#CAPITOL

[districtfourmermaid]

Ok ok ok, in the Quell, the Rebel Pack gets sent, of all things, cocktail sauce to go with their oysters.

"Just as we're about to eat, a parachute appears bearing two supplements to our meal. A small pot of spicy red sauce and yet another round of rolls from District 3."

How extra. How decadent. Rolling on the floor laughing, because there are two explanations for this luxury.

1) Haymitch and the other mentors knew they'd be breaking them out that night, so at this point, may as well spend the sponsor money. You can't take it with you. Fuck it, we ball, send them some cocktail sauce.

2) Sponsors in the Capitol saw them eating oysters and simply could not allow them do so without condiments. Please, they are Victors, not mere Tributes. Let them have some decency. Naked oysters are just too much to bear.

[lilysouph]

Effie Headcanons!!

Disclaimer, these are my headcanons for my Effie. I love all Effies equally, but this is just my version of her<3

"i hate Effie, she's so ignorant and just spews Capitol propaganda", you just don't know her like I know her

Effie who was an outsider from the moment she was born because of her family

Effie whose parents expected her to redeem the Trinket name

Effie whose parents tolerated no faults, mistakes or wrongs, not a toe out of line

Effie who had to be the perfect older sister

Effie who did well in school

Effie who never let anyone see her cry

Effie who had a twelve years older brother who left when she was six and didn't talk to the family at all

Effie who still loved her brother and missed him every day

Effie who in many ways is a Lorelai Gilmore variant

Effie who looked so much like her great-aunt Messalina

Effie who was overly sexualised from a young age because of it

Effie who kissed one boy and was slut shamed

Effie who didn't even date anyone until her late teenage years

Effie who decided that if everyone were gonna slut shame her anyways, she might as well live up to it

Effie who tolerated far too many toxic guys

Effie who had brownish blonde hair and deeply wished it was something more exciting

Effie who got an internship at a wig making place and started creating her own fun coloured wild styles

Effie who started experimenting with wigs and makeup and fashion

Effie who found a sort of peace and freedom in it and Effie who eventually grew a toxic relationship with it from hiding behind it

Effie whose sister got so mad at her for accepting the escort job cus Effie knew it was her [Proserpina's] dream to be a district escort

Effie who felt incredibly bad because she felt she'd stolen her sister's dream and outshone her in the Quarter Quell

Effie who didn't even want to be an escort, but you don't say no to an offer blessed by Snow

Effie who basically got looped into being Haymitch's caretaker because no one else cared for or about him

Effie who just wanted to fix everyone's problems

Effie who couldn't

Effie who knew her kids likely wouldn't survive the games

Effie who did her best to make their last days comfortable

Effie who did her best to humanise her kids instead of leaning in to the animalistic ideology of the Capitol

Effie who smoked

Effie who cried for every one of her kids after the Reaping, after they entered the arena, and after they died

Effie who always went to the roof of the tribute centre after the tributes died, as it was the only place not bugged or monitored

Effie who would sit there for hours with a cigarette and Haymitch always joining her with a blanket and a drink

Effie who with neither siblings speaking to her, and with only a few superficial friends and acquaintances felt so alone most of the year

Effie who secretly looked forward to the games each year so she wouldn't be so lonely

Effie who hated herself for it

Effie who was so grateful when she got to know Cinna and Plutarch who became her close friends

Effie who still felt like an outsider because Cinna and Plutarch obviously shared something she didn't

Effie who brushed it off as just her being self destructive

Effie who after a particularly bad game cried to Plutarch and Cinna, and accidentally blurted out that she hated the games and the escort job and Snow and everything

Effie who received an anonymous note the next day saying remember your place

Effie who later got a phone call from her dad saying Proserpina was missing

Effie who would never stop blaming herself

Effie whose sister didn't return

Effie who created the Capitol mask as a response to her sister's disappearance

Effie who startled Haymitch the next year with her new persona

Effie and Haymitch who started to argue more because Haymitch thought she'd turned into everyone else

