#before hunger games became the performance

[abunchleoftadishes]

Watching all the hunger games movies again because the prequel came out, and now I'm bawling my eyes out because of everything in the story. Fucking help 😭

[giuliettagaltieri]

Fight for Carnage

Pairing: Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x Mentor!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Admirer

Warning: angst, unrequited love, mean Coriolanus Snow, academic rivalry, elitism, injuries, greed, mentions of death, Capitol cruelty, spoilers

Word Count: 1296

1 of 6

Before the onset of the Dark Days, Panem has seen no better tag team than that of Crassus Snow and Thanatos Swansworth, your father.

Men who helped shape the society, who kept the rebels at bay by putting a leash on them.  They were the lightbringers of the Capitol and the harbingers of death to the Districts.  They were well respected, or feared.  Nobody really cared to understand the difference.

And to you and Coriolanus, they were people to be highly looked up to, they were not the best fathers but they were great men.  And being their children, given the task to take up the challenge of reviving their legacy is a dream.

Although, it was never that easy.

Coriolanus Snow is your classmate in the academy, but he never really liked to socialize with you.  It was a great insult to you when he once left your company to seek out Sejanus, a person he claims only to tolerate.

It did not deter you.

In class, you tried to offer smiles to him, asking him about his day, and he would respond to you curtly.

When there were gatherings, you tried to get him to make you his date, lingering by his side like a desperate little puppy, but it was always Clemensia Dovecot, his class partner who got the honor of having an arm looped around his.

It hurt you deeply.  Especially when you always believed as a child that it was him you would marry.  Your fathers loved to bring it up in every opportunity they had.  They say that you and Coriolanus are one and the same. 

Coriolanus disagrees with that.

Aside from having dead tyrant fathers, you had nothing else to sympathize over.  

He had chosen his friends well.  They were promising individuals, truly in the path of being the next great leaders of Panem.

And you, of course you were an exceptional student, someone who made it into the Academy’s top 24 best-performing students.

The news of having to become mentors in the 10th annual Hunger Games made your stomach turn.

Death was not foreign to you, your mother made sure you watched every single game.  She said it was a way of honoring your late father.  She has done it every year until she followed your father in death.

As a child, you had to develop resistance to brutality.

And the thought of having to take part in the backgrounds of such savagery did not affect you.  The task, however of having to make your first step into the path your father wanted you take, had you completely anxious.

They had given you a young boy from District 8.  He was plain.  You saw no potential in him.  Not that you voiced that out when they assigned him to you.  It was only when you got to talk to him and he told you interesting things you can do with a sewing needle that your interest was piqued.

Coriolanus was invested in his tribute.

You saw it, heard it, as you passed him in the cafeteria when he had his luncheons with Sejanus.  The way he looked at Lucy Gray’s eyes, the way they talked with such familiarity.  You had trouble hiding a sneer.  Surely, he would not stoop so low as to trick a woman’s affections just so he can come out as the victor.

When the games started, Cooriolanus became more and more detached, jittery, always on edge, as if using every moment to scheme.

That evening, you chose to rest early so you can come back before the break of dawn.

You were alone when you arrived, and you were met with the battered face of your tribute.  Had it not been for his clothing, you would not recognize him with how bad his face has suffered from the brutal blows.

You stand in front of the screens, your body rigid as you cross an arm over your chest to support the other.  You saw your father doing it often when he was plotting with Crassus.  He often had a thumb under his chin and his index pressed in his lips as if to silence anyone who dared disturb him, and overtime, you managed to acquire the same gesture.

Your eyes were calculating as you watched every detail around him.  It was a bloodbath around him.  From the looks of the splattered blood, the culprit did not hold back.  And the weapon, it was lying on the side, the concrete painted crimson.

Your narrowed eyes squinted at the other tributes, hardly anybody moved from their spots.  Who could have done it?

You stood in the middle of the stage, eyes on every screen.  Most of them had their own chosen weapons.  What could have happened that your tribute had to die such a slow and brutal death.  A pitchfork to the heart or an ax to hack his throat would have been better, at least his suffering would have been short.

Coriolanus Snow arrived after you.  His eyes were blown, his forehead sweaty, and his shoulders stiff.  He made no effort to acknowledge you first, you decided to do it for him.

“How have you been?”  You ask gently.  “I see your tribute is still cooped down there.”

He glances at you and at Lucy Gray on screen.  “Yours?”

“Dead.”  You smile at him.

The stillness in his movement did not go unnoticed by you, so did the grimace he pulled when he moved his shoulder wrong.  You did not hide the way your eyes scanned his posture and he was watching you as you did so.

“Where were you last night, Corio?”  Your smile is still on your face.  Tone similar to the usual one you used when you ask for extra notes in class.

“Library.”  He spoke with practiced calmness.

“In the middle of the night?”  Your brows frown playfully.  “And in the middle of the games?”

His back straightens at the tone of your voice.

Coriolanus Snow always detested how you were your father’s daughter.  It was unfair to you, of course.  But how is it that you, the daughter of Thanatos Swansworth did not have to suffer like him when he also lost his father.  You were a sweet little girl.  But the way you are at this moment, he started second guessing everything he knew about you.

“Were you scouring for strategies, you sly little fox?”  You giggle as you walk over to him.

Coriolanus did not respond. 

For a moment you just look at each other.  His eyes are as glacial as you remember.  He really is attractive, his ambitious nature even more so.

You squeezed his arm and the way your eyes darted to his shoulder had him holding his breath. 

“Promise me you will not do anything stupid again, please?”  You say with your voice barely above a whisper, almost begging him.  He tries to break free but you pull his coat with your free hand, you are gripping his arm now.  “Please, Corio.”  You press yourself closer to him, eyes searching for something that is clearly not there.

He grabs your wrist tightly, making you let go of his coat.  His eyes are not fazed with the unshed tears in your eyes.  As his lips remain a firm line, you shy away from his cold gaze, feeling utterly pathetic. 

But you will not let him see that he got through you.

It never ceases to amaze him how you can pull such authentic looking smiles.

“May the odds be ever in your favor, Coriolanus Snow.”

You stand on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his jaw and you leave him there with his thoughts building up a storm inside that golden head of his.

Hunt for Glory

[pendarling]

A Kiss To Freedom

Their arms were tugged away from their face, exposing their beet-red cheeks and nervous expression.

"A kiss? Are you sure?" They muttered, lightly dazed at the fight that just occurred. It was a rare moment, but this time Villain had won.

They should've done a few more leg workouts before pulling off this stunt of theirs. Believing that it would be okay to perform any hero work for the day when, in reality, their week of lazying around had finally caught up to them, and now… they'd been captured by Villain. They gave them a choice, though. To escape their grasp, they demanded… a kiss.

"Yes, sweetheart, you heard me the first time. Why don't you lean your head back and tilt it for me a bit?" Their wrists were caught above their head, their hips locked underneath them without a way to move.

They shut their eyes tight, still trying to fight off this aching feeling growing in their chest; it was just too embarrassing to be doing this.

Hero moved their head to the side. "But it's… I don't know how to."

"Hm?" They could almost see the gears moving in their head as they deciphered their last sentence. It wasn't supposed to be like this, at least not how they imagined their first time to go, but here they were. "You mean this is your first?" A playful smile appeared on their lips as they curved. Hero found it harder to breathe, especially since they had them pinned to the grab in such a violating manner. "I'm surprised! You're telling me so many people just passed up the opportunity to kiss your cute face?"

Villain sounded a lot more excited than they had imagined.

A warmth spread all over their body as they concluded that this was really going to happen. They were too weak to argue. It was all just a teasing game to Villain. It always was. There wasn't much to do; besides, it's not a loss if it was just this once with only Villain. "Just hurry it up, please." Part of them was guilty enough to say they hoped it would be Villain all along.

They heard the criminal hum softly, and their eyes gave them that sultry look at how their body grew softer under their gaze. Hero felt their fingers brush back strands of hair, and press their thumb gently against their lip, "If it's your first, we should make this as special as possible then, hm?"

They swallowed briefly and stared at the face of their supposed nemesis. They were determined to make them melt under their grip. "Don't take this the wrong way, all I want is to get out of here." Their words fell off slightly near the end of their sentence.

"Just watch and learn, little hero." They leaned in, their breath warm, and a subtle change in their eyes gradually became a hungered expression of desperation.

Their lips settled neatly pressed onto their own, Hero's eyes flickered, and their breathing slowed. They were soft. Despite all the times Villain proved to be a true monster of their own, their lips were warm and inviting. They savoured the sensation that made them wonder if Villain's intentions differed.

They didn't even realize the moment had come to a close until they felt the weight on their chest leaving them. Villain stood up and, as promised, let them go.

Hero got up slower, their legs oddly shaking from the tingling sensation that ran up and down their spine. It was harder to make eye contact with them now.

"Did you like it?" They smoothly questioned; their voice was somewhat intimidating but sounded more comforting now.

Hero didn't want to answer, but their head involuntarily nodded.

"See you later then, and if you get caught by me again, I'll be taking more than just those lips of yours."

