses his lips to yours, this time with far more fervor and drive than at the public gathering before. The way his tongue eagerly slides against your own reminiscent of the voracity of a starving man, but this was a furious man.

When he pulls away, you're met with dark, menacing eyes - his pupils blown wide open. "Don't ever disrespect me like that again." He seethes.

Dread settles in your stomach, like a massive boulder plummeting into deep water. "I tried to tell him." You frantically explain. "He wouldn't leave me alone. I was about to walk away when you interfered, I promise."

Your efforts are in vain. Once he's in this sort of mental space, it's difficult to talk him back out of it. Except that he's never laid hands on you like this before today.

His expression doesn't falter. A pathetic whine escapes your lips as he grinds down on your crotch instead.

"Coryo, please-..." You whimper, his brash demeanor sending shivers down your spine. The manner in which he's pinning you down is far more aggressive than usual. You're completely at his mercy.

He latches onto the soft skin of your throat, dragging his unbearably hot tongue along the curve of it before harshly biting down. You cry out, begging him to at least go easy on you.

Despite your pitiful little protests, he litters your skin with several, deep hickeys. Making sure to go over every single bruised spot multiple times for good measure.

Purple just looks so pretty on you.

Tears well up in your eyes, the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your tender flesh mixing with pleasure.

Shame jabs at the nape of your neck when a sickly-sweet sort of arousal pools in your lower stomach. You're scared, but there's a part of you that's thoroughly enjoying this, which terrifies you even more.

He rolls his hips into yours once again, eliciting a shameful moan from you when he grinds down on that sweetspot.

You let your hands travel up his arms, clinging onto the lean muscles of his biceps before digging into the wide expanse of his shoulders.

The amount of heat radiating off him makes your head spin, turning your mind into mush. Steady waves of pleasure wash over your body, and you've almost forgotten why you tried to dissuade him in the first place.

He's devouring you - literally.

His eyes gleam with an animalistic glee as he admires his work, the bruises and welts left by his teeth adorning your throat. You watch helplessly as his expression grows hungrier, his mouth twitching as the urge to taste you again overpowers any rational thought in his head.

He gently wipes your tears away, his thumb lingering on your jawline and caressing it oh so sweetly.

"Don't cry, baby." He cooes. "I'm just marking what's mine, okay? They won't bother you anymore." He purrs before pressing a soothing kiss to your hairline. Countless praises fall from his lips and you’d almost believe them were it not for the near murderous intention with which he regards you.

You just nod at him, face red and flustered as you're left with an intense, shameful need to feel him fill you up. He's more than happy to grant your wish, especially when you ask him to fuck you stupid in such a needy way. Sniffling and mewling when he manhandles you into a more comfortable position.

He loves how easy it is to reduce you to a desperate, whimpering mess with just his mouth. Relishing the way you tremble and come undone on his tongue over and over again. His velvety lips like heaven as he kisses your thighs.

It's his fingers digging into your hips, leaving behind all the more bruises as he mercilessly thrusts into you. His pace rough and unforgiving. He’s punishing you, putting you in your place for daring to speak to anyone other than him.

Any lingering twinge of jealousy and anger dissipate when you call out his name so religiously. His name. His intoxicating mouth traveling down your body to nip at your chest, declaring his complete and utter devotion to you as he whispers against your skin. It’s far from unconditional love, and you’re smart enough not to fall for his lies but it’s nice to pretend sometimes. And even if you wanted to, he would never let you just up and leave him.

He presses his forehead to yours, a slew of curses and breathy groans escaping his lips. As he watches your eyes roll back, your chest pressing up into his, and his name crossing the holy threshold of your mouth one last time as if it were a prayer, he finds peace.

He’s your god and you’re calling out to him.

He follows suit shortly after, biting down on your shoulder as he spills deep inside of you.

It's him who makes you writhe and sob from overstimulation. His teeth littering your delicate skin with ugly, violent marks for everyone to see. If they didn’t understand that you’re his, and only his, already, then they will after tonight. That’s for sure.

May the universe have mercy on any fool brazen enough to still attempt and charm you.

He is the only one allowed to defile you like this. For as long as he lives, he will make sure that no one dares ever lay their disgusting hands on you again because you belong to him in every way.

You're a Snow.

You are his and only his.

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17.12.2023

Fanfic presence so low I gotta write my own

When Snow calls Lucy Gray "my girl": 😖😤🤬🤮🤮

When Haymitch calls Lenore Dove "my girl": 😊🥰😍😁✨

I'm convinced that Snow was the one who came up with the "rule change" in THG (idc what the movie did with it--they didn't know TBOSAS and it was less than convincing they way they did it).

Just think about it. We start off the Games with Katniss's courageous action volunteering for her younger sister. Then Peeta did something radical. He decided to follow through on his declaration of love to Katniss and did everything he could in the arena to save her. Getting sponsors, teaming up with the Careers, getting Katniss to leave and fighting Cato for her. Can you imagine what that was doing in the Capitol? In the Districts? How could you watch someone do that and not hope for a happy ending, even as Peeta lay dying in the mud, whispering Katniss's name?

And then Katniss teams up with Rue and is devastated by her death. She stays with her, sings to her, until she dies. Bolstered by Peeta's words about not being a piece in their games and finally getting what he means, she decorates Rue with flowers. She honors her life and her unnecessary death. District 11 recognizes this and even though they have another tribute alive in the Games, send Katniss the bread.

In Snow's mind, everything about the games is starting to crack. Young love being selfless, sisterly affection defying the Capitol, comradery fostering between districts. He simply can't let it go on. He has to remind people in the Capitol and the Districts that this is not human nature. He is going to prove that. So he tells Seneca Crane to announce the rule change.

He expects Cato and Clove to make it to the final two. In their new advantage, they will become a deadly, mostly healthy team. Meanwhile, Snow can see that Katniss doesn't hold the same care for Peeta that he does for her (she had tried to kill him with tracker jackers, after all). Even if she goes to find him, she'll abandon him once it gets too hard, too dangerous. The hope of love triumphing will be met with annoyance at his injuries and agreeing to stay behind and not get his medicine. And even if she does, he'll still be too injured to truly be useful.

But things go awry. Thresh saves Katniss because of her kindness to a little girl he, too, saw as a younger sister. He kills Clove, bringing about Cato's wrath. And Katniss Everdeen turns out to be a better actress than expected.