Effie who finally told Haymitch what happened three years later

Effie who lived so long with the mask she started struggling to separate it from her

Effie and Haymitch who still bickered endlessly, but not in the same way as before

Effie who got called district whore because everyone thought she was sleeping with Haymitch

Effie who never let anyone take advantage of him when he was drunk

Effie who always took the train back to district 12 after the games, so he wouldn't be alone with the coffins

Effie who freaked out after figuring out she actually liked Haymitch

Effie who drunkenly admitted to liking Haymitch in a bathroom at a Heavensbee sponsor party, and Haymitch who laughed at her because she'd "finally given in to the years of [his] advances"

Effie who hooked up with Haymitch and freaked tf out when she woke up next to him the day after

Effie who pretended the whole day that nothing had happened and Haymitch who calmed her in the evening telling her that it was fine, no one would know, she wouldn't be punished, they could do it again or they could stop, and assured her that she was in control

Effie who decided she needed time to think and process what had happened, but also Effie who went straight back to his room the day after

Effie and Haymitch who bickered and fought and didn't agree on anything and yet couldn't get enough of each other

Effie who loved and treasured the quiet moments with Haymitch in her train compartment, his room at the training centre, or at the training centre rooftop, where he would just hold her

Effie who loved makeup and cute dresses and the colour pink

Effie who was feminine and fierce and loving and kind

Effie who still loved to dress up but learned to do it for herself and not for others

Effie Trinket who is perfection and me who will take no criticisms

Sorry, this was long👊😔

[filthsthings]

Almost ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

young!Coriolanus Snow x mayor's daughter!Reader

Summary: after Coriolanus killed Lucy, a marriage of convenience was laid out in front of him.

Tags: forced marriage, young!coryo

Warnings: 18+, toxic!young!Coriolanus,

A/n: Tigris is younger than Coryo by 3 years and reader is her classmate. Might become a series idk

Rumors flew like a Mockingjay.

Free, passing through all the districts.

From the capitol to district 12. Through Panem.

Coriolanus Snow killed Lucy Gray Baird.

Coriolanus' growing hair has been unsteady from the buzz cut. But it never cost him to show up to the capitol looking almost perfect. His slightly tan skin, from the seam's sun, and pale hair were a mix that made him shine through the room.

"This is an outrage." the mayor from District 3 exclaimed.

"To kill inside the arena is one thing. To kill the victor outside is another." professor Highbottom chimed. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, his suit all wrinkly and so were his eyebrows. "we'll have to cover this with something else."

Tigris looked around the round table. Some familiar faces, some total strangers. All their voices are on top of one another. Their faces look so agonized as if it was their daughter who was killed by the criminal in the hearing.

Truth be told, his hearing would not have been held in the presidential palace if they didn’t like Coriolanus. If they didn’t want to put him in line for the presidency. Corio had that leadership aura radiate from him. And they all sensed it since they saw him for the first time. By giving Baird an unfair justice, they’re gaining themselves a favor from Snow.

They want a show from him. It has always been that way. From one president to another. The question is, how would they have their amusement?

Sitting within the inner circle of politics is new to her. It was never her thing, and Coriolanus never explained the system to her. 

"we could-" she started, voice meek and small. "we could cover it with a wedding."

The voices came to a halt. All heads turned to her.

"continue," President Ravintsill urged, leaning his torso towards the table while his eyes are burning through her forehead. Seeming all interested to her.

She looked at you, trying to seek comfort before clearing her throat. "A little story to entertain never fails to gain enough attention. I mean, it is the game's purpose, after all. A love story would be heartwarming. An awe. scandalized to gain sympathy. Let them empathize with him." Tigris managed to utter confidence building word after word.

"Yes," Professor Highbottom stroked his beard, thinking. "It is possible. It may be someone from her district. to-- somehow explain why he is so close to that place. It can also set his ground for the upcoming election."

Casca looked at everyone's faces. Waiting for a suggestion or violent reaction. They were all thinking. Thinking of what this boy could do if he married someone in their district.