They looked down to the ground and understood their motives.

~~~ MASTERLIST

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 17)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

“People of Panem, we fight, we-” Katniss freezes, staring at her own reflection. Makeup done, hair styled to perfection, holding up a stick for the camera. This isn’t real. This isn’t war.

“Does she know the line?” Plutarch asks, into the microphone, for all to hear.

“I know it.” Katniss shakes her head to clear it.

“She’s just warming up.” Effie explains. Even she has joined the effort, leaving behind her drab quarters for Katniss.

“Alright, let’s go again. Whenever you’re ready.” Plutarch instructs.

Y/N sways, soothing her tired infant to a sleepy submission on the opposite side of the glass. Daisy May is not fond of sleep, especially with the world bustling around her.

Katniss gets back down on one knee. This is take three.

“Maybe if you show her.” Cashmere whispers to Y/N.

“Might not be a bad idea.” Plutarch watches the mockingjay, with a hand to his head.

“Yeah?” Y/N is willing to try.

“Here,” Cashmere puts her arms out, “gimme the baby.”

Y/N looks down at her daughter, kissing her tiny nose and handing her off.

She fusses for a moment, in Cashmere’s hold.

“Shh,” the blonde coos, allowing the baby to take a fistful of hair. “It’s ok, my Daisy.”

The little girl sighs, closing her grumpy eyes, never letting go of Cashmere’s waves.

“Ok, Katniss, Y/N’s coming in to do a demonstration. Just follow her lead and we’ll go from there.”

“Yeah, ok.” Katniss’ eyes scan the reflective surface, searching for her.

A second later, her mentor pops through the connecting side door. She is not made up, or wearing some crazy outfit, her stylist squeezed her into; she is just Y/N. Somehow that is enough.

“I’m a method actor, obviously.” Loved her fake husband so much that their staged marriage became a real one.

Not that Haymitch is any better. Content to kiss the ground where she walks, if he couldn’t be with her.

The joke lands only with Plutarch and Cashmere. Katniss thinks she understands, but doesn’t find it all that funny.

“First thing’s first, I’m gonna move around a little, get the blood flowing, get that shortness of breath.”

Katniss moves with her, trotting in place like a show horse.

“Good, now we’ll go down on one knee.” Y/N demonstrates and Katniss follows. “Slowly and with some effort, I’m gonna rise to my feet.”

“Because you’ve just been in battle.”

“Exactly,” Y/N smiles, before her features harden.

She is a thousand miles away, just stormed the outskirts of the Capitol. The ease with which she shifts from one to the other terrifies Katniss.

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!”

Even with the wind and the stupid stick in Y/N’s hand, raised in the air, Katniss almost believes it. This is the type of person that fuels a rebellion.

She was the people’s victor. She won her own way, same as Haymitch. So Snow manacled them together and scarred them with his brand.

The more Katniss learns about Y/N the more her heart aches, for the indifference she held toward her for so long. To know her is to love her and it’s a shame that not many people ever did.

“Yes! That was perfect.” Plutarch exclaims, “Katniss, now you try it. Just like that.”

“O-ok,” Katniss stammers.

Y/N moves aside, switching places so that Katniss is on the pedestal.

Katniss repeats the words verbatim, copying Y/N’s performance as best she can. She only agreed to be the face of the revolution after seeing what happened to district twelve. After seeing the reaction to Peeta’s interview with Caesar, she knows this is the only way to protect him.

There’s a slow clap from the corner, growing closer until he steps into view. The top of his blonde hair covered by a dark knit hat. “And that is how a revolution dies.”

Katniss glares at Haymitch, his hand resting at Y/N’s waist, as if no time has passed between them.

“Is this how you greet an old friend?” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

“Maybe I don’t recognize you sober.” Katniss bites out.

“I guess it looks as bad as it feels.”

Y/N turns to him, whispering something Katniss can’t make out.

He offers her a smile and a chaste kiss.

Katniss sees herself and Peeta. The way they might have been, ten years down the line. Peeta would love her like that…and she’d love him the only way she could.

It would bubble up and swell in her chest, until she burst. Just like Haymitch, pouring from an empty cup.

————————————————————————

Katniss sinks down in her chair, as the propo plays for the team. Wishing she could melt into it, disappear. No one’s going to buy this.

Y/N rubs at her back, “it’s not as bad as you think.”

“You’re right,” Haymitch cuts in, “it’s worse.” He’s always been a tough love kind of guy. Even with an infant strapped to his chest, he isn’t brimming with compassion.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “not helping.”

“Indulge me for a moment.” Haymitch holds both hands up in surrender. “Lets everybody think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you.” He moves to the digital display, in front of the meeting table. “One moment where she made you feel something real.”

“Ooo,” Effie waves a hand. “When she volunteered for her sister at the reaping.”

“Excellent example.” Haymitch uses his forearm to clear data from the screen. He’s observed enough of Y/N and her tablet over the years, this technology is no different. “Hope that wasn’t important.” He steals a glance over his shoulder, before scribbling in, ‘volunteer 4 sis,’ with the stylus.

“And when she volunteered for Y/N.”

“When she sang that song for little Rue.”

Haymitch adds it to the list. “You know Effie, I like you better without all that makeup.”

“Well, I like you better sober.” The woman says in return, causing Haymitch to glare at her.

“When she chose Rue for an ally as well.” Beetee chimes in.

“Now, what do all of these things have in common?”

“Nobody told her what to do.” Gale understands better than anyone.

“Unscripted,” Beetee agrees, “yes. So maybe we should just leave her alone.”

“And wash her face.” Boggs narrows his eyes, “she’s still a girl, you made her look thirty-five.”

Katniss smiles at this.

“The opportunities for spontaneity are obviously lacking, here below ground.” Plutarch points out. “So what you’re suggesting is that we toss her into combat?”

“I can’t sanction putting an untrained civilian into combat for effect. This isn’t the Capitol,” Coin argues.

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Put her in the field.” Haymitch knows this is the only way.

“No, we won’t be able to protect her.” The president looks to Y/N now. Surely she is not onboard with this.

“It has to come from her, that’s what people respond to. You want a symbol for the revolution, she cannot be coached into it. Trust me, I know.” Haymitch presses on.

“He’s right,” Y/N sighs. “It’s not ideal but…it’s our only option.”

“Maybe there’s someplace less dangerous.”

“District eight, they sustained heavy bombings last week. No military targets left.”

“We can’t guarantee her safety.”

“You’ll never be able to guarantee my safety,” Katniss adds. “I wanna go.”

“And if you’re killed?” Alma’s words hang heavy between them.

“Make sure you get it on camera.”

————————————————————————

“You realize this is dangerous, let alone highly irresponsible.” Haymitch remarks, watching his wife load her gun. The bullets are color coded; black for regular, yellow are incendiary, and red for explosive. Though they’ve been asked not to fire the red ones down here.

“Yeah.” Y/N cocks the gun, squeezing the trigger and letting the bullet fly. She’s gotten better with practice, now hitting her target at dead center. “You don’t approve?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Haymitch?”

“As your former mentor, I’m not inclined to advise you waltzing into a war zone.” You search for water. High ground, stay away from the cornucopia.

Y/N nods, “and as my husband?”

“I’m even less inclined.” Though his feelings for her have shifted over the years, the need to protect her is fierce and unwavering.

“I can’t lose Katniss.” Not like we lost Peeta.

“Yeah,” Haymitch huffs, “I get that.”

She sets down her weapon, on the steel table in the training room. “I’m a good shot.”

“You are.”

“I’ve been working on my stamina, I’m almost back to where I was before Daisy.”

Haymitch won’t deny it. “You’ve got good aim, you’re fast, resourceful and a little bit scrappy. You can survive in harsh conditions.” You’re my victor. “But there’s a hole in your uterus the size of a dinner plate.”

“Was,” Y/N corrects him. “The doctors cleared me for this.”

“I watched you almost bleed to death; twice. So you’ll have to forgive me for being reluctant to let you risk your life. I understand that this is important to you-”

She turns, cupping his cheek, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I wouldn’t want you to go either. I love you too much.”

Haymitch affords her a soft grin, “that always gets in the way, doesn’t it?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, “somehow I just keep getting sucked in deeper.”

“You keep getting sucked in?” He chuckles. “I was perfectly content on my own for over a decade, before you put your hooks in me.”

At this she laughs, harder than she should. “Don’t make it sound so romantic now.”

Still his arms are around her. Y/N’s at the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that has started growing in with gray peppered throughout and makes him feel every bit his age.

Their lips meet, by her accord or his own; he can’t say for certain. Y/N bids him closer. Deeper, harder, more. I’m yours. Nothing more, nothing less…just hers.

“Stay off him!” Cashmere scolds from the entryway, effectively breaking them apart. “It’s like you’re trying to singlehandedly repopulate this hellhole.”

“Our contribution to this great nation,” Haymitch salutes her.

————————————————————————

“We’ve gotta be quick about this. Get in and get out.” Boggs orders, as they file out of the hovercraft. Nobody wants the mockingjay on the ground for long.

Introductions are brief. Commander Paylor, of district eight, shows them to the makeshift hospital.

Bodies of fallen civilians line the entrance, covered only by tarps. “There’s a mass grave, about two miles west. But I can’t spare the manpower to move them.”

This place is a breeding ground for infection. All the wounded in one place, nothing sterile in sight.

“Don’t film me in there. I can’t help them,” Katniss says to Cressida, as they move farther into the masses.

“Just let them see you,” the woman insists. She left the Capitol for this, she knows what she’s doing.

“Come on,” Y/N gives her shoulder a squeeze.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak but Y/N disappears into the crowd, helping nurse the wounded.

There is someone in the corner; no one tends her, she is alone and clearly suffering. A bucket of water, with a single sponge inside, sits beside her, bandages to the left.

“I’m surprised they let you out just to show face. Thought you were more important than that.” The woman from district eight says.

“I’m not here to show face. I’m here to support Katniss and what I believe in.” Y/N takes a seat, beginning to clean her wounds.

“You sure this is the side you fall on?” She chokes out. “There’s no fancy parties or big houses here.”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “I never liked the parties and the house wasn’t very homey. The only good thing about it was my family inside.”

“People used to look up to you.”

“That was a long time ago,” Y/N murmurs.

“They will again.” The woman is sure of it, “and when they do, make sure you’re ready. Make sure you stay on the right side of things.”

“I was just trying to survive, couldn’t see beyond that.”

“He’ll kill you for this.” President Snow. “For standing with us.”

Y/N nods, with a tired smile. “Yeah.”

“Then why are you here?”

“This is what I believe in…a new Panem. Where we are equals and have a say in our own lives. It’s worth the risk. It’s gonna take all of us, every person in every district, we all have to fight for it.”

The woman presses her lips together, allowing Y/N to dress her wounds. She says nothing else, looking up at the victor, from time to time. I see you.

It feels good to be seen, by a stranger who owes her nothing. Someone to see her without the tainted film of rose colored glasses.

————————————————————————

“How have things been since your release?” Dr. Aurelius inquires.

“Alright, I guess.” Haymitch is not here of his own free will. “Never gonna be good, given the prohibition you have going on around here. But I’d rather be with my family than locked up a mile away.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“My son’s name is Everest, he’s ten. My daughter, Arista is six and Daisy is four weeks old. Then obviously Y/N and her family. Katniss.” Peeta.

“Were they planned? The children.”

“Yes and no.” Haymitch scrubs a hand over his face.

“Can you explain what that means?”

“I don’t want…” Haymitch pauses, “our children are not burdens, Y/N and I have always said that. Those kids are everything and I don’t want that getting twisted. Ever.”

“Of course.”

“Snow gave us deadlines and we met them. With Everest and Arista, we had a year. In that year Y/N needed to be pregnant.”

“But not Daisy?”

“They screwed around with Y/N’s birth control. We’re fertile people, it doesn’t take much.” Haymitch admits.

“And your marriage, would you call it a happy one?”

“Yes, by my account. But I’m sure she’s told you all about me.” This is a joke, for the most part.

“I can’t say much, as it would be a breach of confidentiality. Still you should know, she speaks highly of you. She loves you very much.”

Haymitch drops his gaze.

“Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere.” Haymitch brushes it off, “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about Y/N?”

“Isn’t it fucked up how someone like that could love someone me?”

“In what way?” Dr. Aurelius asks.

“I mean you’ve met her.” Haymitch huffs, “had a few sessions.”

“Sure.”

“She’s special.”

The doctor lets him speak.

“She’s a good person. She’s smart and she’s funny and she deserves the world.” Haymitch shifts in the chair, “she got me instead. Not exactly a fair trade.”

“I don’t think she feels that way.” The doctor informs him.

“Hmm,” Haymitch mulls it over.

“From the sound of it, you have always been very protective. Now you tend the children, so she can aide the rebellion. That must be hard for you.”

Haymitch scoffs, “I want to chase her down and bring her back.”

“Then why haven’t you.”

“If you love something, you set it free or some bullshit like that.”

“You love her deeply.”

“Coin offered to ‘dissolve’ our marriage. Did Y/N tell you that?” Haymitch changes the subject.

Aurelius sighs, “she didn’t mention it.”

“Tell me, oh great one, what does that mean?”

“Her mind is made up about you, Haymitch. Whether it’s right or wrong, no matter who deserves what, the heart wants what it wants. You are what she wants.”

“I want her too,” Haymitch snaps.

“You’ve mentioned that you struggle with the fact that Y/N didn’t get to choose you as a partner. Yet each time she does, you cannot accept that she is choosing you. As though you feel unworthy, unlovable.”

“Is that your official diagnosis?” Haymitch wonders, making no effort to confirm or deny.

The doctor flips quickly between entries in his notebook. “There is no distinction in any area of your relationship, a true lack of boundaries. All of your triumphs and failures, all of your sadness and your joy, is either sourced from her or the lives you’ve created together.” Dr. Aurelius tosses both hands up. “The greatest tragedies ever written are love stories, after all.”

Part 18

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly

[onlybeeewrites]

Music of The Night

Requested: sort of :)

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x fem!reader

Warnings: none, just some fluff

Word count: 1.63 k

Part 3 of the Valley Song Series: Part 1 -> Part 2

Tag list: @v-love @stinkii-boii

It had been a few days since that day at the lake. It was an amazing rest of the day as you and Sejanus spent a whole more underneath that tree, talking. You learned a lot about each other in those few hours as the conversation came almost too easy.

You had learned a lot about Sejanus. He was not just any Capital boy that volunteered to be a Peacekeeper, but he used to be...is...from the Districts too. District 2 to be specific. You learned that his family became stupid rich after the war, bought their way out of District two. Though you had to admit to yourself that it was impressive, to have so much money. To have enough to buy your way into the Capital. You honestly never thought someone could have so much money.

And then he told you about the Capital, how he never really felt right there. That he felt so helpless. Especially with the Hunger Games. His disgust with the inhumane treatment of the tributes. And that was why he was there. To actually make a change, and you watched his eyes light up as he told you his hopes of becoming a medic.

It was then when you had realized that Sejanus Plinth was like no other boy you had ever seen nor spoke to. His words the passion behind them all, the genuine meaning behind his eagerness. Sejanus Plinth was too good for the cruelness of the Capital, of Panem.

And as you told him about yourself, Sejanus thought the same thing of you. You had told Sejanus a similar story that Lucy Gray had told Coriolnaus when they were speaking about thier background.

How you all traveled around the districts performing before the Peacekeepers came. Your parents spoke up along with Lucy Gray's and within minutes they were all shot. Leaving all seven of you orphans.

You, of course, always gave everything to Maude Ivory, your little sister while Lucy Gray kept look out for you.

You told Sejanus about your performances, how they were when Lucy Gray was gone, and how happy you all were to see her come home. You spoke about how you did not quite like the front stage like your sister and cousin. You had much preferred the backup.

Lucy Gray had been trying to get you to be more confident with your voice and performances, you were absolutely lovely after all.

And by the end of the day, while the summer heat was cooling and you all packed up and made your way back to the Seam, you and Sejanus were truly and quickly smitten. Even Maude Ivory was teasing as the Covey and the two peacekeepers split off for the night.

Though now it had been a few days since then, and you haven't seen nor heard much from Sejanus. Though you couldn't blame him since you knew they always were rough on the new peacekeeper. You were sure that he would show up at one of your shows at some point.

However, what you weren't expecting, was a soft few knocks on your old creaky home. You and Lucy Gray were the only ones awake at such a late hour.

You usually couldn't sleep, at least not easily, and Lucy Gray's nightmares from the arena made it difficult for her too. So usually, as of lately, you both would keep each other company until your eyes grew droopy.

You shared a concerned look with Lucy Gray. Who could be here at such an hour? It was late and most of the District would be asleep by now, especially where they lived. The only ones who would be awake would be the peacekeepers that would be out on patrol.

Swallowing nervously, Lucy gray got to her feet and brushed off her skirt before slowly peeking out the door. You watched as her body relax and a grin on her face with what you could see.

Hushed whispers were exchanged, though you couldn't place your finger on it. That was until Lucy Gray nodded, and left the door open just a crack.

"It's for you. Here," she said passing you your mother's old cardigan before shoving you to the door. "Be careful, don't be out too late." she teased.

You looked to your cousin in confusion as you slipped on the old faded cardigan and made your way to the door. "Lucy Gray what are you doing? Its too-" but you stopped in your tracks as you finally see who it was at the door.

"Sejanus..." you said, feeling your face heat up as you softly shut the door behind you. As you look him over, you notice his peacekeeper's uniform, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He must have been on patrol...did he come all this way to see you? The thought of it made your face heat up.

"Y/N.." Sejanus said quietly, softly, shifting where he stood as he was able to finally see you again. Though it took some convincing of Coryo to allow him to sneak off for a little while, it was well worth it to see your beautiful face in the cool moonlight. Just the thought made his stomach flutter.

"I wanted to see you. They've been on our asses about training and patrolling....but I just wanted to see you again. I saw the light in your window and hoped you were awake. I was wondering if you wanted to have a late night picnic with me...if you're not too tired." he asked.

And that's when you noticed the little rucksack he had tucked away. It wasn't much, you couldn't imagine he was able to sneak much out. Unless he had already prepped and stashed it away somewhere. But the thought that he had come all the way out there to ask you to a midnight picnic made your face flush.

"Of course. How can I say no to that? C'mon," You say after a moment, a large grin spreading over your face. You took his larger hand in yours and tugged him off to the meadow.

There was close enough to return home if needed, but still allowed you both to have some privacy.

"How's this?" you asked.

And what a sight it was. The full moon was shining down over the field, reflecting off of the flowers and some dew drops already forming.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, "It's perfect," he said as you two settled down. He placed his rifle off to the side, though still in reach. Just in case. And once you settled he untied he cloth and residing were his mother's cookies. Your eyes widened as you looked up to him.

"How did you mange to get some of these?" You ask excitedly, picking up one of the cookies and taking a deep inhale. "Smells amazing." you say before taking a bite and letting out a satisfied sound. "Hmm...taste amazing too,"

Sejanus laughed as he took a cookie himself, "My Ma made them. She likes to bake, always has. And she likes to send them to me. Reminds me of home." he explained as he took a bite.

Your eyes and expression softened, "Well," you said after chewing, "My compliments to Mrs. Plinth. my favorite baker in all of Panem," you declared.

Sejanus couldn't help but smile, "I'll write to her and let her know she has a fan," he mused before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

The sounds of the nightlife continued to fill the air as the minutes passed. The sound of the wind and soft chirping of the crickets filled most of the silence. Some birds, maybe some owls called out into the late night.

"Thank you for this. It was awfully nice of you," you said after a little while.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, looking over at you. "Of course. I wanted to do something nice. I don't exactly always have the time but....you're worth making time for." he said.

That caused you to flush and glance at him, admiring him in the moonlight as well. The way the silvery beams reflected in his brown eyes, making them almost shining. And the way he was looking at you...damn the way he was looking just made you want to kiss him.

Sejanus swallowed nervously as he stared back at you. The way the moonlight was shining in your eyes and hair, he swore he had never seen someone so beautiful. Slowly he reached up, using his thumb to brush away some crumbs that settled on your lips.

It was now or never.

"Y/N....can I..." Sejanus barely got the words out before you almost too eagerly nodded. He took a nervous breath before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a small sigh as your eyes fluttered closed, slowly wrapping your arms around him to keep him close. The feeling of his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, electricity through your skin as his lips fit rather perfectly against your own.

It had be a dream the way it was all happening. You had never thought that you would feel this kind of emotion again...not after...him at least. But here you were, kissing he cutest boy in all of the Districts.

The two of you pulled back once you felt that burning in your lungs, needing some air. And you did, though you pressed your foreheads together keeping each other close. You looked up adoringly into his eyes before you both started just laughing as you both realized what had happned.

It was almost too perfect as the two of you sat here for a little longer, enjoying your time together, listening to the symphony that played through the trees for you.

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

When You Know, You Know {Osamu Dazai}

A/n: so this idea came like this morning and omg I wanted to write it so bad because I need some good angsty yet sort of fluffy Dazai fic mostly because I want Dazai to get comfort. Also YES I USED A SNOW LINE FROM HUNGER GAMES. ANYWAYS PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Pairing: Dazai x assassin!fem!reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: character deaths, mentions of violent crime scene, Mori, murder, YES I AM A MORI HATER, blood, mentions of abuse

It had been four years since you left Port Mafia. You left the day after Dazai did -after enduring the torture Mori ordered upon you because he thought Dazai had contacted you- without contacting a single soul even though it was more than certain that the few people close to you -Chuuya and Koyou- would be worried sick. Was it because you wanted to get out of the organisation as soon as possible or because you wanted to somehow get revenge because Dazai had left you alone without a single warning.

Like everyone in the Port Mafia you heard about Oda's death the day after it happened -the day Dazai left- and something in your heart broke because even though you, seventeen years old at the time, were under the protection and guidance of Koyou along with Chuuya, you knew Oda. He had grown on you and if it hadn't been for Dazai mentioning him whenever the two of you sat in the dark in his container, it would have been because of Oda's gentle personality amidst the cruelty of the Port Mafia.

It went without saying that with Chuuya and Dazai being closest to you in age with them being one year older, you had naturally developed a somewhat nice relationship which had first started because of your respective positions: Dazai and Chuuya being executives and you being an assassin. You often went to missions with Dazai and Chuuya -always upon Dazai's request of your abilities- so after some time you became friends with the bandaged executive and soon after, lovers.

Had your relationship with Dazai been toxic? Absolutely yes and even though you both knew it, you couldn't actually help but come back for more. Both of you. So when he left like that? You were simply devastated.

And it took you a long time to feel like yourself again. In the meantime, you still worked as an assassin, performing various missions given to you by quite the important people.

You put your life in the Port Mafia in the past, a dark past that you didn't like visiting. But since you worked in the Underground you heard all sorts of things. That was how the fact that Mori had requested for a member of the Detective Agency to be transfered to the Port Mafia reached your ears.

You had heard that Dazai was now working for the Detective Agency and had reached the point of visiting him countless times before. The thought that he could be the one transfered to the Port Mafia kept you up at night for numerous days. How you had reached the point of caring for someone who perhaps hadn't cared about you was beyond you and yet there you were.

The sound the elevator at the Port Mafia building made when it reached Mori's floor specifically was almost like a stab right in the heart. All those memories were coming back, days of torture and manipulation from Mori's side that if not all then almost everyone among the higher-ups in the organisation had endured.

The whole thing lasted fifteen minutes. Just fifteen minutes was all it took for the man who ruined lives to die.

"Y/n?" Chuuya's voice snapped you out of your train of thought. Slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes falling upon the clock on the wall on the other end of the hallway. No wonder Chuuya was there, it was nearly eight in the morning, all Port Mafia members would start coming to work sooner or later.