No matter, though--once the rule change is revoked, the truth of the stripped-down human nature will come out. Oh, Peeta will throw out the ravings of a teenage boy high on hormones, but people will remember how awful they truly are when Katniss puts an arrow through his heart. After all, Snow's made that decision before. His lover or himself. Death in the woods or life with riches in the Capitol. It's easy, really, to make that decision. And people will remember even the best among them, even she who willingly risked her life to get medicine or volunteer for her sister, won't avoid killing in order to survive herself.

But Katniss calls their bluff, and Peeta goes along with it. They've chosen to protest the Hunger Games with their deaths. Seneca makes the call to announce two winners. Really, Snow was going to kill him either way. Someone has to be publicly accountable for the place he's in now, and Snow certainly isn't going to take credit for his idea. After this, he tries and tries to get Peeta and Katniss to have to kill each other. The Quarter Quell. The hijacking. But it never works. And not just because of them, but because a whole nation finally stands up and says Enough. We won't let this go on anymore. In the end, Snow was entirely wrong because he never truly understood love.

I do think that Coryo fell in love with Lucy Gray, but i also fully believe that such love would never have been possible had he not be given the near-total control over her fate in the games, and by extension, her fate in the Capitol.

Listen. Here is a boy who has nothing but his last name, posing around pretending like he owned everything while scrambling for a scrap of something. Here is a boy who had to share everything he had ever owned, who was never fully in control of anything except for his words.  Here is a boy, who, due to the lie he's been controlling, can never let anyone in -- not even his pseudo-older sister and not even his most affectionate classmate -- for it poses the risk of being perceived, and potentially punished for his lack of ownership.

And then suddenly this boy -- who's so desperate to own something -- is granted the ownership of another person  a full-pass to control everything about her; her words, her image, her story. And sure, she wasn't his first pick, but the thought of having something gave him a sense of relief and dignity his lies could never give him, and that dignity, that slight restoration of confidence, gave way for that first crack on his chest after being guarded for so long.

And then the person he "owned" showed up, and she was the most interesting person of the pick. She gave the people a show and she made a song on top of it, turning his confidence to pride. I truly believe that had he been assigned to another person, he would not have showed up to the train station, simply due the fact that they were not interesting enough to warrant his  visit -- or his grandma'am's roses. Him showing up to the train wasn't just done in goodwill; it was also a stake of ownership -- it was him, acknowledging to himself that this was something worth owning, and like other things worth owning, it could be taken away from him if he lets his guard slips.

And that becomes the initial foundation to their interaction; the talking, the bringing up food... sure, Lucy Gray was interesting, but he was detached of her charm in those first meeting, seeing her in the lens of how others might measure her and her worth. his main focus was "taking care of her"; making sure his precious thing survived, making sure his ownership of her -- and thus his pride -- will not dissipate.

And then the tributes started plotting to kill him, only to be stopped by Lucy Gray. Sure, for her, he might seem as if he was doing something a kind -- even if useless -- meeting her in this run-down train station, and that perhaps was part of the reason why she defended him, and part of the reason why she stood by him in that Zoo cage. But for Coryo, his visit was calculated, his rose a chip of bargain, his zoo visit a byproduct of refusing to be caught slipping. For him, Lucy Gray stepping up for him was uncalled for, a surprising kindness.

He tried to rationalize it best as he could, but he was stumped. And I think this was when he started to really listen to Lucy Gray, to stop being detached from her. He was his father's son, and he believed in knowing the things he owned in order to properly maintain it. And it was this desire to know that melted his walls, that made him vulnerable, because to understand her fully he opened himself up to be understood, which had never happened before.

I think Coryo did love Lucy Gray, however tainted and terrible that love was. I think it was the first time of him making the effort to perceive someone and be reciprocated back -- fully, thoroughly, and wholeheartedly. It helped (or didn't help?) That Lucy Gray was a poet, that she fed him with pretty words; the only things that -- up until she showed up -- he'd ever truly owned for himself. For him, that connection -- added over the fact that he had "owned her", as everyone else kept saying -- must have felt like a drug. It must have felt intoxicating, to own something so lovely, something that adored him. It must have been a new, exhilarating feeling for Coryo, who never owned anything but worthless scraps and his pretty, pretty words. And yes, that was such a terrible way to put it, but love is many things; it can be terrible too.

I think Coryo loved Lucy Gray, and had they stayed in Capitol, he would have been able to continue to "love her". Billy Taupe was just some name, the Covey some story. What for Lucy Gray was history, was only pretty words for him. For all he chose to believe in, they could be the same pretty words he said; mostly lie, some exaggeration. In the Capitol, she is his, fully. And Coryo can love only what he owns.

But they didn't stay at Capitol, they moved to twelve. Suddenly, all her pretty words were honest and real, something he couldn't ignore, much less control. Suddenly, there was the Covey, and Billy Taupe, and Mayor Lipp, and even if her eyes were for him only he still had to share the rest of her -- her voice, her charm, her poise -- with other people. Twelve highlighted that he'd never truly owned her, we all know that. But here's another thing that twelve highlighted; it was him who chose to be the soldier in a rundown district, him who chose to follow her. If there was any ownership to be had here, it was her that owned him.

And Coryo? He doesn't share, yes, but worse than anything, he despises being owned.

This is where TBOSAS shone its brilliance; president Snow is the way he was not because he is an unfeeling sadist the was Volumnia Gaul is. He was the way he was because of love. Because of the vulnerability that comes with that love, and the refusal to surrender to it. President Snow would not be as ruthless and despicable had he been desensitized, and it was his feelings, his capability to love, that led him to employ some of the most gruesome tactics to win the games.

Here's the heartbreaking thing; once upon a time, Coryo loves Lucy Gray, and that love was true. Here's another heartbreaking thing; that love was built on poison, and its toxic vines ruined him so completely, decimated him so thoroughly, he was reborn anew evil; president Snow would not have happened without Lucy Gray, without Coryo's time in Twelve.