"My daughter." You felt your body freeze as your father's voice stormed through the silence. "She is unwed, close age, she has experienced living here in the Capitol, finished in the academy, and you may just elevate your status by marrying a mayor's daughter, snow."

you knew that you would not marry for love. not in this millenia. But never in a thousand years would you have thought that you would marry your best friend's fiendish cousin.

The president hummed as a response. "Recession. I need a moment with myself."

You did not wait for your father to stand before you fled the room. It was almost suffocating to see Coriolanus in front of you, looking almighty as if you were all not there because of an offense of his own doing. The air was almost breathless when you noticed how his chest rose up and down. Being in the same room was almost too much. Almost.

Imagining what he would be as a president was terrifying. Let alone as a husband. You didn't wish to hold that against him as he didn't have enough grasp of the idea. That was before you became the wife-to-be.

You always saw how cruel Coriolanus snow can be. From his childhood to his internship as a game maker. He took pleasure from another's tears. Especially when he was the one who caused it.

And declining the proposal by your father was never an option to begin with. You have been trained long before stepping foot in the academy. To be a service of your district. A token, as your father would say. An ammo to be fired when your district needs connection.

Tigris' voice called your name from the other side of your cubicle. "I know you're there. Please, let's talk." She sighed heavily when you didn't respond. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you would be an option."

"I'm scared, tig. You see him. He's not a man that a woman would wish for." You managed to speak, sobbing. "What if he hurt me? Our children?"

Tigris remained silent. Failing to gather enough words to comfort you because she knows who her cousin is. Above anyone else.

A few minutes went by and you wiped your tears. Opening the cubicle to Tigris sitting down on the countertop, swaying her feet. You almost felt guilty for holding her accountable for this when you saw her worried face looking down at the floor. Almost.

She looked up at the sound of the door hitting the wall. Her feline features gathered to send a warm smile. Her smile lit your mood. It never fails to do so.

"It's not like I get a say in this. So it's fine, I guess," you end up in her arms before you can finish your sentence.

"I'll be with you along the way. I promise."

Snow is falling. coating the capitol's cemented floors in white.

It was cold, wet, and dull.

Everything made it seem so scary to get out of bed. So you laid there, staring at the ceiling of your room in the president's mansion, waiting for your lady in waiting to wake you up. Thinking of how you would spend your next years in this arrangement.

The door opened forcefully, making you get out of bed on instinct. His hard gaze met your own, making you conscious and subconsciously making you cover your torso with your hands. Your lace night gown hugged your bony body, leaving your arms and thighs to his view.

"It is improper to greet your fiancé like this, Coriolanus," you lectured as you reach for your robe. You can feel his eyes on your back.

"Always the courteous." he replied, sitting down on your bed. His sarcasm punching you on the gut. "You have not been going out."

"Yes, well, I haven't really found a reason to go outside." you sighed after sitting down to a womb chair adjacent to his choice of seat.

The nervousness that seemed to tail you whenever he's around has caught up to you, weaving itself with your nerves. Your breathing is hitched as you watch him watch you. You both sat there in silence, examining each other's faces.

You, shielding yourself with your robe. And him, flaunting himself with his suit.

"Well, you have a duty. Given by your district, and your father." He broke the silence.

"What duty? To be a delight in your eyes or theirs?" With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes and pursed your lips. Trying to contain your rage. "I am not an ornament to be displayed, my lord. I will marry you in due time so give me my remaining days to spend."

Coriolanus stared at you, expression unreadable. It gave you a chance to actually look at him and not challenge him to a staring battle. His hair has grown in the last 3 months, showing his waves more. His tan has also faded to his usual pale color, and his suit appears to be more expensive now than the previous.

The past months happened in a blur. After your engagement had been announced to the public with the sad tale with you as the maiden and Gray as the Villain, President Ravinstill got shot on a campaign for the academy, the voting was hastened for a month.

Pressured by the people of the capitol, Coriolanus flaunted you to the public, forcing you to move into the Presidential mansion. Though you were yet to be married, you went to his galas and parties. You hosted tea in the mansion with the other political wives, orchestrated by him, of course.