You leaned your head back on the wall, bringing your knees even closer to your chest as you sat down on the floor. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips. Chuuya had been the one to find you. There was something odd in the way he looked down at you.

Chuuya, one of the most proud Port Mafia members, possibly the only member who respected the organisation for some reason. He wasn't freaked out, angry... he didn't pity you. It was as if he understood. He didn't have to ask or push the door of Mori's room open to understand what you had done -even though the blood on your hands and clothes was making it obvious.

"Come." He removed his gloves and after placing them on his shoulders, he helped you stand up. That was when you noticed Akutagawa standing behind him, waiting for his orders. "Inform Koyou." was all Chuuya told him and led you towards the elevator.

"What?" Akutagawa's voice came out trembling as if he didn't believe how someone who had just killed the Port Mafia's boss was walking away without any consequencies. But the young man didn't question his superior's orders further. Maybe because he had known you since he first arrived at the Port Mafia with you being the closest thing he had to a doctor after patching up any wounds inflicted by Dazai.

"I did it for Q and Koyou and that Detective Agency doctor and for Oda and Kyoka and Osamu and me." Your voice was barely above a whisper as you reached the underground parking lot where Chuuya had his car.

"I know." Chuuya handed you a handkerchief but you refused, your eyes focused on your bloodied clothes.

Other than that the car ride was silent. And when Chuuya stopped the car in front of the building you had almost entered many times in the past four years all you did was look at him. "Won't you come with me?"

Chuuya chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I have to clean the mess you left behind."

"If someone can become the new boss then please..." If your hands weren't covered in blood you would have hugged him. "Please take the position, and give Aku a better place as well."

Chuuya only smiled and opened the door for you. "I assume we will see each other again."

You took the elevator to the floor where the office of the Detective Agency was. Before you could do it yourself, the door of the office opened, a boy with blonde hair and a straw hat standing behind it with a smile on his face.

"Chuuya told us you will be coming."

"Did he now?" You let out a chuckle. It was slightly forced and very ironic considering that you were covered in the blood of one if not the most important man in Yokohama.

"Yosano!" The boy shouted and made way for you to enter the office.

You had heard of the doctor. You knew her ability and you knew her past. Mori didn't really keep his achievements private when he wanted to terrify his opponent.

Yosano was leaning against the door of her examine room, a sorrowful expression on her face. "I killed Mori Ougai." You mumbled.

"It must have been awful" A ginger haired boy said. Yosano approached you, ready to examine you fully.

"It was... yet it felt... powerful." You muttered, no sign of emotion in your voice. "The blood is not mine." You looked down.

"I will bring you a new change of clothes then so you can meet the president" She patted your back and opened the door of her examine room to lead you inside. You heard it close behind you and let out a heavy sigh.

"Long time no see."

The voice was familiar and soft like velvet with perhaps a hint of a small smile.

"That is all you have to say?"

Dazai's eyes were blooshot red and it didn't take much thinking to understand that he had been crying before you walked in there. He let out a sad laugh and nodded.

You took a small step and sat beside him on the bed that was meant for patients. He turned to look at you before taking your hand in his as if he hadn't left you without notice four years ago.

"My hands are covered in blood." You managed to say, fighting tears.

"So are mine, let me take half the blame."

[prettyboykatsuki]

— EVERYTHINGS BETTER WHEN YOU'RE HONEST

★ tags ;; fem!reader (reader wears a skirt and generally performs femininity), friends to lovers, aged-up characters, professional athlete isagi, loss of virginity, sexually inexperienced isagi x sexually experienced reader, handjobs, oral (f!recieving) (isagi gets a dick kiss tho), themes of guilt kinda, unprotected sex / creampies, reader is sexually confident. little to no prep for penetration. an i love you and a single petname in there.

★ wc ;; 11.5k (im so...)

★ summary ;; you notice early on that isagi is always holding back something. the deeper into your relationship you go, the more you wish he'd let loose.

★ a/n ;; PLEASE READ BLUELOCK PLEASE. i love you isagi yoichi. pls let me have ur viriginity babies. title from the song pears by weston estate!

also, the little art exhibit is inspired by a real thing, the white gallery installation by studio 400

It was impossible to not know Isagi Yoichi. 

After the existence of BlueLock was released to the public and demonstrated on national T.V. - the enigma of Isagi Yoichi bloomed like a flower to sports fans everywhere. With the looks of an average Japanese teenager but the eyes of a demon - he quietly proclaimed only one thing. 

“We will—no, that’s not quite right. I will lead Japan to victory in the U20 World Cup.” 

Post the incredible defeat of the Japanese U20 by Bluelock, Bluelock itself launched into reality TV and challenged U20 teams across the globe in order to hone their members' talents. In addition to the rigorous training and plenty of conflicts were a group of players informed only by their ego. A withstanding hunger to win, unlike anything the country had seen before. 

Isagi Yoichi became the face of that ego. In less than a year, he fulfilled his promise at the U20 World Cup and landed a final crushing blow - putting Japan at the face of soccer for the first time in decades. 

Of course, he wasn’t the only one. Despite Bluelocks philosophy, soccer is a team sport meaning there’s more than one face worthy of note. All of the players were talented with an almost equal spotlight in media and often took to interviewing together for the sake of publicity. It’d take an idiot not to notice that the Bluelock players were a cut above the rest though. 

Whatever happened before the reality show set air created players unlike anything you’ve ever seen. As someone who only considers yourself a casual soccer fan at best, your own interest in Bluelock came as something of a surprise. 

For better or for worse, you saw Yoichi Isagi everywhere. On the labels of sports drinks, on cardboard cutouts in front of equipment shops, on posters in bars, or on your kid brother's bedroom walls. 

Through his media presence, you often felt he was unreadable. Likable, awkwardly charismatic, sometimes even playful. 

But there was always something else there. In the way he spoke about soccer or about becoming the greatest striker in the world. You thought everyone got the same vibe. 

But whenever you asked, “Hey, don’t you think that guys…kinda weird?” 

You were met with the same dismissive laugh. Aren’t all celebrities weird? or Isagi’s the most normal on his team, though. 

It always left you doubtful. Maybe you were misreading it after all. He did seem nice. Him being weird didn’t mean he was bad, but there was just something about him that you couldn’t get your mind off of.

It wasn’t about his play style or even related to soccer. There’s already plenty of analysis on that. In terms of game intelligence, he’s ranked exceptionally high. Fantastic spatial awareness. Average build and height but incredible stamina in order to be up to standard. But whatever you felt when you watched him couldn’t really be summed up by any of that, because there was often no reason to look at him above the rest. 

It felt like a clever trick of the universe that you’d end up encountering him in the wild. That you’d go so far as to have him as your boyfriend and that you actually like him. 

It was only because of that you could assert it so firmly, he’s a freak of nature among all else. A perfect fit for the demons on the Japanese National Team, a perfect descendant of Bluelock. 

__

The first time you met Isagi wasn’t worthy of note. Your first truly important memory together was his confession to you, months later. 

It happens in a tunnel in Shinjuku. A place you wouldn’t normally find yourself in. It’s not often you travel to Tokyo. You’re only here because you came to watch Isagi’s game, and Isagi told you Shinjuku is a fun place to explore. 

He goes where the wind takes him, and you follow him in earnest. He said he found this place a little earlier with Bachira. The deeper you go, the darker it gets - and as a consolation, he tugs you along by your sleeve so you don’t get lost. 

Somehow, after threading through different streets, you stop at what looks like an abandoned tunnel. There’s a little more light down here, but you can tell it’s not really a place where you should be trespassing. He seems non-plussed, a familiar smile on his face that has you following him anyway. You listen when he tells you to watch your step. 

The sun hasn’t set completely, the world painted in a vibrant shade of blue. It’s cold, the early Autumn season has you tucking your chin into your hoodie to keep warm. 

But you get down to where Isagi wants to show you. A place full of concrete and overgrown leaves that could only exist somewhere like Shinjuku. It’s dark, but all the lights of the streets pour down through different cracks. Just enough that you can still see Isagi’s face illuminated in it, something that makes your stomach twist. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you smile when he turns back to look at you. 

“It’s in here,” He says, excitement bursting in his voice “Come on,”

You follow him into a tunnel, the walls around you both in a circular arch. You can’t see anything like that. But Isagi comes to your rescue, phone in hand. He turns the flashlight on as high as it can go. 

All over the walls is artwork. Graffiti art, but art all the same. Particularly, flowers. They’re beautiful and vibrant, strangely detailed for street art - colored in bright shades of fuchsia, purple, yellow, and green. Everything is outlined in black, and there are tags hidden between leaves and in the empty space.

It’s beautiful. Beautiful in the way you find things beautiful, the messy coloring and hard lines. Done in a style Isagi knows you like, his flashlight shining up to give you a better view. With your jaw agape, you nearly forget who’s next to you until you hear his footsteps echo behind you. 

His presence is comforting. A familiar but unfamiliar person, when you look back you can see him looking at you. 

“It’s nice, right? Seemed like something you’d like,” 

“We’re trespassing,” You say first, drowned by an emotion you can’t name “You’re a big-time athlete and we’re trespassing in a tunnel so you can show me art you thought I’d like. Ridiculous,” 

Isagi shrugs sheepishly.

“We’ll be fine. You like it?” 

He’s unbelievable. 

“Of course I like it,” 

“Nice. I knew you would.” 

There’s a brief, silent moment where you’re too overwhelmed to say anything nice. You kind of want to shake the guy by the shoulders, to say something about how you’ve spent the last few months spending frivolous amounts of time with him. You want to say a lot of things. That he’s sincerely a weird guy, and you think he should cut his hair soon, and that you still have the piece of paper he wrote his number down on from those months ago. 

But nothing really comes out as you stare at him and he stares back at you. His eyes are deep and blue but shiny. Visible even in the darkness, you let your gaze linger on his face. 

“I’m glad Bachira forced me to give you my number,” He says, all at once.

“So that’s what happened,” You say with a laugh, hands in your pockets “That’s why the numbers are so shaky. Were you nervous?” 

“Yeah,” He says honestly “I couldn’t remember the last time I even interacted with a girl. I didn’t even have friends who were girls in high school.” 

“Did girls scare you?” 

“Ah, a little.” 

“Do I scare you?” You ask, cheeky. Interested because even until now, you can’t tell how Isagi really sees you. 

“You don’t scare me,” He concludes, head in the clouds. He glances down at you “But uh, I guess it’s weird.” 

You give him a look, curious for his explanation. 

“Hm. It’s like soccer.” 

“Don’t compare me to soccer, jackass.” 

“I don’t have anything else to compare it to,” He says defensively, pushing his bangs back but not refuting you “It’s not that I’m scared of you. It’s a me thing.” 

“I’ll let you use soccer to explain just this once,” 

“Uh… it’s still pretty hard. I guess it’s just intense,” 

“What is?” 

“Liking you,” He says easily, before catching himself and having his eyes widen. You freeze, then grin. 

“Oh?” 

He covers a face with his hand. He’s so embarrassed he’s pink, but it suits him. You feel your heart do a nasty flutter. No matter how smug you pretend to be, seeing him like that leaves you nervous too. 

“It was supposed to be a lot cooler than that,” He admits halfway through a sigh. You giggle. 

“Is that why you brought me here?” 

He looks away and you laugh. 

“Mm, fine. No prying. Finish your thought first.” 

“It probably wouldn’t make any sense unless you were in my head. But sometimes it’s like—I didn’t know I was capable of something like that until it happens.” 

“You thought you’d never have a girlfriend?” 

“I thought it would feel different than how it does,” He tells you, looking at your face “I thought liking someone would be less complicated I guess,” 

“Why would it be complicated, though?” 

“I always thought it’d make me nicer,” 

It’s a sentence you feel in your whole body He’s like this sometimes. Not normally around you. On the field, you see it all the time. Moments where he becomes unreachable, that look in his eyes that you can spot from miles away - intensely focused and oddly serious. You know Isagi is the best, believe his word about being the best striker in the world. 

The emotion behind that makes him strange.

“It didn’t make you nicer?” 

He tilts his head to one side. For the first time, he’s really looking at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this way. He’s sweet already. Nice, already. He’s gentler than every other athlete guy you’ve ever met, uncharacteristically kind. His other qualities are limited to when he’s playing. 

Right now, he’s looking at you and only you. And he’s right, it doesn’t seem very nice. 

“I really thought it would.”

He doesn’t offer you any more explanation than that before he goes back to his normal self. His expression softens and his eyes open up and he’s back to looking all friendly again. You’re not mad at that, of course not. But your curiosity remains, and you leave the door open for whenever you see that again. 

“...You like me back right?” 

You smile to yourself. He’s really, really something else. You reach your hand out and only grab his pinky finger to hold. His hands are bigger than you thought they’d be but warm all the same. His eyes widen as he looks between you, your heart thudding in your chest. 

“What if I said no?” 

“I’d never come back to Japan,” He says seriously. 

“Shut up. You better come see your girlfriend.” 

“Nice,” He says, pushing a breath out of his lungs he’d been holding “I can’t believe I got a girlfriend before Kunigami.” 

“You’re so stupid.” 

“It’s cause I didn’t finish high school,” 

__ 

Long distance with Isagi isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. Of course, it’d be better to see him in person. It’s just that he texts you so often it doesn’t feel like you’re that far apart. 

You like opening your phone to his flood of text messages. It’s always the same with him. Pictures of whatever he’s eating that day, sleeping teammates, and sweaty post-workout pictures that are definitely thirst traps but probably not on purpose. 

Your relationship feels like a friendship but not in a bad way. Just that Isagi has a strangely innocent way of approaching you, that always reads like a guy who’s never been in a relationship before. 

You know for a fact Isagi is not innocent, mostly because you knew him before you were dating. Before you were even crushing each other in which a raunchy joke left his mouth, dirty to the point you had to smack him for indecency. You know he’s not innocent because he doesn’t even bat an eye when Shidou is going on and on about having sex with a goalpost or whatever he’s talking about. 

But Isagi treats you like he’s an angel. Exceptionally polite, and exceptionally clean. Even when you tease him he’s censoring himself, diverting the conversation but not in a way that offends you. 

Sometimes you catch him looking. That’s the reason it doesn’t bother you mostly. Sometimes, and just sometimes - you see him stare at you. Shirts that make your chest stick out, or shorts that ride too high on your legs. It’s hardly on purpose, but it happens. Isagi will call you before you get ready to run errands and in the process of getting dressed, he sees a sliver of skin he’s not really supposed to see. 

Even through a screen and phone speakers, you can hear the soft hitch of his breath. When you’re both supposed to be doing your own thing, you’ll turn to see his eyes fixed on you when he thinks you’re looking away. 

You always look away quick enough that he can keep staring. He’s a bit of a voyeur, you learn.  

Today, your facetime call is more innocent than that. It’s about 2 weeks out before Isagi returns to Japan with the intent to stay there. Only 2 more weeks of long-distance until he’s home for good and you get to experience normal relationship stuff. 

He’s set up on your counter while you make dinner. He looks tired but he insisted on calling. In a hotel room, he’s laying back in a sea of white sheets. His dark hair mussed on his pillowcase, blue eyes lidded. 

“What’re you making?” He asks, voice thick with exhaustion. You glance at him, using your knife to smash the clove of garlic down on the cutting board. 

“Chili garlic noodles,” You say simply. He groans. 

“Ah…it sounds good. Our nutrition coach is so strict,” He whines, laying on his stomach “I want to eat meat,” 

“I’ll grill you some when you get home,” You say smoothly. 

“Promise?” He mumbles. You chuckle, looking at him for a minute. 

“Yes, I promise. Come home soon.” 

He rubs his cheek into his pillow, frowning. 

“Soon, soon,” He repeats softly, then a little quieter “...I miss you.” 

This comes as a surprise. You give him a look, a shade of pink running up his back to the tips of his ears. You giggle. 

“That’s the sappiest thing you’ve said for the last 6 months,” 

“...Ah, seriously?” 

“It definitely is,” You say without looking up, chopping the garlic fine carefully “No one would guess we’re dating if they heard us talk.” 

“It’s not on purpose, it’s just—well. I don’t know, ‘s kinda embarrassing.” 

“You’re a perfect gentleman though, Isagi. Don’t fret,” 

“That makes me feel way worse,” He complains lightly. This makes you laugh for so long you have to put down your knife just to hold your stomach. When you’re done, he’s smiling at you. He’s so handsome it catches you off-guard. 

“You’re surprisingly timid. When I watch you play, you seem like a completely different person..” 

“...You watch me play?” 

“I liked you as a player before we started dating, stupid.” 

This catches his interest, ears perking up. 

“...So what do you think of me as a player?” 

You pour the chopped garlic into the bowl with the chili and other ingredients, turning the stove on to heat oil to pour on top of it. He stares at you wide-eyed. 

“You’re basically a genius as a player. You’re a really good striker, and your physicality has improved a lot since you’ve been on the national team but your predictions set you apart from the rest.” You say without thinking much of it. It’s not intended to be a compliment, but an evaluation. Isagi really is just that good “I think you’ll become the best and I like seeing you play.” 

After that, he’s silent for a while. When you notice, you finally look up from your task to see him grinning from ear to ear. 

“Ah… I’m so happy. What do I do? I could die happy right now.” 

“Jeez.” 

“Thank you, you’re the best. Ahhh… I have to become the best for real. I mean I had to before, but now I really have to.” 

Before you get a chance to interject, a chorus of noise comes from the other side of the line. Your eyes snap up to where you find Isagi whose expression has immediately faltered. You don’t speak as you watch him sit up, face twisted into a look of apology. You give him a sweet smile that makes him relax a little.

There’s too much conversation for you to hear what they’re saying, seems like they’re just talking about their schedule. You tune out for the time being. Or you try too.

“Woah, woah—Isagi you’re talking to your girlfriend aren’t you?” A voice pipes up. A voice you know as Bachira. You’ve only ever spoken to him twice.

Isagi is always weird about letting you meet his teammates. You can’t pinpoint a reason for why, but you respect it either way. Of them though, he does sometimes let Bachira talk to you after a bit of pestering before shoving him away. 

Before you know what’s happening, you see a bunch of chaos on screen like you’re being snatched out of Isagi’s hand. You can hear his voice in the back, suddenly fainter. It sounds like he’s cussing but the other noise drowns him out. 

You end up in Bachira’s hands. Next to him is Chigiri, Nagi, Gagamaru and Rin. You know them as team members, but you’ve never officially met them as  Isagi’s girlfriend. Put on the spot, you give them a polite bow as they stare at you. 

“Uh,” You say awkwardly, raising your hand up to wave “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. And  hi again, Bachira.” 

“Hehe, hi!” 

“Nice to meet you,” Chigiri says first. Nagi follows with a polite wave, as does Gagamaru. Rin gives you a nod but doesn’t say a word aside from that. 

“So you’re Isagi’s girlfriend huh,” Nagi starts, looking at you curiously “I thought he was making it up.” 

“Right,”  Chigiri confirms, giving you a once over. You feel awkward “Isagi is pretty private about it.” 

This catches your interest. 

“Isagi is?” 

“We’ve never even seen a picture of you until just now,” Gagamaru confirms. You can’t contain your surprise. 

“Oh. Huh.” 

“Do you know us, though?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. As players though, not as Isagi’s friends.” 

“...You’re a fan?” The ever silent Rin says. It startles a little before you smile, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. 

“I am. Have been since your game with the U20 league couple of years ago. Was really excited to see everyone together as major players on the national team. And congrats on your recent win against the Belgium National Team!” You say cheerily. 

Surprisingly all of them get a little embarrassed, aside from Nagi who seems a little smug about the whole thing. They all give their thanks, once again other than Rin. 

“I see why Isagi was trying to hide you,” Chigiri says first. You tilt your head in confusion. 

“Isagi is so stingy,” Bachira says, nodding his head. You have no idea what they’re on about so you simply say nothing and keep constructing your dinner. 

Before you can say anymore, you’re once again snatched from somebodies hands. This time though, you can hear your boyfriend speaking. His hand is cupped over the speaker so it’s muffled, but you can hear him faintly. He sounds like he’s cursing them over something. You can’t tell what. 

When you turn to see his face, he looks agitated. Just barely there, but there still. You stand still as he walks off somewhere else, the noise of his teammate dying out as he goes into some room. You have no idea where but there’s, at the very least, a bit more privacy in it. 

“Ah,” You say, as he comes into camera view again “Hi,” 

He has that look on his face. The one you can’t really name, that’s oddly intense for a reason you don’t understand. It relaxes a little when he focuses on you, just barely. You give him a warm smile, leaning on your counter. 

“Sorry about them.” He says seriously. 

“Don’t be. They seem nice and I have to meet your friends eventually.” 

“Ignore them, seriously. They’re dumbasses.” 

It’s rare to hear him speak so crassly. You can feel the odd energy around him, surrounding him like a cloud of smoke. You should probably tell him it’s fine, but your curiosity is peaked by his reaction. Like poking a sleeping bear, you’re fascinated by an angry Isagi. It’d be good if he could be more honest with his feelings. 

“They thought you were lying about me. Apparently, they didn’t even know what I looked like.” 

“It’s not really their business.” 

Interesting. You think Isagi is interesting at times like this. 

“I didn’t know you were territorial, Isagi.” 

You intend to say it as a joke, but a single look at him confirms it. Isagi is just so nice it's hard to believe. Instead of replying, he sighs.

“I miss you,”

“Mhm. I miss my boyfriend too, very much.” 

He relaxes, his threatening aura disappearing just slightly. 

“Your who?” 

“My boyfriend, Yoichi Isagi. Best striker in the world and smartest player ever, do you know him?” 

Isagi grins before giggling, face going flush again. Back to his usual self. 

“Think I might.” 

__

Isagi came back to Japan over two months ago. So far, not much has changed in your relationship. 

The only thing is, you’re determined to make your boyfriend snap. Or at the very least, express his feeling a little more. 

You’ve found yourself doing a lot of initiating in romantic milestones. This doesn’t bother you because after you do, he normally gets more comfortable doing the same. It’s a small price to pay for consistent kisses and bolder handholding. The issue isn’t really that, but the obvious way Isagi is dodging things he clearly wants to do. 

So far you’ve only gone as far as a little making out in your single-bedroom apartment before Isagi’s excusing himself back home or to your bathroom. You’re not trying to pressure the guy but you have this sneaking suspicion the reason he’s stopping isn’t because he doesn’t want to - because on the occasion you’ll get into it, he’ll get into it too. Only after you moan does he freeze and stop altogether - pulling away like he just got soaked with cold water.

And you’ll watch him real-time turn the idea over in his head, the very obvious half mast in his pants that he keeps shifting to cover.

He’s a good, sweet guy so it’s not like you fault him for it. On paper, he’s perfect. Boyish and friendly, with nice hands and a bright smile, unafraid to express himself. He’s intuitive with your emotions - like he has a sensor built in for your different moods. He’s attentive, and his awkward bumbling when trying to be boyfriend-like adds to how much you like him rather than take away from it. 

But now that he’s back and you spend so much time together, the fact he’s holding back a little becomes more and more apparent. You’ve tried to bring it up, and he obviously catches on to what you’re trying to say but feigns ignorance every time. 

Isagi is a strange character. You’ve known that forever, and after nearly 8 months of dating - you think you know what to call it. 

Isagi, even now, doesn’t like how he wants things. 

But it’s different with soccer. You know Isagi to be a terribly unselfish person in his day-to-day life. Even if he bickers or argues with his teammates, he never gets into fights and always gives the last piece to someone else. Soccer is probably the only place he lets himself be anything else, lets himself be a little bit egotistical, or act in self-interest. It’s the exception to his rule of thumb, the lesson beat into him early. 

And you think the way Isagi is, is what’s making him hesitate. You probably can’t say it outright, that it’s fine if he wants to be a little selfish over you or claim you like a possession if he feels like it. It’s even fine if he’s desperate because you like him and anything he does is bound to excite you. So far, confrontation has proved counterproductive so there’s no use in trying again. 

Isagi responds well to pressure, so you’ve resolved yourself into giving him a little push so he gives in. 

It’s a Saturday afternoon and you’re meeting Isagi for a date in an outfit you would consider risky. You stick to your athleisure when you’re out with him because your dates with Isagi are casual - but today you’re going to an art exhibit. The perfect time to show off a little. 