President Snow said, "it's the thing we love most that destroys us," and he said this as a warning to Katniss, yes, but he also said it to Coryo's shadow, standing behind her, who was looking at the back of the Girl on Fire, thinking the wavy black hair and the whispered songs were that of someone else's.

the term ‘peacekeeper’ left a bitter taste in sejanus’s mouth. something in contrast to the gumdrops he used to carry around as fresh meat in the capitol. he recognized the irony of the two words strung together in panem’s climate, and thought it to be completely ridiculous. this isn’t the occupation he wanted to spend his days in district 12 pursuing, but he needed to start somewhere. dreams of becoming a medic bloom inside him, and he is optimistic both he and the blond he followed outside the capitol will live out the rest of their lives in contentment. in doing good. in change.

the cup in sejanus’s hand feels light, and he plays around with it as he watches coriolanus’s expression change from anticipation, to shock, then a third thing he can’t quite place, but can only discern due to the way the shaven blond clenches his jaw, as the covey’s performance commences at the hob.

the audience cannot be contained as lucy gray proceeds to weave through melodies, from rhythm to rhythm, song to song, strumming her guitar and bantering with tipsy inhabitants of the hob, cheering her on and clapping to the beat. he glances at coriolanus from time to time, whose gaze on the songbird never falters, intense and burning, a ghost of a smug smile on his face as if to say, ‘yes, you’re all cheering on my girl’.

there’s a small intermission between the first and second half of the covey’s act, and sejanus finds his feet walking him to get another drink. his tolerance is somewhat average, and he figures he can at least catch up to the rest of the audience in terms of intoxication. a full day of ‘peacekeeping’ awaits him tomorrow, after all, which the brunett is absolutely dreading.

the clear liquor fills his cup, face scrunching at the strong smell wafting from it as he brings his head down to sip from the top before it trickles down to his fingers. sejanus closes his eyes to regain his composure after tasting the liquor. this wasn’t like anything he has had at the capitol. it’s too strong, too raw, and the tiniest swig has gotten his cheeks rosy and his fingertips buzzing.

he turns to walk back to the crates the other peacekeepers have settled on, but crashes into you instead, the liquid in his hand spilling somewhat, and begins to apologize profusely.

“steady there, big boy, i don’t think you should be drinkin’ more”, you giggle, bringing a hand on his shoulder to stabilize him.

“no, i—” sejanus looks up at you, his words caught in his throat as he catches your eyes. once he realizes it’s probably odd to just stare at you silently, he begins to speak again.

“uhm.. this is my second drink.” he smiles shyly, lifting his cup for you to see, as if worried that you’d doubt him.

“doesn’t look like it, but it does look like you’re enjoyin’ the show.” the brunett nods quickly in agreement, feeling himself just wanting you to continue speaking to him. “or at least that’s what it looked like from up on stage.”

sejanus takes a brief pause, this time, examining you, however accurate a tipsy person could. your golden hoop earrings, colorful eye shadow, and finally, the feathers in your hair. he doesn’t miss the way your cheeks glow under the dim lights of the hob too, and he thinks it envelops your face like a halo.

“oh you’re… performing? you’re in the covey?” the plan to go back to his seat disappears from his mind in half a second, deciding that he would much prefer standing here with you and bask in the way your voice sounds.

“awh, didn’t notice me up there? hurts…” you fake a pout, glancing down at your shoes to fight the smile growing on your face as sejanus begins to stutter nervously. “kidding, kidding. yes, darlin’, i am. just needed a drink before the next half. swear, alcohol just makes me play better.” you point at his cup, continuing, “that shit is so strong it’ll make you take back shit you never even stole.”

sejanus lets out a belly laugh, the warmth from his cheeks spreading to his chest, and he doesn’t think he can still blame it on the liquor. the thought that you noticed him in the crowd long enough to remember his face made his nape itch, and he wrestles the urge to scratch it.

“yeah, i just tried it for the first time. curious to see how tonight’ll end after this cup.” he takes another sip, this time bigger than the first, and he can’t place whether it’s because he wants to impress you or wants to get drunk faster, but the way you giggle again at his scrunched up face makes it worth it. he groans at the aftertaste almost comically, looking up at you again, brown irises barely seen from the way his soft smile reaches his eyes.

“i’m sejanus, by the way.”

you bring your hand out for a formal shake, and that too makes him laugh. he repeats your name as soon as you say it, wanting to feel the syllables on his tongue. they’re sweet. your name, like all the members of the covey, contains a specific hue, one which he’s sure he’ll always associate with you after tonight.

the dim lights flash, and he watches you turn around to give maude ivory a thumbs up.

“that’s the cue, pretty boy, gotta head back up now. cheer for me?” your tone is so entrancing, and sejanus finds himself nodding before he can even verbally reply.

“of course. louder than everybody.” with that, you flash him an enthusiastic grin. so pretty, so full of life. he walks back to the crates, now disregarding coriolanus, but understanding why his stare was so fervent on lucy gray. in a room full of people, you’re performing for him.

currently no creative juices flowing.

request anything you’d like please! i’m open to writing about any character from all 4 books :)

can i just throw something out very quickly:

firebender!coriolanus snow, who aims to become fire lord someday (using methods deemed too cunning, although he refers to himself as ‘resourceful’). he utilizes his words to beguile his peers into loyalty, saving his firebending for times that call to instill red hot fear and discipline.

coriolanus has a strong distaste towards his classmate, sejanus plinth, who he adjudges too ‘animalistic’ and ‘grotty’ to live among firebenders, yet finds the airbending nomad he is to mentor alluring and mystical. the blond especially dislikes sejanus’ foolish rambles about how he wishes to become a healer someday, as he himself knows that the minute the brunet was born an earthbender, that dream was over, so surely sejanus must know that too?

he slightly looks down on his nonbender cousin, tigris, who has truthfully kept the two of them alive through scavenging and foraging for food, sewing up intricate outfits for him to fit in with the upper class atmosphere of the academy and keep up appearances.

for his final assignment to establish himself as the star student of the academy’s senior class, he must figure out a scheme to ensure that the airbender, his airbender, is kept alive when put in an arena with 23 other tributes, some honing their bending for years. coriolanus is aware that her only way out is through cheating on his part, but won’t that deem him as a traitor? if he’s not careful, he too will find himself trapped in an arena. air can very well live on without fire, but that same fire will extinguish without the presence of air.

coriolanus snow loves in a way that is cannibalistic. it’s primal. violent. consumed by the need to devour you. he loves in a way that has him bare his teeth in perpetuity, content only when he knows he has swallowed you whole. some of it is ugly, obscene, and bestial, some of it is pure and holy and spiritual: all of it is himself.

the blonde convinces himself it’s for good. to protect you. to keep you safe. but when does protection cross the line to become control? to trap you. to keep you for himself. to know that you may never get away from all that is him, as he slowly makes you part of his own self, so much so that you begin losing your identity and your flesh knits with his.

he wants to eat you.

and the closest he can get to that is to graze his teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart. he wraps his hand around your throat, controls your breathing as he pleases. the knowledge that only he can grant you mercy. only he can give you life, or take it away. and you both know he would never choose the latter, as to consume you would mean that your being is tied with his, and wherever you go he will be forced to follow.

it’s mutual and untamed, self destructive yet passionate. the two of you clawing and biting to feel each other. a competition that dictates who swallows up who. it’s hunger that will never be satisfied, and god knows he’s no stranger to that.

as though your name is wrapped around his ribs, melting and flowing through his veins. your bones intertwined, waiting to see who will gnaw at whose heart first. there’s something dark and sinister about it, but isn’t that what devotion inevitably becomes? two lovers so feral that they seek to destroy each other.