Coriolanus was charmed by you, his eyes sparkled whenever it set upon you, his smile reached his ears though not quite his eyes. All when the cameras are on you. Inside, you are a prisoner and him the judge.

"It's not like I'm forcing you to drown yourself, sweet pea." Coryo stood from his seat and walked to you, making you look up to him from your chair.

He smiles at you, sickeningly devious. "Go out of your room or not. You're still under my roof and you're not getting out of here anytime soon."

[spielberkee]

This is funny how the "rebellion" of Katniss at the end of 74th Hunger Games was only possible because of Capitol's simple, stupid mistakes. Like, they have a 5 minutes delay to cut or change enything if needed, but then, because of their mistakes, they couldn't cut or change anything to make this not go/look this way.

Propaganda is powerful but you can always break it.

[pizzashowgirls]

Brian Reedy, prints here

[red-lint]

[mossyfernhugger]

The Haymitch and Effie kiss. The kiss between Haymitch and Effie. Btw guys Effie and Haymitch kissed on the lips. The hayffie. The hayffie kiss. The 1:56:29. The time Haymitch kissed Effie. Do you remember that one moment in Mockingjay part 2 where Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy kiss. That one time Effie kissed Haymitch goodbye. The “don’t be a stranger”. The kiss on the cheek. The kiss on the lips. Have I mentioned Haymitch and Effie kissed at the end of mockingjay part 2. The Effie Trinket x Haymitch Abernathy kiss. The

[political-us]

Protests in Denver, CO against the Trump admin

[caesarflickermans]

It's endlessly fascinating to me how Western fans of The Hunger Games break down when they're being confronted with the fact they're the Capitol. It's easy to point fingers at the Met Gala and deem ourselves the oppressed, but we're wearing the clothes that were produced in unfair labour conditions and doomscrolling on our phones whose cobalt was mined by children.

We know there is a fairly large middle class in the Capitol. We know that because Katniss' journey is that of an outsider looking in. Any non-American—even Western non-Americans—grew up with this glorified image of the United States. The sitcom characters do great regardless what job they have & the American Dream is instilled on our minds. But, just like Katniss, we slowly learn that life isn't perfect. High debts, shitty housing situations, a rigid class system, and predatory militaries.

And I think a lot of people forget that this is part of the average Capitol lifestyle. It's really interesting, because being "from the Capitol" is seen by some as an accusation. That's not who we want to be; it's so much easier to be the oppressed.

But I think we are mistaken by seeing the Capitol that way. TBOSAS has shown us that the class system is rigid. The same important surnames show up decades later. And it's not any different to many Western societies—wealth is inherited. In my country, Germany, it's practically the only way to become wealthy. There's always the outlier who becomes wealthy and allows us to kid ourselves, but that's simply not the truth for most of us.

And just like the middle to lower class in the Capitol likes to watch the Games and pretend they're better than, many middle to lower class Westerners have the immigrant as a subject to kick down toward. It's similar imagery conjured, whereupon the Games show the Capitol citizens how brutal the Districts are, and the exaggeration of immigrant crime does the same. Middle to lower class Westerners prefer aligning themselves with the upper class in the false sense that they, one day, will be with them, which is exactly what the Capitol people do when they vie for the newest fashion to align themselves with the upper class.

As Westerners, we are the Capitol. Because the Capitol is more complex than what Katniss thinks it is, and because we need to recognise the structures within our countries and the structures abroad.

[incubationformadness]

Thinking about how the Capitol in The Hunger Games is obsessed with classical antiquity - which does not belong to them - while simultaneously trying to wipe out the indigenous culture in the districts. How they idolise Greco-Roman culture not simply for its decadence but for its bloodshed.

I know that in canon we don't see much reference to Ancient Greece & Rome other than Plutarch briefly explaining bread and circuses, but I wanted to make Effie (a Capitolite) aware of classical antiquity from her education in my fic because a lot of far-right propaganda relies on a warped, distorted nostalgia. 'The good old days when...' kind of dialogue. This isn't new - Italian fascism, under Mussolini in particular, tried to emulate Ancient Rome.