You’ve got on a skirt that rides up when you walk and a top that’s revealing enough to show off parts of your body you’re not normally trying to. For you, it’s risky and you know that means it’s gonna stun your boyfriend quiet. 

No matter what happens, you’ll give Isagi a push in the right direction. 

He’s waiting for you outside of your apartment. Leaning on the decently expensive car he bought when coming back home. You always forget that he really has money, because he normally dresses and acts like he doesn’t.

He’s dressed casually as you’d expected. With a pair of loose-fitting pants and a mildly oversized Nike sweatshirt - he always looks a little soft. He got a haircut from what you can tell, hair no longer blocking his line of sight. You give him a wave as you descend down the front steps of your apartments. 

He looks up from his phone, eyes locked before they widen. Your smile brightens as you approach him. 

“Hi,” You greet, watching with a warm smile as Isagi slides his phone into his pocket. He reaches for your hand, grabbing it but not saying anything with his mouth open. 

“Isagi?” 

“Oh,” He shakes his head like he’s trying to stop thinking something before he focuses back on you “Hi,” 

You giggle as he grabs both of your hands in his. You reach up to cup his face and he nuzzles against your palm before kissing it. Bemused, you stroke your thumb along his skin. 

“You all there?” 

“Yeah, you just—wow. You’re so… wow,” 

“How poetic, Isagi.”

He pouts a little. 

“You look…really nice. Uhm, like pretty and stuff,” 

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“And you look handsome as always,” 

“Ah, jeez, really?” 

“Really, really. Your haircut looks good.”

He brightens up at the mention of it, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

“I wanted to look a little nicer. I thought about styling it but it looked kinda dumb,”

“It’d look pretty sexy pushed back, I think. I’ll help you with it next time.” 

“S-Sexy?”

“I think you’re pretty sexy, Isagi. I thought you knew that already?” 

When you hint at past activities, Isagi is looking away from you. Hand covering his face - he looks up at the sky with silent resolve. 

“Oh,” 

You put a deliberate hand on his chest when you kiss him properly this time. Feeling him fluster is a tiny victory, his lips are soft like he’s just put chapstick on. 

You deepen it just a little before pulling away entirely, leaving him dazed. It’s going to be a good day if it keeps going in this direction. Still, you decide you’d be better off not pushing your luck and push him away. 

“Ready to go?”

He looks annoyed, not enough that it’s obvious. And not at you. He gives you a half-hearted smile and nods. 

“Ready.” 

__

The art exhibit is unexpectedly fun.

 It’s one of those interactive art exhibits. You only found out after buying the tickets but it was a pleasant surprise. Isagi was probably more excited about it than you were. Surprisingly, he has a soft spot for creative stuff. 

A certifiable film buff, manga enthusiast, and genuine procurer of art - he was ecstatic as soon as you two walked into what felt more like an amusement park than an art gallery. There were several rooms and each of them had different things to mess around with. 

Interactive lights in one, a heatroom that responded to touch and body temperature depending on where you walked, and a room that could read your heartbeat and project the beat onto a heart on one of the walls. 

It felt more like playing in an adult playground than it did an exhibit. It was so fun - you were having a hard time remembering what you were supposed to be doing in the first place. 

The last room in the exhibit is full of climbable structures. You had to take your shoes off before going in. Starting from the center of the room out were large white structures, like a net you could climb into on a massive scale. The material it was made of was sturdy enough to hold up the weight of whoever was in it, but pliable enough that it would stretch and bounce with whatever movement happened within it. 

You’re grateful you came with Isagi to this exhibit on a day when many people weren’t around. There are only a few other people in with the two of you, so you and Isagi have been moving around to your hearts' content. 

Unsurprisingly, Isagi moves through everything with ease. Damn him and his athletic stature, he’s not even tired when you get closer to the top of the exhibit.

He offers to be behind you so you can catch up as a middle ground. You aren’t thinking anything of it when you agree to go before him. 

You dig your heel into the link above you to give yourself some solid foundation to keep moving up. Climbing up like this reminds you of the playground you used to play on when you were young. Taking a deep breath, you let out a little hup as you adjust yourself and get a good distance above. When you reach the height you want, you turn yourself around to lean into the malleable material. 

It adjusts to the shape of your body with ease. Leaning back, your eyes naturally search for Isagi. You stopped actively listening for him behind you, assuming it wouldn’t be hard for him to catch up to you. 

When you turn around, you see Isagi. But, instead of coming up to sit next to you - his head is turned to one side. You can’t see his face clearly but there’s a clear blush tone painted on the apples of his cheeks. He’s standing stiff and still, a single hand reaching for you. 

“Isagi?” 

Your eyes follow the motion of his arm. His fingers pinch the very edge of your skirt, tugging down the material just slightly. You squint, leaning forward to get a closer look at him - balancing yourself so you don’t fall forward. 

“Baby?” 

“Oh, uh,” He won’t look you in the eyes. You can’t figure out why “Sorry.” 

“You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.” He says too quickly. You drop down from where you are to look at him closer and he flinches back. Retracting, you frown. 

“You’re pale and sweaty. You sure you’re okay? It’s okay if you’re not feeling well. I had fun today no matter what.”

“No, no! I’m fine, I swear.” 

“Isagi,” You say, firm but sweet. You grab his hand “Let’s go home.” 

“But it’s—” 

“No buts. C’mon. I’ll invite you in, so let's go.” 

He sighs but doesn’t refute you, hand slipping gently into yours. 

“Okay.” 

__ 

Isagi has been acting weird. 

He hasn’t been able to meet your eyes since you left the art exhibit. The drive home was eerily silent aside from the radio. He did accept your invitation to watch a movie inside, but he’s been sitting on the carpet in your living room with a healthy amount of distance between you two. 

You’d understand if you spent the day messing with him, but the fun of the art exhibit practically ruined your original plans. So really, you’re completely clueless as to why your boyfriend is so stiff. 

You sigh deeply, pouring a glass of water. Placing the pitcher on your kitchen counter, you pad back into the living room to give him the cup.

“Here,” 

“Oh,” He says, not looking up at you “Thank you.” 

This time you’re annoyed. You sit diagonal from him, one leg up with the other one laying flat, the soft furry carpet comfortable. Sighing, you press your chin to your knee. 

“What's wrong with you?” You say bluntly. Isagi snaps his head up to you. 

“Huh?” 

You give him another displeased frown. It’s a little petulant but it’s hard to reach Isagi without using tactics like this. 

“You haven’t looked at me since we left the art exhibit,” You point out. His expression drops, eyes immediately focusing on something else “And you’re being so weird right now. So what’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine.” He insists, a wobbly smile on his face. You give him a flat look. 

“Isagi Yoichi.” 

“Yes, dear?” 

That makes you laugh a little but you don’t give in. 

“Can you please just tell me why you’re acting so weird, hm? Please?” 

His expression becomes even grimmer for a minute before he readjusts. He sits criss-cross, elbows resting on knees while he clasps his hands together. He’s looking forward very seriously, and you don’t know what to expect as you watch him turn something over in his head. 

He leans back this time, pulling up the collar of his sweatshirt to cover his face a bit. 

“I saw…” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes “I saw under your skirt earlier..” 

You squint before the realization hits you. Oh. Huh. He did pull your skirt down at the exhibit so it was probably riding up and he caught a peek. A little embarrassing, sure, but nothing of note. 

“...So?”

Isagi turns to look at you with wide eyes like you’ve said something unbelievable. You give him a look of confusion before giggling a little. 

“....So??” He parrots, lost.

“Yeah. So. Do you feel guilty or something?” 

He nods meekly. You grin. 

“I mean, were you peeping on purpose?” 

“No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t—” 

His panic has you full-blown giggling. When he realizes you’re not angry, he quiets down. Simply watching you, he takes a deep breath. 

“It’d be fine even if you were, so it’s whatever. Don’t be like that over something so small, I was really worried about it.” 

“It’s not small,” He says firmly. 

“Mm, really? It’s not a big deal to me though. You’re my boyfriend so you’d be the only one seeing my panties, anyway.” 

This makes Isagi choke. You watch him with an amused grin. 

“In fact, you can probably see it while I’m sitting like this too. I’m comfortable with you so I wasn’t thinking about it,” You say, teasing him slightly by spreading your legs “Even if I flashed you, you wouldn’t do anything about it, would you?” 

It’s not something he can refute so he doesn’t. You think it affected him, the slightest bit of frustration on his face. 

“It’s not like I’m not—yknow?” 

“Not what?” 

He rubs the back of his neck. 

“It’s not like I don’t… want to.”

“Oh, I know. I figured but,” You cross your legs this time, delighted by him “I know you won’t.” 

He’s silent for a while after that. You don’t want to pressure him, so you give him a warm smile. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’m sure you have your reasons and for whatever you can’t tell me, so I’m not gonna be mad.” 

He looks like he’s going to cry for a minute there but recollects himself. 

“I’m sorry.” He says lamely. 

“Don’t be. I was planning to seduce you today so in a way, my plans worked out.” 

The shock on his face has you biting back a cackle, choking on his spit. He wipes his mouth, looking at you embarrassed.

“Seduce me?” 

“Mm, I thought a little push might be good for you. But it looks like it had the opposite effect, you’re shaking like a leaf.” 

“It…that’s not true.” He folds his hands in his lap “I’ve never…done this before.” 

“I figured,” You repeat, nonplussed. You were Isagi’s first girlfriend after all “You don’t want to lose it to me, then?” 

“Not that,” He says, pulling his knees up and hugging his knees “I just… feel bad. For looking at you like that.” 

“Ah, I knew it.” You mumble “You feel bad for wanting to fuck me, don’t you?” 

He swallows something in the back of his throat, looking up. 

“It’s different.” 

“You know you’re really easy to read. It’s fine, Isagi. Whatever you want to do is fine. I like you, so it’s fine. Even if it’s gross or really perverted. If I hate something, I would just tell you.”

He looks up at you, riddled with guilt so you sigh. For his sake, you might as well put yourself out a little more. 

Instead of saying anything else, you crawl towards him on your hands and knees. His breath hitches, eyes locked on you. Adjusting so you’re in front of him, you stand on your knees and face him. He looks up at you, starry-eyed and a little afraid. 

You really just want to shake him by the shoulders, but you refrain. 

“Isagi,” You say, voice low and dripping with as much sexual desire as you can muster “Do you wanna see my panties?” 

It should be just the right push. 

His eyes snap down to your legs and thighs, where your manicured hands have the bottom of the skirt gripped in your hands. Two fingers in the tight material, you flutter your lashes at him. He looks shocked, stumbling over the right response before his hands fist at his knees. He looks down then nods hard. 

“Uh...Y-yeah. Yes, I— If that’s okay.,” 

Before he can retract too much, you pull up your skirt over the lower half of your tummy. You’re wearing a matching set, though it wasn’t with this intent. A cool wave of air hits your skin as you hold it up, giving Isagi a clear view. A pair of pretty, lacy panties are clinging to you. They’re thin and sheer, all black and snug. 

His ears are a vibrant red, hands planted at either side of him. 

“You’re looking so hard,” You tease, watching his desperate expression “You’ve never seen a girl's panties before? Or are you like this because they’re mine?” 

He flinches at the latter half of your statement. It’s nice to know he wants you, at least. 

“You like lace?” 

He nods, mesmerized. 

“You can touch,” You say encouragingly, glancing at his stiff posture “Be gentle, ‘kay?” 

His hands shake when he reaches forward. Instead of letting him go in blind, you take a free hand on his hand. The palm of his hand cups the back of your thigh. You let him do as he pleases with the other one. His breathing is so uneven it’s the only thing you can hear. His nimble fingers are hesitant as they reach forward for you. 

But he manages to touch you, a gentle finger against the edge of the fabric. He starts at your hips before traveling downward, lower and lower. He’s so tender, just like you thought he’d be. You feel your heart starting to beat fast at the feeling of his hand, the one on your thigh slowly getting tighter. 

His finger curls in before he’s so slowly touching the seam of your lace panties. Just where you can feel contact, where your pussy is. You’re aching just watching him sate his curiosity, the way he’s observing you making incredibly horny. 

He drags his knuckle down before he’s pressed right against your slit, underneath the cloth. He gasps as he feels it, a low noise slipping past your lips at the contact. 

“You’re.. I-it’s wet.” He says, a tremble in his voice. You smile. Cupping his face in your palms, you lean forward until you’re close to him. He looks so hazy for you. You press your lips to his, deep and soft as the skirt flops over his hand. He hasn’t moved at all, so you rub against his knuckle wantonly. 

“Mhm. I’m wet for you.” 

“For…for me.” He says through a wheeze. 

“Want to see your cock, Isagi.” You practically purr, turned on at his fluster. At him, in general. You hold his gaze while you say it, hand sneaking down to the front of his pants “To feel it. It’s lonely without you.” 

“Holy shit…holy shit.” 

“You wanna see it, right? Wanna see it stretch me out real nice. Don’t you wanna know how it feels?” 

“I want,” His voice is thick with lust to the point it’s unrecognizable. He buries his face against your neck. Your heartbeat thrums “I want to… do what you want.” 

Oh? 

“You’re thoughtful even in bed, is it? You wanna make me cum, Isagi?” 

He groans.

“Oh, please,”

“You’re so sweet. Makes me wanna take your virginity.” 

“Take whatever you want.” He says, rushed. You chuckle. 

“Even your credit cards? Your wallet?” 

“Yeah,” He says easily. 

“Stupid,” You adjust so either of your legs are on either side of Isagis's stretched legs “Kiss me,” 

“Yeah.” He repeats, a little slower. 

This much is familiar to you both. Isagi has gotten good at kissing. Though he normally holds himself back, keeping his hands steady. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body up to his purposefully. Isagi makes a noise of approval as he feels your chest press to his. He hesitates only briefly as he sneaks a hand on your thigh, just above your knee. 

His kisses are warm and familiar.  Your hands tangle in his hair as you urge for him a little deeper, soft locks between your fingers. He likes when you tug at his scalp. His slow nipping kisses deepen until you’re breathing him in.

“Isagi,” You break away, out of breath “Stick your tongue out.” 

He obliges easily. Before he has a chance to question it, you grab his face in your hands again and mirror him. The sudden contact makes his grip on you tighten before he melts into it. Tongue kissing him slow, he finds rhythm with you. You kiss like that for a while, spit and tongue and teeth. Kissing like that is turning you on, so you press your weight down on his body for more contact. 

He’s surprised when he feels you. His eyes open to look at you, but you don’t want to stop kissing him so you leave it. Instead, you hold his gaze as you rub your clothed cunt over the hard-on in his pants. Normally even getting this far is some sort of miracle. 

But right now, Isagi isn’t stopping you at all. It’s a success in your eyes. You can feel him respond to each of your slow grinds. Dragging your hips back and forth, Isagi’s eyes are lidded when he watches you. 

“Mm,” You go harder, your clothed clit catching on the tip of his cock. You can feel how the fabric is soaking underneath you “Isagi. I wanna know how you feel.” 

He pulls back in a pant, eyes closed. His forehead drops onto your shoulder with a soft thud. 

“Feels so good,” He slurs, speechless. He’s so cute. 

“You like when I grind on you?” 

“It’s making me so hard.” He says, voice going high. 

“What do you want, Isagi?” 

“See,” He mumbles, twitching under you “Wanna see.” 

Without another word, you pull back from him. Giving him a pleasant smile, you slip your top off of your body and let it fall to the floor. Isagi’s eyes grow the size of saucers, swallowing. 

“Oh my god.” 

You stand to your feet, hand on his shoulder to keep him sitting. Infront of him, you strip your skirt as slowly as you can manage. You’re only left in your lingerie and your socks. Isagi is looking up at you like you’re the sun. The exposure of your body has never made you shy, but the look on Isagi’s face is really giving you a run for your money. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

Isagi widens his eyes before breaking out into another blush. Ultimately he does what you ask. You watch the sweatshirt peel off of his body while he’s still seated underneath you. You forget how strong he is until he’s naked like that. He’s toned.  

He keeps looking up at you from where he’s sat. You give him a glance.

“Do what you want Isagi.” You encourage. His brow furrows momentarily before he finds himself kneeling underneath you. You aren’t sure what to make of the position. Isagi’s hands hover over your body. Holding your waist, he rubs his cheek against your stomach before kissing it. You play with his hair. When he looks up, his eyes are full of desire. 

“You don’t feel real.” He says in a mumble. 

“I’m very real.” 

He looks up at you. Eyes rimmed with hunger, hands holding you’ll fall away. Even still, he’s looking for permission. That conflict that he feels every single time he wants something. 

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He says, masking the tremble in his voice. You smile. 

“Course.”

“Then,” He looks at you seriously “Can we go to your room?” 

You nod, reaching your hand out for him to take, he follows you to your bedroom. On the opposite side of the room, you shut the door behind you. Instead of asking him where he wants you- you flop onto the bed and open your arms. 

“C’mere.” You say. He widens his eyes but does as you say, hovering above you. His arms rest on either side of your head. Warmth radiates off his body, hands hesitantly touching your face. He rests his face against your chest. 

“We’re really gonna have sex,” He mumbles, with a flush. You can’t contain your laugh. 

“You’re still like this, huh.” 

“Of course I am,” He kisses you this time, in between his nerves with just a little more confidence than before “I get to… with you. Wow.” 

“Touch me.” You all but demand. Isagi does an obedient little nod before he steels himself. His palms travel slowly downwards, drifting touches until he’s at your chest. He takes in a deep breath as he cups them over the lacy material. You can feel your nipples harden under the touch, and he must too because he lets out a little sound of surprise. He looks up at you for assurance,

You merely smile at him. 

He keeps going, little by little familiarizing himself with your body. Distracted and clumsily, with no real expertise. Every now and again, he’ll catch himself drifting. He presses kisses to your neck and chest while he gropes you thoroughly and curiously. Isagi endears you at every turn. You’re no stranger to it but seeing him like this reminds you of how much. 

You put your hand on top of his so he can squeeze tighter. He gasps a little but repeats after you, squeezing. You don’t have to ask him to touch you directly, a pleasant surprise. He doesn’t take off your bra nor does he fumble with it. He pulls the cups down until your tits spill. Every time you think he’ll stop being shocked, he gets red in the face and proves you wrong. 

The cold air to your exposed chest makes your back arch slightly. You adjust so you can take your bra off completely, letting the strap slip over your shoulder. When it comes loose, Isagi pauses so you can toss it somewhere. 

His eyes are so glued on your tits you can’t help but feel a little shy.

“Isagi,” It comes out a little whiny “Touch me,” You assert again. 

“I can do what I want, right?” 

You nod. 

To your surprise, he trails kisses down your sternum. In between your tits, licking softly and biting even softer. You have no idea what he’s thinking, but you think he probably read up about it somewhere. The thought makes your stomach twist. Your sweet boyfriend away for months, reading up on how to please you. It’s something he’d do. Knowing that makes your teeth ache, like over-indulging on sugar. 

His mouth closes around your nipple and a shockwave rolls through your whole body. A dull throb starts between your legs as Isagi focuses on just one. You bring his hand to your other one. 

“Like this,” You say, showing him “Gently,” 

He listens to your instruction well. A soft wave of pleasure settles over you as Isagi uses his mouth and hands to his heart's content. Mouth latched on your nipples, sucking slightly.

Isagi learns quickly, you realize. He tries something new and waits for your reactions and doesn’t push. He’s gentle but puts more pressure on if he thinks he’s losing you, focused on you and only you. 

You moan for him. It feels good. 

“Aah, Isagi.”

He pulls himself off slightly, eyes peaking up at you with a sense of satisfaction. Your skin is start to prick with that familiar desire, pooling in your gut. It’s vicious. He makes your head feel heavy with sin. You want to claim him unabashedly, a little eager to take something as precious as his first time. A flower you want to crush in your palm or snow packed under your feet - you take pleasure in breaking him down little by little. Delicate but yours to handle, you and Isagi have odd synergy. 

 Isagi becomes your center of gravity, your body pulled into him and his natural enigma. You want him and he wants you. That balance leaves your toes curling.

Desire drapes over your shoulders and weighs you. He’s pretty. Strong and toned muscles for his upper arms, a body built for athleticism. His hair is mussed in his face, sweat sticking slightly to his skin. 

Before you can regain your sense, your hand is creeping towards his waistband. He stares at you as your eyelids droop, undoing the zipper of his pants and pulling them down. You lock eyes as you slide them down as far as you can reach.

His legs are so much stronger than you were expecting, thick and sturdy as you pull them down past his legs. Your eyes settle on the tent on his pants, wrapping your palm around his cock through the fabric. He hisses hard at that, shuddering. 

“Fuck,” He grits, face twisted “Y-your hand.” 

“Isagi. Stand on your knees for me,” 

He looks confused for a minute, but eventually gets a hint. You prop yourself up on some pillows, urging Isagi forward until his bulge is closer to your face. Once he realizes the position he’s in, almost over your chest - his knees almost buckle. You can see him biting the inside of his cheek as you dip into his waistband. 

You pull his briefs of slow, cock hanging heavy. Isagi is thick with a hard curve left. The tip is shiny and wet, pre-cum leaking from it slow. Your heart pounds against your ribs, instinctively staring hard. Isagi is holding his breath.

You blow on it teasingly, watching him squirm. He’s so sensitive. You crane your neck up, pressing a wet kiss on the frenulum with purpose. His throat closes, air coming out in a choked moan. 

“Oh my god,” 

“Can I use my mouth?” You ask. He shakes his head no instantly.  

“I’ll cum f-for sure. Please don’t, don’t.” 

You chuckle at his insistence. 

“Okay, okay. My hand okay?” 

“Yeah, please.” 

You make a show of covering your hand with spit. Sticking your tongue out until they’re soaked and letting it drip down, sticky into your palm. Isagi looks like he’s going to fall out at any minute. You wrap your hands at the base of his shaft, slowly dragging your first until you’re cupped around the tip. He’s slick in your hands. You jerk him off slowly, not trying to overwhelm him. 

Isagi is a mess over you. He looks good. Sweat is beading down his chest, falling down his body. His head is tipped back, mouth open as he tries to figure out what to do with his hands. He’s throbbing so hard in your palms. It’d make you feel guilty to make him cum like this, but god he looks good on the edge.

He fucks into the little hole you’ve made with your fist, unintentionally. 

“Fuck, why d-does that feel so good,” He says, voice muffled by his own hand “Y-your hands are so fucking soft.” 

“You’re so good to me, Isagi. Nobody better,” 

“Ngh, y-you’re…” His thought is cut off by a smooth pull of your hands “Stop, please.”

You do instantly, watching as he catches his breath. 

“How am I supposed to hold that in…?” He says, genuinely at a loss. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Takes practice I think.” 

“You should cum first.” He concludes seriously.

“Any ideas on how you wanna do that?” You tease. 

“Thought I could give you head if you’re okay with it. I k-know I won’t be good right away but I—” 

You pat his thigh to catch his attention. 

“Stop freaking out and lay down between my legs.” 

His blush intensifies. You get yourself comfortable as Isagi readjusts so that he can be laying between your legs. Propping yourself up with the pillows behind you, you spread out so that Isagi can be comfortable. When he’s ready, you smooth his hair back. He’s staring at your thighs hard. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” 

“Ah, a little?” 

You nod at him, laying back and watching. He takes a deep breath first, his hands splaying over the tops of your thighs before moving along the curve. The skin on skin makes your heart pitter patter. Isagi is always staring at your legs, but it’s taken you till now to realize he has a thing for your thighs. He rubs his cheek along your inner thigh, squeezing the fat between his fingers hard enough that it aches. 

His lips start at your inner knee, trailing up. Slow, wet kisses along the skin and tentative bit. Your breathing goes uneven, tension pouring into the room slowly like a billow of smoke. Isagi is so gentle but so wanting. His every touch is desperate and drunken. Everything you do is completely intoxicating to him, everything new and interesting. 

You didn’t think it would turn you on to see him put in so much effort. Unrefined and needy, always whimpering but determined. Stimulated by the littlest things, but most of all by turning you on. It’s like he’s someone else, when he switches to your other thigh to repeat the action. The dull drag of sharp teeth on skin like softening something before eating. It’s hard to stay still when you watch Isagi partake in consumption, when he looks at you like a gift bestowed to him. A little greedy to be used by you. Even if it mean chewing him up and spitting him up. 

You always knew he was dedicated. Always had that single-minded focus on his movements, never taking his eyes off you in any situation. Even when it was warranted, even when he was supposed to be looking at the scenery.

You think for the first time that you’re facing just how much Isagi wants you. And seeing him like that makes you understand why he was hesitating so much at first. The intensity of it is unbearable but exciting. You make him greedy and unforgiving. 