“i cannot part with you.” he whispers, “I am you.”

and you have no choice but to be of one another for life.

[5.25pm, wip]

coriolanus. swoony type, curly hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.

above tipsy coriolanus snow was a sight to behold, rare and cartoonishly bizarre. his half lidded expression, playful grin, and most importantly, wandering hands. he can’t quite tell if he’s moderately intoxicated due to the posca he’s been mindlessly sipping on, or the feel of your warm skin against his own. the blond had not had the opportunity to develop a tolerance towards posca, as he’d much rather spend scraps of money he and tigris pull together to buy food, or at least a variation of that.

with his inhibitions out the window, he was much less guarded. less skeptical of the world around him. simply an academy student who had a little bit too much to drink, and uncharacteristically giggles at anything.

coriolanus would not normally put himself in a position where the next words out of his mouth were not thought of and analyzed thoroughly to procure the upper hand in a conversation, but he’s cursed with a nervous fidget of sipping on the contents of whatever glass he’s holding, which got him into this predicament. unaware, bashful, completely and evidently enamored by you.

political science major!coriolanus, whose idea of a night of unwinding is reading a chapter of machiavelli’s ‘the prince’ with a glass of pinot noir in hand. well versed in debate, often dramatically pulling out notecards with bullet points on them as you argue over where to have dinner.

nursing major!sejanus, who is well liked and trusted amongst his peers and professors, being known for a tenderness that you can only find in bob ross painting demonstrations. you help him study by quizzing him until dawn, a kiss for every correct answer energizing him more than any red bull could.

music performance major!lucy gray, always carrying around a honey burst colored guitar, her fingers absentmindedly strumming the air as she walks. she refers to you as her muse, and soothes you to sleep on rough nights with a hushed lullaby specifically written with confessions of love whittled between lyrics.

fashion design major!tigris, who fills out sketchbooks and sketchbooks with extravagant designs she someday hopes will hit the runway. she has appointed herself as your personal stylist, and kisses your temple as she gets your measurements for custom-made pieces.

— au where you’re reaped as sejanus plinth’s tribute from district 2, and he breaks into the arena to get his final goodbyes in.

coriolanus can see the brunette’s jaw tighten in his peripheral vision when highbottom announces that he’ll be mentoring one of the district 2 tributes. that tightness is followed by a deep, deep scowl when the reapings are aired, and your sweet, lamb-like face is shown on the now, sejanus notices, glaring screen. he has half a mind to storm out, but instead swallows thickly to fool his brain into thinking he’s calm and collected.

he remembers you, as if a remnant from a previous life. sejanus knows this is a shameful way of thinking. he’s no capitolite. they can throw as much money as they want at him, keep his stomach full and plump of steak and apple pie, give him the so called luxury of attending the academy, but he knows his name will metaphorically never leave that reaping bowl. for each year the hunger games have commenced, three names were picked from district 2. a boy’s, a girl’s, and sejanus’s. he is in that arena with them, although not physically. and that is what hurts him most. his name, although not verbally chosen and spoken into a microphone, is amongst that litter, and yet he has the privilege, like every capitolite, of leaving the arena every year when the victor is announced, when his fellow district 2 tributes do not have that option.

upon first greeting you at the capitol zoo, a stinging pang shoots through his throat. he has absolutely no idea how he’ll be able to mentor you without completely destroying himself in the process. it’s eating him up inside; this hope that the academy has indirectly forced you to place in him. how that hope, crushed, would leave as you, god forbid, would have to take your final breaths in that arena, with nothing to attach to that despair but sejanus’s face.

you’re timid at first. you too, remembered this familiar face. the big brown eyes, never dull of emotion. long, fluttering eyelashes. he’s much taller now, with curly hair that looks like raw hazelnut under the sun. with the way he’s looking at you, you figured he did not outgrow his tenderness. it was no look of pity, though, but a look of understanding. of sharing your fear, instead of accepting your fate. that made you feel a comfort you haven’t felt since standing in your district’s square.

after a few minutes of silence, of examining each other wordlessly, communicating with shared gazes, sejanus decides to speak up first, albeit everyone knowing it is his heart that speaks for him.

“i am so, so sorry for—”

he begins, but you stop him. there wasn’t a point to this, you think. unless he was the one who picked out your name specifically, why would he even feel the need to apologize? that certainly won’t change anything.

“it’s fine. it’s not your fault. i know, big elephant in the room, i’m behind bars at a zoo. the odds just weren’t in my favor. i’m not sure they will decide they like me later, either.”

sejanus clenches a hand around one of the steel bars at your pessimism, but how can he blame you? he has no hope himself, how could he even possibly think you would? he wishes he could effortlessly bend the barrier separating you two with his palms, grabbing you by the hand and running off somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere hopeful. he knows he can’t, and that leaves a shake in his voice as he chooses his next words delicately.

“i just… if there’s any way i could help you, guarantee that you would… walk out of there unharmed…”

“well, i saw the district 12 girl with her supposed mentor in here. inside the zoo. you’re mine, i assume? do what a mentor has to do. mentor me out… and some food won’t hurt, either.”

at the mention of that, sejanus’s face slightly lights up, and he reaches into his scarlet colored blazer pocket, taking out a wrapped napkin and handing it to you. you reach through the bars to take this mysterious item from him, fingers lingering just a bit, and unwrap it to find a sandwich, diagonally cut. you smile wistfully at the simple meal before you, this being the very first act of kindness you’ve been on the receiving end of since coming to the capitol. so much for hosting etiquette.