My point is that the Capitol is in itself a theatrical illusion - it has no original culture of its own. It is merely extortionate luxury and authoritarian power in faux Roman wrapping paper. But the Capitol needs to appear to possess a seemingly superior culture - more advanced that the 'backwards' districts - in order to legitimise the dictatorship. You can't have the divine right of kings without belief in divinity.

[just-a-f3rn]

the capitol moodboard

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

Fighter and Mother Cato H. x OC

part I. part II. part lV.

After a sleepless night full of tossing and heavy dreams, I finally gave up trying to fall asleep. My eyes burned, my body was tired, and my heart felt like it was carrying the weight of the whole world. Every touch of the silk that the Capitol had forced me to wear felt like a reminder of everything that had been taken from me. I was lying in a bed — soft, fragrant — and yet I had never felt farther from home.

I slipped off the nightgown and reached for my old shirt. It was the one I wore at the Reaping — pieced together from scraps of fabric the children and I salvaged from homes where no one saw their worth anymore. The cloth was mismatched, in faded tones, but embroidered with bright threads. Suns, birds, leaves, and here and there a child’s attempt at a flower. I’d embroidered them in the evenings, when everyone else was asleep. Every stitch carried meaning. And now, as I pulled it on, I felt like myself again. Not because it was warm — but because it was mine. It belonged to my life, my children, my work. In the Capitol, it looked completely out of place — but I was done bending to their rules.

I walked into the lounge, where the servants had already laid out breakfast. The table was buckling under the weight of food — shiny pastries, glistening fruit, delicate dishes I couldn’t even name. The smell was intoxicating, but my stomach remained twisted in knots.

Still, I filled three plates. Not for the taste — but out of strategy. My grandmother used to say: “If there’s food, you eat. A strong body has a better chance of surviving.” I could almost hear her voice in my head — calm, amused: "With color on your cheeks and a song on your lips, everything goes a little easier.”

Turen appeared a little while later. He sat beside me, the traces of yesterday’s tears still lingering in his eyes, but he was quiet. He scooted closer, a bit awkwardly, and began to eat. I placed a hand gently on his back. That was enough. He was here. I was here.

Then Effie swept in, like something from another world. Bursting into the room with her peppy energy, she launched into a speech about the schedule, the preparations, and the importance of staying positive. Her voice was like silver-wrapped cotton candy, but inside me it just rang like a hollow drum.

Eventually, Haymitch shuffled in. Hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, reeking of wine and fatigue. He dropped into a seat across from me, poured himself a strong coffee, and stared at me for a moment.

“That…” he said, eyeing my brightly embroidered shirt, “is not Capitol standard.”

“It’s not,” I replied calmly. “It’s mine.”

Something shifted in his eyes then. Just for a second. As if he understood more than I expected. He gave a small nod and said nothing more.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said quietly, no drama in my voice.

He watched me for a long beat, then finally muttered, “We all deal with it differently. Some drink. Some go quiet.”

We ate the rest of the breakfast in silence, until Effie suddenly straightened and pointed toward the windows.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she declared, “I present to you… the Capitol!”

And that’s when I saw it for the first time.

The glittering city stretched all the way to the horizon. Towering buildings like crystal needles, colorful trains gliding on high rails, waterfalls of light, and sculpted gardens that had more lights than all of District Twelve put together.

Turen pressed against me, eyes wide with awe. “This isn’t real,” he whispered.

But I knew it was. And that’s exactly what made it so dangerous.

The train slowed, then stopped. The entire machine, so quiet and smooth during the journey, seemed to suddenly hold its breath. A chill ran through me as the metal wheels gave one last screech against the tracks. I looked over at Turen. He sat silently beside me, no longer crying, but his eyes still held that childlike helplessness — the look of someone torn away from the only home they've ever known.

“We’re here,” Haymitch muttered, groggily rising from his seat. Effie was already standing tall and rigid, a synthetic smile glued to her face.

“The Capitol! Our beloved viewers await!” she sang, gliding gracefully toward the door.