His breath is warm when it fans your cunt, a soft moan leaving his lips as he takes a deep inhale of you. You’re embarrassed but he isn’t. He presses another soft kiss on your clothed cunt, lips wetted by the soaked material. He does it again and again, like he’d kiss you. The realization breathes new life into your lust. 

“Pretty,” He mumbles, star-struck and tipsy on his own thirst “You’re so pretty.” 

You help him by taking off your panties and he moves aside so that they’re tossed on the ground somewhere before settling back between your legs. There’s no barriers this time, nothing to keep him away from you. 

His nose bumps your clit, tongue delving between your folds and collecting all the arousal in his mouth - swallowing slowly. The sensation makes your spine tingle, your body heat at a rapid increase. You tangle your fingers through his hair again, guiding his head to where you like. 

“Little to the side.” 

He nods against you, following your orders. You feel him right where you like it, the burning drag of his tongue as he suctions his mouth around it. It takes him a minute to adjust. His hands keep you company as he finds the right pressure and the right movements. The whole room feels like it’s melting around you. All the sensation in your limbs goes mellow, a softness to the feeling. Your senses are buzzing like the electricity lingering before a storm. 

Isagi is salacious when he sucks on your clit. Throbbing against his mouth with each pass, flat and rhythmic - not to slow or too fast. Isagi learns your body like he’s memorizing, drawing a path to the finish line. Worked up to the point of delirium, you find yourself rolling your hips. Your hand is clamped in his hair, dragging him to you harshly. You find Isagi likes when you’re a little mean to him, a little rough. An adrenaline junkie at heart, he moans when you rut yourself against his face. He doesn’t stop even once, merely following along with you. Moving in tandem. 

What he wants is written all over his face. It etched into his brow bone, drawn in the lines on his face. Please cum, over and over like a plea.

The coil in your stomach starts to grow tight as you stay like that. You can’t think about anything else, hands fisting hard in his hair. He moans against you, the reverb in your skin. 

“Isagi,” You pant, mouth open. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to look at him while it happens “Cumming.”

Your whole body feels like it’s unraveling as you finish on his face. Isagi doesn’t pause from you. His eyes are closed and his tongue is nudging at your entrance - face buried in your cunt and soaking himself in it. The sound of him slurping fills the room, echoes on the walls and in the back of your head. You can hear his audible swallow as he tastes you, halfway between curiosity and full-blown perversion. He’s somewhere far off as the after waves hit, tremoring inside. 

You have to pull him off you to wake him up from his trance. The sight of his messy chin makes your heart pump. You wipe his chin with your thumb, pressing it to his lower hip. He’s confused at first but opens up anyways. 

“Suck on it.” 

His eyes go wide but he listens. Of course, he does, cleaning the arousal off of your digit. When he’s near done, you pull him up towards you and kiss him hard. For it being his first time, he did so well. You feel selfish all of a sudden. You want to keep him all to yourself. 

“Isagi,” You say his name softly when you pull apart, a string of saliva between you “You did so good.” 

“Ah, really? Then I’m happy.” 

“You’re so good to me, baby. What am I gonna do with you?” 

“...B-baby?”

“Yeah. That okay?” 

“More than okay, I just…woah. I really…” 

You look at him curiously.

“I really love you,” He confesses, words tumbling out of his lips so fast you think you’ll miss it “I was supposed to tell you when I got back but I kept putting it off and I know now seems like a bad time, but I really—” 

When the realization settles, you’re grinning ear to ear. Not that it’s unexpected, the timing is funny and so very Isagi. You shut him up with a kiss, making him melt into you. His hand comes up on your waist. 

“I love you too. Let’s make love, hm?” You offer, teasing. He flushes but doesn’t deny the idea. He’s sappy enough to like something like that you think.  

“Will you call me by my first name?” 

You look at him surprised before breaking out in a wider smile. 

“Yoichi,” You breath out, dragging the last syllable out as he swallows “Come fuck me.” 

“We don’t have condoms.” His voice sounds sad. 

“It’s fine.” 

“B-but—” 

“You don’t want to?” 

He looks at you grimly making you laugh. 

“I’m telling you it’s fine. Just trust me. It’s better raw, anyway.” 

Isagi hugs you this time, his face rubbing against your cheek with a frown. You can’t help but want to spoil him a little when you see him like this. No matter how famous he is, he’s really just a boy. The thought of that makes you happy. 

“You say stuff like that so easily.” 

“I’ve always been straightforward. Who asked who out, huh?” 

“Point taken,” 

“If you get it then, c’mon.” 

You watch as Isagi stands off to completely take his pants off. You take a minute to admire him naked, all the muscles and tanning on his body. The callouses in different places and a few scars from injuries littering his skin. He’s not very hairy, but where it is - it’s fine and wispy. He comes back to you naked, the bed dipping under his weight. 

He drags you down a little, letting you adjust to the new position. You find yourself comfortable on your back. The tip of Isagi’s cock is visible, weeping and hard over your cunt. 

“Normally, I’d make you prep me but I think it’s okay. Just go slow, ‘kay?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” 

He gives you a firm nod. Unsure of what to do, you watch as he spits in his hand to lube himself up. His eyes are mesmerizing a deep blue. Position himself at your entrance, you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. You’re so curious about his reaction. In a slow, slow thrust - you feel the tip start to nudge itself inside of you. The slick sound makes you shiver. 

His expression is pinched as he fucks into you so slowly. Almost like he’s in pain trying to keep himself steady. Your walls accommodate him nicely, slowly stretching around until they take on his shape. Everything feels like it’s spinning around you - the world tilted on it’s axis for minutes at a time. Maybe just because it’s Isagi but his cock makes you feel unsually good. It feels different than the other times you’ve had sex. Holding in a breath, he pushes himself in. One inch at a time, it’s agonizing for you.

You sneak a hand between your bodies. Isagis holds the top of your thighs, just at the curve of your hip as he penetrates. Fucks you languidly and softly and gently, with a grip in his fingers like he’s going to lose his fucking mind. He looks about ready to break, gasping each time he pushes further. 

“You’re so warm. Holy shit.” 

“You almost inside?” 

“Yeah, fuck.” 

Your whole body feels like it’s molded around his cock - stuck inside of you. When his pelvis hits yours, you let out a sigh of relief. He feels so fucking good. Snug and thick, his cock is so hard for you. He twitches rapidly as steels himself, holding you for support. You rub your clit lazily as you watch him, blinking slowly. 

“Yoichi.” 

His cock twitches hard inside of you. You wanna milk him dry, seeing him like that. He looks at you. 

“You can move.” 

You let out a gasp when you feel Isagi pull out only to fuck into you hard. The force of it is unexpected, but not bad. He breathes raggedly. You put your legs up until your ankles are just over his shoulder, reaching for a pillow to put under your back so he can stay stood on his knees and you can rest your legs. His hair is framing his face as he looks down at you, breathing raggedly. He places a kiss on your ankle before saying another. 

“Sorry, I can’t hold it, I want you so much.” 

“S’okay. Keep going.” 

You can’t keep control of yourself as Isagi pistons you. His thrusts are unexpectedly powerful, hips slamming in the back of your thighs every time he moves. It must be the core and leg strength. He thrusts like he’s practiced with something, makes you wonder if he’s ever fucked something on his own. It leaves you shivering, the intrusive way his cock stretched you out until there’s no longer any tension. Until you’re stretched around him completely so that he can fuck you as he pleases. 

The shift from discomfort to pleasure happens before you can screw your head on straight. Isagi fucks you impatiently. He’s looking at you but you can tell that he’s trying so hard not to cum. Teeth digging into his lower lip. He’s whimpering for you. Whining a little at how it feels but fucking you all that same. It’s imperfect and inexperienced - but he’s trying so hard to do it right that it doesn’t matter. You’re so turned on by him that it wouldn’t register.

“Yoichi,” You call out if only to get his attention. You smile when he looks at you “Does it feel good?” 

“Feels so good, fuck, I c-can’t.” 

“You’re fucking me so good.”

The praise has a shiver running down his back. 

“Oh my god.” 

You can feel another orgasm coming in. Isagi fills you deep, scratches an itch you could never get to on your own. He drags along your sensitive walls at an angle, rubbing your insides raw. Every nerve in your body is burning up from the inside out, like a sparkler in July heat. Your nerves are more tender than ever and Isagi toys with each one. All you can think about is how good his cock feels, even through his inexperience. 

It spreads through your body like blood in your veins, the bliss is so overwhelming it makes you motion sick. Your free hand playing with your clit twitches, the other one holding your chest to keep you occupied. Isagi moves you with each pound of hips, reaching the back of you. 

“Gonna cum soon,” You pant. 

“M-me too. I’m so fucking close, fuck.” 

You reach your orgasm in a haze, Isagi’s never slowing in his gestures. He fucks you through it, your whole body going taut with tension like the snap of a rubber band. Your hands fist in the sheets as the tension in your muscles melt, spasming around. 

 You don’t get a chance to say anything much before Isagi is following in your stead. His orgasm must hit hard because he’s cumming inside of as deep as he can go. His hands are secured around your thighs, digging into them as you feel the hot twitch of his cock before unloading into you. It’s warm as it spurts out in thick coats of white, a pleasant feeling making your head spin.

 Isagi is shaking above you, so you bend your knees so he can drop down over you. He nearly collapses on top of you, immediately snuggling up to you even while his cock is buried inside of you. You can’t believe he managed to last as long as he did. You press your lips to his forehead as he sighs in contentment over you. 

“Naughty boy.” You tease. He whines. 

“That felt so good I thought I was gonna die. Thank you” 

“Are you thanking me for making you cum right now? You’re so stupid.”

“Stupid in love.” He corrects, picking his head up to give you a smile. Breaking out into a fit of giggles, you give him another long kiss. Ridiculous. “And it’s not just for that. Just for pushing me. You always consider my feelings”

“You can be whatever you want with me, Yoichi.” 

“I’m so lucky.” He says sincerely, nuzzling up to you “My life is really great. It’s nice. Please don’t leave me by the way.” 

You can’t help but laugh at how honest he’s being. 

“Never. There’s still a lot left for you to learn, y’know?” 

“You’re gonna get me hard again.” He warns, faux serious. You shrug. 

“Not sorry.” 

[snowfll]

Then could I req a Lamina x capitol mentor reader fic where Reader is mentoring Lamina and after she wins she meets up with Reader again before she leaves. Lamina breaks down in readers arms from the guilt and etc with reader just comforting her (need some good hurt/comfort in my life rn) Thank you so much and take care! Feel free to take your time! - N

Promise?; Lamina

pairing - Lamina x Mentor!reader summary - Winning the 10th annual hunger games was not an easy task for Lamina, but you were there by her side through it all. Now, she had to go home—what is she going to do without you? words - 2.63 k warning- fluff! none! note - omg I'm actually in love with this, thank you so much for requesting it! It took longer to write than I expected, so I made it a little longer to make up for the wait! I hope you like, and please request more for Lamina—I'm so in love with her.

The news of becoming a mentor for the tenth annual Hunger Games struck you with a mix of frustration and resentment. The idea of relying on someone from the districts to secure your future in the Capitol was a bitter pill to swallow. The prize money, your lifeline for advancement, now hinges on the performance of a tribute.

Navigating the elite world of the Capitol Academy as a student from a less privileged background presented its own set of challenges. How you were accepted into the academy in the first place was a mystery in itself. Nonetheless, you were grateful for the opportunity you were given.

Your peers labeled you as ‘the quiet girl’ originating from your passion to read, in stark contrast to those who reveled in the social scene. The lack of wealth and connections meant you were an outsider, perceived as a freak in the prestigious academy.

Your peer’s disinterest in associating with you was mutual, creating an unspoken understanding of separation. While they indulged in weekend partying, you found comfort in the pages of books.

Despite the social divide, your academic expertise demanded recognition. Being one of the top students forced your peers to acknowledge your presence, meaning they had to tolerate you, and you had to tolerate them.

As the reaping day unfolded, the air hung heavy with anticipation. The news of a difference in this year's Plinth Prize reached you beforehand, a piece of information that carried weight beyond the customary tributes’ selection.

Sejanus Plinth, the one person who genuinely liked you, became a crucial ally in navigating the intricacies of the Capitol. Bonding over shared backgrounds that Capitol elites despised, your connection with Sejanus transcended the superficial norms of the academy. In a world where trust was a rare find, the two of you became close, sharing your hopes and fears.

Sejanus’s decision to disclose the altered details spoke volumes about the depth of your friendship. He recognized your deserving nature and understood the potential setback this change could inflict on your aspirations. Leaving you in the dust was not an option for him.

Before Dean Highbottom assigned the tributes to everyone, you told yourself you wouldn’t help whoever you got—they were district after all, and they certainly weren’t worthy of your assistance. The most you would do was introduce yourself and help whenever there were cameras on you. It’s what your fellow peers said they were going to do, so it must have been the correct way to go about being a mentor.

However, the moment you saw Lamina on the screen, your entire world flipped. Her tear-streaked face and heavy breathing elicited an unexpected wave of pity. In that moment, the stark contrast between her vulnerability and the impending games overwhelmed you.

The realization struck—Lamina, in your eyes, didn’t deserve the grim fate that awaited her. It became evident that, compared to her district partner, Lamina seemed unprepared and unfit for the brutal challenges that lay ahead.

Lamina looked to be around the age of sixteen or seventeen, only a year or two younger than you. You didn’t want to help her—you told yourself you wouldn’t. As you sat contemplating in the aftermath of the reaping, thoughts swirled about how you could protect Lamina in the arena. Perhaps, against all your odds, your guidance could be the key to helping Lamina navigate the perilous games and emerge alive.

In the hushed days following the reaping, a quiet anticipation enveloped you. The impending arrival of the tributes heightened the tension. During the limited time since Lamina became your responsibility, you delved into research and strategized different ways to keep her alive.

You weren’t excited about the games, not one bit, but you wanted to do anything in your power to help her. Unbeknownst to yourself, genuine care for her well-being had taken root, eclipsing the initial distant image you projected.

As soon as you heard the news of the tributes being held at the Capitol Zoo, you rushed out of class. Coriolanus had already met his tribute, having leapt into the van upon their arrival. It was only fair that you were able to visit your tribute as well.

Walking out of the classroom without a care in the world, you made your way to the home of the tributes. Dean Highbottom’s stern voice echoed after you, demanding your return to the classroom. Ignoring his calls, you pressed on towards the zoo with the determination to meet Lamina.

Arriving at the Capitol Zoo, you found Lamina sitting amidst the rocky surroundings, her spirit somehow untouched by the harshness that surrounded her. Despite the misery etched on her face, there was a quiet grace and a fragile beauty that persisted through the pain and suffering.

As you approached the caged area, Lamina looked up, her curious eyes meeting yours. Her tear-streaked face seemed to soften in response to your arrival; a subtle smile graced her lips—you couldn’t help but smile seeing the girl in a happier mood. The quiet grace she emanated amidst the harsh environment hinted at a resilience that intrigued you. How could one look so elegant while being held in a zoo enclosure?

“Lamina?” you began cautiously. She stood up, approaching you with a lingering smile. Her district partner accompanied her, pulling her back while sharing hushed words in her ear. He cast a protective glance your way as Lamina whispered back, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s okay, Treech. She seems friendly.”

You offered a small, reassuring smile to both of them, attempting to convey trustworthiness. Lamina, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, broke the brief silence, asking, “Are you my mentor?”

You nodded, affirming her question. “Yes, I’m going to help you in any way I can," you assured, hoping to instill a sense of comfort in the midst of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

“Promise?” Lamina asked, her gaze filled with hope as she searched for reassurance.

You met her eyes with sincerity; the weight of the promise was reflected in your response. “I promise, Lamina. I will get you out of this.”

Throughout her time in the Capitol, you found yourself making frequent visits to Lamina. There was no specific reason or agenda—your visits were driven solely by the desire to be in her presence. Though many mentors faked their appearance with their tributes, your intentions were clear; you wanted to offer comfort and support during the challenging moments she faced.

As the day in the arena unfolded, you discovered the depth of your feelings for Lamina. Watching as Treech, her district partner, left her on her own so he could join Coral’s pack, a surge of emotions welled up within you.

As Lamina looked heartbroken in the aftermath of Treech’s departure, a strong desire to cheer her up consumed you. The genuine care you felt for her welled up, surpassing the boundaries of a mentorship.

Unable to stand idly by, you pulled Lamina into your body, embracing her in a reassuring hug. “You’ll be okay, Lamina,” you whispered in her ear. “You don’t need him. You are strong on your own, and I’ll do anything to make sure you’re safe in the arena.”

Lamina, though initially surprised, gradually eased into the embrace. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

A few minutes later, a deafening explosion echoed through the arena, accompanied by screams that sent shivers down your spine. In an instant, instinct kicked in, and your first thought was to shield Lamina from the impending danger.

Without a second thought, you covered her with your own body; any concern for your own safety was overcome with a protective instinct. The echoes of chaos surrounded you as the bomb wreaked havoc, but in the moment, your sole focus was on keeping Lamina safe.

Amidst the falling debris, Lamina’s voice quivered. “What’s happening?”

“Keep your head low,” you urged, your own voice steady despite the turmoil. “We’ll be okay. Just stay close, Lamina.”

As you brought Lamina closer to the entrance, she clung onto you, fear and reluctance present in her eyes. She didn’t want to leave your side, finding a sense of security in your presence amidst the chaos. However, as you moved, two peacekeepers approached, their authoritative presence demanding compliance.

Lamina tightened her grip, and you tried to reassure her, “It’ll be okay, Lamina. I’ll meet you straight away; just let them get you to safety.” Despite your attempt to ease her worries, the peacekeepers intervened, firmly grabbing her. Lamina, reluctant to be separated, cast a desperate look back at you, silently pleading for you to stay with her.

After the tumultuous events in the arena, you found solace in spending every moment of the day with Lamina. Your connection had deepened, transcending the confines of mentorship. In the aftermath of the chaos, your presence became a source of comfort for her, and you, too, found a sense of purpose in being by her side.

Whether it was strategizing for the challenge ahead, offering words of encouragement, or simply sharing quiet moments, the atmosphere shift was clear as day, the tension of the arena replaced by moments of connection. As you exchanged playful banter, the laughter flowed effortlessly.

“You know, I think you might be the best thing that happened to me.” As you teased Lamina, a playful glint in your eyes, you continued, “In a place like this, finding something good is like stumbling upon a rare gem. And I have to say, you’re my gem, Lamina.”

She chuckled softly, a blush tinting her cheeks. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

You smiled, the sincerity in your gaze matching the warmth in your words. “We might be the first pair to turn the Capitol’s Hunger Games into a love story.”

“Well, isn’t that a plot twist?” She responded, her eyes meeting yours with a smirk on her face.

As the banter continued, a subtle shift occurred. The teasing smiles transformed into something deeper—an unspoken connection sparking between you. Lamina, with a hint of vulnerability, admitted, “When my name was reaped, I never expected to find something like this.”

You leaned in, the distance between you shrinking as you whispered, “Sometimes, unexpected things are the best things.” The words lingered in the air, your eyes glancing down at her lips before making their way back to meet her eyes.

In the charged atmosphere, Lamina closed the gap, her lips meeting yours through the bars of the enclosure. The kiss went on longer than expected, and you smiled into it, realizing neither one of you was willing to let go first.

When you finally pulled apart, the smiles remained, and your forehead naturally rested against Lamina’s. The unspoken emotions hung in the air, a promise of companionship and shared determination.

“Now, there’s no chance I’m letting you die in that arena,” you declared, the gravity of the statement stained with a newfound depth of connection between you and Lamina.

In the face of the challenges and dangers within the arena, you remained true to your promise. You didn't let Lamina face the grim fate that awaited her. Through strategic planning, shared determination, and unwavering support, you guided her to victory.

As the final moments unfolded and Lamina emerged as the victor, a sense of relief and accomplishment swept over both of you. For you, it wasn’t the Plinth Prize that made you so cheery—in fact, you forgot about the award. You simply needed her alive; her survival was enough for you.

As Lamina prepared to return home, there was an assortment of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a subtle touch of unworthiness. As you sat together, there was a shared understanding that transcended words. The bond formed within the games had become a defining chapter in both of your lives.

You held each other’s gaze, silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that quiet moment, you watched as Lamina struggled with her feelings. Her face wore a sad expression, and you couldn’t help but share in her sorrow. Despite the triumph of winning and surviving the Hunger Games, there was a weight on Lamina’s shoulders that overshadowed the expected joy.

“Hey,” you spoke gently, breaking the silence between you and Lamina. “What’s wrong, honey?” The concern in your voice mirrored the empathy in your eyes as you observed the gloom etched on her face.

Lamina hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting yours, before she finally sighed. “I should be happy, right? I won. I survived,  but..." Her voice trailed off, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on hers. “Surviving the games doesn’t mean you have to be happy all the time. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” The sincerity in your question enticed her to share the burden of emotions that seemed to weigh on her.

She hesitated before opening up even more. “I don’t deserve this—to have won, to live while the others are gone.” She paused, taking a breath, allowing her to continue her rant. “Treech, he did what he needed to do to survive—leaving me was good on his part, and he still didn’t make it. Why was I the one to make it out alive? It doesn’t make any sense.”

You squeezed her hand gently, offering a reassuring smile. “Winning is a tremendous accomplishment, but it doesn’t erase the challenges or the pain. It’s okay to feel a range of emotions, Lamina.”

Lamina went on to go into detail about the events that occurred in the arena—especially the ones you didn’t witness. How she had to kill multiple tributes to ensure her safety. How after the first few kills, she felt like she couldn’t stop.

“I’m so scared of losing all control, like I did in the arena." She told you through sobs, the fear of losing control, of becoming someone unrecognizable, was etched in her eyes.

You listened empathetically, recognizing the weight of the survivor’s guilt that burdened her. The aftermath of the Hunger Games had left her grappling with the harsh reality of loss and the difficult choices made for survival.

“What happened doesn’t define you," you assured her. “You were thrust into an unimaginable situation, forced to make choices for survival. It’s natural to feel scared, but remember, you’re not alone. I may not be with you in the districts, but I will always be there for you in spirit.”

As your words sank in, Lamina’s tears flowed even more freely. Through her tears, she choked out, “What am I gonna do without you near me?”

You reached out to gently wipe her tears away, your own eyes reflecting the pain of the impending separation. “Lamina, you are stronger than you think. You’ve already faced the worst. I will visit as much as the Capitol allows me; this isn’t goodbye,” you reassured her, your voice carrying a mixture of determination and comfort.

“Promise?”

“I promise. You can’t get rid of me that easily, honey.”

[laceswan]

The Smiling Princess

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!OC

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, canon typical violence

part two is out!

The capitol wasn’t all that different from district one. It was more modern, more luxurious, but not by much. Sylke thought back to the reaping. This year was a strange one. For some reason, none of the training female career tributes volunteered, either too young or not ready. She was only fourteen, never once had she wanted the life of a career. And yet her name had been the one drawn. Standing on that stage next to a man much older who’s trained his whole life for this, she felt more out of place than ever before. The train ride was not long, less than a day, but Sylke found it hard to relax, and time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. She had decided the moment her name was called and no one volunteered, that this was the end of her life. It wasn't even a question in her mind. Normally she would try to maintain a certain amount of optimism, but as she pondered on the train it became evident that such hope was almost always applied to someone not herself. Undying optimism was reserved for everyone else, while a more calculating hope was held for herself. In this case, the odds were not in her favour. The best she could do was enjoy the little bit of life she has left. And she did. Regardless of its strange and bloody traditions, the capitol was beautiful. The gifts she had been offered, the world she got to see from the train window, so much of it was bright and wonderful. And with the little time she had left, she resolved to appreciate it.