“thank you, sejanus, really… here,” you say in an unanticipated small voice, holding out one of the pieces.

the brunette freezes. you’re still kind. all of this, and you’re still kind. perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be. perhaps that’s what will be what dooms you in that arena. you will try to speak heart to heart, not sword to sword. he loathes that he’s thinking this way. he absolutely despises that he knows you will not be able to walk away from this without staining your hands red, but what has made a home in his chest is the miserable feeling of not knowing whether you’ll be able to do that. he’s district. he will forever be district, a vow he made at birth. but here he is, standing in front of you, free. here he is, handing you food as though you truly belonged in that zoo. he is everything you wished you could be in that moment, and yet you still decide to share your meal with him, despite the rumbling coming from your stomach. he wants to take it. wants to act like this is a normal picnic that you two are having together, but he knows you need that full sandwich. he knows you should take all you can get.

and so he declines politely. you begin to talk about the changes in district 2 since he’s left, and how life continued, yet everyone was stuck. sejanus emphasizes. he listens. but the dread has not left his system. he starts to think about how he’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. there’s so much time on the other side, and here it all feels like a constant countdown. never knowing if your time will be cut short. he mentally chastises himself; he needs to be optimistic. he needs to be here for you, now. he needs to think about the life you’ll have when he gets you out, not if. soon enough, you’ll believe it too.

to say that sejanus was a complete wreck watching you enter that arena would be an understatement. the cameras capture your soft features so well that you look displaced. lost. you shouldn’t be there, he thinks. no one should be there. the tears that built up in a split second blur his vision, and when the bell rings, he is there, running as a district 2 tribute.

sejanus watches as you take his advice, as you run and hide immediately, and he is kept at bay through at least that. he can’t lose it now. not when you’ve placed your entire life bare in his hands.

but sejanus is weak, too. he feels too much too often. his thoughts are frantic, and he finds himself in that arena the following night. the thumping in his chest intensifies as the voice at the entrance pleads him to enjoy the show, and he scoffs at that. he checked the cameras before coming, so he knows exactly where you are, and he’s so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing you that it doesn’t register that he has now, momentarily, taken the path he very well could’ve lived if he had not moved to the capitol. sejanus plinth, district 2 tribute.

light footed, he makes his way across the arena, and up the stands. he saw you come out of hiding when it was safe out, when most of the tributes were either asleep or in the tunnels, gathering a weapon or two from the cornucopia then settling on high ground. he figures you were startled once you heard the automatic greeting that played when he walked in, so he whispers your name.

he whispers it again. so delicately. laced with so much sweetness, it feels wrong to say it here.

and then a third time. the syllables now come out desperate. overwrought. he can’t leave without seeing you. touching you. it will break him.

“sejanus?” his ears perk up, and he looks around, frenzied, trying to distinguish the direction your voice came from. you peek out from one of the stands, and when you find those big, brown eyes looking back at you, you pick yourself up entirely and run to hold the man before you. the man who rushed into the possibility of death head on just to wrap his arms around you. he’ll face it all, just for that. oh how he wished you knew how badly he wanted to swap your places.

“you’re… but how? why? it’s dangerous here—” sejanus wastes no time, cupping your cheeks and diving in to kiss you. his hands are holding on to you for dear life, as if his knees will give out without the support. his eyebrows are knit together, focused on the feel of your lips on his. they’re dry, chapped, and cracked, but he doesn’t care. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip to give you some relief, making a mental note to send you some water as soon as he leaves.

he kisses you until it hurts him. until his lips are swollen and red. until the way you’re tightening your hands on his broad shoulders feels as though it’ll leave bruises. when you break the kiss to breathe, he tries to take you all in. to memorize everything. he desperately needs a pen and paper right this moment so he could draw you as accurately as he can, lest his memory fails him later.

the automatic voice sounds again, and only you turn your attention to the entrance. slowly comes coriolanus snow, the district 12 girl’s mentor, and his eyes scan the arena before they land on yours. you nudge sejanus lightly to direct his gaze to his friend, but he wants more. he can’t leave now. he can’t leave you. not like this.

“it’s okay, sejanus. i’ll be okay. help from the outside, and we’ll see each other again in no time.” you whisper, a tiny bit unconvincingly, eyes glossy. “just take care of yourself, okay?”

sejanus’s lips quiver, and he too whispers. you don’t believe it’s because of the other tributes, but because if he were to speak normally, only a sob would come out.

“you are myself. please take care of me.” you glance down and nod at that, tasting the saltwater that came rushing down your cheek. he wipes the trail that settled along your face, and begrudgingly makes his way to the blond.

sejanus is motivated by the thought, the need, to get you out of there. no matter the methods he uses. no matter the consequences he faces. he has the resources to buy you more time, and he finds himself not above exploiting them.

— suggestive themes, religious allusions.

sejanus plinth makes love as though he’s praying; practicing a religion he has thoroughly devoted himself to. a religion where you’re the sole deity, and he’s willing to give himself up, his own body autonomy, his vulnerability, as an offering.

sejanus knows wiser than most that a god won’t save anybody now, especially the districts, but his mind becomes clouded and dizzy with belief when he inhales your nectar-like scent and captures your ambrosia flavored lips between his.

first comes adoration. he leaves kisses along the side of your neck with a pleading, whining mantra of ‘please’s, asking permission to worship you. to bask in you. to prove his loyalty.

you don’t need to utter a word, just digging your fingers in his brunette curls is enough gospel and clarity to him.

and so comes confession. he proceeds with his ritual, hands gentle, light, but slow. sejanus is not the type to rush his prayers. he knows the more time he spends on his knees, the more rewards he’ll earn. the more he confesses his sins over and over again to you, the cleaner he’ll become. ridding himself of all his thoughts and letting himself become one with you was his momentary salvation.

then, thanksgiving. when he’s on the verge of losing himself in the feeling of your warmth and mercy, he begins to thank you incessantly. he blathers on about his gratitude, tears forming in his eyes, holding you so tight that his knuckles turn white.

and finally, his supplication also comes in white. as he halts his movements and pants in your ear, he feels rejuvenated again. full of hope. sejanus has given himself to you entirely and wholly, offered up his most primal gift, and he prays and prays to you for the day of deliverance.

you were coriolanus snow’s rosebud.

a head of styled and silk soft, golden locks, and eyes so icy blue that they contrast the heat that flushes the two of you as you gasp — pant — for air in a secluded hall of the academy. his pupils dart between yours with a subtle knit of his brows, so blown and full of need that you feel a second, more intense blush creeping up your neck.

could this really be the academy’s star senior? the most diligent student they could offer? skipping a lecture because his yearning is stronger than his desire to learn? those questions are rhetorical, of course, as all three were answered with a simple tug of your sleeve on your way to class, urging you to follow him wordlessly.

“what’s gotten into you, coryo? miss me too much?” you say, lightheartedly. his tense expression never falters, instead offering a twitch of his eye as he takes a short breather. he has a hand sprawled across the fabric of your uniform, holding you close by the small of your back, pushing you up against him, and another cupping your cheek.

coriolanus was emotionally complex. his conditioned way of thinking sadly did not get along with his feelings. he had a compulsive need to control, control, control, and you knew that. he struggled to not let anything slip through the cracks, but hid that behind the facade of a social chameleon.

the blond in front of you, however, was not the coriolanus people were accustomed to. so overcome with hastiness that he was borderline shaking.

