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bookishcarmela · 3 months ago

Text

Shadows of Affection

warnings: death

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 16: Aftermath

You wake up feeling dazed, disoriented. The ceiling above you is unfamiliar, high and intricate with golden detailing carved into its moldings. The bed beneath you is too soft, the sheets too smooth, like silk against your skin. You shift slightly, trying to sit up, when an arm tightens around your waist. Your body stiffens.

What the fuck?

Panic shoots through you for a second before last night’s memories come flooding back. The exhaustion. Felix insisting you come home with him. Falling into bed before you could even think twice about it.

Oh no. No, no, no.

You groan internally. You were tired, sure, but how could you have let this happen? Felix’s house. Felix’s bed. Felix’s arms wrapped so tightly around you that escape feels impossible. And when you get home—if you get home—Quincy is going to have a field day. He always does. Though lately, he’s been too busy. You don’t see him as often. You don’t sit down for dinner together. You try to come home after everyone’s asleep and leave before they wake. But he’ll know. He always knows. And you have no explanation to give him.

You shift again, trying to pry yourself from Felix’s grasp, but he groans in annoyance and only pulls you closer.

“Felix,” you mutter, voice still rough with sleep. “I have to go.”

He buries his face against your shoulder. “No, no we don’t have to go anywhere,” he mumbles sleepily. “Stay. Let’s get breakfast. Let’s take the day off.”

You shake your head. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

Felix sighs, rubbing at his face before propping himself up on one elbow. “Why?”

You sit up, already scanning the room for your clothes. “I have to talk to Dr. Gaul. She’s going to be expecting me.”

His expression shifts, his easygoing sleepiness fading into something more tense. “Why do you always have to leave?” His voice is sharper than before, tinged with frustration. “Why can’t you just stay with me?”

You glance at him, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “What are you talking about? You know I’m busy. So are you. I can’t just take a day off.”

Felix scoffs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Is it Coriolanus?”

You freeze for a second before rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re being dramatic. This has nothing to do with Coriolanus.”

“It always has something to do with him,” Felix presses, his voice darkening. “I saw it. The way you looked at him.”

You push against his chest, trying to create space between you, but he doesn’t let you. “Felix, you’re blind.”

“Then prove it,” he says. “Stay.” His grip tightens on your wrist. “Stay with me. Stay in bed.” His voice softens. “Please.”

You inhale sharply, heart hammering. “No. I can’t.”

Felix exhales slowly, finally loosening his hold. But even as he releases you, his fingers remain tangled with yours. He always does this—always finds a way to touch you. Whether it’s a hand on your knee, fingers brushing against your wrist, his presence always lingering.

He sits up, watching you as you move around the room, aimlessly searching. “Where are my clothes?” you ask.

“I had them thrown away.”

You turn sharply. “What?”

“They were filthy,” Felix says simply. “They were torn. You weren’t going to wear them again, so I had the maids bring you something new.” He gestures lazily. “They’ll bring it to you in a minute.”

You let out a slow breath, trying not to get more frustrated than you already are. “Fine.”

Minutes later, the maids arrive, carrying a neatly folded dress. You take it, holding it up in front of you. The fabric is luxurious, softer than anything you’d normally wear. The cut is modest—but just barely. If it were any shorter, it would cross the line from refined to provocative.

And it’s white.

You frown. White. You never wear white. It makes you feel like a child bride. And you know, without a doubt, that Felix picked this. He didn’t choose something you’d like—he chose something he would like to see you in.

You slip into the dress, brushing out your hair, trying to ignore the way it fits too perfectly, like it was tailored for you overnight. You stare at yourself in the mirror, lost in thought, when Felix moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips brush against your neck. “Stay,” he murmurs against your skin. “We could be comfortable. Come back to bed.”

You stiffen. His kisses become sloppier, more insistent. You know exactly what he’s trying to do.

“No,” you say firmly, stepping out of his grip.

Felix’s hands drop to his sides, his face darkening. For a second, it looks like he might argue, but instead, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine.” His voice is flat. “Call me later.”

You nod, barely listening.

“Call me tonight,” he repeats, watching you carefully. “We’ll go to dinner.”

You exhale. “Okay.”

Felix calls your driver, and soon enough, you’re slipping out of the house, walking through the eerily silent halls of the President’s mansion. It’s strange—so many people live here, so many servants, so many visitors from powerful families, and yet it always feels... empty. Hollow. Like the walls themselves are absorbing all the life inside them.

Finally, you step outside, into the fresh air, and climb into the car waiting for you. As soon as the door shuts, you let your head fall back against the seat and sigh.

You moved quickly through the corridors of the Capitol, your footsteps echoing off the pristine marble floor. The peacekeepers at the entrance barely gave you a glance before granting you access to the underground levels, where Dr. Gaul’s true domain lay.

The air grew colder the deeper you went, the artificial lights casting long, eerie shadows. As you descended, the scent of raw fish curled into your nose, unmistakable and putrid. A sharp chorus of squeals rang out—feeding time. Then, silence.

You swallowed thickly, keeping your eyes forward, pretending you didn’t hear, pretending you didn’t know what happened in these halls. You had always done that, because fear made it easier. Fear kept you from wondering too hard about what went on behind the reinforced glass or what kind of creatures lurked in the shadows of Gaul’s twisted creations. Fear reminded you that if it ever came down to you or them, you would always choose yourself.

When you reached the lab, Dr. Gaul was standing over a steel enclosure, dropping chunks of flesh into it. A wet, slithering sound accompanied each drop, followed by quick, greedy gulps. Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to remain composed.

Dr. Gaul turned to you, her smile wide and unnatural. “Oh, my little dove,” she cooed. “How was your little excursion last night?”

Your spine stiffened. “Eventful.”

“Eventful, she says,” Gaul chuckled, tilting her head. “Come, let’s check you up.”

She stepped forward, her gloved hands reaching out to examine you. Cold fingertips brushed against your wrist, then your jaw, tilting your head side to side as Gaul’s grin stretched wider, inspecting you like you were just another one of her projects. You forced yourself not to recoil.

“I started out as a medical doctor, you know,” Gaul said conversationally, stepping back. “Sterile. How awful, you must imagine, to be the first thing a baby sees in this world.” She sighed dramatically. “Parents always expect reassurances, but what can I possibly tell them? How could I know what their children would face?”

You said nothing, but you knew where this was going.

“Like you, last night,” Gaul continued, voice filled with an eerie amusement. “Who would have imagined the darling daughter of Lason Royce, fighting for her life in the Capitol arena? Not him, for one.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you had no response. You barely remembered your father anymore. His face was always a blur, shifting in your memory like a phantom you could never quite catch.

“What was it like?” Gaul asked. “The arena?”

You met her gaze, unwavering. “Terrifying. Just like it was designed to be.”

Gaul let out a laugh. “Yes, indeed.”

You exhaled sharply.

“What about the tributes?” Gaul smirked. “What about them?”

You hesitated.

“What did you think of them, now that their chains were removed? Now that they tried to kill you, not because they had to, but because they wanted to?”

Gaul’s eyes gleamed. “Ah. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You thought back to the escape, to the sheer bloodlust in the tributes’ eyes even after they were free. “I felt like an animal. Like prey being hunted.”

“But you weren’t.”

“No,” you admitted. “But I always am. No matter where I go, I’m always prey.”

Gaul let out a delighted hum, as if you had just said exactly what she wanted to hear. “Mission accomplished, then.”

She walked over to a counter, idly flipping through a file. “That little one from Eight—Snow beat him to a pulp. Now we’ll have to fabricate some lovely tale for Flickerman to spin. What a wonderful opportunity for you.” She glanced up, her grin sharp. “Transformative, wasn’t it?”

You felt the phantom sensation of blood on your skin, the memory of Coryo bashing into that boy’s face over and over again. The sickening crunch, the shiver down your spine. It brought back too many memories—war, home, the never-ending cycle of violence.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

It was all you ever saw.

Gaul tapped her fingers against the counter. “Wasn’t it more than you could’ve hoped for?”

You inhaled slowly. “You needed me to get Sejanus out of the arena, obviously. But you also wanted me to… what? Experience it?”

Gaul’s grin widened.

“Even if it killed me?” Your voice tightened.

“That was a risk.”

“Without the threat of death, what’s the point of a lesson?” Gaul mused. She gestured vaguely. “What happens in the arena, my dear, that is humanity undressed. The tributes. And you. How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, your education, your family background—it all falls away in an instant, revealing what you really are.”

Your stomach twisted, but you weren’t surprised. “And? What was the point? I already knew all this.” Your voice sharpened. “I’ve always known. I’ve seen it before.”

Gaul let out a pleased hum. “I thought you might need a reminder, little dove.” She stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t want you going soft.”

Your jaw clenched.

Gaul tilted her head, watching you carefully. “I need you to realize where you are in this world… and where you will stay if you don’t change it.”

Your breath hitched.

Gaul’s voice turned saccharine, condescending. “You can’t stay my little dove forever.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. You had nothing to say to that. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you wanted to argue.

Gaul simply smiled and turned away.

The conversation was over. But the lesson lingered.