The other tribute from 1, Cesare, didn’t seem to like her much. He was cold, offered only backhanded advice, and made a lousy excuse for her only companion. Their mentor, Victoria, was sweet, convinced that Sylke could survive with some allies and sponsors. Their escort, Misty, agreed, and was already assembling a list of rich possible benefactors she planned to meet with. When they arrived in the capitol, Sylke was desperate for a new face, a friendly one. There was one person around her age, the tribute from four. She saw him at the tribute parade, dressed glamourously in blue and green. When they met, she tried to be as friendly and genuine as possible. That was his first instinct as well, to simply be kind, to make a friend, but when the conversation was over, he was swiftly pulled aside and reminded that she wouldn’t make a good ally, that he should put energy into connections with other, more fit tributes. As he tried to talk to Cesare, a broad-shouldered athlete who clearly had an advantage at the game, Finnick couldn’t keep himself from looking in her direction, from thinking about her and what she must be feeling. There was a churning anxiety, an uncertainty, that raged like a storm in the high seas within his core, one deeply tied to being so young in a place full or intimidating older kids. She was probably in the same boat, and he was drawn to that. No one else was that young in this Game, and in a different world, perhaps they even would have been friends. That is what kept him lingering in her mind as well. That they could have been friends. Only to her, they still could be even if only for a short while. It was the only friend she might be able to find in this place.

There was a gala that night, a chance to meet people, network, get sponsors. Sylke’s stylist put her in a long, heavy gown, white and gold with little pearls and jewels, to appeal to sponsors from one as her stylist put it. Something about portraying luxury. As much as she disliked the performance of it all, it had been a while since she’d been in a gown like this, with the heavy silks that draped off her body like water flowing gently over time-smoothed rocks. Something about it felt authentic, the daintiness and femininity. If she looked in a mirror she looked like herself. There had been a few times like that in her life, all of them before or during dance performances. The mirror that hung on the wall backstage was where she would check her costume before going up. She was grateful each time that her character wouldn’t be be frowning. She wouldn’t have to act. It would make her smile like nothing else, to see the dress she was wearing, because the person looking back at her was the girl she would see in her dreams, the princess she always wanted to be. And she would smile, a real smile, and she would go on stage with that smile, and everyone watching would know it’s real. The gala was different. People were closer, meaner, there was a tension in the air that never truly went away. The other tributes were there, closer to her than she’d ever seen them before. They were all so strong, so ruthless, merciless. It became clear to her that she didn’t stand a chance. They all looked out of place in fragile evening wear, like they belonged in a suit of armor on the battlefield. They could kill her in an instant, rip her apart like silk. This was the way she was going to die. She had a week or so until then, a week that she wanted to enjoy. But how would she enjoy what was essentially her deathbed? She would need to look at the little things, just the details could perhaps keep her happy for a week. She would need to distract herself, take comfort in all the things around her that weren’t awful. Those details weren’t as rare as she had thought, not if she looked in the right places. The gala was certainly not the stage, but it wasn’t that different. Those similarities were what she took comfort in that night. The dress, the lights, the few faces in the crowds that were truly friendly. Her dress didn’t flutter like a tutu, it didn’t spin the same, but it still made her happy, she looked liked herself in every glass, every reflective surface, she would see the dress, the jewels, and in a matter of seconds, her smile. She met all sorts of sponsors that night, they loved her. After all, there was no point in trying to appeal to them, and thus she could just be herself. Perhaps they made plans to help her in the arena now that she’d met them, but it didn’t matter. All that she could do was enjoy her night. Bask in the luxury and make some friends. The sponsors weren’t really friends. They weren’t her equals, they weren’t fearing for their lives. Only twenty-three others were like her. One of them was standing alone, at the edge of the dance floor. The boy from four that she had yet to learn the name of. He wore bronze to match his hair and tanned skin, a fairly simple ensemble akin to any other tuxedo or suit. The part that caught attention was the brocade. Just like Sylke’s jewels, they glittered in the light, adorning his chest and shoulders. There was a heavy patterned fabric that was draped off his shoulder like an asymmetrical cape fit for a prince. It hung still as he leaned against the wall, but Sylke pictured it fluttering with every movement and step he took. He was alone, as though waiting for company of some kind. So she walked up to him, the fabric of her dress swaying with each step.

“Hey. I’m Sylke. ”

“Finnick. You’re from one?”

The question was awkward, like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. And you’re from four, right?”

“Yup.”

There was a silence. She wanted to ask how he was enjoying the night, if he liked galas like this, if he’d ever been to one before, in fact she was about to when-

“But you’re not a career?”

There it was.

“I’m not. Just a regular tribute, like you.”

“Actually I’m not. I trained for this.”

“But you’re fourteen, don’t you wait until eighteen?”

“Yeah, usually.”

His answer was short, clearly a sore subject. She wanted to ask why, but as she looked at his face it became obvious that he didn’t know. So she didn’t push.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His mentor, and kind woman named Mags, had told him not to show weakness, to portray confidence, never let the image slip, but it still did when he was talking to her. He let it slip, for some reason that he couldn’t yet identify. Something in him just wanted to tell her everything, every thought, every feeling, every doubt that floated through his head. Or rather he wanted to tell the world, but the world could not be trusted and so he looked to trustworthy individuals. Something told him she was most certainly one of them. Of course he didn’t say everything, but his performance was still weakened by her presence. Mostly by that smile. So genuine it made him want to smile too. They spent most of the night seated at a table in the corner of the room, occasionally beckoned by a mentor or escort, but always returning to the conversation. That conversation began with talks of the games, but it took little time to expand. Finnick told her about his life back home, and Sylke did the same. They talked about almost everything, from the birds that Sylke kept and trained in her garden to the rigorous dental hygiene Finnick was instructed to keep when he was a boy due to his sweet tooth. He was shocked to learn that she’d never eaten fish. On special occasion shellfish, but never proper fish. Soon after, Mags called him to meet a sponsor, and he returned a bit later with a plate of some of the fish being served that night.

“Here. I found some at the table, you should try it. It’s not like I catch at home, but it’s good.”

“Is there a certain way I’m supposed to eat it?”

He laughed, putting the plate on the table and sitting beside her.

“A fork and knife will do”

She laughed with undeniably genuine cadence before taking a bite. It was certainly new, but still familiar. Like a heightened version of the shrimp her family would get for celebrations, something meant only for the most celebratory of occasions. It was rich and just salty enough, and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps fitting for the celebration of one’s life, a good last meal. She made a decision to request this as her final meal before going into the arena.

“So… do you like it?”

She turned to him, swallowing before smiling, with the edges of her lips pulled high and making crescent moons of her eyes.

“It’s really good! If I had that as my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

“Yeah? Wait until you try mine. No seasoning or capitol kitchen can make up for freshness--catching, cooking, and eating it right there on the sand.”

He spoke with confidence, almost arrogance dripping from his voice, with a pearly white grin to go with it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They continued to talk and to laugh, exchanging stories and jokes like old friends catching up after too long apart. At some point she had reveled in the dress she was wearing, how the luxury and flow reminded her of costumes she would wear, how she felt more like herself wearing these than any time before. She spoke with a beaming smile, eyes flitting from his to the fabric to the jewels to the glittering room and then back to him. He said little as she did this, simply watching the joy pour from her every word. It was that genuine joy the pulled him to her, that made his performance slip, that made him content to let it.

“You glow when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“About the things you like, the things that make you smile.”

She laughed.

A minute or two later, the music switched to a new song, and Sylke perked up.

“I know this song!” She stood up and took his hand. “Come on, get up!”

“Wait, to dance?”

“Yeah! What, they never taught you how to dance?”

“Only a little,”

She pulled him to the dance floor and took both his hands in hers. “It’s a waltz, do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s alright,”

She brought one of his hands to her waist with her own on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone so close, someone to trust. They didn’t move.

“It’s slow, do you wanna look at my feet and I can teach you?”

He pulled her a little closer, practically speaking directly into her ear. It hadn't been long since he felt the warmth of another human, just a few days ago he was hugging his family goodbye. But the capitol was so cold, so glamourously sterile, that this closeness with Sylke felt like a moment of fresh air after a month of factory smog. The rest of the capitol felt sickly cold in comparison to this. This comforting, trusting warmth. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Maybe later. Let’s just sway for now”

“Okay.”

They swayed in silence, trying to savor this moment of trust. Gold, ivory, and bronze melded together as they moved, these clothes must have been made to dance together. The music was soft, a subtle background for their movement. The night was coming to a close, the dance floor had few people left on it. It didn’t take long for Sylke and Finnick to be pulled away for final goodbyes, the last chance of the night to get sponsors before they went back to the apartments.

They spent the rest of the week training. Sylke spent most of that time learning about plants. The training centre offered plants from multiple different biomes, and Sylke did try to learn about all of them, but she couldn't help but favour the jungle plants. Something about the vibrant colours striking shapes was absolutely fascinating to her, especially because she grew up in an urban area that held only artificial, staged cactus and succulent terrariums. She learned quickly what was poison, what was edible, and what was medicinal. Often, she learned, something poisonous because helpful when delivered in the right dose. There was a tree near her home in district one, planted in a concrete box in a public square. From midsummer to the first cold breeze, the blossoms would hang from its branches like white handkerchiefs dipped in rosy dye at the bottom. The tree was lovely and admired by Sylke as well as many of her neighbors, but everyone who lived nearby to admire from a distance. Adults told her when she was very young that every part of that tree was dangerous, not to be touched, and deceptively beautiful. The man at the medicinal plants station told her however, that the leaves, once cooked, make for a powerful pain reliever. Still to be ingested with caution, as with any other narcotic, but helpful when taken prudently. Sylke was simply fascinated by such topics. She didn’t care much for violence, which most of the training room was dedicated to. She also learned how to use a friction bow, but that was mostly out of boredom. Her favourite part of the training was most certainly the medicinal plants. She took comfort in knowing that with this knowledge she could perhaps help someone stay alive, and that if she taught someone else they could as well. Perhaps if things were different, if she hadn't been reaped, if for whatever reason she couldn't pursue dancing, perhaps she would have become a healer. Sometimes she would catch a glance of Finnick, throwing his trident and hitting his mark each time. He was so assured in his ability, a security that would certainly serve him well in the arena. He trained for this after all, his confidence was justified. His kills would be swift and painless, and she had no doubt that was how he liked them to be. He never seemed the type to torture something like that, something about him, the kindness that he offered to many (though not all) was too great for such cruelty.

The evaluations came too quickly. The game was approaching too fast. Cesare was first, then she would be up. When she entered the room, a small pile of stalks and leaves sat on a table in the corner of the room. In her fifteen minutes, she separated them into three piles. One she burned, another she ate, and the last she sorted into their different uses. She gave a curtsy before walking out.

She was sitting on a couch in the apartment that night, all eyes staring intently at the screen. The man next to her had gotten ten out of twelve. She got a four. No one was surprised by that. Finnick got an eleven. She hoped he would win. A part of her was sure that he would.

After that was the final show with Caesar Flickerman. Everything was just like back home, just a little more glamorous. There was a mirror just before the entrance to the stage, and in it she fluffed up her skirt before looking at herself in full. She had a tiara too, adorned with little gilded doves. She had once mentioned to a sponsor that doves were her favourite bird, a symbol of peace. Not only that, but the tiara was made to look like branches, with green jewels like olives ready to be harvested. In fact, all of the jewels she was wearing were green, to match the olives and complement the dress as her stylist had put it. And the dress. They had her in a rosy pink ball gown this time. It spun better than a tutu, with even more layers or tulle. It was perfect, everything the little girl inside of her could ever dream of. They were really leaning into the princess thing, and it made her happy beyond belief. The smile on her face was genuine, and everyone in the crowd knew it. She walked out from the steel doors, stage lights beaming from every direction as she took a seat. Caesar introduced her to the crowd, but all she could think of was music. She could hear it in her head, like she was sitting upstage while the principals danced. Like clockwork, he’d back straightened and her hands folded in her lap. She only caught the last bit of Caesar’s words.

“You really do look like royalty, sitting so poised like that. Do you know what people have been calling you?”

“What have they been calling me?”

“The smiling princess.”

He looked out to the crowd.

“Now folks, can you think of anything more fitting? Here she is in her royal gown, with a crown on her head, and the prettiest smile in the world. I can’t think of a better name for such a lovely young girl.”

“Thank you Caesar. I really do feel so lucky to be here and to have been received so kindly. My heart is truly warmed by the kindness you show me.”

“And look at that, such impeccable manners!”

His galavanting smile and raucous laugh shifted quickly to something of a pout as the crowd quieted and he took a more serious tone.

“Now of course, manners and sweetness are all gone in the arena.”

“That’s true. I will be completely out of my element.”

The crowd went quiet as Sylke formed her next words. She wondered if she should tell the audience the certainty of her death, how little hope she had for herself. But she decided against it. Instead, she focused on what she knew, the morals that she upheld and took comfort in.

”You know, I’ve been taught that the way to live a good life is to be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace. I know not how that will apply in the arena but I have no intention of abandoning my morals.”

“Such wisdom at such a young age.”

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes.

“We all know that the arena is deadly. Unfortunately, other tributes are not as kind as you are. But we wish you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The skirt rippled with her as she stood, walking of the stage with cheers sounding behind her. Misty was by her side immediately.

“That was good, you did good. A lot of sponsors are really loving the princess image, and that kindness, mercy, and grace speech really turned some heads.”

Sylke watched the rest of the show from backstage. Tributes came and went, each leaning into distinct personalities crafted by mentors, escorts, and stylists. She wondered how many were real. How many were total fabrication? And how many were what she imagined most of them were, exaggerations and oversimplifications, initially based on truth, but dramatised and amplified to make a good show. That’s what Finnick’s was. When he came on the stage, he had a big plastic smile. He acted arrogant, confident, but in a peacock sort of way. He had confidence in his own ability and his odds in the arena, and in the interview he missed no opportunity to flaunt it. And that was mostly based in truth. He did carry himself with confidence, and he did come off as arrogant when she first met him at the parade. But he was also compassionate, and that same confidence and security in himself allowed him to be wonderful at helping others, caring for the people around him that he trusted. It meant that he wasn’t afraid to step up and protect someone. And Sylke was sorely disappointed when she didn’t see that on the screen in front of her. That wasn’t Finnick, not all of him. But the audience loved it. They had no idea who he really was, and they didn’t care. They cheered and screamed with every toothy grin he flashed. They loved him. If he won they’d love him even more. He’d be their golden boy.

“You know they love him almost as much as they love you.”

She looked up and back to see the speaker. It was Cesare.

“What?”

“You hear the cheering? It’s almost as loud as when you were up there. Looks like the capitol found their prince.”

He slinked away again, with a smirk, like all he came up to do was tease her. But he was right. She wondered what would become of it all. She would die, and hopefully he would live. The capitol would lose their smiling princess. Would they mourn? What about him? If he died would they mourn him too? Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming backstage.

“Hey! They loved you out there!”

“They loved you too, princess.”

They began to walk together, with no defined direction, just aimless, something to do with their bodies as they chatted. Finnick noted how regal her dress was, prompting her to revel similarly to the night of the gala at the way she felt wearing the dress. And again, he watched. She spun, the skirt flying up and revealing layer upon layer of fluffy tulle, and he felt a pang of desire to be the one spinning her, the knight in shining armor to her princess. And then he wondered if it was an act. If even around him she was playing up the princess thing, like he would with his playboy image for the cameras and other tributes. But he didn’t do that with her. Did she?

“Are you really like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“When you’re on stage you’re essentially no different than how you are now. Is this just who you are?”

“I-I guess. I never really thought about it.”

They walked without words for a moment. He began to wonder if he made her uncomfortable.

“I try to be honest with everyone. I know my team likes to have a certain image, but when I get to talk I like to just be me. I’d like to think I’m always like this.”

Always a princess he thought. That’s just who she is.

“You’re not like that though. You were acting different on stage, I could tell. Did they tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m becoming a capitol heartthrob.”

He rolled his eyes, drawling though his words with palpable disgust.

“My escort said I’ll get more sponsors if I do all that flirty stuff.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. There was a question she hadn’t the courage to ask, but he knew it, and answered before she asked.

“It’s not totally fake. But it’s icky, like they’re whittling me down into… it’s not something I’m not, but…”

“It’s not all of you.”

“Yeah.”

Stylists and escorts were moving about, organising the tributes to go into the stage for the finale. As Sylke was summoned to line up, Finnick pulled her close just as he had at the gala and whispered in her ear.

“I wanna come to your room tonight. Will they be asleep by midnight?”

Victoria would likely pass out the moment they returned to the apartment, and Misty always took a sleeping pill at eleven. Cesare would be asleep too, getting a good nights rest before the game in the morning.

“Yes.”

She was pulled away, and soon after so was he.

That night, she asked for fish as her supper. It was similar to what was served at the gala, tender and perfectly seasoned with a certain luxurious richness that she adored. The meal was quiet. They were always awkward, but usually Victoria, or failing that Misty, would try to make conversation. The table was quiet this time. Cesare was eating with vigor, trying to get as much down as possible before the game. Sylke was eating slowly, simply trying to enjoy all of it. Victoria had said all there was to say, now it was just a waiting game. As the night progressed everyone but Sylke went to bed early. She didn’t enjoy silence. Much more pleasant was to have something to listen to. Sometimes that would be bird songs and wind making melodies in the rustling flora, other times it was an orchestra unpacking and tuning as the crowd settled in. Whatever it was, she always preferred noise over silence. And so when all was quiet and everyone was asleep, she closed her bedroom door and found music to play. It was on the vanity, a turntable next to a selection screen. She chose something soft, classical, to remind her of home. She closed her eyes and for a moment she was back home. All was well, all she needed to worry about was the crowd, the choreography, that was it. Music had a power over her, to bring her anywhere in the world so long as she could hear it. Her feet moved across the floor, gliding and stepping with the music she knew so well. The piece was short and coming to an end. Her eyes came open a long time ago, but they didn’t actually look anywhere until the final note, when she would smile and bow to the audience. But of course, the roaring applause wasn’t there, and she was back in reality, back in the cold and grey apartment room. But she had enjoyed her escape, short as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed the midnight was nearing. She made her way to the door and kept an eye peering out the peephole. Right on time, she saw him walking, turning to check behind nearly every step. She laughed to herself at his caution, knowing full well that if she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t look back once. He approached the door and gestured to knock before stopping. He stood pondering a quieter method for perhaps a second before she opened the door. They tried not to make noise until she had closed the bedroom door again.

“You're playing music?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say much for a moment. In the end it was Sylke that spoke first, voicing the question that had stayed at the front of her mind for hours.

“Why did you want to meet tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you again before tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding and reciprocating his sentiment entirely. Another song faded out, and a lively waltz took its place.

“I never actually got to teach you to dance.”

“I’m still interested.”

She stood up come her place seated on the edge of the bed and placed her hands behind her back.

“Watch my feet. You know how a waltz goes 1, 2, 3…”

He nodded and stood next to her, mimicking her every movement. She took two steps and he did the same. She brushed her leg forward and he followed. With each step she counted, one, brush, turn, two, step, three, step. It took him a moment to pick it up, but with time he was able to find the rhythm and it became easier with each turn.

“Great. Face me,”

They kept their hands behind their backs, not wanting to complicate with arms yet.

“Just waltz, and I’ll be going backwards to match you.”

He nodded again and hesitated before stepping forward. She stepped backwards. When he brushed his leg forward she moved hers back. When they turned it switched. Once again, it slowly began to make sense to him.

“That’s great! Do you want to try arms?”

“Sounds good.”

They assumed a familiar position, with his arm on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. Only this time there was significantly more distance between them. Finnick was too focused on his feet to notice, but to Sylke took note of it, how as much as she loved to waltz with him, she did miss being closer. As the moved clumsily about the floor, she smiled and giggled both when he struggled and when he succeeded, finding joy in anything and everything he did. He almost didn’t hear her laugh with his laser focus on taking the right steps. At some point it seemed to get easier for him, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Upon seeing this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gently took hold of his chin to turn his face to hers.

“Look at me. Or to the audience, but we don’t have one of those.”

Just as he was told, he didn’t take his eyes off her. His steps were a bit messier as a result, but they smoothed over in time. Looking into his eyes, she found herself smiling even more, something he mimicked with a grin of his own. It wasn’t the plastic one from the stage earlier, it was different. Genuine. They could hear the song getting closer to its end. Finnick took the hand that was clasped with hers and placed it on her waist as the final phrase played.

“Dip?”

She smiled again, and that was all they needed for a response. He lowered her, with one hand at her waist and the other moving to support her back, keeping his head by hers and his eyes never leaving. The music went quiet before transitioning into something softer, slower, clearly in 4/4 as well. Neither of them moved once again. Her smile had gone slightly, now just doe-eyed and looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. Sweet and slow, they moved closer until their lips met. The kiss was tender, slow and yet fleeting as they pulled apart. With foreheads pressed together, both of them donned massive smiles, eyes thinner than crescent moons. Finnick brought them back upright but kept them close. He didn’t want to let her go, perhaps not ever. He didn't want to think either. The future was too dangerous to consider right now. They mostly stayed cuddled on the bed for the rest of the hours they spent together, talking softly because they were too afraid to fall asleep. The conversation was not nearly as lighthearted as other ones. The game was tomorrow, and it weighed heavily on both of their minds. They talked about what it meant to take a life. Sylke didn’t like to think about it, but with the game so near, she could not pluck the thoughts from her mind. To kill someone, to rob them of their life.

