0fantasma0

[0fantasma0]

Petals to Thorns

{Chapter One}

General Fic Warnings: NSFW, dubcon, stalking, manipulation, possessive behavior, canon typical violence.

Chapter Two:

The sun was up, but you saw no reason to move from your spot at the kitchen table. A beautiful orange glow streams through the white curtains of your dining room. The soft light gleams against the tiny metal-tipped tool you use to whittle the chunk of alder wood in your palm.

This was your routine.

Sleeping well into the early evening to spend your nights at the kitchen table carving. It keeps your mind focused and your hands busy. You’d never thought your hands being unoccupied would be a bad thing until you started picking your lips raw. A nasty habit you haven't been able to kick since your games.

The other positive of sleeping through your days was that you missed all the people who came to your door. It had been a little under a month since you returned, and people were still dropping by. Most came to leave flowers or bottles of booze; some even left a few cords of wood. Thoughtful, but it would be several more months before you could put your new fireplace to use.

Nobody ever knocked, but just knowing they were on the other side of the door was enough to make you want to disintegrate. You couldn’t imagine trying to greet any of them. The walk from the train station to your new home in Victor's Village proved to be challenging enough.

Seeing the faces of your fellow District 7 inhabitants was somehow worse than being goaded by Capitol cretins.

Some cheered, some cried, and some didn’t say anything at all.

They were disgusted by you.

You slam the tool on the mahogany table below. Rubbing your eyes with your thumb and pointer finger, you were in desperate need of background noise. Your old radio busted a week ago, and you hadn’t worked up the courage to buy a new one.

You really should go to the market.

It was only a half mile from the Village, and walking might be pleasant. You could perhaps trade some of your woodwork for goods like you always have. Though, you didn’t need to barter anymore. The Capitol’s generous compensation for your efforts ensured that you never had to worry about the usual obstacles of District life again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Bracing yourself on the table as you stand from your chair. You drop your chin to your chest and stretch your achy limbs briefly before starting the long trek to the bathroom. This house was much bigger compared to the one-room shack you once called home. You weren’t sure who, but somebody had taken the liberty of moving all your belongings into your new home in the Village. They had even organized your clothes in the closet and hung your family pictures on the walls.

It had to have been Flora.

You fail to keep her son alive, and yet she still takes the time to make your transition easier. The mother of three was well known for her compassion and willingness to help others—traits very few people still possess.

What you did to still deserve her kindness, you were unsure.

Finally arriving at your destination, you nearly melt at the sight of the porcelain tub. Twisting the silver handle, you let the warm liquid slide down your hand before reaching its final destination.

A bath and then bed.

You had only just managed to fall into a dreamless sleep when the sound you had been dreading hearing echoed up the hall.

A knock.

Remaining still in your bed, perhaps whoever it was would think you weren’t home and go away.

Another knock.

Throwing the covers back, you grab the pair of trousers you left to rot on the floor. You tuck your white long-sleeve shirt into the waistband while searching for a belt or suspenders to hold your pants in place. Most of your pants and shirts once belonged to your father, and to say they were ill-fitting would be an understatement. Finally finding a pair of suspenders, you clip them on and shrug them over your shoulders as you walk down the stairs to your front door.

Hovering for a moment over the door knob, you take a deep breath. It was probably just a child or maybe even somebody you went to school with. You didn’t have a lot of friends per se, but you were friendly with almost everyone.

So why were you scared?

Turning the lock and twisting the handle, your eyes squint as the hot summer sun blinds you momentarily. Your vision slowly brings the figure in front of you into focus before a familiar, icey voice clues you into who your visitor is before you can finish fitting the pieces of their face together.

“Good morning.”

Coriolanus Snow.

He is as well put together as the last time you saw him. His hair combed back, and a perfectly tailored black vest hugged his torso and made the white of his dress shirt shine against the rest of his dark ensemble. Did he know it was a million degrees outside?

“Good morning,” You manage to choke out. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He smiles kindly, like you would greeting an old friend.

“That’s quite alright. May I come in?”

No, you can’t come in.

“Of course.” You move to the side and open the door a little wider.

Why was he here? Gamemakers never usually leave the safety of the Capitol. There was more hate for Gamemakers than for Peacekeepers; plenty of disgruntled family members of fallen tributes would gladly hang if it meant there was one less Gamemaker in this world.

He’s here to arrest you.

Coriolanus takes his time surveying the state of your home, stopping at a picture of your mother laughing as you dangle from the maple tree that once grew outside your childhood home.

He’s alone. You could take him.

“Can I get you something to drink? I don’t have much right now, but I do have coffee.” You ask as you move towards your kitchen, hoping to create a little distance between you.

“A glass of water if you could.” He calls back, seemingly still looking at the picture on the wall. It takes a few tries to find the cabinet with your cups in it; still unfamiliar with the layout. Bringing the glass over the sink, you stare out the window as it fills with water.

If he were here to arrest you, you would have already been dragged through the mud and on your way to a cell or the hanging tree by now. Any chance they could take to make a spectacle of a rebel’s torture or death, they would.

Is that what you are now? A rebel?

You didn’t feel like one, but the secret you harbored was undoubtedly an act of rebellion.

“Did you make these?”

You jump at the sound of Coriolanus’ voice behind you. Looking down, you see the cup has been overflowing for some time and has soaked your shirt sleeve. Shutting the water off, you quickly grab the washcloth next to the sink and wipe off the outside of the cup.

Turning around, you see the Gamemaker has one of your sculptures in his hand. A chickadee. It looked so much smaller in his hand. Coriolanus seems to consider the wooden bird before moving on to another sculpture. A rabbit whose ears you were still working on defining.

“These are lovely,” He muses, carefully returning the rabbit to its place in the ecosystem you have amassed at your kitchen table. “Do you only carve animals?”

Why do you care?

“No, I uh,” You hold out your hand, inviting him to sit across from you, placing the cold glass of water in front of him as you take your place at the head of the table. “I can make tools and cutlery, too; I was commissioned to make a jewelry box a while back. That was a unique challenge.”

There is a moment where you almost forget you're talking to a Gamaker—the very same man who boasted about his involvement in creating your prison cell.

Especially when he’s looking at you like that.

His expression is much softer than it was when you first met him. The threatening air that you felt before is nowhere to be found, and he seems content to let you continue talking if you so choose. His blue eyes don’t leave yours as he lets the quiet hang for a moment longer before straightening his back.

“I apologize for showing up unannounced. But I’m here on behalf of The Capitol.”

You’re fucked.

Like the young man could sense your immediate unease, he continues calmly.

“There have been reports of increased rebel activity in District 7. Now, this isn’t unusual. We’ve found there is a spike in this sort of conduct following a particularly emotional game like yours.”

You remain silent.

“I’m here to investigate these claims and ask a favor of you.”

A favor? That’s brave.

“The Capitol sends Gamemakers to deal with rebels?” You can’t help but scoff.

Coriolanus seems to find it funny as well. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“I studied military theory in university and served as a Peacekeeper in District 12. They send whoever they believe best represents and upholds Panem’s values.”

Silence fills the room once more.

You cross your arms in front of your chest and shift as far back in the chair as possible. You catch a slight twitch in the Gamemaker’s cheek when he notices the albeit small but important change in your posture.

“We’ve found that Victors tend to be the best at dissuading these acts,” He intertwines his fingers in front of him on the table. “I’m not asking you to make a speech. Just to be an example to the others in your District.”

“An example of what exactly?” The weight of your exhaustion is starting to wear you down.

“An example of compliance, order, loyalty. Show them the truth. That we are better and safer united as one.”

He wants you to be a mouthpiece.

To have you whisper Capitol rhetoric into their ears under the guise that it’s coming from one of their own. Easier to swallow that way, perhaps. But there was no way you’d be able to convince anyone that their children weren’t worth fighting for.

Not that you ever would, for anybody, at any cost.

“I would love to help with your rebel problem.” You mutter. “Unfortunately, I hold very little weight in the minds of the people in this District.”

The Gamemaker’s brows bunch together like he couldn’t tell if you were facetious. He nods slowly before you watch his eyes wander back to the chickadee. The first time his gaze has left yours, this entire conversation.

Coriolanus slowly unlaces his fingers in front of the bird, lingering like he wished to hold the tiny wooden creature once more. It seems to be a fleeting thought, though, as he quickly tangles his fingers back together

Had this been a different conversation and him a different man, you might have even offered to let him take it.

“I think you will find that to be quite the contrary.” Coriolanus abruptly pushes himself away from the table. You flinch before mimicking his actions and stand. “In any case, I will be available to you should you encounter anything troubling.”

He pushes in his chair, taking extra care not to knock the table. You feel dizzy from getting up so fast but try not to let the heaviness in your head become apparent to the Gamemaker.

The last thing you needed was Coriolanus Snow, knowing you were barely put together.

“I have to meet with Commander Ward, but there are other things I would like to speak with you about.”

Of course there is.

“You know where to find me.” You give a practiced, polite smile, which he returns. For a second, the blonde looks as though he has more to say. His lips part, and you find yourself holding your breath.

“Thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out.”

You wait until you hear the sound of the door opening and closing before you rush down the hall to lock it behind him. Steadying yourself on the wall, you gulp down some much-needed air. The late morning heat was starting to fill the house, but you felt cold and clammy. A symptom no doubt brought on by the Gamemaker.

Finding your way back to the kitchen, you stop in the door frame, your gaze settling on the untouched glass of water. Your chest burns with an emotion you can’t put a name to. It weighs heavy, and you feel the need to cry.

The promise of return made by Coriolanus only further fuels the flame growing beneath your sternum.

Next time you won’t open the fucking door.

Stomping over to the table, you snatch up the cup. Water spills over the edge as you raise your arm in the air. You aim at the empty hutch located behind the table and watch as it shatters into countless glistening pieces all over the floor.

It felt cathartic for a fraction of a second before your senses return as you realize the mess you’ve made.

A problem for later

On unsteady feet, you start for the stairs. White knuckling the railing as you climb your way up, perhaps your bed would grant you the relief you hoped you would find in the broken glass.

[0fantasma0]

I let my pussy make my decisions, call that clitical thinking

[0fantasma0]

Petals to Thorns

Summary: Taking place just a few short years after the events of the 10th Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow has found respect and prestige serving as a Gamemaker. With his help, viewership in the Capitol is at an all-time high. Coriolanus has never felt more focused, more in control, more ready to continue his journey to restore his family’s great name. His hard work on the 14th Hunger Games is sure to prove that. But when a seemingly unremarkable tribute manages to escape Coriolanus’ meticulously built arena unscathed and victorious, he finds himself enraged and infatuated.

You may have escaped the Games but will you be able to hide the truth behind your victory?

Warnings: dubcon, stalking, manipulation, possessive behavior, canon typical violence

The sterile air of the infirmary makes your nose twitch. You had spent a handful of days in this room, but the smell still made you nauseous. The morphling tablets that felt chalk on your tongue and lead in your stomach weren't helping either. You knew it was better than feeling your cracked ribs with every breath. But there was an overwhelming part of you that almost wished you hadn’t taken them in the first place.

You should be suffering right now.

A quick knock at the door pulls your attention from the skin you had been mindlessly picking at. You wipe the blood from the scabs on the white blanket below. Not caring about the crimson streak it leaves in the perfectly tucked-in linen.

An unfamiliar face in a gray Capitol uniform stands rigid in the door frame.

“We’re ready when you are. Your team is already at the train station.”

“I’m ready.”

You don’t recognize the voice that floats out of your mouth in a cracked whisper. You couldn’t remember the last time you spoke. It must've been when you were still in the arena.

The bandages that are wrapped expertly around your midsection make it almost impossible to stand up gracefully. It takes several tries to steady yourself before you can begin wobbling behind the uniformed man. Even then, your knees threaten to give way underneath your weight. Walking was another thing you hadn’t done since your time in the arena.

The effects of the morphling finally begin to wash over you as you climb into the car meant to take you to the train station. Sinking into the plush leather seat with a shaky breath, you embrace the warmth spreading across your skin.

And as the beauty of the Capitol began to fade from your window, you found yourself not far behind.

It’s not long before you can’t feel anything at all. Not your broken ribs, not the raw skin from your picked scabs, even the buzzing in your head lulls into a dull hum. If not for the jostling of the moving vehicle, you would have thought you were floating.

The urge to nod off is strong, with the morphling now steadily flowing, but the screech of the car’s brakes brings you back. Looking out the tinted glass, you can finally see the enormous train station. A beautiful stone building that made your own District’s station look pitiful.

It was pitiful.

Pathetic, insufficient, inadequate.

All words that could accurately describe the state of your District and how you were currently feeling.

If nothing else, the parcels to be given out back home for your victory should help.

The Peacekeeper who escorted you opens the door and extends his hand to help you out of the car. You thank him as you steady yourself on the sidewalk. The warm sun on your face feels heavenly, but the bright light bouncing off seemingly everything is debilitating.

What’s that noise?

It sounds like yelling? No, no, chanting, maybe?

It doesn’t fully register until the car pulls away that the sound is emanating from the station. Carefully, you climb the smooth stone steps one at a time. With each step, the muffled voices become more decipherable.

Your name.

Reaching the halfway point of the seemingly unending series of stairs, you are greeted with what must be hundreds of beaming Capitol citizens. Their cheers only grow louder as they realize the object of their cheering has finally materialized. Peacekeepers line the doors to the station, keeping the surging crowd at bay.

You’re thankful for the Peacekeeper behind you gripping your upper arm and making you march forward. Staring blankly into citizens' faces before you, your eyes bounce from one face to the next. Their manicured hands were frantically outstretched, begging for just a brush of fingertips.

They looked nothing like the folks back home.

Their cheeks were full, eyes bright and well-rested, skin seemingly scrubbed clean of imperfections; even their clothing was immaculately tailored. Not one thing was out of place. There is not one distinguishable flaw you could find on any of them.

It felt like a spit to the face, almost like you were being taunted.

Did they do it on purpose? To remind you of what you’ve always known?

That you were still the same District scum you were before you entered the Games.

Just lucky District scum.

More questions swarm as you feel the Peacekeeper become agitated at your lack of movement.

Did they know hunger? Did they know pain? Did they bury their dead in unmarked graves? Did they kiss their children goodnight, fearing they wouldn’t wake in the morning?

Selfishly, you wish they did so they could feel a fraction of the pain perpetuated throughout your home.

Ultimately, you understood that sort of suffering was confined to the Districts.

Your brain finally catches up with the rest of you, and you begin moving up the last few steps to the station doors on your own. A weary smile twitches at the edge of your lips as you try to meet eyes with as many people as possible.

Continuing your journey deeper into the train station, the crowd does not dwindle much. Men, women, and children lined up on either side of the station, all pining to get a glimpse of the victor of the 14th annual Hunger Games. A tight line of gray uniforms was holding up the front of the crowd.

You’d never thought you’d be grateful to see so many Peacekeepers and Capitol officers.

It’s a short walk to your train, but the endless sea of people makes it feel that much longer. You feel the hand on your upper tighten, bringing you to a halt.

A stern warning to not wander is muttered before the Peacekeeper walks towards the train car. You smooth out the arm of your dress. You can still feel where he was digging into your skin.

Asshole.

At that exact moment, you can feel the room become that much smaller. The cheering begins to mesh together in your ears like television static, and you can’t tell if its because of the pills or if you’re going to have a heart attack.

If the Capitol citizens could see your suffering, they didn’t make it known. If anything, they were only getting louder, more restless.

Did they have to take time off work to be here? Did they even work? It didn’t matter. What did matter is that you would never hear the end of it if you snubbed the citizens in your last few moments in the Capitol.

Just pick someone, you coward. Just one.

With the confidence of the potent painkillers flowing through you, you scan the crowd for a moment before walking over to a young blonde woman holding a small child. You politely ask the two Peacekeepers who were maintaining the crowd directly in front of the pair to let you see them unobstructed.

“Hello there,” you direct your greeting more toward the toddler in the woman’s arms. His hair and eyes are the same shade as the woman holding him. His meaty little fist seemed to find a home in his mouth, drool sliding down his chin. “What’s your name?”

Instead of a reply, the tiny human lets out a squeal. Pulling his wet fingers out of his mouth to point at you before twisting and squirming in his mother’s hold.

“Would you like to hold him?” A bubbly laugh erupts out of the woman. Her voice was kind and sweet, like the berries back in your District.

Of course, they even sound perfect.

“I’m not sure—“

“Please hold him! It would be an honor.” The small child was now dangling awkwardly in front of you. His arms mimicked his mother’s outstretched position, tiny fingers grasping at the air.

You could feel the eyes of what seemed like the entire Capitol burning into your skin, all waiting with bated breath to see what you do next. It’s not until you go to wipe the sweat from your palms on your dress that you realize you’re shaking.

It's just a baby.

Maybe if you squint, you could pretend he was just a sack of wet, smelly, squirmy potatoes.

Just take the fucking baby.

Carefully, you pull the boy from his mother. His wiggling stops as you tuck his legs into your side, his butt sitting on your hip. The hand, not supporting his weight, lays across his tiny torso. A gesture that looks affectionate but also hides the fact that your hand is about to shake out of its skin. You were expecting him to weigh more. Cypress was much heavier—

Oh, Cypress.

As desperately as you tried to push the boy from your mind, that action became harder the closer you got to returning home. How were you to face his mother? It seemed wrong, shameful even, to return to the District without him. You didn’t even know what they had done with his body. You remained hopeful that he had already been returned to District 7, where he could be buried with his father.

Like the child in your arms could sense the inner turmoil brewing beneath the surface, his golden curls tickle your cheek as his head rests in the aperture that connects your neck to your shoulder.

The sound of cheering brings your attention away from the little boy’s porcelain face. It takes a moment to realize the cheering is once more directed at you. The child’s gesture of comfort has sent the Capitol citizens into a fit. You hear voices behind you begging frantically for you to turn around so they may catch a glimpse.

So you do.

A brief flash of a camera sends you reeling back. You bump into one of the uniformed men separating you from the crowd before quickly regaining your footing again.

To you, holding this child was relatively insignificant. People held other people’s children all the time in District 7.

So many, like yourself, were raised not by their parents but by others. Many were lost in the Dark Days, but the lumber yards and paper mills have no shortage of dangers.

To the polished Capitol citizens, you were sure this scene was probably the equivalent of a zoo animal showing love for a human.

A lopsided smile creeps on your face as the blonde-headed baby begins to belly laugh at all the commotion. Finding yourself getting lost in his features again, you almost miss a Peacekeeper coming into your view. He leans close to your ear so he doesn’t have to yell over the cries of onlookers.

“There is someone who would like to speak with you before you board.”

You nod deftly before spinning back to face the boy’s mother. He makes his displeasure known at the change of position with a cry and a kick of his legs.

“He’s beautiful,” your hands begin to tremble once more. “You must be a great mother if he’s so tolerant of strangers.”

“He’s a very picky baby, unfortunately. Just means you have a natural talent.” The young woman muses, the small boy starting to squirm in her arms once more. “By the time your children compete in the Games, they'll be quite the forces of nature I’d imagine.”

Her tone is friendly, but you pause at her words.

My children? Competing?

You weren’t sure if the bubble forming in your throat was that of a laugh or a scream. You hadn’t even begun to consider the possibility of having children, let alone them being trapped in the same hell you freshly escaped from.

While holding that baby and getting lost in the cheers and cries of excitement, you had almost forgotten what you were.

District scum.

You abruptly turn away from the mother and child. Fearing if you look at them any longer, you might launch yourself across the barrier and prove all the things they say about people from the Districts true. You trail closely behind the Peacekeeper as he leads the way You squeeze your eyes shut as they start to burn with the threat of tears. The sound of citizens behind you pleading for one last look makes you squeeze them shut tighter. They could beg all they wanted. They already have taken enough of you.

If you never saw another one of their perfect faces again, you would die a happy soul.

The gray uniform in front of you clears his throat as he steps to your right side.

“Miss this is—

“Coriolanus Snow.”

A cold, calculated tone cuts him off. Following the sound, you attach it to the figure standing directly before you.

Immediately, you recognized his face.

A Gamemaker.

You only saw it a handful of times, but it’s not one you forget.

His hair was a golden blonde that, from some angles, appeared almost white. You couldn’t tell if his eyes were blue or gray from where you were standing, but they were razor-sharp. You finally fix your gaze on the expensive fabric he has chosen to wear. A beautiful deep red that only further accentuated his objectively handsome appearance.

God, you were gonna be sick.

“On behalf of the Gamemakers, we wanted to congratulate you personally on your valiant performance.” He grins widely, but his voice tells another story.

He knows. He knows what you did.

“Well, you folks certainly didn’t make it easy.” Your smile doesn’t fully reach your eyes as you thank him for his flattery.

“I can assure you it didn’t appear that way,” Coriolanus remarked pointedly, “You ended the games before they even truly began. An impressive display, I have to admit. Even if it did come at the cost of this year’s game looking rather undeveloped and juvenile.”

“Perhaps I misunderstood. The finer details always seem to get lost on me. But I thought that’s what it was? A juvenile’s game.”

“Careful.”

The air felt torrid between you two.

The sweat sliding down from under your bandages, making your dress stick to your skin, making you acutely aware of your body. You know he could probably see the way your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you tried to suck in as much air as possible discreetly. The aching pain in your ribs had returned, radiating up your chest and into your back, making it feel almost impossible to fill up your hungry lungs.

You were deteriorating quickly.

Careful.

Careful? What did that even really mean?

You’ve found that people in the Capitol don’t always like to say what they’re thinking outright. Always vague warnings, vague advice, vague backhanded compliments. Yet another glaring difference between the life and the people of the Capitol compared to that of your District.

Nobody has time for that shit in 7.

You wanted to excuse yourself and get on the train already. You could see the open train car door to your right practically screaming your name.

But something about the Gamemaker in front of you kept you planted in your spot.

Feeling the need to squirm, you dig your nails into your hand to ground yourself. Perhaps, you were being rude. Misinterpreting his tone and mistaking his compliments as animosity. He did take time out of his day to come to see you personally.

Talk. Speak. Thank him again. Something. Anything. You look suspicious.

“What… parts of the Game did you make?” It sounded so stupid when it finally came out. But it was better than the silence you were being smothered in. Coriolanus hums before revealing his perfect set of white teeth.

“All the entertaining ones.”

Fuck this guy.

The Gamemaker seems satisfied with your silent reaction. He doesn’t get to bask in it for long before the silence is broken by a Peacekeeper letting you know that it is time to board.

Coriolanus extends his long fingers out towards you. You hesitate before you take his hand into yours. His grasp is vice-like, thumb pressing deep into the back of your hand. He leans forward, taking up even more of the finite amount of space that separates your bodies.

“It was a pleasure having you compete in this year's games,” He was so close you could feel his breath against your hair. “I do hope we meet again.”

Before you can even protest or think twice, the fire of your repressed anger and grief creeps its way up your spine and out your mouth.

“As do I, Coriolanus.” Your head dips to the side as you rake your eyes from his shiny shoes to his piercing gaze. “Perhaps in the meantime, you can find a game you can beat me at.”

You don’t wait for his response before you turn to your right and walk onto your train. You knew there could always be consequences for disrespecting a Gamemaker.

But what more could they take from you?

The train was a massive upgrade from the boxcar you were transported in a few days earlier. You ignore the call to sit with your Escort and Mentor. There would be plenty of time to talk to them. Instead, you wobble down the train until you reach an open door with a small cot built into the wall.

A glorified bench with a pillow and blanket, but that was all you needed.

Gently, closing the door behind you, you feel your shoulders begin to shake as the hot tears are now freely flowing down your face. Your head finds the cold pillow, muffling the sounds of your anguish. The lurch of the train and the shrill of the wheels moving on the tracks gives you all the permission you need to begin wailing.

I just need to get home. Things will get better at home.

Thanks for being here!!!

{Chapter Two}

[0fantasma0]

In the end, he became who he hated the most, an old man beefing with a teenager without the teenager even knowing the reason.

And it's really just beef carried on from the previous generation. The teenager didn't even exist when the reason happened.

[0fantasma0]

neil babygirl how does aziraphale take his crepes

...orally?