The main student body had been told to report at 7:45, so the early arrivals consisted of active mentors and a few aides tidying up the hall. You couldn’t help but throw a guilty glance at Juno Phipps, who sat discussing her strategy, knowing she could’ve just slept in. Your thoughts wandered to how they would announce Bobbin’s death and how Coriolanus would react—but you doubted he would care.

Everything from yesterday had already been set up, and since the crowds hadn’t arrived yet, you decided to join Festus. The only thing being served in Heavensbee Hall was tea, which brought grumblings from Festus. “If we have to be here early, you’d think they could at least feed us,” he muttered.

“You’d think,” you replied.

Coriolanus sauntered up beside Festus, casually joining the small group. “What happened to your face?”

“Bike accident,” Coriolanus said loud enough for everyone to hear, his eyes briefly glancing at you. He tossed a bag containing a roll to Festus.

“Thanks, this looks great,” Festus said, digging in immediately.

Conversations continued around you, but you barely paid attention. Your mind drifted, replaying the events of the past few weeks. Your life had suddenly become a living nightmare with the start of the Hunger Games, and it didn’t help that Coriolanus kept making eye contact with you. As the rest of the school arrived and took their seats, you chose to separate from the group, heading toward the game makers’ station to observe behind the screens.

The monitors showed little change—except for the disappearance of Marcus’s body. No one seemed to question it. You assumed it was still by the barricade, where Coriolanus and Sejanus had abandoned it last night, just out of range of the cameras.

At the stroke of eight, the anthem played, and everyone stood. You weren’t much of a singer, so you remained quiet as Lucky Flickerman appeared on the screens, welcoming everyone to Day Two of the Hunger Games.

“While you were sleeping, something pretty important happened,” Lucky announced. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The feed cut to a wide shot of the arena before slowly panning in on the barricade. As you expected, Marcus’s body lay nearby, but your stomach twisted when Bobbin’s battered form came into view. He looked much worse than you had imagined—his limbs twisted unnaturally, his swollen face barely recognizable. Coriolanus had really done that to another boy—a young boy. You stole a glance at him, but all you saw was the back of his head. Even from there, you knew he was nervous. He might have seemed like a good liar to everyone else, but you always knew better.

After a long look at the bodies, the show cut back to Lucky, who pondered aloud who might have committed the act. His mood abruptly shifted. “One thing we do know is that we’ve got something to celebrate!”

Confetti rained from the ceiling as Lucky blew wildly on a plastic horn. “We’ve just hit the halfway mark! That’s right—twelve tributes down, only twelve to go!” A string of brightly colored handkerchiefs shot from his sleeve as he swung them around his head, laughing and cheering. When he finally calmed, he adopted a somber expression. “But that also means we have to say farewell to Miss Juno Phipps.”

A man approached Juno’s side to escort her out, but she suddenly spoke up. “Something seems off to me,” she said. “I mean, what’s he doing over there with Marcus’s body? Who moved it? And how did Bobbin end up dead? I can’t even imagine a likely scenario.”

The reporter, intrigued, pressed further. “What exactly would qualify as foul play?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Juno admitted. “But I, for one, would really like to see a replay of last night’s events.”

Good luck with that, you thought. But then the idea lingered. Maybe a recording did exist. Maybe there were two versions—one for the public and another kept private. You’d have to look into it later, though you doubted you could access it or that Dr. Gaul would even keep such a thing.

Juno was dismissed with a patronizing pat on the back, still sparkling with confetti. Lucky, oblivious to her frustration, leaned toward the camera with barely contained glee.

“And now, I suppose you’re all wondering about our extra big surprise! Especially if you’re one of the twelve remaining mentors.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. What the hell was he talking about?

Before you could dwell on it, Lucky bounded across the stage to reveal two men sitting side by side—his father, Strabo Plinth, whose stern expression was as immovable as the granite of his home district, and Sejanus, looking hollow-eyed and stiff.

Lucky took the host chair and patted Sejanus’s leg. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a moment with you yesterday to comment on your tribute’s… unfortunate demise.”

Sejanus merely stared, uncomprehending. Lucky seemed to notice his injuries for the first time. “You look like you’ve been mixing it up yourself.”

“I fell off my bike,” Sejanus rasped.

Two biking accidents in twelve hours? That seemed highly unlikely.

“Ouch! Well, I guess you’ve had some pretty big news to share with us,” Lucky continued, nodding encouragingly.

Sejanus hesitated, while neither he nor his father acknowledged each other. A silent battle raged between them. Finally, Sejanus exhaled. “The Plinth family would like to announce that we will be awarding a full-ride university scholarship to the mentor whose tribute wins the Hunger Games.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Several mentors gasped in delight. You rolled your eyes, knowing that most of them didn’t need the money nearly as much as others did.

As the interview dragged on, your thoughts churned. Sejanus had been right—his father was trying to cover up his son’s disgraceful behavior with a generous bribe. Not that it didn’t merit damage control. You hadn’t heard much gossip about the outburst with the chair yet, but you suspected stories were already spreading.

As the interview ended and the Games were broadcast once again, nothing particularly interesting happened throughout the morning. The tributes seemed hesitant to make any bold moves. Coral and Mizzen roamed together for a while, collecting food and water from their mentors, Festus and Persephone. The two mentors had been strategizing together, and it was clear that Festus had a crush on Persephone. It wasn’t exactly breaking news—he’d harbored feelings for her for a long time. Still, every time you looked at Persephone, you couldn’t help but think of Coriolanus and the story he had told you about her war time stew.

Would you tell one of your close friends that their crush was a cannibal? It seemed unorthodox, even cruel. For all you knew, Persephone herself might not even be aware. But the thought lingered, unsettling you as you moved through the uneventful lunch period. At least, this time, when people sent food or water, the drones didn’t crash. You had one of the other Gamemakers bring you whatever was being served—a small sandwich, nothing remarkable.

Later in the afternoon, You had the Gamemakers reduce the mentor seats to twelve, leaving only space for those whose tributes were still in the Games. “It makes it easier for the audience to keep track of who’s still a contender,” you told them, instructing them to keep removing seats as more tributes fell. A grim game of musical chairs, but with real consequences. The decision seemed to make livia even more bitter, if that was possible. You felt a twinge of sympathy—but only a small one. What caught your attention more was how this change forced Coriolanus closer to Clemencia, who remained scaley, snake-like, and entirely focused on him, her glare never wavering.

As the afternoon stretched on, your exhaustion caught up with you. Your head grew heavier, and at one point, a fellow Gamemaker had to nudge you awake—twice. Perhaps it was fortunate that so little was required of you today, given how last night had nearly killed you.

Tributes remained mostly hidden until late in the day when the Hunger Games finally delivered the kind of action audiences expected. The girl from District 5—a wiry, forgettable thing whose name escaped you—was caught wandering the arena. Lucky Flickerman managed to connect her to her equally forgettable mentor, Iphigenia Moss, the daughter of the man who oversaw agriculture and the distribution of food across Panem.

Contrary to expectations, Iphigenia always seemed on the verge of malnutrition. She had a reputation for giving her school lunches to classmates, sometimes blacking out from hunger. Festus had once mentioned that it was her only form of revenge against her father, though he refused to elaborate. True to form, Iphigenia funneled every bit of food she could to her tribute. But even as the drones made their long trek across the arena, the trio of Coral, Tanner, and Mizzen emerged from the tunnels, hunting.

After a brief chase along the bleachers, they surrounded the District 5 girl. Coral ended it with a trident to the throat, making you cringe.

“Well, that’s that,” Lucky said, unable to recall the girl’s name.

When prompted, Iphigenia had already left the dais. “Her name was Sol. Or maybe Sal,” the reporter said with a shrug.

“Not much more to tell.”

“Nice job getting her to the second day, alibina,” Lucky added.

“It’s Iphigenia,” she corrected over her shoulder as she exited, not bothering to glance back.

“Right,” Lucky continued smoothly. “And that means we’re down to just eleven tributes left!”

Thank God, you thought. I’m one step closer to finally going home.

The rest of the day passed without much excitement, and as you were finally being dismissed—something you were immensely grateful for—Lucy Gray made an entrance.

You groaned aloud as she sprinted out of a tunnel, her braid unraveling, her hair flying wild behind her. In your head, you were already hoping that one of the trio—maybe Coral—would kill her just to get this over with. Then you could finally go home.

But before you could even guess what was chasing her, Jessup staggered out of the same tunnel. At first, you thought he was wounded—maybe he’d been protecting Lucy Gray. They were from the same district, so it made sense that they would have formed a pact. But if they were allies, why had she run?

As the cameras zoomed in, it became clear that Jessup wasn’t injured—he was sick. Stiff, feverish, twitching with erratic movements. He swiped at the sun, crouched, then sprang to his feet again in an unsettling cycle. His behavior made your skin crawl.

Your first thought was poison. Had Coriolanus’s little songbird found a way to get rid of her own ally? But that seemed unlikely. Jessup was a valuable protector, especially with those other tributes prowling around. Any number of things in that arena could have sickened him—contaminated water, spoiled food.

But then, you saw the telltale foam bubbling over his lips.

Oh, God, you thought.

Jessup had rabies.

Rabies had made a comeback in the Capitol during the war, with doctors needed in the field and medical faculties and supply lines compromised by the bombings. Medical treatment had been sketchy for humans, and for a lot of people, it had become essentially nonexistent. Pampered pets were no longer a priority when people couldn’t even afford bread.

How it began remained a matter of debate—an infected coyote from the mountains, a nocturnal encounter with a bat—but the dogs spread it. Most of them were starving, abandoned casualties of the war themselves. From dog to dog, then to people, the violent strain developed with unprecedented speed, killing over a dozen Capitol citizens before a vaccination program brought it under control. You remembered the posters alerting people to the warning signs in both animals and humans, adding just one more potential threat to your world.

And poor Jessup had been bitten��by what, you weren’t sure. But it was on the neck. The quicker the virus reached the brain, the quicker you died. And of course, he was half-starved and weak. Poor Jessup, you thought. Even his death had to be horrible.

The recognition of Jessup’s illness put the audience on edge, setting off a wave of comments thick with fear and revulsion.

“Rabies? How did he get that? Must’ve come from the district.”

“I bet he’s gonna infect the whole city.”

“A little unprecedented, but not after seeing it spread through the city once.”

“The Capitol should just put him down. They knew he had it before he tried to spread it around like some apocalypse.”

The students seemed to draw back into their seats, not wanting to miss anything, but the murmurs of unease were unmistakable. The disease dredged up childhood memories of public warnings, and no one wanted to see its horrors play out again. You stayed silent, watching Jessup zigzag across the arena in Lucy Gray’s direction. There was no telling what was going on in his mind. Under normal circumstances, maybe he’d protect her, maybe not. But he had clearly lost his reason. If she had any sense, she’d run for her life.

The cameras tracked Lucy Gray as she sprinted across the arena, scrambling up the broken wall into the stands. The press box occupied a midway position, somehow spared in the bombings. She stopped a moment, panting, considering Jessup’s erratic pursuit. Then she made for the debris of the nearby concession stand. The skeleton of its frame remained, but the center had been blasted to bits and the roof flung thirty feet away, strewn with bricks and boards. It was an obstacle course as she traveled until she planted herself at the top of the mess. The Gamemakers took advantage of her stillness, zooming in for a close-up.

Much to your delight, she looked like hell. You didn’t know why you disliked her so much—you just did. And you weren’t sure you were ready to tackle the whole of that dislike just yet.

An order for a bottle of water came through from Coriolanus, which you approved with little interest, sending a drone out. Jessup, meanwhile, had made his way across the arena, climbing into the stands after Lucy Gray. His balance wavered as he entered the debris field. He fell twice, with such force that he opened gashes on his knee and temple. The second wound produced a fair amount of blood. He sat, somewhat stunned, reaching a trembling hand toward Lucy Gray, his mouth moving, but only foam dripped from his chin.

Lucy Gray remained motionless, watching Jessup with a pained expression. The scene created a strange tableau—rabid boy, trapped girl, bombed-out building—a tale that could only end in tragedy. Star-crossed lovers meeting their fate? A revenge story turned inward? A war saga that took no prisoners?

Just die already, you thought. Enough with the dramatics.

A drone carrying the water flew into the arena. Lucy Gray lifted her face, tracking its wobbly progress. Her tongue flicked across her lips in anticipation. However, as it passed over Jessup, something in him registered the sight. A shudder raked through his body. He swung at the drone with a broken board, and it crashed into the stands, the water pouring out of the cracked bottle. That was when he truly lost it.

Suddenly, five more water orders came through from Coriolanus. Then ten. You approved them absentmindedly, wondering what he was trying to do. And then it clicked. Hydrophobia. Rabies victims couldn’t swallow and went wild at the sight of water.

Clever, you thought, glancing down at the screen where Coriolanus seemed to be arguing with Sejanus. You couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Lucy Gray had worked herself into a tight spot. To her left was the high back wall of the arena; to her right, the thick glass side of the press box. As Jessup continued his pursuit, she made several attempts to escape him, but he kept cutting her off. When he came within twenty feet, she spoke to him, holding out her hand in a soothing manner. It stopped him, but only momentarily before he lunged again.

Across the arena, the first bottle of water began its flight toward her. The machine was steady and true in its course—a rare feat that disappointed you, given the drones’ tendency to crash. The small fleet that followed was more unpredictable. As soon as Lucy Gray spotted them, she stopped retreating, patting the ruffles of her skirt over a pocket, checking for something. Then she pointed at the drones, shouting, and succeeded in turning Jessup’s attention toward them.

Jessup froze, his eyes bulging with fear. The drones closed in. He batted at them but failed to connect. Then they started releasing the bottles of water. The impact of the first smacking into the seats sent him into a frenzy. When the contents of one splashed onto his hand, he recoiled as if burned by acid.

He turned to flee, bounding down toward the field, but another dozen drones arrived and bombarded him. Since they were programmed to deliver directly to the tribute, there was no escaping them. He flew toward the front row seats, his foot caught, and he tripped forward—hurtling over the arena wall and onto the field.

The sickening crack of snapping bones filled the speakers. The audience gasped. Even you felt queasy. Jessup had landed in a rare pocket of the arena with good audio. He lay on his back, motionless except for the heaving of his chest. The remaining bottles rained down on him, his lips curled back, his eyes locked unblinkingly on the bright sun glinting off the water.

Lucy Gray darted down the steps and hung over the railing. “Jessup!” she shouted.

You weren’t interested. You were tired. You wanted to go home. So you did. You told the Gamemakers to keep things running until the students left, then dismissed them as well. And with that, you made your way out of Heavensbee Hall.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #my fic #fanfic #lucy grey baird #young coriolanus snow #sunrise on the reaping #felix ravinstill #festus creed

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sejanusfan · 2 years ago

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#sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow #clemensia dovecote #festus creed #felix ravinstill #palmyra monty #persephone price #vipsania sickle #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosbas #the hunger games #thg

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snowcote · 5 months ago

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the closer we’re getting to sotr the more I’m thinking!

I’m going to need Suzanne Collins to give us more connections in sunrise on the reaping with the mentors of the 10th hunger games especially Clemensia Dovecote and what becomes of her. I need to know what happens to them do they get killed off ? Are they part of the resistance? Are they still a wealthy capitol house name? do they work for Coriolanus? I would also hope we learn a bit more about Tigris. And before anyone comes for me, I know this isn’t technically a tbosas sequel, but even if it’s subtle I hope she answers some of them, I’m hoping for at least a name drop of Clemensia Dovecote and or her descendants.

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persephoneprice · 5 months ago

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how i see the characters from the perspective of my pinterest boards

felix ravinstill & festus creed

#felix ravinstill #festus creed #i’m bored #and i have a pinterest board for pretty much every character #pintrest

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slaymitchabernathy · 1 year ago

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Mr. Peacekeeper

“President Coriolanus Snow, I salute you,” he whispers to himself while looking in the mirror.

Coriolanus looks extremely sharp and put together in his opinion. With his perfectly tailored suit, his golden curls slicked back, but not too slicked back, and his shiny black leather shoes.

He remembers a time when he’d sit on the edge of his tiny bunk bed, shining his black Peacekeeper boots. It’s all in the past now. All of it.

“Coriolanus?”

Well, not all of it.

He turns and finds Soarynn standing in the doorway of the bedroom, holding her dress up to her chest as if it might fall at any moment. “Yes?” She takes a cautious step into the room before turning around, exposing her bare back along with the dress that hasn’t been laced up yet. That explains why she’s holding onto it for dear life.

He can’t stop the grin from forming on his lips, “Could you string me up?” She asks, casting him a glance from over her shoulder. He nods and walks over to her, his fingers grabbing the strings that will give Soarynn the perfect figure as the dress clings to her shape. He can’t help but stare at the plethora of scars on her back. Some are from cigarettes, from men who liked to put them out on her bare skin. Others are from long nails that hadn’t been cut in a long time.

He tries to forget that time in her life, when she slept with lowlife men for a few sad coins.

He tries to remind himself that she was trying to survive, to provide for her family and make a living but heaven knows it can be hard for him.

It’s been hard for her too. Learning a new way of life here in the Capitol has been…an adjustment for Soarynn so to speak. At first, she’d been in awe of the city and its wonders. The food, the fashion, and of course, the culture. It was all so different from the Districts.

That’s why Coriolanus loved it so much.

Once they arrived at the train station they were greeted by Dr. Gaul of all people. The mad scientist was a rather odd woman but she was beaming when he stepped off the train and praised him for giving her such a “wonderful performance.” Her eyes had then landed on Soarynn who was pressed to his side, wide-eyed as she looked around at all the people.

“I see you’ve brought a souvenir, Mr. Snow,” she’d said, chuckling to herself when Soarynn gave her a rather disturbed look.

Coriolanus had made a mental note to keep Soarynn far away from the clutches of Dr. Gaul, a woman who had no reservations about testing her new ideas on human beings.

For the most part, he did keep Soarynn hidden away. He didn't need everyone to know about her. Only the people who mattered knew of Soarynn's existence. They were going to see many of those people tonight at the charity auction that President Ravenstill was hosting at the President's Mansion.

"I don't remember buying you this dress," he says, pulling on the strings. She sucks in her breath as he tightens up the dress and lets out a small groan, "Well you bought me about a million dresses when we got here." She's not wrong. Once Coriolanus got back to the Capitol he gave him and Soarynn proper facelifts. He grew out his curls and got her hair cut, it had been so tangled and dirty. Now it fell around her breasts and had a more flattering cut.

He got Soarynn facials, massages, and all the creams and makeup she could ever want. If she was going to be his girl, she had to look the part. He taught her how to walk in heels, how to always be on her best behavior, to look people in the eye, to have manners.

She had to be perfect.

"Nothing wrong with keeping you properly clothed," he tells her before tying the strings off with a bow. "Now, for tonight I want you to be on your best behavior, and don't stray from my si-"

"From your side, I know," Soarynn huffs, walking back out into the hallway. Coriolanus is hot on her heels, she's not about to get an attitude with him. "I don't have time for any outbursts Soarynn," he reminds her, "people in the Capitol won't understand if you start behaving oddly." Soarynn makes it all the way to the living room before he latches onto her wrist and pulls her into him, she struggles but Coriolanus has always been much stronger than her, even if she has filled out a little more with her new Capitol diet.

"I don't wanna go Coriolanus," she whispers, trying to pry his arm off of her, "all those men do is look at me and act like I'm some shiny trophy." She is a trophy but she doesn't need to know that.

Coriolanus sighs, "Soarynn, I'm not asking you to come with me, I'm telling you that you're coming with me tonight, like it or not. Besides, lots of their wives will be there. You like them don't you?"

Since getting back to the Capitol, Coriolanus had been working extremely hard to reconnect with the higher elite. He was going to run for President in the next election and to do that and win, he needed connections. He befriended all sorts of wealthy men and politicians, knowing that it could only help his campaign.

Soarynn didn't really understand any of it, why he'd want to run for President. "You already have a nice fancy house," she'd said one night, the two of them sitting in their after-sex bliss. He had given her a squeeze and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, "Yes, but it's different. You'll see."

Soarynn looks down at the ground, her entire body somewhat deflates, "I don't like talkin' to them. They're so old and boring." Coriolanus has to withhold himself from wrapping a hand around her pretty little neck because the last thing he needs is for her to say something like that in front of the wrong person. "They're married to the most influential men in Panem," he reminds her, "and what did I say about properly enunciating your words?"

Getting that southern twang out of Soarynn's voice had been more than difficult. It wasn't even the accent that bothered him, but the vocabulary, the shortened words, the strange sayings. It all had to go and he'd been working hard with her to get it out of her system.

He didn't mind it as much when they were alone but in public was a different story. He had introduced her to an associate of his when they first arrived in the Capitol and Soarynn had horribly embarrassed him. She had attempted to compliment his associate's shoes and yet she found the most revolting words to do so.

After that, Coriolanus learned his lesson.

"You said to talk proper because the folks in the Capitol won't understand me," she mumbles. Coriolanus slips two fingers under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him, "Yes I did. And I need you to be on your best behavior for me tonight, understand?" Soarynn's eye twitches but she nods, "Alright, I'll be on my best behavior."

꧁ ꧂

The President's Mansion is everything he could have imagined.

Coriolanus can't help but imagine what it'll look like when he's living here. He'll repaint the walls for sure, add some more marble statues in the gardens, maybe a greenhouse. "It's so big," Soarynn says in awe as she looks around. Coriolanus nods, they've only been granted access to certain parts of the Mansion and he already feels as though he could get lost at any moment. He spots a few of his old Academy friends and tugs Soarynn along with him, "I want you to meet some of my old friends."

Soarynn has nothing to do but nod and put on the pretty smile he's taught her before they reach Festus Creed and Felix Ravenstill. "Coriolanus Snow, what a rare sight to see," Festus teases. Coriolanus rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around Soarynn a little tighter. Festus is known to have wandering eyes along with wandering hands.

"I thought I might make an appearance," Coriolanus says nonchalantly. He won't tell them how excited he was when Soarynn walked into his study with a shiny envelope addressed to him. He normally didn't appreciate Soarynn coming into his study without permission but she had walked right in, holding out the envelope, "It looked real important," she had said. Indeed it was.

The boys aren't even trying to hide the fact that they're ogling Soarynn and Coriolanus would be a fool not to play that to his advantage, "Have I introduced you to Soarynn?" Felix's jaw is slightly slacked and Coriolanus is willing to bet that it's from the amount of cleavage Soarynn is showing tonight. Charity auction be damned, Coriolanus was going to make sure that everyone envied him and the pretty girl on his arm.

"I don't believe you have," Festus says, "I'm Festus Creed and I'm extremely talented in bed." Coriolanus can't stop the scoff from leaving his mouth at his friend's vulgar language but Soarynn laughs and leans her head on his shoulder, "I'm sure you've got a real talent," she replies.

Coriolanus knows that any well-behaved Capitol lady would be repulsed by Festus and his crude comments. They'd flinch and gasp but Soarynn doesn't. Even though she hasn't slept with anyone but him since arriving at the Capitol she's still numb to the idea of sleeping around. And it disgusts him. To see her so casually replying to comments such as the one Festus made, to laugh and tease him back. She should know better.

Although Coriolanus feels that once you've whored yourself out enough, comments like this won't even phase you.

You can take the whore out of the Districts, but you can't take the Districts out of the whore.

He shoots both Soarynn and Festus a look, "Why don't we keep the conversations civil?" He suggests, quieting both of them down. Felix looks somewhat uncomfortable and Coriolanus plays into it, "So Felix, is your uncle prepared for the Presidential race?" Felix sighs and rolls his eyes, "He won't shut up about it."

Coriolanus is hoping to overtake Felix's uncle so any inside information is crucial. "Is he nervous?" Soarynn asks, somewhat intrigued at the premise of being related to the President of Panem. Soarynn wasn't very political or involved with politics. She only really cared about the Mayor back in Twelve but that was such a small scale compared to the Capitol.

Felix shrugs, "Not nervous, he just..." His voice dies off and he seems to be lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head, "Never mind. He'll do fine, it's just another election to him."

Coriolanus nods and gives Felix a polite smile but he can't help but wonder what Felix was going to say. He needs to find out, get the inside scoop so he can win. But there's really no way to get that close to a Ravenstill, at least not without being creepy. Coriolanus cringes at the thought of cozying up to Felix, trying to win him over. Absolutely not. It's only effective when girls do it.

When. Girls. Do. It.

He looks down at the very pretty girl at his side, who is still so young, turning eighteen in a month, so vulnerable without him, completely dependent on him. She belongs to him.

"Excuse us," Coriolanus says before dragging Soarynn away from his friends which earns him a curious look from her but he ignores it, "Where're we goin'?" Coriolanus could lose it right then and there at her improper grammar but he brushes it under the rug, he'll have to be forgiving for this plan to work, to make Soarynn compliant. He finds a dark and empty hallway and pushes Soarynn up against the wall, his lips are on hers in an instant.

Soarynn moans into the kiss, her hands come up to grab his shoulders while he grabs her small waist. Coriolanus isn't too keen on public displays of affection, not when his image matters so much. But Soarynn has always got off on it. She's always been a slut.

"You look so pretty tonight," he whispers against her lips. She really does. Her hair has been curled and perfectly frames her face and her makeup is light and subtle, perfectly enhancing her natural features. Soarynn's always been pretty, but the District life managed to dull that natural charm. In the Capitol her skin is brighter, bouncier, her hair is thicker, her lashes longer. Thank goodness he brought her here.

Soarynn whimpers when his hands slide down to her ass and he squeezes it, "Tha...thank you Coriolanus," she whispers back. She's also much more sensitive in the Capitol. More responsive to his touch now that he's the only man who gets to fuck her tight little cunt every night.

He shoves his knee in between her legs and Soarynn gasps, grinding against it. Coriolanus chuckles, "Always a little slut for me huh? Even in the President's Mansion." He presses kisses up and down her neck, sucking on her sweet spots. He's careful to leave nothing behind, no one needs to know what they're doing. "I need you to do something for me," he says while kissing her jaw. Soarynn sighs and leans into his touch, the touch she's been so desperate for the entire week. With work and his campaign, Coriolanus has been more than busy the past couple of weeks and hasn't been properly taking care of his little District whore. She's more than eager to be fucked, which begs the question if she's willing to be fucked by anyone.

"Anything," she says and she means it too. He knows Soarynn will do anything to be fucked, to be touched, and maybe just maybe feel some sort of genuine connection. Even though she won't come outright and say it, he knows that she wants something more than sex. She wants to be loved. Soarynn had asked him about it when they first arrived, what the dynamic of their relationship would be like. She didn't want it to be like it used to be, where he sold her off to the highest bidder. "You're my girl," he had told her, "don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

But Soarynn had worried. He could see how she clung to words of praise like they were a lifeline to her. Without him, she was nothing. And Soarynn couldn't afford to be nothing.

He brings his lips right next to her ear and whispers the next eight words, "I want you to sleep with Felix Ravenstill."

She stills once those words register in her brain and she pulls away from his touch immediately. Coriolanus lets her move his hands off of her and take a step back, he can see the hurt in her eyes, the betrayal. "You...you said I wouldn't have to do that anymore," she says. Her voice is so fragile, so quiet and shaky. Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose, he needs this to go smoothly. He can't afford any loose ends.

He reaches out for her but she flinches, "Soarynn, it's to help me win, don't you want to help me? To be good for me? Be my good girl?" Soarynn's lip quivers and he can see her fighting the urge to cry, "I wanna be more than your girl Coriolanus," she says, "you can throw away a girl at any time. A wife is different." She's smarter than he's given her credit for.

Coriolanus looks down at the tiled floor, at his shiny black shoes, and nods, "Okay." Soarynn sniffles, shifting on her feet, "Okay? Okay, what?" Coriolanus looks back up at her, starting from her high heels and making his way up her slim body, admiring how the dress hugs her just right. Felix is going to love ripping it off of her.

"Okay, I'll make you my wife. If I win then we'll get married. It'll be a grand wedding and we'll have children and start a family, a new life together," he promises.

Soarynn eats it right up.

"What...what do I have to do?" She asks, looking so small and naive. Coriolanus grins, "Exactly what I tell you to do."

꧁ ꧂

He's a nervous wreck while he paces in his living room, watching the television screen for any updates.

He also keeps glancing at the front doors, waiting for Soarynn to get back from her very important night out. "Come on," he whispers, "hurry it up." He can't be too upset, sleeping with the President of Panem takes some time, but he's an impatient man.

It's all played out perfectly for him.

Soarynn has slept his way to the top. First, she sunk her claws into Felix Ravenstill that night at the charity auction. They snuck away to one of the many bedrooms and Soarynn came stumbling out the back entrance of the house a few hours later covered in bruises and other bodily fluids. Apparently, Festus had wanted in on the action but the job was done either way.

Then, she made her move on the President's security detail. Coriolanus knew those men wouldn't let her get too close without some convincing that she was a harmless little field mouse. Soarynn had been terrified at the prospect of sleeping with men who had guns on them at all times but Coriolanus was swift to remind her of her time spent on the Peacekeeper bases. "Those men would've fucked you with their guns and you would've liked it," he had hissed, grabbing her jaw and slamming her into the wall, "now stop being a whiny brat and do as I say."

There had been tears and new promises made, but in the end, she made it to Ravenstill.

From what Soarynn told him, Ravenstill was an old, boring man who partook in the most basic sex she's ever had. And Coriolanus was more than willing to take her word on it. Ravenstill did however get off on seeing other men have a turn on Soarynn, something Coriolanus didn't predict. She had come home in tears, a bruise on her cheek and blood between her legs. He had comforted her and washed her gently in the bath before swaddling her in the comfiest pajamas. "Only one more time," he whispered as she finally drifted off to sleep, "you'll only sleep with the President one more time." And he meant it. Soarynn would never sleep with the President of Panem again.

His attention is drawn to the doors when he hears them open and a disheveled-looking Soarynn appears. Her eyes immediately find him and he raises his eyebrows. Has she done it? She nods. Coriolanus breaks into a giant smile, and strides across the room and the foyer and scoops Soarynn up in his arms, listening to her squeal in delight, "Oh you're perfect," he tells her, "this is it Soarynn. You've done everything and now it's all done."

Soarynn is grinning like a wildcat and she giggles, "It was real scary watchin' him cough up all that blood. I had to act so surprised." Coriolanus chuckles as he sets her down on her feet, "I'm sure you were the perfect little actress. He's dead then?" Soarynn nods and bats her eyelashes up at him, "Dead as a doornail."

They celebrate big that night. Coriolanus makes love to Soarynn for the first time while the Capitol news plays in the background, informing them that President Ravenstill has succumbed to a sudden deadly illness and has passed away. The country will be in shambles but with Coriolanus tied neck and neck with Ravenstill in the election, it's no question who will take over.

"I love you," he grunts, fucking into her slow and steady. She looks beautiful under him, absolutely beautiful. "You'll be my perfect First Lady. Can't wait to fuck my children into you, watch you walk around all swollen with my heir, carrying the Snow name."

He can picture it now, their prosperous future. Their wedding, their children, and then, Soarynn's unfortunate death. Unforeseen of course but at the perfect time when the children are old enough to be looked after by a nanny and he can remarry without causing too much suspicion.

Soarynn smiles up at him before pressing her lips against his, "Snow lands on top," she whispers.

Snow certainly does land on top.

꧁ ꧂

"Coriolanus, what are your plans for Panem once you're sworn in as President?"

Coriolanus wishes he could tell all these reporters to fuck off with their stupid, basic questions but he just smiles through the pain. It's customary for the future President to have one press briefing before being sworn in. Today has been a long day of festivities leading up to his inauguration. He's less than an hour away from being President of Panem and he can taste it, taste the power.

He looks powerful. With his hair perfectly styled, the red rose pinned to his lapel. He glances to his right where his fiancé is standing, prim and proper. Once Ravenstill was out of the picture, Soarynn snapped into being the perfect Capitol lady for Coriolanus. If he knew this was what it took to get her in line, he would've killed the man ages ago. Coriolanus sleeps well knowing that he's managed to get Soarynn to do all his dirty work and has secured himself the perfect wife.

He can't afford any loose ends and eventually, Soarynn will have to go, but until then, Coriolanus plans on enjoying his perfect little wife and her tight little cunt until they're both of no use to him.

"I plan to get this nation into shape," he responds, "and to tighten the security on the Peacekeeper bases. I myself was a Peacekeeper and I was a witness to vermin slipping through the cracks one too many times." He can see Soarynn slightly flinch at the word 'vermin' but it's not his fault that she chose whoring as her profession. It was fine back then but now things need to change. He can't have any District rats swaying the opinions of his Peacekeepers.

The report nods and jots down his response and Coriolanus withholds a sigh of relief. He's finally done. Now, all he has to do is be sworn in. He's been waiting for this moment his whole life and it's finally happening.

Snow lands on top.

"Mr. Snow? Just one more question. I'm Sejanus Plinth from the Capitol Gazette."

Coriolanus who was about to step down from the podium, zeroes in on the outspoken voice, the same outspoken voice that caused him nothing but annoyance and being heavily inconvenienced.

Sejanus Plinth.

As District as they come, and nothing but a speck of dirt on his shiny leather shoes. It's no surprise that he chose journalism as his profession. He probably thinks he's going to "change the world" with his shabby little articles.

Coriolanus remembers ending him more than anything. Sejanus had everything he wanted. A family, money, and a higher status than the one Coriolanus used to possess. Now the tables have turned and he finally gets to look down on poor Sejanus Plinth who's so desperate to ask him single question. His response will probably earn Sejanus a small amount of money that he'll then use to try and help the less fortunate.

Coriolanus feels the cruel grin spreading across his lips as he nods at Sejanus, "Go ahead. I'm always willing to speak to the less fortunate." A wave of laughter passes through the crowd of reporters and Sejanus manages a somewhat professional smile.

"Is it true that you've been selling your fiancé out to influential men?"

Coriolanus feels his smile slightly waver but his face never falters, "Pardon? I...I don't quite understand what you're asking," he says with a light-hearted chuckle. There's a tension in the room and he can't quite get rid of it.

Sejanus tilts his head, "Is it true, that you have been selling your fiancé's body for the past years to move up in the world? It's a simple question, Mr. Snow. According to my sources, you started sleeping with her when she was seventeen while you were serving as a Peacekeeper in District Twelve."

Coriolanus can't stop himself from turning to look at Soarynn who's staring right back at him, an expectant look on her face. She should look distraught, if his reputation's on the line, her's is too.

"I don't recall ever having any sexual relations with my fiancé when she was underage," he says, his voice firm. Sejanus gives him a teasing smile and Coriolanus can feel a pit beginning to form in his stomach.

"You sent her to partake in sexual interactions with Commanding Officer Hoff so you could bring her with you to District Two when you were reassigned as an Officer," Sejanus says, reading directly from the notes he's brought with him, "then in District Two you allowed Commanding Officer Potts to take advantage of her after he caught wind of you selling her out to higher ranking officers in hopes of you moving up in the ranks. Then you proceeded to sell her out to various Capitol men such as Felix Ravenstill, Festus Creed, and President Ravenstill who unfortunately passed away due to an "unknown illness" and my sources tell me that she often frequented the President's Mansion before he passed away."

There's an uneasiness in the room and people are beginning to whisper to one another and Coriolanus can feel it all slipping away. He glances to the door where he can see Felix and Festus attempting to leave but they're being held by security.

"Sexual slavery concerning a minor is a serious crime Mr. Snow, and so is murder, and I have evidence leading me to believe that you forced Miss Nightingale into poisoning the President so that you could win the election."

People are talking now, throwing around accusations and whispers. This is bad. Very, very bad. Every fucking news outlet in the country is in here getting this story. He watches as five Peacekeepers push their way through the crowd and he can only hope that they're coming to his rescue.

"Coriolanus Snow, you are under arrest under the premise of murder, participating in underage prostitution, and sexual coercion."

A camera flash goes off and everything is in slow motion. All the sounds around him are muffled as he's handcuffed and shoved towards the side of the stage. People are crying out for justice or for mercy. He can see Felix and Festus also being handcuffed shouting for him to do something.

But he can't. He's in shock.

Someone has to help him, someone has to tell the truth, well, not the truth, but enough of the truth so that he can get out of this. He looks to the one person who can help him, the one person who also happens to be responsible for all of this. Who waited for his big shining moment to take him down.

Soarynn.

She wears her most innocent smile, the same one she gives to all the men she's about to take advantage of. Sure, she'd sleep with anyone, but she'd also steal their watches, slip a few bills from their wallets, get them to help her out of a sticky situation.

He just always chose to ignore that.

Soarynn holds up her hands to the Peacekeepers and they surprisingly stop. Soarynn slowly walks over to Coriolanus until she's right in front of him. She's wearing red lipstick and has a rose tucked into her hair. Clear property of Coriolanus Snow. Soarynn reaches for the rose and pulls it from her hair, she brings it up to her nose and sniffs it, humming to herself as she closes her eyes.

"You hear that Coriolanus?"

All Coriolanus can hear are the shouts of everyone in the room. Of his life falling apart.

She opens her eyes before she crushes the rose in her hand, crumpled petals fall to the floor.

"It's the sound of Snow falling."

| Part 3. | Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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catindabag · 2 years ago

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I introduce to you ✨THE 24 OG MENTORS✨ in my TBOSAS Crack!Alternate Universe (also known as the world where Dean Highbottom made dumpster diving illegal because of Festus Creed and Coryo Snow’s involvement. Moreover, the 10th Hunger Games never happened because of a certain someone’s ✨nepotism✨). [Read this for context]

⭐️❄️⭐️

Class Pres. Felix Ravinstill took this class photo after the Academy Mentors barely passed their final calculus exam. As always, Urban Canville got the highest score.

Lysistrata Lizzie Vickers and Domitia Dairy Queen Whimsiwick (aka: The founders of the famous ✨SnowPlinth Fan Club✨) accidentally blocking Festus Creed and Sejanus Plinth in the picture. Coryo Snow and Io Jasper joined in for fun, while Urban Canville is smiling like an idiot at the back after seeing Florus Friend trip.

Apollo Ring with Androcles Andie Anderson and Urban Canville trying not to look suspicious after successfully stealing Dr. Gaul’s pitbull rabbit after class.

Festus Creed trying and failing to annoy Lucky Flickerman for the hundredth time. Jubilee was not pleased.

Vipsania Sickle and Apollo Ring ✨slaying✨ for that best dressed award.

Coriolanus Coryo Snow waiting for his sugar daddy ✨boyfriend✨, Sejanus Plinth to pick him up from school. They’ll go shoe shopping afterwards.

Class President Felix Ravinstill taking a selfie after ruining his family’s last Hunger Games watch party.

Coryo Snow trying and acting dramatic at the train station while waiting for the Tributes’ train to arrive. Also, this picture was taken by Sejanus Plinth. #supportive #rich #boyfriend

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meekmedea · 3 months ago

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Festus describing the 'attack' from Fenrir (the dog) and Clemensia to anyone who might listen. In her defence, she did dare him to say it again. And he did, so....

Fenrir, pre- and post-'attack'

(the order of the photos literally don't matter haha. Fenrir is just a huge fluff ball)

From The Adventures of Little Miss Dovecote on AO3

#clemensia dovecote #festus creed #tbosas au #my fic #actually maybe Felix and Clemmie made the snow dog post-'attack' and made Fenrir sit there and pose for a photo

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tbosassocialsandhcs · 2 months ago

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tbosas mentors Academy prom part 3 (part 2)

(same disclaimer as before, don't expect anything to be consistent, these were hard enough to find, let alone keep consistent)

Snowlandsontop

Snowlandsontop formal

liked by arachnexcrane, Clemmie_dove, and others

F3stus_Cr33d oh we're so back. drowning in ladies in fact

pippa.price @ F3stus_Cr33d 🤨🤨

F3stus_Cr33d @ pippa.price they can look but they can't touch (except coryo, he's free real estate)

Snowlandsontop @ F3stus_Cr33d please no one touch me like I'm free real estate. I'm not some common whore

livi_poppy @ Snowlandsontop well......🤷🏼‍♀️

Snowlandsontop @ livi_poppy fuck off, livia

Clemmie_dove handsome handsome handsome!!! my best work!

liked by Snowlandsontop

tiggy_snowy have fun tonight, Coryo! 🩷

liked by Snowlandsontop

F3stus_Cr33d

F3stus_Cr33d bros before hoes or something like that, idk, I love my girlfriend, she's my date tonight

liked by pippa.price, p0ll0_ringg, and others

pippa.price don't mind my boyfriend and his vaguely homoerotic self

arachnexcrane @ pippa.price OABSJSJSJDJSJWJJSHD

livi_poppy @ pippa.price lavender marriage 🫶🏻

Clemmie_dove @ pippa.price your boyfriend's gay

pippa.price @ Clemmie_dove I have such a feeling...

baiusgreen pregame was incredible

F3stus_Cr33d @ baiusgreen agreed 🙂‍↕️

Clemmie_dove

Clemmie_dove and we've arrived!

liked by Snowlandsontop, lyssie_vickers, and others

lyssie_vickers stunning beautiful amazing gorgeous girl 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Clemmie_dove @ lyssie_vickers 🤭🤭❤️❤️

Snowlandsontop perfect

liked by Clemmie_dove

TheAcademyOffical

TheAcademyOffical tonight is the seniors formal and things are in full swing! have fun tonight seniors! (following the rules and regulations)

liked by Io.Jasper, Pupharringt0n, and others

iphigenia._moss

iphigenia._moss got kicked out for serving too much, mascara down my face, but we're going to dinner!!!!!

liked by p0ll0_ringg, dianaa_ring, and others

Snowlandsontop you got kicked out for sexual activity in the bathrooms. that's a demerit if not immediate expulsion.

p0ll0_ringg @ Snowlandsontop killing the vibe for what?

Snowlandsontop @ p0ll0_ringg oh I'm sorry you weren't allowed to disgrace the establishment with your moans in a toilet stall.

p0ll0_ringg @ Snowlandsontop and I'm sorry you never get laid unless it's a dare, like are you gay or some shit?

iphigenia._moss @ p0ll0_ringg pollo. shut up. stop.

Snowlandsontop

Snowlandsontop @ p0ll0_ringg

liked by F3stus_Cr33d, livi_poppy, and others

livi_poppy @ arachnexcrane !?!?!??!??!!??!?!?!

F3stus_Cr33d whoriolanus strikes again

p0ll0_ringg clothed cuddling???

Snowlandsontop @ p0ll0_ringg I'm clothed, her? 🤷🏼‍♂️

Clemmie_dove @ Snowlandsontop coryo, how drunk are you? what the fuck

lyssie_vickers @ tiggy_snowy Tigris, is coryo home?

tiggy_snowy @ lyssie_vickers no... @ Snowlandsontop are you okay?

junophippy is that arachne???!?!?!?!

domitias_whimsy arachne has that blanket....

ravinstill.felix

liked by arachnexcrane, Clemmie_dove, and others

arachnexcrane @ pippa.price ????

vipippy_sickle @ pippa.price ????? is that festus?

livi_poppy how strong was that posca???? everybody's fornicating it seems

pippa.price ummmmmmmm..........

F3stus_Cr33d Felix. you posted this. delete it.

Clemmie_dove CALLED IT. but pippa, call me if you need to chat ❤️

#coriolanus snow socials #coriolanus snow #festus creed socials #festus creed #clemensia dovecote socials #clemensia dovecote #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #social media au #tbosas mentors social media au #tbosas mentors socials au #tbosas mentors #iphigenia moss socials #iphigenia moss #felix ravinstill socials

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felixravinstills · 1 year ago

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Do you think the throuple would still be happy as they are now if it wasn't a throuple? Like, if it was only Festus and Artemisia, Felix and Festus, or Felix and Artemisia.

Oh wow this is a good question!

Hmm... It depends. I think if we take the throuple as they exist before they all get together but after Artemisia reveals her troubling home life and say only two of them are into each other romantically, then I think we've got ourselves a nice functioning two person relationship with their close friend (aka whoever the odd man out is). I think this relationship works pretty similarly to how the throuple's relationship works with the friend balancing out the other two. The only difference is that whoever gets friendzoned doesn't engage in a ménage à trois with the other two. Maybe they don't move in either (or if they do, it's only for a bit and not permenantly). All this assumes that the friendzoned member of the throuple doesn't have unrequited feeling for both or one of the other two.

(More under the cut)

Felix has Feelings (The Other Two are Dating)

If there are feelings, then I think Felix being the odd one out ruins things the fastest. He would not be good at hiding his jealousy. He also maybe ruins the romantic relationship and the friendship... Uh... Way to go, Felix! (I think he at one point gets really drunk. Artemisia's distressed in the corner. Festus and Felix get into a verbal argument that escalates into a physical one, and Artemisia is now having a mental breakdown in the corner.)

Festus has Feelings (The Other Two are Dating)

Festus and Artemisia actually have experience hiding things from the others. If Festus is the odd one out, I think things actually work out okay for a while, because that was basically the status quo at the beginning of Close Your Eyes. Eventually, he either moves on (good ending) or things boil over with him too and he ends up blowing up with a random nonsensical argument that ruins things for everyone (bad ending).

Artemisia has Feelings (The Other Two are Dating)

Artemisia's only ever dated Felix (unlike Festus whose seen other people), and if he and Festus are off the market together. She probably stews for a while in her self-pity before trying to find a rebound. Uh, this could go to a normal level of bad (Artemisia dates and then breaks up and eventually moves on) to really bad (she's self-destruction/throwing too much of herself into the relationship and arbitrarily picking people to become really co-dependent with which could end really badly depending on the type of person she attaches to in an effort to recreate the passion she feels for one or both of Felix and Festus). If it's the latter, Felix and Festus may eventually figure out what's going on, stage an intervention, and maybe also break up (or cut contact with her depending on the vibes).

Alternatively, Artemisia can finally engage in toxic yuri with Lysistrata... In which case, it's probably not the best option for her and Lyssie, but it's definitely better than that other option (a little healthier... a little).

Additional Notes

I know I've already written a lot, but there's also a few pitfalls with them as individual couples that could be a problem:

Artemisia/Felix: They're too alike that they can barely understand how they differ, and that might cause some communication issues with them. (Artemisia's more pragmatic than Felix at times). Festus providing a slightly different and outside POV to what's going on with both of them is integral to keeping these two functional.

Felix/Festus: Uh, lots of passion here. Lots of tension and emotion. They need a peacemaker (Artemisia) sometimes, and not having one at an integral time might break them.

Artemisia/Festus: While Festus can read Artemisia pretty well due to prolonged proximity and knowing each other, if she's hiding something, he might not know how exactly to approach it tactfully without Felix and end up scaring her off.

Conclusion

Like I said at the top, I do think they can work out fine as a duo + their close friend as long as the friend doesn't have feelings for the others! Even the potential pitfalls that I list for each individual couple aren't insurmountable! I think that each couple can be comparably happy to the throuple unit when they work out! I'm just attached to the throuple's ability to balance each other into functional semi-co-dependency.

If anyone whose read my fic has thoughts, I'm all ears lol! And thanks for the ask, anon!

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #abyssal stuff #felix ravinstill #the hunger games #festus creed #tbosas #thg series #abyssal rambles #oc: artemisia click #festixia #felix/festus #anon asks #ask response

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mockingjaysnakes · 1 year ago

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NEW STILLS!

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bookishcarmela · 2 months ago

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Shadows of Affection

warnings: physical abuse

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 17: Welcome Home

The air outside Heavensbee Hall was dense and stale, the kind of post-Games stillness that settled heavy on your shoulders. You stood under the glow of the overhead lights, blinking slowly while the doors behind you hissed shut and locked from the inside. The sky was washed in that low amber hue that meant night wasn’t far, but neither was sleep. You were too wired to be tired and too hollow to be fully awake.

You waited on the curb, arms crossed tightly over your chest—not for warmth, but to hold yourself together. The night had stretched long and strange, You didn’t want to think about any of it, but your brain kept looping the whole thing like this Game that never really ended.

Your driver arrived in a sleek black vehicle that glided to a stop with mechanical ease. He stepped out just long enough to open the rear door for you. You slid in, the door shutting behind you with a soft click, a sound that somehow managed to feel final.

He glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

You opened your mouth, then paused.

Where to.

You hadn’t thought about that.

Home was the obvious answer. You hadn’t been back since the day before. But the idea of walking through that door and facing your Quincy—or worse, the long echoing silence of a house full of absence—made your skin itch.

Then there was Felix.

That morning, when you’d stirred awake in the low amber light of his room, clothed in his sleep wear and vaguely sore from falling asleep curled too tightly into him, he’d tucked your hair behind your ear and said quietly, “Call me when you’re done. I want to see you.”

He hadn’t said it like a request.

He hadn’t said please.

And now that moment hung around your shoulders, sticky with expectation.

But the truth was—you didn’t want to go back to him. Not tonight.

Not because he’d done something wrong. Not really. But because the weight of him was beginning to exhaust you.

So, after too long a silence, you cleared your throat.

“Take me home.”

The driver nodded once, shifted the car into gear, and pulled away from the Hall.

You watched the city roll by in fractured light. The Capitol after dark looked like a fever dream: soft shadows cast by bright neon, buildings gleaming like wet teeth, corners of alleys lit by the blue flash of a Peacekeeper patrol. Somewhere behind it all, the Games kept ticking forward, even as bodies fell.

After a few blocks, you reached for your phone and stared at the screen. No messages. No missed calls. Felix was waiting on you to do the reaching. You sighed, unlocked the screen, and tapped his contact.

He picked up after one ring.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and already familiar in your ear. “You’re done?”

“I am,” you said, staring at your own reflection in the dark window.

A beat.

“So?” he prompted, with an edge of warmth that was also an edge of pressure. “Are you coming back?”

You exhaled slowly, heart kicking up despite yourself. “I think I’m going to head home tonight.”

Silence. Not loud, just long.

“Seriously?”

“I haven’t been home in over a day,” you said. “I need to check in. My parents…”

“Your parents haven’t cared what time you came home since you were fifteen.”

You closed your eyes, counted to two, then said, “It’s not about them. It’s about me. I need—space.”

“You had space. You left this morning.”

“I didn’t leave,” you said. “I went to school.”

“And now you’re actively choosing not to come back.”

There it was.

You weren’t going to fight him. Not really. But you also weren’t going to pretend this was fine.

“I’m not obligated to,” you said quietly.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No,” you murmured, “but you wanted me to feel like I was.”

Another pause. You could hear the way he shifted in his chair—could practically see it: him rising, hand running through his hair, lips tight as if biting back a hundred things.

“You make it really hard to care about you,” he said finally.

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show in your voice. “Then maybe don’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this.”

He scoffed quietly. “You act like I’m this—this emotional burden or something, just because I want to see you.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Finally: “I didn’t say you were a burden. But you don’t make it easy to be close to you, either. Everything with you feels like a transaction I’m failing at.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he snapped. “You want people to care, but only on your terms. And when they don’t read your mind, it’s their fault for trying too hard.”

The words hit harder than you expected. And maybe because they weren’t entirely wrong, they stuck.

You pulled the phone away from your ear just long enough to look at it, like it might give you an answer. It didn’t.

“I’m going home,” you said, returning the phone to your ear. “Good night.”

He didn’t reply.

You ended the call.

The silence in the car was full of the echoes of that conversation. You leaned back against the seat, hands clasped tightly in your lap, and finally allowed yourself to feel it: the exhaustion, the confusion, the weight of being wanted too much and not knowing how to give enough back.

If someone asked you if Felix was your boyfriend, what would you even say?

You’d probably say no just to keep things simple.

He’d say yes. Loudly. Without hesitation.

You kissed sometimes. You spent the night. You shared silences that were soft and others that were sharp. You fought like people who’d already made promises they didn’t want to admit.

And yet—none of it had a name. You didn’t want to name it. Not because you didn’t care, but because naming it might make it real. Permanent. Something you had to tend to.

And he—he required tending. Constantly. Like a wound that never fully closed.

You stared out the window as the skyline shifted, shrinking behind you.

Eventually, your family’s manor appeared in the distance, its pale stone glowing under carefully placed lighting, as immaculate as always. Home.

The car pulled into the long front drive, gliding to a stop beneath the arching awning.

You stepped out slowly, heels tapping on the stone. The air smelled like rain and cut roses.

“Thank you,” you said to the driver, offering a nod before turning away.

You didn’t look back as you walked toward the front doors.

Inside, the house waited. Quiet. Unquestioning.

And for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe. Sort of.

You’d barely crossed the threshold before you heard them.

Voices—low, heated, too many of them for this late. Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even had time to breathe in the sharp scent of polished wood and imported flowers before the realization hit you: they were still awake.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, pausing in the entryway. The weight of the day came crashing down at once—your raw nerves, the hours you hadn’t slept, the dull ache blooming across your shoulders. This? This was the last thing you had in you.

You took your shoes off—anything to soften your steps. Maybe if you were fast enough, maybe if you didn’t make eye contact, you could sneak past the dining room without—

“Look who finally decided to come home,” came the voice.

You froze mid-step. His voice, sharp as a blade against glass. You felt your shoulders stiffen like they’d been wired into place. The air in the hallway grew cold.

You turned slowly.

Quincy sat at the head of the dining table, his silhouette thrown into sharp relief by the chandelier’s amber glow. He looked at you the way some people look at roadkill—eyes narrowed, expression twisted with something too close to delight.

Before he said another word, he motioned lazily toward the two children seated on either side of him.

“Take Benjamin and charlotte to bed,” he said to the maid, though he didn’t look at her when he spoke.

Your younger half-siblings immediately began to protest. “But—”

“Now.”

Something in his tone cut the room in half.

That’s when you knew.

He was going to make a scene. No, not a scene—a statement.

When the children were gone, Quincy stood slowly. He didn’t need to yell to be dangerous. His voice had weight. It carried the kind of quiet cruelty that didn’t need to shout to leave bruises.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, folding his arms. “Thought we were done with the disappearing act.”

You didn’t answer.

“I was told you didn’t come home last night. Actually—” He stepped around the table, closing the distance one slow step at a time. “You haven’t been home in over twenty-four hours.”

Still, you didn’t speak.

“You want to tell me where you’ve been?” His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes were burning. “Because after your last little incident, I thought we were past this.”

You glanced to your mother.

She was seated beside him, her face pale and blank, eyes cast downward. She wouldn’t look at you. She wouldn’t even lift her head.

So you tried to explain—something half true, something simple.

“I was out with Felix,” you said, voice low. “Then I had to handle something... for school. I was going to come home, but—”

“—but you didn’t,” he cut in. “You stayed at that boy’s house. Again.”

You blinked. How did he know?

Quincy’s lip curled. “You think people don’t talk? That no one sees the way you sneak around this city like you’ve got nothing to lose? Like your behavior doesn’t reflect on this entire family?”

“That’s not what it was,” you said. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, save it,” he snapped. “Don’t lie to me. You think because you crawl into someone’s bed and cry about how hard your life is, you’re grown now? You think that makes you a woman?”

He was coming toward you now, too close, the sickly smell of whatever he’d been drinking coating his words.

Your breath caught in your throat. You could feel it building—the rage, the disgust, the deep, old fear that hadn’t gone away since the first time he raised his voice at you as a child.

“I’ve been patient,” Quincy said, voice rising. “God knows I’ve tried. But I won’t have my wife’s daughter embarrassing me. Not in my house.”

You heard your mother again—quiet, desperate: “Please, Quincy... don’t—”

“Shut up!” he roared, not even turning toward her. “Just shut the fuck up!”

Then it happened. He moved so quickly you didn’t register it at first—just the sharp yank of pain as he grabbed you by the hair, dragged you down to the marble floor.

You cried out, hands flying to your scalp, trying to claw his fingers away, but his grip was iron. He pulled you hard enough that your knees scraped the ground, hard enough that you saw stars.

Your mother screamed. Begged.

He didn’t care.

“You ungrateful little shit,” he growled, hauling you toward the living room, toward the fireplace like he was going to throw you into it. “I’ve fed you, clothed you, and this is how you repay me? Like some gutter trash whore—”

You felt something primal break open inside you.

Your nails dug into his skin so deep he cursed, and then—you felt it. He flinched. Loosened.

You broke free, stumbled into a sprint up the stairs, his footsteps thunderous behind you. Your mother’s voice trailed behind you like smoke—sobbing, pleading.

You slammed your bedroom door, fingers scrambling.

The drawer.

One of the things they’d sent back from your father’s military kit after he died. You hadn’t even looked at it in years.

But now your fingers found it without thinking—your father’s knife. Cold, heavy, real.

And then he was on you again.

“You think you’re better than me?” Quincy screamed, pinning you down by the throat. “You think you can act like you’re some untouchable little princess?”

Your hands fumbled—but then they found it. The handle of the knife.

You didn’t stab him.

You drove the hilt into the side of his head, hard.

He grunted, reared back.

You stood.

Knife in hand.

And suddenly, everything changed.

He saw it in your eyes—something new, something unfamiliar. The tears were gone. The fear had hollowed out and left something colder behind.

Quincy stepped back.

“What now?” you said, voice trembling but hard. “What are you gonna do now?”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped forward, raising the knife. Not to stab, but close enough to make your point.

“Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”

Your voice cracked—but the fury didn’t.

For a moment, you wanted to do it. Really do it. Just end it. Just shut him up forever.

But then you heard it. Your mother sobbing on the stairs, face crumpled in horror.

And then—you saw yourself.

Reflected in the mirror across the room.

Your face. Wild, bloodied, barely recognizable.

You looked like Coriolanus that night he came back from the Arena, hands shaking, blood under his nails. Not just survivor. Not just fighter.

Predator.

And you hated it.

You hated him, but you hated this even more.

You lowered the knife.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again,” you said.

And then you turned and ran.

You didn’t even wait to see if Quincy followed.

You just ran. Out the front door. Into the dark.

And you didn’t stop.

You weren’t running from him anymore.

You were running toward the girl who didn’t want to be prey.

You didn’t know how long you were running.

You didn’t care.

The sting in your heels had gone numb, your breath torn out of your chest hours ago. The cold slapped your arms, your legs. The dress—once a pristine white gift from Felix—was ruined, smeared with blood, dirt, and the memory of everything you’d just survived.

You were a walking bruise, inside and out.

Your limbs were trembling when you finally slowed, only to realize you had nowhere to go. No phone. No plan. No safety net. You thought of friends—acquaintances, really. None who knew, none who could know. All except one.

The park was almost empty, the Capitol skyline glowing behind the black trees. It had never felt like this. Tonight, it felt like a graveyard.

And there, like fate playing a cruel joke, he sat.

Coriolanus Snow. A single pool of light shone above him, flickering off the metal of a lighter in his hand. A cigarette rested between his lips, and for a moment you just stood still—your shadow stretching out long and ruined behind you.

He glanced up. His eyes went wide.

He didn’t stand. He didn’t speak. He just watched you approach.

You stopped in front of him, breath shallow, face stinging from the wind and everything else. He blinked slowly, taking you in: the mess of hair, the blood at your lip, the grime streaking your arms and knees. The bruises you couldn’t hide.

“Rough night?” he asked, voice low, with a dark twist of humor in it.

You almost laughed. But the only thing that came out was a sob you managed to swallow.

“Can I get a cig?”

That made him actually smile—small, crooked, real. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since now.”

He flicked his lighter, held out the flame as you placed the cigarette between your lips. His other hand came up, shielding the wind, the way he always did. And in that flicker of fire, your eyes locked.

For a second, it was like nothing had changed.

The cigarette caught, and you leaned back. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling up past his lashes.

“I won’t ask,” he said.

“Good.”

You sat beside him. The silence between you was… not comfortable, but familiar. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, eyes watching the horizon like it owed him something.

“You look like shit,” he added after a beat.

You smiled, wincing. “I feel worse.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just took another drag.

Eventually, he broke the quiet again. “You need somewhere to go?”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t.

“I really shouldn’t,” you murmured.

He turned his head, stared at you. “Where else are you gonna go?”

And that was it. That was the question. You weren’t going home. You weren’t showing up at Felix’s door looking like this. And as dangerous as being near Corio always felt, right now it was the only place you didn’t feel like dying.

You nodded once.

He noticed your feet as you stood. Bleeding. Raw.

He didn’t say a word. Just bent down, hooked his arm behind your knees and the other under your back, and lifted you.

You let yourself be carried.

The apartment was quiet. Tigress and the grandmother slept behind closed doors. Coryo moved quietly, only the soft creak of floorboards betraying your presence.

In his room, everything felt frozen in time. It looked the same as it had the last time you were here—before Clemencia’s fall, before the arena, before all of it.

Déjà vu clawed at you.

He handed you a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You dressed in the bathroom. When you came out, your reflection in the mirror had nearly undone you. You didn’t recognize her.

You both ended up on his bed, sitting far enough apart that it almost hurt.

“What are we doing?” you asked quietly, staring at your knees.

“I don’t know.”

“You ever feel like… we’re strangers?”

He chuckled, bitterly. “We are. But we know each other’s darkest secrets. So that’s something.”

There was a pause.

“I used to think we could fix each other,” you whispered. “That maybe that’s what we were for.”

“And now?”

“I think we’re both too broken to be anything but dangerous.”

He glanced at you. “You make danger sound sexy.”

You smiled again, this one more tired than anything else. “That’s your problem.”

His hand brushed yours. You didn’t move it away.

“You scared me tonight,” he said quietly. “Seeing you like that.”

“You’ve seen worse.”

“Not from you.”

And then the distance closed. You kissed him.

It was desperate. Wild. Wrong in all the right ways.

You didn’t stop yourself. His hands were on your back, your thighs, tangled in your hair. Your body moved before your brain could scream stop. The room was hot, air thick with longing, smoke, and something else—something old and familiar and tragic.

You climbed into his lap, your mouth pressed to his like you’d forgotten how to breathe without him.

It felt too good. Too real.

You were crying before you even noticed.

He pulled back, lips wet, brows drawn.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Couldn’t speak.

“What is it?”

You stared at him, heart cracking open. “What does this mean, Coryo?”

He didn’t answer.

You swallowed. “Because we both know you’re gonna go back to her.”

His eyes flickered. “It’s not like that—”

“Tell me it doesn’t mean anything,” you interrupted. “Tell me it meant nothing. Lucy Gray.”

He froze.

You waited.

Nothing.

Tears welled harder. You pulled away. “That’s what I thought.”

“Wait—please. It’s not—” He reached for you. You stepped back.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Get off me. Just… don’t.”

“Why do you always do this?” he snapped. “Why do you always run?”

“Because I have to. Because I know what this is, and I’m not going to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending either—”

“Yes, you are.” You looked at him, eyes bloodshot, voice cracked. “You want us to be something we never were. You want me when it’s convenient, when it hurts, but you don’t choose me. Not really.”

“That’s not fair—”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s honest.”

You grabbed your dress, slipped it back over your borrowed clothes. Every movement was mechanical, lifeless. He didn’t stop you this time.

And then you left.