“Have you ever…”

“No. No, never. I don’t think I want to either. I can, I know I can, but… I don’t know. It’s that or die.”

She admired his drive to live. It was amazing, an extension of that security in himself she figured. She was choosing to die, but she couldn’t blame him for choosing to kill instead.

“I don’t think I could. It takes so much, so much that I don’t have. I envy you Finnick. You’re strong and capable and-“

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I-no, but… don’t whittle it down like that. You’re not wrong, I have skills that serve me in the arena. And with those particular skills you’re not as strong. But that’s not the whole story. Sylke, I’ve only known you for a week or two but I’ve seen how incredible you are. I’ve seen your kindness and your optimism and your care for the world around you. Those are skills too, even if they don’t serve you in the arena.”

By the end or his little speech, there were tears making their way down her face. There was quiet between them once more, but not out of awkwardness or lack of things to say. She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. His hand almost automatically moved to her head to play with her hair, something of an unconscious attempt at comforting her. The flow of tears came to an end. He tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was still wet, with doe eyes and little trace of a smile. He’d never seen her look so sad before, and he promised himself to do everything in his power to keep that beautiful smile of hers around.

“You’re wonderful.”

He pressed his lips to hers, this time quicker, more passionate. Time seemed to fall away, and for just a moment so did the music. When they pulled apart she nuzzled into his neck, taking comfort in his arms securely around her. She felt safe here, like the danger of tomorrow could never reach her here. Some amount of time that neither of them bothered to note passed, and the glare of the clock seemed increasingly present. They were tired but still too afraid to fall asleep. Not here, not like this.

“I should go.”

“You need to go.”

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, all was still. Slowly, they rose, making their way to the apartment door. Before she could reach for the door, he took her hands in his and made a point to look square in her eyes.

“There’s gonna be a bloodbath at the cornucopia tomorrow. You should run, but don’t go far. I’ll find you once I get some weapons. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She didn’t need to ask anything more, all was understood. He knew her odds, he knew of her intention to die quickly, this was it. He would kill her in the morning, quickly, painlessly, end her suffering before things could get worse. She opened the door and gave him a melancholy smile. As he began to walk away she spoke quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Better with you than anyone else.”

[jovialmoonprincess]

AU: Journey to Redemption (Part 4)

First Part. / The Winter Ball / Champagne Problems / Frost and Thorns

Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader 

Summary: Y/N, a young idealist in Panem, dreams of making a difference in a post-war society. As the winner of the prestigious Plinth Prize is about to be announced, a mysterious woman unveils a grim fate for Coriolanus Snow, Y/N's nemesis. Offered a chance to alter destiny, Y/N must navigate her conflicting emotions and intervene in pivotal moments to prevent Snow's descent into darkness. The story unfolds against the backdrop of complex relationships, past connections, and the challenges of a changing world, as Y/N grapples with the responsibility of shaping an unexpected destiny and challenging the very fabric of fate.

Warning(s): None, enemy to lovers, back in time, destiny, Snow being in love, Snow being Snow, THIS ONE IS SO SHORT SORRY

A/N: I'm on Wattpad now too, click here to read and vote there: WATTPAD

Frost and Thorns

Y/N observed the white rose with meticulous attention. The thorns, now trimmed, led her to contemplate how long it would take for that flower to wither completely. She had just returned to her apartment after the ball, immersed in palpable fear. Everything she had experienced that night seemed like an illusion, a theatrical representation of something she could barely comprehend. Unraveling the mysteries of Snow became a complex and increasingly frightening task.

The fear that enveloped her was not just personal; it was the apprehension of falling into the enchanting webs of young Snow and, thereby, living a life of misfortune in a country on the brink of ruin. Y/N felt the urgent need to document her feelings, a kind of emotional testament. The notebook, once forgotten on the shelf, became her confidant, a repository for her most intimate thoughts.

With the pen touching the paper, Y/N sought not only to understand the complexity of her emotions but also to leave a trail in case something unimaginable happened. Her younger siblings, Orion and Aria, would be the recipients of her words, and she wanted them to know, even in her absence, the events that surrounded her.

The responsibility of teaching her siblings about the treacherous nature of the Hunger Games and the cunning of the Capitol rested on Y/N. Despite their creative souls, Orion and Aria needed to understand the dangerous game society forced them to play. The analogy of the Capitol as a snake, to be handled with caution, was part of the legacy Y/N tried to impart.

Her thoughts turned to her mother, a figure who, after the death of her father, seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She performed her maternal duties with excellence, cooking, caring, and ensuring the well-being of her children. However, Y/N perceived a spirit once free, now contained, as if her mother were constantly immersed in dark thoughts. The vision of the Capitol seemed obscured by veiled conformity, a resignation to an inescapable reality.

The Academy, with its weekday study routine, represented a necessary escape for Y/N. Weekends were sacred, a time to return home and witness the rapid growth of Orion and Aria, an experience that, for her, was simultaneously beautiful and distressing.

Y/N had never feared her own death, but perhaps this absence of fear destined her for a mission that others would avoid. However, she hoped this mission would not be in vain. Her persistent determination was driven by the need to reunite with the mysterious woman, to understand the dark details that eluded her comprehension. The devastating vision of Snow haunted her, but without the context and order of events, the truth remained elusive.

Who was the girl confined in the visions? Why did Sejanus not emerge in her premonitions, and why did Coryo's gaze seem devoid of life? The need to unravel these key moments became an incessant quest, an infinite puzzle challenging her mind. Was it possible to find the answers before it was too late? Uncertainty hung in the air, and Y/N, immersed in these mysteries, was determined to uncover the hidden truths before time caught up with her.

Several days had passed since the reaping. Y/N, sitting on the couch, absorbed in a book for a few hours, decided to take a break and turn on the television. She soon realized that the first act of the Hunger Games was about to begin. Still reeling from recent events, she felt unfocused, as if she were out of tune with reality. The luxurious apartment, all the comforts provided by the Capitol, now seemed like a tangible reminder of her submission to the system. However, she knew she shouldn't complain, as, in a way, she believed that the State and the Academy had an obligation to provide uniforms, food, and accommodations.

As she watched the screen, she witnessed many people being confined in a cage, with a girl in a colorful dress and a boy in red standing out. As the camera zoomed in, she identified Coriolanus and the girl, the same one seen in her vision, being kissed by Coryo through a cell. The scene clicked, and a wave of understanding hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. If the vision was real, the information about Coriolanus becoming a dictator would also be real. Absorbed in her thoughts, she decided to call Tigris, certain that her friend would share her shock.

"Hello? Tigris?"

"Y/N!! I was about to call you."

"Are you watching the Games?"

"Absolutely. Did you see the reaping? Everyone is talking about it."

"I don't like watching the reaping," Y/N admitted, having given up on following this event years ago. It was not something pleasant to witness.

"Y/N," Tigris seemed a bit cautious, "Coryo's tribute is the girl from District 12, Lucy Gray. She's from a circus family. She put a snake in the mayor's daughter's dress, and after that, he attacked her, but she put on a show. LITERALLY, she started singing and dancing, and now the Capitol can't take their eyes off her."

It was a lot of information to process. Y/N wanted to know more.

"Wow. And how did Coriolanus end up in a cage?"

"I don't know, but yesterday, I encouraged him to get close to her. She must be confused, scared, and angry. It seems like her name was deliberately placed there."

Y/N approached the TV slowly. She noticed the rose behind her ear, the same rose resting on her nightstand. Coryo and Lucy Gray seemed like an odd couple. It would be a funny scene if they weren't in a monkey cage.

"For sure," replied Y/N, ending the conversation. She said goodbye to Tigris and returned to her thoughtful book. Her stomach was churning; fear for Panem's future haunted her, and the sight of Coryo so close to another girl stirred a strange feeling. Holding hands, smiling, it was a strange scene for her, even though she was used to seeing the boy being friendly with everyone. Something about Lucy Gray made her feel a flutter in her stomach. Her disposition, beauty, irreverence, friendliness, courage, and the ability to capture young Snow's attention.

A week later, Y/N found Sejanus in the academy corridor and sat beside him.

"How's the mentoring going?" she asked, her interest genuine, knowing that mentoring for the Hunger Games was not something Sejanus embraced with enthusiasm.

"Not very well."

"Why?" she inquired, aware that there was more behind Sejanus's downcast expression.

"Marcus... he was my classmate before I came here. We weren't exactly friends, but we weren't enemies either. One day, I caught my finger in the door, and he grabbed snow from the window sill to try to reduce the swelling. He didn't even ask the teacher; he just went and did it. And now I'm his mentor. And he's going to win. Anyone would be happy with him."

Y/N was speechless in the face of the emotional burden Sejanus shared. Acting on instinct, she hugged him, seeking to offer some comfort in the face of the distress they shared. Two minutes passed, and the hug seemed to alleviate some of the tension in Sejanus.

"Sejanus, we need to end the Games. We need to free Panem," Y/N whispered, paranoid that someone might overhear. "All of this is madness."

"I know. What are we doing? Putting children in an arena to kill each other? It's wrong in so many ways. Animals protect the young of their species, don't they? We do too. We try to protect the children! It's part of us as human beings. Who really wants to do this? It's not natural!" Sejanus vented, and for the first time in a month, Y/N felt the urge to just listen. Normally, it was she who freaked out about this. She felt lighter. "It's cruelty. It goes against everything I believe is right in the world. I can't be part of this."

"Don't do anything you might regret later, Sejanus. We're few against many. We need a plan, something smart. We have to think calmly. Don't be impulsive. Don't put yourself in danger. The Capitol is treacherous." Y/N spoke as if she were uttering a small prayer for Sejanus to absorb every word. It was advice she repeated to herself as a motto.

"Y/N..." Sejanus began. There was no time to finish the sentence because Coriolanus interrupted the conversation.

"Satyria is waiting for us for the seminar, Sejanus," said a stern Snow, noticing the proximity between Sejanus and Y/N. "Hurry up." Coryo didn't even look into Y/N's eyes. He seemed resentful.

The tension in the air revealed the complicated dynamic between the three. The unspoken words echoed through the academy corridors, and Y/N knew that, in the face of uncertainties and imminent dangers, her decisions would shape the fate of Panem.

"JERK." Y/N was furious about how the boy had treated her earlier. "Snow always falls on top of everything. Maybe it's time for him to fall, stumble, and hit his face on the ground to learn not to be so arrogant." Y/N murmured to herself, lying on her bed, replaying the morning scene.

_____________________________

Hi guys, I'm finally on vacation from college. I will be able to update here more frequently. I will post the next chapter when we reach 60 likes on the fic. And also thanks for the votes <3 I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT SORRY I will compensate in the next with a lot of FLUFF.

Taglist: @shari-berri@h-l-vlovesvintage@tea-bobba@daenerysqueenofhearts @commanderfreethatdust @glxzillx

TAGLIST AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!!

[i-yap]

Can I request a Platonic Yandere Batfamily x female reader. I wanted to to read some thing because it was my birthday 5 days ago.

Batfamily is known for being manipulative and sneaky. Y/N an adult (18)living in Gotham,and have lived there since child hood. Your life is good well and even became a professional figure skater,until you meet them.

Summary: Reader is a professional figure skater. The batfamily goes to the skating rink to see one of Bruce's friend practice skating,that's until they first meet reader. The batfamily and reader are introduced by Bruce's friend. Ever since then they couldn't get reader out of their heads,they even went as far as stalking and kidnapping reader and bringing them back to the mansion.

Happy belated birthday!! Ive never written yandere...or the whole batfam x y/n so I'm sorry if this doesn't meet your expectations.

warning- yandere , stalking, pain, torture, just plain old yandere stuff okay? manipulation mind games , cold, hunger

there is mention of cas, steph, duke..idk them that well yet

Yandere Batfam x reader (PLATONIC ONLY)

Woosh , there you go, as graceful as a swan . A warm beauty on a sheet of white. In this cold cold city , you were like a ray of sun, the pride of this city. Ever since Bruce had brought you home for a private dinner to further discuss his generous funding to the sports facilities in public schools where you volunteered to teach underprivileged kids for free, the family hadn’t been able to pull their eyes away from you.

 On the rink and outside it. Be it your home, your training centre or you grocery shopping. You were used to eyes on you. After all you were the star of the city! And in a city that only ever produces cynical, evil and cruelty …maybe it was foolish to assume you would shine so bright forever.

It was Dick who suggested bringing you in. He found tim’s cameras that were strategically placed..well everywhere, and then Damian’s stash of drawings of an ice princess that strikingly resembled you and finally when Jason beat up the reporter that criticized your latest performance.

Bruce regretted not making sure to hide you better, but after the cards life had dealt his family, they all deserved to have this one good thing in their life. After everything they have given this city, this world, why cant they have just this one gift as repayment.

After all, its not like they want to hurt you right? At least not until you misbehave that is. They want to protect you. This city turns the brightest star the dust, good people cant survive here. It was best they take you before you hardened or broke. But even as they patiently explained all that to you, you refused to cooperate . So stubborn, so strong, on and off the ice. No wonder the family was so drawn to you!

Even as they brought you an entire ice rink to put shows that you missed so much, you continued to complain. Well maybe a couple days without food would help? Don’t worry Tim got soft and brought you your favorite snacks. Hm..still not cooperating. Maybe a couple days sleeping on the ice will help, you do love spending all your time there. Don’t worry, Jason came to cuddle you.

When Alfred was not allowed to interact with you, that’s when you finally broke. With no one else to give you company, the lonliness got to you. Suddenly the Cheery sunshiney dick Grayson seemed much more funny and lovely to be around. And Bruce acted like the father you never had.

 All these years you trained so hard for attention you never got as a kid, and now you had it ! at least that’s what tim told you..and why would he lie? He always looked out for you, helped clean your wounds when you were punished. And Jason! Why would he want to hurt you ? after everything that has happened to him, would he really hurt someone else? Someone as nice as dick could never be cruel and Damian? You mean your little baby? The kid who called you Ummi and drew you pretty paintings? No you must have lost your mind. This was your true family and its good you finally realized that!

( I COULD FINALLY PUT IN ALL MY TAGS MUAHAHAHHA)

[thecinematicalgorithm]

Can't Catch Me Now: Lucy Gray and Katniss Story-Tie Analysis

I have not been on Tumblr much over the past couple of years but with the coming film The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes on its way I knew I'd be dusting this old page off. The Hunger Games series is one of my all-time favorite book series and the films are some of my favorite book-to-film adaptations, so to say I am pumped for this upcoming movie is an understatement. And to top it all, I have been obsessing over Olivia Rodrigo's new song Can't Catch Me Now, which if you've read the prequel, you'll know that it perfectly ties Lucy Gray's story to Katniss' journey. As always I want to warn anyone who might read this that spoilers for the upcoming film and Suzanne Collins' novel lie ahead. Also fair warning, this is super long cause I don't know how to be concise.

In preparation for the prequel film I have re-read TBOSAS and I am currently re-reading the original THG series (I am currently on Catching Fire, if anyone cares to know lol). I am also planning on a movie marathon the week of the prequel release, which I fully intend on subjecting my boyfriend to as he recently admitted he has only ever seen the first (and I simply cannot let him continue living life with no clue on how wonderful Peeta Mellark is). With that said, I have had a few thoughts, which I wanted to share before the release knowing that I will certainly have more thoughts after I have seen the film.

Honestly, I am going to be ridiculously obsessed for the next several weeks. I also know I wrote a couple of analyses on the differences between Snow and Katniss and the early games vs. the later games, which I will re-post so people can read them if they haven't before.

Enough chit-chat though let's get to it.

The parallels between Katniss and Lucy Gray are quite extensive and beautiful despite the characters being in many ways polar opposites. There is the saying that "Lucy Gray Baird is a performer made to hunt while Katniss is a hunter made to perform". This is a great summary of their overall character profile, and while I may at some point do a breakdown of Lucy Gray vs Katniss, I first want to write about how Lucy Gray and Katniss' story are far more connected than some might have realized. Part of the realization for me actually came while listening to Olivia's new song.

The chorus of the song reads as:

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze

My footsteps on the ground

You'll see my face in every place

But you can't catch me now

Through wading grass, the months will pass

You'll feel it all around

I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere

But you can't catch me now

No, you can't catch me now

In terms of Katniss, I think it's been obvious for sometime that Snow particularly despises Katniss because she is a strong reminder of Lucy Gray Baird. She is a girl from District 12. She stood out during her Reaping, and swept the Captiol off their feet during her time in his city. She not only sang in the arena, but she sang a young girl "to sleep" with the very song Lucy Gray sang Maude Ivory to sleep. She used the Captiol's berries to save herself and Peeta, just as Lucy Gray used the Captiol's snakes to save herself. She wears a Mockingjay pin, the very bird which Snow undoubtedly relates to Lucy Gray and rebellion (far before it truly became the symbol of rebellion).

Katniss may not be like Lucy Gray in personality, but to Snow, Lucy Gray's spirit must seem very much alive in Katniss, and just as he tried desperately to rid the forests surrounding District 12 of mockingjays, this is one Mockingjay he wants to destroy.

The second verse of the song goes:

Bet you thought I'd never do it

Thought it'd go over my head

I bet you figured I'd pass with the winter

Be something easy to forget

Oh, you think I'm gone 'cause I left

This verse summarizes Snow's mindset at the end of TBOSAS, as we know he thinks he is safe from the threat of Lucy Gray. Her games have been erased, as time passes "there will be a vague memory that a girl sang in the arena" and even that too shall pass. However, where he goes wrong is when he fails to understand the deep connection and love the other Covey share for Lucy Gray. Despite not seeing how the story ends for them, or even having a solid explanation of Lucy Gray's ending, we at least know that Lucy Gray and her songs were not wiped from existance. Whether they believed, as he supposed, that the mayor was responsible for Lucy Gray's disappearance does not erase their connection to her.

Snow may have chosen never to allow love to control him again, but he did not erase the love those children had for Lucy Gray. Her music became all they had left of her so you can bet they continued singing them and sharing them, even if they had to do it on the down low. (I also share the common fan theory that Maude Ivory is the grandmother to Katniss Everdeen, and I'm hoping the film confirms this). Either way, Katniss clearly learned those songs from somewhere, which for Snow would have been a siren's call from the great beyond that Lucy Gray did not pass with the winter and she was not as forgotten as he had hoped.

Then we go into the bridge of the song where Olivia sings:

You, you can't, you can't catch me now

I'm coming like a storm into your town

You can't, you can't catch me now

I'm higher than the hopes that you brought down (repeats)

This is my favorite part of the song. Not only is it moving and emotional but it ties so much of Lucy's story to Katniss'. Both girls were like storms in the Capitol, sweeping the people and the nation into their stories so they could not help but be invested. Both were near impossible to control, despite Snow's best efforts, and both had a spirit of hope greater than Snow's ability to crush the highest of hopes. There's also something deeper, which intended by Olivia or not, makes this song perfect for the series. The lines "I'm coming like a storm into your town" and "I'm higher than the hopes that you brought down" is sung from the point of view of Lucy Gray. Both bring to mind images of the rebellion in THG: Mockingjay. The rebels stormed into the Capitol and their hope was higher than the hopes and lives which Snow had already destroyed in an effort to quell the rebellion.

However, just like Katniss becoming the Mockingjay, or the symbol of the rebellion, Lucy Gray had become her music. She was the anthem of the rebellion. If Katniss inspired hope, Lucy Gray was that hope. The hope of freedom. Dead or not Lucy Gray was finally free and her song reflects that truth and the rebels clung to it. Dead or alive they would be free.

Furthermore, Lucy Gray's song not only led to the freedom of Panem, but it also led to the freedom of Peeta's mind from the lies and brainwashing inflicted on him in the Capitol. Remember, Katniss always associated Peeta with hope until Snow brainwashed him. And if you'll recall, Peeta's first true breakthrough in regaining his memory of Katniss and his love for her was when he heard her rendition of "The Hanging Tree". Lucy Gray not only stormed into the Capitol but she stormed into Peeta's muddled memory, and her music was higher than the hope Snow had brought down. Lucy Gray's song led Peeta and Panem into freedom, and it helped to restore Peeta as the hope and love of Katniss' life.

Lastly, the ending of the song greatly foreshadows Katniss' journey:

There's blood on the side of the mountain

It's turning a new shade of red

Yeah, sometimes the fire you founded

Don't burn the way you'd expect

Yeah, you thought that this was the end

Of course, we all know the end is far from over for Snow. As Lucy Gray told him once, "The Capitol show isn't over until the mockingjay sings". Katniss' story ends with her singing Lucy Gray's lullaby to her children. Katniss was the fire founded by Snow, and despite his best efforts, it didn't burn out or even burn the way he expected it to. The line "the fire you founded" is also perfect to describe Snow and Katniss' dynamic because in many ways Katniss was only a threat because Snow threatened her. It's the same dynamic as Harry and Voldemort's. If Voldemort had left Harry and his family well alone, Harry never would have been the perfect enemy to thwart him. In the same way, if Snow had left Katniss and her friends and family well alone, she may never have come for him the way she did or joined the rebellion.

Interestingly enough, if Prim's name had never been called not only would the rebellion most likely have been avoided, but Lucy Gray's music may very well have been truly forgotten. Assuming Katniss is the only one left who actually remembers the songs, we know from reading the books that Katniss does not like or want to sing simply because they are painful reminders of her father. If Prim had never been threatened and Katniss had never been a contender in the games she would have been subjected to a life of mining and may have let the songs fade from memory as she lived out her miserable slave life in District 12.

But as we know that's not what happens, and instead the memory of Lucy Gray and her music is forced from Snow as Katniss is forced onto this journey proving the memory of Lucy Gray is very much still alive except this time Snow can't catch her now.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far! Please share your thoughts if you'd like!

[nytb]

White Never Suited You

Click Here first <3

Nostalgia was never this sour. Y/N's arrival in Germany came at a cost - her short lived love story left behind in Ibiza - everything was bound to change.

The cold breeze that gazed Y/N's skin, the empty apartment she once shared with Laura, all the memories started to kick in. This time, the memories tasted sour; feelings of sadness and anger burning deep in her stomach. The heartache shifted - it was no longer just about Barcelona.

Behind the scenes, preseason hit the Catalonian hard. Her physical state was out of this world, but her focus - nonexistent.

The lack of commitment Y/N showed wasn't well perceived by the German club, they had put their ass on the line for her; now she had to deliver.

Doubting Y/N's professionalism backfired quickly - the Germans lifted their first trophy after beating Arsenal in their preseason tournament. A victory that was taken as a symbol of how Eintracht Frankfurt, they were ready to compete for big things; European trophies.

What they failed to see? Her quick trips to the land of the sun - Y/N took every opportunity to see her Catalan love.

For the most part, said trips didn't affect Y/N's performances. Eintracht Frankfurt was second in the German league, top of their group in the Champions league. The best part? Y/N was the top goalscorer in both competitions and her best friend - Laura Freigang - followed suit, topping the assists she delivered game after game.

Y/N was ruling the world - in an Eintracht Frankfurt shirt - something that a while back was implausible.

Quickly enough, cracks started to show as the Catalonians relationship created its own foundation - it soon crumbled. The fear of commitment hidden in Alexia's eyes; who would have thought that such heartbreak would follow.

The daily FaceTime calls became weekly check ins. Their night time rituals were nonexistent. The constant holiday planning out the window. Having a tight schedule might have been a good excuse - but not for Y/N - the Catalan star was adamant in keeping her relationship, their break up was inconceivable.