As we stepped off the train, light rained down on us. We stood on a platform that sparkled like it had been dusted with diamond powder. Screens blinked all around us, cameras, shiny objects I couldn’t even name. And people. Dozens — maybe hundreds — of Capitol citizens lining the path, cheering, waving, some with glasses in their hands, others holding banners, and a few… a few wore expressions of twisted delight.

“Ohhh, that boy is adorable!” called a woman with pink feathers instead of hair. “I know that girl! That’s the one from Twelve — the embroidery one, right?” someone else shouted. “Give us a smile, sweetheart!”

A shiver went through me. Not just from the shouts, but from how little we seemed like real people to them. We were props in some kind of show. Dolls soon to be thrown into the arena.

I smiled — or tried to — but the smile froze on my face.

Haymitch turned to us. “This is where you end. From here on out, you're products. Goods. Let them do their job. Don’t make a scene — the stylists know what they're doing.”

We were led into the styling center — a towering, windowless marble building, with endless corridors and doors, every surface gleaming. They split us up. Turen went one way, I went another. Soon, I found myself in a room that smelled of perfume and wax.

At first, I only caught flashes — shimmering lights, rustling fabrics, the clinking of bracelets, and clouds of sharp scent. Then they appeared.

Alistar a man with skin dyed turquoise, his eyes framed with black sequins, his lips coated in a glittering iridescent gloss. He wore a sheer silver mesh dress — if you could call it that. “Ohhh! Heavens above, this is her! The Twelve girl, in the flesh! And that SHIRT!” he shrieked theatrically. “Is that handmade? It must be! Those stitches!”

Next to him floated Valeria her hair a massive neon flower, her eyebrows shaped into spirals, her dress shifting color with every move. “So beautiful, and yet so... natural. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll fix that. We’ll let your beauty shine!”

And finally, Remus silent, with a shaved head and eyes that changed color like photo-reactive lenses. He wore a latex coat, and his long, slender fingers were adorned with silver rings topped with crystals. “Your face has... gravity,” he murmured. “Not much to fix. We’ll just lift you into Capitol light.”

Without further hesitation, they handed me a silk robe. “Off you go, sweetheart. We’ll be gentle,” Valeria winked.

I had no choice but to obey.

I stood there — naked, tense — while they buzzed around me like small, glittering birds. They stripped away my hair, clipped my nails, rubbed scented oils into my skin, washed my hair in warm, fragrant water, buffed my heels, applied creams. Everything was soft, precise — but impersonal. I was no longer a person. I was a body being prepped for display.

Valeria worked through my hair while Alistair examined the shirt I’d folded so carefully. “The embroidery — it’s like a diary. Look here — the sun. And this one... is that a poppy? Poppy? Is that a name?”

I nodded silently.

Back home, people overlooked the embroidery. Here, in the Capitol, it wasn’t survival — it was fashion. And if it was beautiful, it had value.

My head was buzzing. Somewhere behind the walls, Turen was being readied too — decorated, reshaped, just like me.

Two figures from a different world, dressed up and tossed into a trap.

And as their hands moved, the scents swirled, and the lights blinded me, I thought of home.

Of children’s hands. Their voices. The rustle of grass at the fence. The herbs in the old tin bowl.

And I held onto it — all of it.

So I wouldn’t disappear in all this shine.

When the prep team finally withdrew, taking their last cotton swabs, brushes, and tissues with them, I remained seated in front of the mirror, surrounded by soft lighting and the lingering Capitol scent that still didn’t sit right with me. My hair had been braided into a loose plait that draped over my shoulder, ending at my waist like a silk rope with delicate pearls woven into the strands. The skin on my hands and face was smooth, my nails neatly done with a subtle shimmer I’d never been able to afford before. But still, I felt like myself — just a washed and polished version of Zinnia from District Twelve.

When they carefully helped me to my feet, Valeria clapped her hands and turned toward the door. “And now, to your stylist. I believe he’s going to fall in love with you.”

They led me down a narrow hallway laid with glossy tiles until we reached a door that opened on its own, as if welcoming me in. Inside was a tall, airy studio, scented with glue, fabric, and something that reminded me of oranges. A man stood at a table — slim, with pale skin and jet-black hair cropped close to his head. He wore a long coat made of heavy fabric with a high collar, and every movement he made was slow, gentle, as if he lived at a different tempo.

“Zinnia, right?” he said softly. His voice had a strange kind of melody to it, like he was composing sentences to a rhythm only he could hear. “I’m Corvel.”

I nodded and said quietly, “Nice to meet you.”

He studied me for a moment. “Interesting,” he said. “We’re used to inventing stories for our tributes. But you already have one. I just have to translate it into fabric.”

Then he walked over to the wall and pulled down a design that had been covered by a fine cloth. He turned it toward me, and for the first time, I saw what he had created for me.

It wasn’t kitsch. It wasn’t a parody of fire or coal. It was an image of survival.

“Everyone would dress you in flames and soot,” he said, “but I want them to see what grows from the ashes.”

He pointed to a pair of dark, slim silk trousers that shimmered like soot under the light. They had an ornate waistband stitched with tiny cross-stitches — a tribute to embroidery. The top was light, made from silvery-gray fabric, delicately embroidered with black, red, and gold thread, with patterns that resembled charred wood and sprouts growing from scorched earth.

“This pattern is your fingerprint,” he explained. “I created it based of your shirt.”

Floating over it all was a cloak of sheer organza, falling to the ankles, threaded with tiny metallic strands that sparkled like drifting ash. It was light as breath.

“So,” he asked, “are you ready to become a story?”

“If you’re the one writing it,” I said — and for the first time all day, I smiled from the heart.

Once Corvel summoned his team, everything moved very quickly. Remus, Alistar, and Valeria began dressing me without unnecessary words. Every swipe of fabric over my skin was careful yet firm. They pulled the shirt over my head, slipped the vest on, and fastened the cloak with the precision of people born to adorn others. I could only feel the light touches, the rustling of fabric, and their quiet whispers. Before I knew it, I was ready.

Corvel measured me once more, from head to toe, slightly adjusting the cloak on my shoulders before he smiled — that soft, satisfied smile of an artist proud of their work. "Ready," he said quietly, nodding toward the door.

I was then led away from the prep room, down the long, glossy hallways, and outside, where richly decorated carriages were waiting, each drawn by two beautiful dark horses. Under the glow of Capitol lamps and spotlights, everything sparkled and shone, almost unnaturally.

Turen was already waiting for me, nervously shifting by our carriage, and when he saw me, he smiled in relief. He was also dressed in a simple yet beautiful outfit that matched mine. He quickly jogged up to me and quietly mumbled, “You look amazing.” I smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and that’s when I felt someone’s gaze on me.

Through the crowd of other tributes, I caught his eyes — steel-blue and cold. Cato from District Two. He was casually leaning against the side of his carriage, arms crossed over his chest, wearing an expression that was a mix of interest and predatory curiosity. He was openly studying me, as if appraising me before we even stepped into the arena.

His gaze ran over my costume, my hair, my posture — and in his eyes, there was no pity, but a kind of curiosity. I held his gaze for a moment, then lowered my eyes back to Turen. I realized that my fingers were trembling slightly beneath the costume.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered to Turen, more to calm myself. “We can handle this.”

Above our heads, the Capitol drums were beginning to thrum, signaling that the ceremony was about to start.

The carriage was majestic — black with dark glossy sides, without a driver, only two muscular, coal-black beasts adorned with golden harnesses, waiting silently, almost indifferently, as if they knew this was a ride for applause, not escape. Slowly, Turen and I climbed aboard, his small hand clutching tightly at my elbow. The rest of the tributes were already seated, arranged by district. We, as always, were last. District Twelve. The end of the line. The shadow of the system.

As soon as our feet touched the floor of the carriage, the horses moved without a single command. Automatically. Like puppets on strings, led by the Capitol’s invisible will. We marched forward into the glare of spotlights, the roar of the crowds, and the blinding shine of glory.

The road was narrow, lined with thousands of Capitol citizens waving, shouting, laughing. The lower levels of the buildings were packed with spectators in vibrant costumes, hair dyed in rainbow hues, faces painted like festival masks. People reached out toward us—some tossed flowers, others confetti. Light and perfume filled the air.

“Look how her shirt sparkles!” “She’s the one with the kids, the girl from Twelve!” “Does she make her own clothes? So talented! And that look on her face!” “That child with her… this is going to be the real tragedy.”

Turen pressed close to me. His eyes were wide open, but his lips were tight. He wore the kind of face children wear when they’re trying to be brave — clenched and fragile. I placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and then forced myself to smile. Not even for the audience. For him.

As the final carriage arrived at the end of Victory Lane, the lights intensified, and everything fell into a hushed, expectant whisper. President Snow stepped onto the balcony above the square. His pace was slow, but not from hesitation — from precision. His presence sent a chill down the spine.

He stood at the microphone, folded his hands behind his back, and cast a brief glance over all the tributes. His gaze was like a cold breath of winter against the neck, even though the square burned with torchlight.

“Citizens of the Capitol… people of Panem,” he began, his voice calm, yet it carried far. “Today, as every year, we gather to honor the memory of those who paid the price for peace. Those who gave everything for unity and balance among us. Today we welcome the new tributes — a girl and a boy from each district — and we wish them honorable games. May the odds be ever in their favor.”

At his words, golden flames erupted above the square, illuminating all the carriages as the crowd broke into deafening applause.

The procession resumed — this time heading back — and Turen and I sat still, almost stiff, until the carriage finally returned us to the underground section of the Tribute Center.

As we stepped down, our team was waiting, ready to greet us like heroes. Effie clapped her hands in delight and exclaimed, “That was absolutely, absolutely enchanting! You shone! Corvel, you genius!”

Haymitch, who for once was actually standing upright, welcomed us with a mock-pat on the shoulder. “Didn’t look like arena meat, congrats,” he said with a smirk that came dangerously close to a real smile.

Valeria from my prep team looked like she might cry. “You looked like… like someone out of legend. That embroidered shirt beneath the cloak, it was just so… authentic!”

Turen stood silently beside me, red-faced but with a sparkle in his eyes. It was his moment — and he had survived it.

Then Haymitch noticed someone lagging behind. He turned his head and frowned. “Well, isn’t that sweet… looks like someone’s watching you.”

I followed his gaze — and there he was. Cato stood on the far side of the hall, surrounded by his team, but saying nothing. His eyes were fixed directly on me. No blink. No smile. Just a stare like a black hole’s gravity — it won’t let you leave, and somehow, you don’t want to.

Effie quickly intervened, ever the social diplomat: “All right! That’s enough staring — time for rest! Your suites are waiting. We’ve prepared everything you might desire.”

She led us to the elevators, which carried us high into the upper floors of the Tribute Center. The whole ride up, I could still feel Cato’s gaze lingering on my back — heavy as stone, hot as a warning, unreadable as a dream I wasn’t ready to wake from.

I hope you liked it. Part IV.???

If you have any tips or request i am happy to help =)

erika-simps

nowayhomenever

kittykataerokitty

@zelabee

@sopitasopita

[lilysouph]

okay so do we think both names in the bowl were Haymitch's? and if so do we think it was because Snow considered haymitch the biggest threat or because he knew peeta would volunteer for him?

[thequeenofuselessinformation]

This aged well

[base credit: were--ralph]

[ama3003]

The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finnick Odair, right?” 

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning. 

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?” 

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her. 

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss,  I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?” 

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing  to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened. 

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?” 

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her. 

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.” 

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.” 

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.” 

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were.  She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features. 

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1. 

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?” 

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?” 

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.” 

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.” 

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?” 

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.” 

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.” 

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo. 

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth. 

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable  “With secrets” 

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile. 

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.” 

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”  

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?” 

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.” 

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl. 

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

[illustratus]

Inauguration of Abraham Lincoln, March 4, 1861

Photograph taken by John Wood