“just… just need you… need you and nothing else. tell me you need me too. say it.” coriolanus whispers, demands, and you think for a second that it might be so others meandering through the halls don’t hear, but doubt that, judging by the way his fingers are digging into your skin and the urgency in his eyes. you take a moment to process his request, and nod your head briskly.

you admire the way a curl falls over his temple, so perfectly marigold and twisted, the way his irises look almost crystal-like and so clear that you can see yourself distinctly in the reflection. his lips, pretty and plump, like a meticulously cared for peony that you oh so dared to pluck.

“say it.” so lost in thoughts of admiration, you’re almost startled by the hoarseness of his voice. his tone is imposing, but the pleading pinch of his eyebrows begged and begged for your answer, afraid it might hear different.

“i need you, coriolanus. nothing else.” immediately, the blond’s features soften, wrinkles formed on his forehead finally smoothing over. you don’t question him in moments like this; he’s just in need of grounding every once in a while. the thumb placed on your cheekbone begins to caress you, and he rushes to your lips. hungry. needy. almost as if trying to devour you to keep you all to himself.

class can wait, you decide.

yess cause finnick knew everyones secrets, EVERYONE'S. im sure snow told him about lucygray without mentioning her name and he talked to mags about it and put two and two together

my boy's smart, thats why he kept pushing katniss

lucygray never died

don’t try to convince me that one of those secrets about snow finnick knew about wasn’t lucy gray. he was so close to mags, who won the 11th hunger games, a few MONTHS after lucy gray’s games. mags definitely remembers lucy gray and probably something about what happened between her and show, and she definitely would’ve told finnick

idc about any plot holes in this theory im dying on this hill ok

what if they filmed tbosas the way fleabag is filmed so that the audience got to see snow's inner monologue, so every so often tom blyth would turn to the camera and just talk.

its haunting honestly

Whispers of Shadows: A Capitol Love Lost

This is a short story. I just wanted to write something that I thought about when I was watching the movie. It has a sad ending, depending on how you view it. and all the pictures are from Pinterest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The opulent halls of the Academy for Capitol Youth buzzed with excitement as students in their crisp school uniforms mingled, their laughter echoing against the marble walls. Among them moved a figure that commanded attention — young Coriolanus Snow, the scion of a once-proud family fallen on hard times. His icy blue eyes and impeccably styled blonde hair belied the struggles hidden beneath the surface.

Enter Monica Crestwood, a vision of elegance and grace despite the standard school uniform. Her family's wealth dripped from every carefully chosen accessory, from the way she carried herself with poise to the sparkling kindness that set her apart from the Capitol's typically callous elite.

Monica and Coriolanus had been inseparable since they first crossed paths at the Academy. Bonded by a shared understanding of familial expectations and the pressures of societal standing, their connection deepened as they leaned on each other for support in the face of adversity.

Monica's compassion extended beyond the polished halls of the Academy, reaching into the very heart of the Snow family's struggles. She sought to bridge the gap between the Crestwoods and the Snows, understanding that Coriolanus's family was teetering on the precipice of ruin. Monica's parents, however, disapproved of her association with the Snows, deeming it a threat to their carefully cultivated image.

Despite the frosty reception from her family, Monica persevered in her efforts to help Coriolanus. She offered support in the form of clandestine financial aid, discreetly providing assistance to the Snows without her parents' knowledge. Her love for Coriolanus was unwavering, and she believed in a future where they could rise above the obstacles that threatened to tear them apart.

As the 10th Hunger Games approached, the Capitol was abuzz with anticipation. This year's tributes were selected, and among them was a girl named Lucy Gray, whose ethereal beauty and captivating presence had captured the attention of all. Coriolanus, tasked with mentoring Lucy Gray, found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn't comprehend.

Monica, sensing the shift in dynamics, struggled with a growing sense of unease. Coriolanus, engrossed in the world of the Hunger Games, became increasingly distant. The once inseparable couple found themselves on opposite sides of a growing chasm, their worlds spinning in different directions.

Amidst the lavish parties and glittering distractions of the Capitol, Monica grappled with the realization that she was losing Coriolanus to the allure of the Games. The once unbreakable bond they shared seemed fragile, as though the weight of the Hunger Games threatened to shatter the foundation of their love.

In the dimly lit corners of the Academy, Monica watched as Coriolanus and Lucy Gray's interactions deepened. The spark that ignited between them cast a shadow over Monica's heart, leaving her feeling abandoned and isolated. As the Games approached, Monica wrestled with the looming fear that she might lose not only Coriolanus but also the person she once knew him to be.

Little did she know that the coming days would test the limits of her love and loyalty, forcing her to confront the harsh realities of the Capitol's machinations and the unpredictable nature of the Hunger Games.

The Capitol's effervescent energy reached its peak as the Games commenced. Monica, adorned in the standard school uniform that all students wore, stood in the crowd, her eyes fixated on the arena. Coriolanus, now fully immersed in his role as a mentor, exuded a confidence that Monica had not seen before.

The tributes, including Lucy Gray, entered the arena, their faces a mix of fear and determination. Monica's heart pounded as she watched the spectacle unfold on the screens. The opulence of the Capitol contrasted sharply with the brutality of the Games, and Monica couldn't help but question the society that reveled in such a spectacle.

As the days passed, Monica's inner turmoil grew. The divide between her and Coriolanus widened, exacerbated by the Capitol's intoxicating influence. Late nights turned into early mornings as Monica grappled with her conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to Coriolanus and an unsettling realization that the Games were changing him.

In the hushed corridors of the Academy, Monica overheard whispers of alliances and betrayals within the arena. The Games were a ruthless game of survival, and Coriolanus navigated its treacherous waters with a cunning that both impressed and frightened Monica. She wondered if the boy she fell in love with still existed beneath the layers of Capitol manipulation.

Monica's clandestine efforts to aid the Snow family faced new challenges as her own family intensified their disapproval. The Crestwoods, deeply entrenched in the Capitol's social hierarchy, couldn't fathom Monica's association with the Snows, especially given Coriolanus's role in the Hunger Games.

Despite the mounting pressures, Monica refused to abandon her convictions. She continued to support Coriolanus from the shadows, offering subtle gestures of encouragement that went unnoticed amidst the chaos of the Capitol's festivities. Yet, as the Games progressed, Monica couldn't escape the nagging feeling that her actions were a mere whisper against the roaring tide of Capitol politics.

The turning point came when Lucy Gray emerged as a formidable contender in the Games. Coriolanus's mentorship had molded her into a captivating and unpredictable force, capturing the hearts of Capitol citizens and sponsors alike. Monica, torn between her love for Coriolanus and a growing admiration for Lucy Gray's resilience, found herself at a crossroads.

The Capitol's opulent façade crumbled as Monica confronted the harsh reality of the Hunger Games. The Games weren't just a spectacle; they were a cruel reminder of the Capitol's power and the sacrifices made in the name of entertainment. Monica's internal struggle mirrored the external chaos of the arena, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the Capitol was playing a dangerous game with the lives of its youth.

As the climax of the Games approached, Monica's resolve solidified. She would confront Coriolanus, not as a victim of the Capitol's machinations but as a woman who refused to be a pawn in their deadly game. The once-burgeoning love between Monica and Coriolanus would face its ultimate test, and the outcome would ripple through the corridors of the Capitol, challenging the very foundations of their society.

------

The echoes of the Hunger Games had barely faded when the harsh reality of consequences descended upon Coriolanus Snow. The Capitol, unforgiving in its pursuit of perfection, discovered his illicit actions to save Lucy Gray. As the Capitol's judgment fell upon him, Coriolanus found himself stripped of privilege, his family disgraced, and his future hanging in the balance.

Monica, unaware of the extent of Coriolanus's transgressions, sought him out in the dimly lit corridors of the Academy. Her steps quickened as she approached him, her eyes revealing a mix of concern and determination.

"Coriolanus, we need to talk," Monica implored, her voice tinged with worry. "What's happening? Why are they punishing you?"

Coriolanus, his once-confident demeanor now replaced by a defeated slouch, sighed heavily. "Monica, it's over. The Capitol has no tolerance for failure.I cheated in the games. I've been assigned to be a Peacekeeper in a distant district."

Her eyes widened with disbelief. "No, there has to be something we can do. I'll talk to my parents, we'll find a way to fix this."

He shook his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Your parents won't help. They never believed in us. They saw me as a means to an end, a way to maintain their precious status. Now that I'm tainted, they'll wash their hands of me."

Monica's determination wavered as she reached out to touch his arm. "Coriolanus, we can face this together. I'll stand by you, no matter what. We'll find a way."

His icy gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of gratitude. However, as the weight of his impending departure settled in, an unexpected venom seeped into his words. "Monica, let's not pretend. Our love was a convenience, a way for me to survive in the Capitol. I never loved you. It was always about the money, the stability you offered."

Monica recoiled, her eyes welling up with tears. "Coriolanus, how can you say that? We've been through so much together. I believed in us."

His tone turned cold, matching the frost in his eyes. "Belief won't change anything. I've found someone who truly understands me, who doesn't see me as a pawn in their game. Lucy Gray — she's the one I love."

Monica felt the ground crumble beneath her. "Lucy Gray? After everything we've been through, you're leaving me for her?"

Coriolanus, unmoved by her distress, continued, "I need to go where she is, I need to make sure she is alive. District 12, where Lucy is. It's time to embrace the reality of my feelings."

Monica, torn between disbelief and heartbreak, struggled to find words. As Coriolanus turned to walk away, the shattered pieces of their once-unbreakable bond lay scattered, lost in the harsh winds of change.

Monica, though battered by Coriolanus's cutting words, refused to let despair consume her. As he turned to leave, she reached out, her hand trembling, and gently caught hold of his arm. "Coriolanus, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his expression a mixture of regret and determination. But before he could speak, Monica stepped into his arms, wrapping herself around him in a tight embrace. "It's okay," she whispered into his ear, her voice steady despite the quiver in her heart. "If this is where you need to be, then I'll support you. I'll love you from here, even if it hurts."

Coriolanus, taken aback by the unexpected gesture, hesitated for a moment. The cold exterior he had crafted began to crack as he felt the warmth of Monica's embrace. His icy resolve wavered, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned the choices he was making.

Monica continued, her voice filled with sincerity, "I promise to take care of Tigers and Grandma'am. I'll make sure they remember you. And I'll do my best to bring you back home, to us."

Coriolanus, conflicted and haunted by unspoken emotions, simply hugged her back. The weight of his actions hung heavily between them, but in that moment, the familiarity of their connection pushed through the turmoil. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, a silent acknowledgment of the love that lingered beneath the surface.

Monica, her eyes closed against the pain, whispered, "Be safe, Coriolanus. Find your happiness. I'll be waiting for you, no matter how long it takes."

As he reluctantly pulled away, their eyes met one last time. In that gaze, a complex tapestry of emotions unfolded — love, regret, and the unspoken truth that lingered between them. Coriolanus, unable to voice what his heart truly felt, simply nodded, acknowledging the sacrifice Monica was making for him.

With one last glance, he turned away, leaving Monica standing in the dimly lit corridor, a pillar of strength despite the ache in her heart. As Coriolanus ventured into the unknown, the memory of her unwavering support lingered, a beacon of hope in the shadows of uncertainty.

---- Time skip

The days that followed were a blur of anguish for Monica. The weight of Coriolanus's departure pressed heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to let it crush her spirit. Determination fueled her actions as she navigated the challenges of keeping her promise to him.

Monica faced the disapproval of her own family, who viewed Coriolanus's fall from grace as a stain on their reputation. Yet, she stood resolute, deflecting their judgment with a grace that belied the turmoil within her. Tigers and Grandma'am, Coriolanus's family, found solace in Monica's unwavering support, and together, they faced the whispers and sidelong glances of Capitol society.

In her quiet moments, Monica grappled with the truth Coriolanus had laid bare — that their love was not what she had believed it to be. The sting of his words lingered, a persistent ache in her heart. Yet, in the face of adversity, Monica discovered a strength within herself that she never knew existed.

As she navigated the intricacies of Capitol politics, Monica found herself drawn to the cause of the Districts, a stark contrast to the privileged life she had known. The injustice of the Hunger Games, the oppressive rule of the Capitol — it all became painfully clear to her. Determined to make a difference, Monica secretly aligned herself with those who sought change.

The Capitol's grip on her life loosened as Monica immersed herself in this clandestine world. She forged alliances with rebels, learning the art of subversion and rebellion. Monica, once the epitome of Capitol elegance, now moved in the shadows, a silent force working against the very system she was born into.

---

The dusty air of District 12 clung to Coriolanus as he navigated the unfamiliar streets, his steps heavy with the weight of his choices. Lucy Gray walked beside him, her presence offering a semblance of comfort in this strange, new world. Sejanus, their unlikely companion, observed the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

In the dimly lit bar they entered, the crackling sound of an old television caught their attention. The screen flickered, revealing the unmistakable visage of Dr. Volumnia Gaul, the architect of Capitol cruelty, as she delivered a broadcast.

"As a reminder of the consequences of treachery," Dr. Gaul's voice echoed through the bar, "we present the traitor who dared defy the Capitol's authority."

The camera shifted, revealing a face both familiar and heart-wrenching. It was Monica, pale and beaten, her eyes hollow with despair. Coriolanus felt a sharp intake of breath as he stared at the small screen, unable to comprehend the depths of betrayal that had transpired.

Lucy Gray's hand found its way to his, gripping it in silent support. Sejanus, too, watched with a mix of horror and sympathy, realizing the impact of the Capitol's ruthlessness on those who dared question it.

Dr. Gaul continued, her voice devoid of remorse, "This traitor provided aid to the districts, undermining the Capitol's authority. Let this be a warning to all who dare to defy us."

Coriolanus, his heart heavy with guilt, could hardly bear to watch as Monica's beaten form became a pawn in the Capitol's ruthless game. The realization hit him with a force that eclipsed the power of any Games he had ever witnessed.

As the broadcast concluded, the bar fell into an uneasy silence. The trio exchanged glances, each grappling with the harsh truth of the Capitol's brutality. Coriolanus, torn between loyalty and self-preservation, felt a surge of conflicting emotions.

---- Big time skip

Years had passed since the traumatic events in District 12. The Capitol's grip on the districts had tightened, and Coriolanus Snow found himself entangled in the web of political intrigue and power struggles. The memories of Monica and the haunting broadcast had become a distant ache, buried beneath layers of duty and survival.

In the garden of the presidential mansion, where whispers of rebellion echoed in the rustling leaves, Coriolanus found himself in the unexpected company of Katniss Everdeen. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken truths as they discussed the Capitol's ruthless tactics, particularly the bombings that targeted innocent children.

As they exchanged somber words, Coriolanus couldn't help but notice a delicate necklace around Katniss's neck — a small, silver chain with a pendant that bore a striking resemblance to the one Monica used to wear. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't suppress the urgency in his voice as he asked, "Where did you get that necklace?"

Katniss, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, touched the pendant thoughtfully. "It was my grandma's. She gave it to me before she passed away."

Coriolanus, trying to conceal the turmoil within, couldn't shake the feeling that the necklace held a connection to Monica. He probed further, "Your grandma's? Did she ever mention where she got it?"

Katniss shook her head, her expression clouded with sadness. "No, she never said. It was just a simple keepsake she wanted me to have. Why do you ask?"

A sense of unease settled over Coriolanus as he grappled with the possibility that Monica might have suffered a fate worse than he could have imagined. He hesitated before speaking, "It just looks remarkably similar to one someone I knew used to wear. A dear friend from a long time ago."

Katniss studied him intently, her gaze penetrating the carefully constructed facade.

Coriolanus Snow, unable to shake the eerie similarity between Katniss's necklace and Monica's, took a deep breath before venturing further into the delicate topic. "Tell me more about your grandmother, Katniss. What was she like?"

Katniss's eyes softened with nostalgia as she spoke of her grandmother, a resilient woman who had endured the harsh realities of District 12. She shared stories of strength, survival, and the enduring spirit that had been passed down through generations.

Listening intently, Coriolanus couldn't help but feel a growing weight of recognition. The details Katniss provided about her grandmother painted a vivid picture, one that seemed to align with the Monica he once knew — the Monica who had disappeared without a trace.

As Katniss spoke, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Monica, like Coriolanus, had been cast into the unforgiving embrace of District 12 by her parents as a form of punishment. The once wealthy and privileged girl had found herself entwined in the gritty reality of the impoverished district.

Coriolanus, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a mix of emotions swirling within him. Monica had not only survived but had built a life in District 12 — a life that transcended the confines of her origins. The revelation brought a bittersweet sense of closure to the wounds of the past.

The necklace, once a symbol of loss, now carried the weight of a profound connection. Monica's legacy lived on in Katniss, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit even in the face of adversity.

A complex tapestry of emotions played across Coriolanus's face — relief, regret, and a tinge of gratitude for the unexpected turn of events. In that moment, he found a measure of solace in knowing that Monica had forged her own path, a path that led to the birth of a courageous young woman who stood before him.

As the conversation with Katniss unfolded, Coriolanus couldn't escape the realization that the Capitol's attempts to break them had instead given rise to something far more powerful — a legacy of strength and defiance that endured in the face of oppression.

The necklace, now an emblem of intertwined destinies, served as a silent reminder of the choices they had made and the paths they had walked. Coriolanus, standing on the precipice of history, found himself reevaluating his role in the unfolding drama of Panem. The shadows of Monica's disappearance, once haunting, now held the promise of a resilient spirit that refused to be extinguished.

Hello snowbaird fans!! Summer is coming up; which means it’s time for a second edition of our Snowbaird smut week!

Snowbaird Valentine event starts tomorrow!!

(See our pinned post for details!)

Only one week before the start of our Valentine event!! (See pinned post for all the info l!)

It is officially February… which means only two weeks before the start of our Valentine event!

We are so excited to see what you come up with! 💕

Coming soon!

We can't wait until February to see all the beautiful works, and please reach out to us if you have any doubts about the event.

Link to AO3 Collection

Details about the event:

This February!

see more details here!

Hello Snowbaird fam! After already more than a full year of tbosas, we are officially announcing the second edition of our Valentine event!

The dates:

from February 14th to 20th (as always, late entries will be welcome!)

The prompts:

Day 1 (february 14): Domesticity Day 2 (february 15): Scars Day 3 (february 16): Fire Day 4 (february 17): Hands Day 5 (february 18): Jealousy Day 6 (february 19): Song Day 7 (february 20): Snow

The rules:

Any medium is allowed (fanfic, fanart, playlists, mood boards, etc)

AI content is not allowed

the work needs to be about snowbaird

please tag content appropriately!

On tumblr, tag us and post using the #snowbairdvalentine2025 tag

On ao3, post to the collection!

We look forward to seeing your creations! 🫶

officially only a week left until the start of the Snowbaird au fest event!!! (See our pinned post for all the details!)

The second run of the 2024 Snowbaird AU fest is officially two weeks away!! We accepts all mediums, see our pinned post for more details and feel free to ask if you have any questions! 🫶

The 1 year anniversary of the tbosas movie is coming up… and so is the second run of our Snowbaird AU fest event!!

See the ao3 collection here!