Missing Alexia lead Y/N to Barcelona; an impromptu trip, an unannounced one.

Showing up to the Ciutat Deportiva an hour after training ended, Alexia was surely still there - the woman always put an extra shift in.

Seeing her practice free kicks, going on solo runs towards goal, Alexia was in her element. The sparkle in her eyes, Y/N was smitten once again.

"Didn't see you there" Alexia approached her lover "Gimmie 10, I'll get cleaned up" Little did she remember, Y/N loved Alexia in all states, sweat included. Quietly, she made her way into the locker room, following Alexia, making sure nobody else was on site.

The sight of her body, all the curves shining, her hair wet and loose. Y/N was turned on - who wouldn't be - drenching herself in water, Alexia's shower no longer mattered. Now, it was just them, standing together, holding each other.

Magical moments followed, even Alexia's fear of commitment wasn't enough to stop her - the love they felt for each other was undeniable.

A connection people would die for. A relationship that was soft and rough at the same time. Calm with it's own storms. Caring and forgiving. A relationship people dreamed of.

Interrupting the fun - Patri walked in before Y/N's hunger for Alexia could be soothed. "Sorry Sorry" the midfielder excused herself "Wait, Y/N?" now she was confused.

Y/N's old teammates knew that Alexia had something going on, but they were sure that this Catalan love story had ended back in Ibiza. They might have been inseparable during their holiday, but Alexia was never a fan of long distance relationships and everyone knew that.

Not wanting to put salt in the wound, they stopped talking to Y/N - Imagine your exes friends reaching out 24/7, not fun huh? - so they didn't. They kept their distance, watching from afar. They imagined that Y/N's heart would be torn to pieces, but that moment - it was unexplainable.

"Who else would it be?" Y/N laughed, oblivious of the situation. Behind her, Alexia looked at Patri with pleading eyes, hoping that her teammate wouldn't blab, wouldn't sell her out - and a loyal soldier she stayed, betraying Y/N in the process - laughing at Y/N's question, diffusing the situation.

Not thinking much of it, their evening plans continued. A romantic dinner in Y/N's favorite restaurant. Luckily for Alexia, she hadn't stepped foot in that place with her new side piece.

Talking of a possible future, Y/N filled Alexia in; Fc Barcelona were moving to sign her once the season ended. The lack of a clinical winger showed and Y/N was the perfect fit.

Not sure of Alexia's feelings on the matter, Y/N inquired "I don't get it? Aren't you happy that I might be back soon?" a possibility that months ago, Alexia would have died to hear, but now: it sounded like a nightmare.

"I am, I..I didn't expect it" she answered, showing uncertainty, she still tried to hide it "I guess white never suited you" she laughed it off.

Playing the whole thing down, dinner went as planned. Making out in the uber on their way to Alexia's place, time hadn't stopped for them.

Alexia had ran to the bathroom to freshen up, but Y/N; she made her way to the bedroom and what she saw was unforgivable.

Alexia's side piece laying there, wearing lingerie, posing with rose petals around her. It was Y/N's nightmare. A woman she once described as the love of her life - betraying her - in the worse way possible.

In the other room, Alexia wasn't aware of the situation, a surprise for both parties; a parting gift from Patri. She was the only one that knew of Alexia's side piece surprise, yet she kept it secret. Betraying Y/N had a limit and Alexia reached it. Patri couldn't - wouldn't - allow her captains betrayal to go any further.

Running out of the apartment, quietly, Y/N made her way to Patri's apartment. She couldn't see the full picture, but surely - her friend turned sister - would be in her corner. Little did Y/N know, Patri showed no surprise when she broke the news to the midfielder.

Feeling betrayed from all angles, Y/N was out for revenge. What minutes before felt like heartache turned to anger and who better to relieve it than Mapi.

Alexia's best friend, a person that Y/N found attractive from the moment she laid eyes on her. Leon was the only person that made Alexia feel insecure when it came to the Catalonians relationship - the only person that could break them.

That night, anger won. Y/N's hunger for revenge, biting down on the defenders shoulders as Leon pleased the Catalonian to no end. Leaving scars behind that only Alexia would recognize, scars that Y/N had once left on her body.

Revenge was sweet, until the sun came up.

In Mapis bedroom, the defender didn't question her luck. She had lusted over Y/N since she met the Catalonian - who wouldn't.

Quietly putting her clothes back on, Y/N didn't realize that the defender was awake. Was it regret that she felt? Maybe.

Y/N was unreachable, whatever the defender had tried in the past had failed - and as usual - the defender was quick to put 1 and 1 together.

This unbelievable night was only revenge to Y/N. Mapi's dream was only a means to an end for the Frankfurt star; hurt Alexia in any way possible.

[maxiemumdamage]

If it wasn’t clear I finally read Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

And I’m…mystified? By the criticisms of it which I had already seen plenty of before reading the actual book. Most complaints were about 1. pacing, 2. the POV character being a whiny brat/already evil, and 3. the overdramatic nature of everything. I’m not even gonna touch on that last thing, because people have always said it about the Hunger Games and it’s never been as true as they want it to be (the “Baby Bomb” in Catching Fire and Reaper’s moment with the flag come to mind, but there’s plenty of examples).

But like…I saw complaints that it took too long for the plot to pick up, but I was enthralled from the beginning. The ending was very harried and kinda rushed, sure, but that was also sort of the point — Coriolanus has a breakdown in the woods and in doing so goes past the point of no return with Lucy, so he returns to the Capitol and becomes the dictator we all know. It might've felt more jarring if I hadn't known that was how it would end, but...we all knew going in there was no way Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray Baird would run away and live in the woods together. Because before we ever knew Coryo, we knew President Snow. We knew where he'd end up.

I feel most of those complaints were rooted in the fact people always expect the Hunger Games books to be about...the Hunger Games. They view it like they're in the Capitol, like the Games themselves are the entertainment and focus and point of the story. They’re not, even when we’re reading about the creation of the Games as they became what they were in canon. The Games were never the point — it was about the people and world that created them. I went in expecting a post-war climate, and the saga of how a clever, manipulative young man worked his way into power, and as such I was immensely satisfied. This is about Snow becoming the cruel person we know, with some of his worst qualities being there from minute one and others taking time to be built or reinforced.

My biggest gripe is the romance. Yep, SnowBaird, the huge draw for every TikTok Songbirds and Snakes movie fan, just felt so out of place to me when it happened in the book. Lucy just got out of a romantic relationship that bit her in a truly spectacular fashion. But ok, sure. She's desperate, pretty much completely alone, and Coriolanus is very kind and supportive in his actions and she can't hear his self-serving and obnoxious internal monologue.

Coriolanus, though...I never understood why he seemed to be in love with her. He has a grudging almost-respect for Lucy Gray that he doesn't give anyone else, but I figured that was more because she demonstrated her cunning and talents where he could dismiss most others. She’s a performer, she’s got talent and poise, she’s forced to win people over (like him! (it’s not. his life never depended on it in the violent and final way hers did)).

And maybe it was necessary, that Snow thinks he’s in love. Because it’s at the core of the possessiveness, the jealousy, that colors so many of his interactions with Lucy. He has to be in love, so we can assign meaning or justifications to his actions. And then he tidily betrays everyone he supposedly loved, and it becomes clearer he’s only ever cared about himself.

And in general, I rarely understand romantic plots. And especially here, the point isn’t romance. It’s trust. Trust Coriolanus fails to extend to practically everyone, and it’s ultimately why he can’t make a better choice than to run back to the Capitol and Gaul.

[jillsvalentinex]

Thea Greene was already well known within her district. At the early age of ten, she was known as 'the heart of district four'. Not only was she liked among her peers for her angelic personality, her angelic voice was what made her a mini celebrity. Every weekend the district would go out to her family's bar and watch her perform. It was the only thing that made them forget about the dreadful Hunger Games, and although District four was grouped in with the other career districts, that didn't mean the district wanted to be constantly reminded of them, and young Thea saw the gloom take over the people. 

The blonde always had a love for music as her mother and father owned a bar where people could perform to entertain the guests. It was her source of happiness, her salvation. It only became more of a need when she began performing. The sounds of the cheers and guests clapping was somewhat overwhelming, but the feeling that came with it was wonderful, almost addicting like some sort of drug. Her parents weren't initially fond of their youngest child risking their life by refusing to get any type of training for the Hunger Games since they didn't want to lose her, but they soon came to terms with it once she began helping at the bar. Her brother, Jace, on the other hand, wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to learn a few tips if he would eventually get picked to participate in the games. 

The two were polar opposites, the only thing connecting them together was their family and similar appearance. Jace was known as the typical boy from district four; knew how to fish, how to swim really well, and trained for the Hunger games. Thea was known as the delicate performer; a die hard music lover, helped people carry heavy bags in the streets and spent her days swimming in the ocean. 

Even when the Greene's suffered the loss of their parents, it seemed life never stopped for the two siblings. Thea kept the two up-float with the bar, and even when he turned nineteen, Jace kept training, building up his strength in order to help out his younger sister in any way he could. 

The moon shone through the clouds trying to cover it up in the sky. A soft gust of wind passed by, sending a shiver down Thea's back as she was locking up the bar for the night. Once saying goodbye to her friend and co-worker, Annie, she turned around and began walking back to her house while getting showered with praise by numerous audience members from the bar.  

"Amazing performance as always, Miss Greene!" An older man, seemingly around his mid 60's with greying hair and a few wrinkles on his face, called out as the blonde walked by. 

She turned her head over her shoulder, showing a bright smile on her face as she gave him a nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Mr Morgenthau!" She said before she turned her body around to face the wrinkled man. "How's your grandson? He doing alright?" She asked. 

"Oh, he's doing just fine. He's ready for the games tomorrow, I hear." 

Thea stopped in her tracks, her eyes slightly widening in surprise. "He's volunteering?" She asked, earning a curt nod from Morgenthau. She then flashed a bright smile as she began to turn back around to continue walking. "Well, lets hope he wins." She then waved goodbye before she continued walking through the dimly lit pathways to her house.

It wasn't long until Thea arrived in front of her house. It was cramped in between a row of houses, looking identical to the rest with its smooth walls that were painted white and the stone roof. The lights seemed to be off with the curtains drawn from the inside. She stepped forward, unlocking the white door and stepping inside, switching the light switch on beside the door. "I'm home!" She called out to see if there would be any response and for a few seconds, there was only silence until she heard loud, rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. A loud thud came shortly afterwards and as the blonde was just hanging up her jacket, she turned her head to her left, watching a fairly tall boy with messy blonde hair flap his arms up in the air.

"Jesus, where the hell have you been? It's past curfew." He said as he began walking towards her, and into the kitchen. 

Thea rolled her eyes once she finished hanging her coat up and followed her brother into the kitchen where she watched him cook up some fish. "I was working at the bar. And don't use that curfew shit on me, you and I both know that only worked when mom and dad were here." 

Jace turned his head over his shoulder, sending a quick glare to his younger sister before turning back around, chopping off the head of the large fish. Thea turned away quickly once hearing the loud thud of a butcher knife slam down on the wooden table. "The reaping is tomorrow, Thea-" 

"Yeah, which is why I decided to go down to the bar. The district deserves at least a bit of good entertainment before they watch their loved ones possibly get picked to go into the Hunger Games and watch them die." Thea argued, cutting her brother off before he could finish his sentence. 

"And who said it has to be you to give them that?" Jace asked as he continued cutting up the fish.

"I did, the people did. If I stopped performing at the bar when mom and dad died, we'd be on the streets. The amount of people who come to the bar because I'm there is the reason why we have money. At least act like you're grateful." 

Jace seemed to stop suddenly, his right hand that held the sharp butcher knife resting on the edge of the kitchen counter. A harsh sigh escaped Jace's mouth, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "I am grateful." He shook his head before continuing, "I just don't like the thought of my little sister going out at night to perform for a crowd mostly full of old men." He stated before he went back to chopping up fish. 

"well, when you put it like that, I understand what you're getting at." Said Thea as she walked forward, leaning on one of the kitchen counters beside her brother. "But it isn't like that. If you actually come down to the family bar, your worries would be put to rest. I promise you, all the audience does is cheer and clap after a performance. So stop the worry flurry and make me some food." She then patted Jace's shoulder before pulling herself off the kitchen counter, earning a quiet chuckle from him before he turned back to the fish. 

Sleeping was always difficult for Thea, even at an early age. It wasn't that she was afraid of the dark, she has walked through the darkest of alleyways and not once has she ever been afraid, but it was rather the silence that came with it as she'd lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find even the littlest of noise that her mind could focus on. It would get extra bad after a night of performing. The amount of whiplash she'd get after a night full of music, and cheers, and laughter, to when it ends is overwhelming to say the least. She wanted it to be loud, but not so loud that it would overwhelm her, but she didn't want it to be quiet to the point where she'd be focusing on her own breathing just so her mind wouldn't wander. 

She'd often result to the little spinning nightlight in her room. When on, it would light up the entire room and it would slowly spin around. On top of it was a picture of her, Jace, and their parents standing on the beach with bright smiles on their face that would cast onto the ceiling, spinning slowly as the device would turn.  It sent out the sound of twinkling stars which would usually send the girl off to sleep in no time. With her head rested on her arms that were behind her head as she laid down on her bed, she stared up to the ceiling, watching the picture of her family spin around slowly with the accompanying sound of twinkling entering her ears. 

She closed her eyes, listening to the twinkling sounds that went around the room. A soft smile rose on her face as her mind wandered off, imagining the sight of multiple stars sparkling in front of her. 

The world around her almost seemed peaceful. Her mind was free from the worry of getting chosen at the upcoming reaping, some girl from the training academy would probably volunteer like Morgenthau's grandson, she thought. She'd no longer have to worry about the possibility of getting chosen, she's already eighteen which is the oldest you can be to get chosen, so all she had to do is pray that she wouldn't get chosen, or even better some girl volunteers and she'd have a peaceful life like her brother. 

Everything will be perfect . . .

[insurrection-if]

MC seems complex to me, can you share snippets of MC's backstory with us?

Here's some listed out set and variable elements of their past that are rather major (a.k.a. often referenced). It's unnecessarily long, so I'll place a cut to make it easier for those uninterested to continue scrolling along. d( ´ �� ` )

Life Events

Youth

Mockingbird lost their mother at a young age. Her body was unrecovered from the HAWKS raid that ended her life.

Mockingbird began to manifest elements of their gift shortly before the passing of their mother. A hungered sense for nearby gifted, a craving for their blood. Their mother expressed excitement towards this sign of their inheritance, a starkly different reaction than that from their father.

Following their mother's death, it became clear that the settled home life their parents intended for them was not a viable option. If not born within the United States, Mockingbird, their father, and a family friend known to them as Uncle Fletcher immigrate to the United States to start a new life. If Mockingbird was born within the United States, the three flee from Mockingbird's hometown to escape the attention brought on by their mother's death. Below is a drafted snippet for an immigrant Mockingbird:

Depending on their region of origin, Mockingbird will have vague yet established familial (not quite personal) connections to certain prominent Gifted who appear now and then within the narrative. Their mother was a revolutionary, (and former borderline Gifted supremacist), eager for recruits and allies after all. An Eastern European Mockingbird would be heavily familiar with the reputation of Dollmaker, a Mockingbird from Southern Africa would have been on the radar of the Patriarch Tshabalala, Mockingbirds from Oceania may have sooner stumbled upon Osvaldo, and so on. Nothing horribly game-changing, but it allows for more flavor and roleplay (esp. in relation to certain characters).

Mockingbird had a mostly nomadic life within the United States, rarely settled in one city or town for long in order to keep a low profile. This kept them from having many long-lasting relationships from their youth outside their household.

Elov, whether a friend / rival / victim / crush / distant acquaintance, was a rare exception due to his fellow Gifted nature and the violent manner in which their paths together came to an end. Mockingbird's first use of their gift came from Elov and it was, to sum it up, messy and horrific. It also entailed their first personal encounter with the CROWS.

Following their father's second marriage, Mockingbird obtained the greatest period of normalcy and settlement in their life. Achieving a newfound respite in the comforts and attentiveness of their new home, Mockingbird was able to finally experience the simple luxuries of living like any other human, unafraid of death or capture around every corner.

Adulthood

Upon reaching true adulthood, Mockingbird heads out to Los Angeles to pursue their ambition (variable) and, perhaps, address the call of their gift. They are accompanied by Uncle Fletcher, their father too ailed by his recently declining health to join them. Their stepmother remains behind as his caretaker.

Below is a drafted introduction to the reputation of Los Angeles and its Gifted residents:

In Los Angeles, one's choice of career greatly impacts the type of life and crowd Mockingbird finds themself within. Mercenaries might establish a budding found family beneath the command of Captain Kaminski (or remain solo in their career), police officers may be anchored by their novel friendship with Officer Izan Garcia, circus performers will be surrounded by a troupe of fellow veiled Gifted, teachers will have a CARDINAL attending their classes right under their nose, and so forth. It also influences which CARDINAL they encounter face-to-face prior to their capture by the HAWKS, and this will be harkened back to in some instances.

It will be a distinct choice for Mockingbird to either actively involve themselves with the underground Gifted community of Los Angeles or keep far from it. Involvement will influence their degree of knowledge regarding the CARDINALS (who very much target this community for recruitment) and how bright a spot they were on the radar of the HAWKS + be referenced now and then.

Regardless of their career or ambition, Mockingbird will be given options regarding their degree of indulgence towards their gift . . . a.k.a. how frequently they drank the blood of fellow Gifted prior to their time among the HAWKS. This blood would be sourced from their acquaintances - career / community involvement dependent - or from the (undisclosed) connections of Uncle Fletcher. This will influence Mockingbird's senses and responses to the (overwhelming) proximity of so many Gifted in the time to come and other flavor stuff. A drafted example being (during a Thespian Mockingbird's first encounter with Lempo):

Guardians

Mockingbird will have customizable attitudes towards their guardians ranging from being incredibly close to openly hostile. This is always a reflection of Mockingbird's side of the relationship. Different guardians may have clashing views with Mockingbird's variable conduct, ambitions, and principles but it will never override the love they have for them . . . even if Mockingbird may wish to have nothing to do with them / their memory.

Their Mother

Mockingbird has faint, few, and troubled memories of their mother from their most primary years. Though their parents were very much in love, their memories of her are largely from the absolute rockiest stage of their parents' relationship due to their deep disagreements on how to raise their (Gifted) child. It was a very tense time for their little family, and that tension never fully left even after their mother's death.

The memory of their mother is that of a strong-willed, passionate, tough-as-nails revolutionary who took immense pride in her heritage and was determined to instill that pride in her child. And yet . . . sometimes her pride became arrogance. Sometimes her strong-will became bullheadedness, her passion became recklessness, and her strength became a justification for taking on her greatest fears alone. She was a woman who gave all of herself to her convictions, for her people and for you, and then paid the ultimate price.

Mockingbird's mother had no living relatives on her side of the family. She never acknowledged her relationship with her own mother as being horribly toxic and never managed to reconcile with her brother before his passing. She rarely spoke of either of them with anyone but Mockingbird's father.

Their mother heavily encouraged Mockingbird to embrace their gift as their blood right. She insisted that they were special and destined for great things. She wanted them to live as freely as possible, to become as powerful as they could become, and to escape the shadows their kind has always been suppressed within.

Their Father

The primary guardian of Mockingbird has always been their father. Before their mother's death, their memories of him are that of a soft-spoken man, introverted and inquisitive with a knack for appeasing strangers and blending into crowds.

After his wife’s death, it was as though something in him had broken and was never quite fixed. Cold silence, vacant stares, and a bitterness towards the world became accessories to his contemplative nature. His trust in all people (with exception to his child) dwindled down to string. His gentleness became largely reserved for his child alone, replaced by a direct sharpness for all others whenever his genuine nature peeked out from behind his polite mask, and his former meekness was reforged into a paranoia anxiety towards every shadow he faced. It is this anxious nature that made his overprotectiveness at times cross the line into overbearing.

Nevertheless, his love for his child is unquestionable. There is quite possibly nothing they can ever do to make him turn his back on them.

Mockingbird's father came from a considerably large family, more so in terms of extended relatives, who were a distant but loving presence throughout his upbringing. He was essentially disowned by them as a result of his relationship with Mockingbird's mother, and he has since mourned the loss of them deeply and silently. In the end, he has never considered reconciliation with them since it would ultimately, and selfishly, risk the safety and happiness of Mockingbird. Mockingbird never has and never will meet any of them (unless one wishes to headcanon such a thing post-epilogue). Their awareness of this extended family lies only in old keepsakes maintained by their father which he never openly displays or comments upon.

I think I've shared this snippet before, but here's a drafted piece about Mockingbird's father:

Their Uncle

Other than their biological parents, Mockingbird was heavily raised by their family friend "Uncle" Ivo Fletcher. Born in Ireland, he became an ardent follower of their mother in her mission as a revolutionary and vigilante. He has, however, become greatly disillusioned towards her ideals in the present.

Uncle Fletcher, a Gifted ruffian, devoted himself to the security and health of Mockingbird for much of their upbringing, similar to a nanny and bodyguard rolled up into one rowdy and nostalgic secondary father figure. Fletcher did his best to keep the memory of Mockingbird's mother alive for them, candid and eager to share anything about the woman he once loved (much unlike their father).

Uncle Fletcher remained as a nearby guardian figure for Mockingbird in Los Angeles, a reliable pillar of support they could always seek out for any need, no matter how shady or risky it may be. Not one inclined to control those around him, he is a laidback presence much more suited for the explorative independence Mockingbird needs as a young adult.

Drafted examples of Uncle Fletcher trying his best to be a guardian to a young Mockingbird:

Their Stepmother

Wealthy and well-educated, she met Mockingbird's father in her youth and skirted around a romantic relationship with him up until he met Mockingbird's mother. Upon meeting Mockingbird, she found herself deeply sympathetic to the plight of their upbringing and formed a quick, deep fondness for them.

She has tried to be an influence that counters much of what Mockingbird had been taught in the past. She tries to lead by example with her kindness for all others, her altruism for those in need, and her hope for the future of the Gifted. She has done her best to offer them a comfortable life and continues her political activism for the Gifted however she can . . . more subtly after taking in Mockingbird, however, in order to lessen the attention she might draw from groups such as the OWLS or DOVES.

An only child, with both her parents long deceased, she very much considers Mockingbird, their father, and Ivo Fletcher to be her family in the present. Ivo has especially become someone dear to her, their budding romance rather covert and on a shaky pause as he assists Mockingbird with their life in Los Angeles, the two not wishing to 'rock the boat' too much with anything open or concrete between them for Mockingbird's sake.

Below are drafted examples of a young Mockingbird and their stepmother: