I'm into a lot of stuff = marvel, ladybug and chat noir, south park, umbrella academy, bnha, steven universe, it, scary stories to tell in the dark, star wars, Disney, the magicians, voltron, the venture bros, scooby doo, supernatural, I am not okay with this,
Hey, Spitfire! Try not to kill your brother ahead of time!
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Looking for Ursa right after being banished had some...wildly unexpected results. One: Zuko actually found her. Two: she wasn't alone. Three: leaving her children behind in order to protect them was, apparently, just something she did.
Looking at the bright side, Zuko now had a three-year-old younger brother to look after. Looking at the dark side, Zuko now had a three-year-old kid he needed to parent while also keeping him a secret from his father because—may Agni help him—the Fire Lord would have to go through Zuko first if he dared to even look at Lu Ten II.
(AKA an AU in which Zuko is a good big brother and doesn't want another kid to grow up like he did.)
Dick: Ok good I wasn’t sure because of how you were snoring but it’s already 6:13am and I’m kinda hungry and I was gonna make my own breakfast but then I remembered what happened last time with the bacon and I thought I probably shouldn’t use the stove without adult supervision so I tried to do a bowl of cereal but well long story short I thought it would be super easy to pour the cereal while in a handstand but actually it was pretty hard and now there’s milk all over the floor and I can’t find the mop and I didn’t want to bother Alfred but you said it was okay to talk—]
Dick: Ok good I wasn’t sure because of how you were snoring but it’s already 6:13am and I’m kinda hungry and I was gonna make my own breakfast but then I remembered what happened last time with the bacon and I thought I probably shouldn’t use the stove without adult supervision so I tried to do a bowl of cereal but well long story short I thought it would be super easy to pour the cereal while in a handstand but actually it was pretty hard and now there’s milk all over the floor and I can’t find the mop and I didn’t want to bother Alfred but you said it was okay to talk—]
i can't do this anymore guys. dostoevsky never wrote this. please. can anyone hear me. if you do proper research the earliest version of this quote is from like a 2010 facebook quote with a magenta flower on it. it's gotten so bad that it's even credited to him on goodreads but nobody can source where he wrote it because he fucking didn't. i can't keep seeing this in your web weaves. dostoevsky the author of crime and punishment did not in fact write "you were destined for me. perhaps as a punishment". that is just simply not true. please nod and tell me you understand
I don't care if they're the highest grossing movies on planet freakin Earth, you say "Avatar" and everyone and their mom still thinks that bald little bitch and his magic cow. Soggy James can keep his millions, he'll never have the streets.
Up for a promotion at work and they’re gonna look me in the eyes and ask how much money I want and I’m going to say $105k which is so fucking reasonable of me. It’s a 10% raise, I am not asking for the moon. Im gonna champ my fat cigar between my teeth settle back in my chair and say honey it’s a hundred and five big ones or we got ourselves a problem. And I’m not the kind of fella you wanna be having a problem with. As a matter of fact we’re here today cuz I’m a solutions guy, ain’t that right, toots? One oh five, we all stay alive. It’s that simple.
If you EVER think Anthony Head is anything less than an angel then you’d best remember that I have always been a huge fan of his and we’ve always had a little contact over the years and he heard I’d come out as Trans and was having a hard time and that I was kind of sad that the photos I had from conventions with him were of me with long hair and no binder and they were all signed to “Sarah” and so he invited me to spend the day with him at his farm and he picked me up from the station and we just hung out and had lunch and he insisted on paying and took loads of photos and had them printed on photo paper the same day so he could sign them to Jay, along with other photos of him as Giles and Uther and he literally spent five hours chatting with me and got all of the pronoun stuff right every time and then he dropped me off at the station, gave me a final massive hug, waved me through the ticket barrier and insisted I message him when I got home so he knew I got back safe. (More HERE)
I keep seeing this reblogged intermittently, despite it being over a year old now, and I guess Mothering Sunday is as good a day as any to give an update, so here goes: Since this happened we kept in touch, and he and his wonderful partner Sarah have become my surrogate parents, in fact, I just finished talking to Sarah about the mothers day present I got her today.
Tony and Sarah have spent the last year supporting me in every imaginable way. They are there for me whenever I need them and it is amazing to be part of such a wonderful family, even if it’s not by blood. Plus, I’ve never had anyone as proud of me as Anthony is, I won an award for my performance poetry, and he put photos of my trophy on his facebook and twitter pages, raved about how incredible it was and wouldn’t stop telling me how proud of me he is.
They are always there for me, if I need advice, or just a coffee and a chat. And I am so proud, and so happy, and so amazed, to know them, to be loved by them, and to love them. What I thought was a one-off event became the beginning of a new chapter in my life. They have become my family, somehow, and I wouldn’t change that weird turn of events for the world.
. Coriolanus Snow x fem reader: where she’s in the games and she sings safe and sound by Taylor Swift to her fellow tribute, while their dying (like how katniss did with rue) and snow is just in awe and can’t take his eyes off the screen. (Maybe you were part of the capital and was thrown into the games because of your family?¿)
Hi darling!
I love requests like this. This was absolutely so much fun! I hope you enjoy: A Sweet Lullaby
Request: Coriolanus Snow x fem reader: where she’s in the games and she sings safe and sound by Taylor Swift to her fellow tribute, while their dying (like how katniss did with rue) and snow is just in awe and can’t take his eyes off the screen.
Pairing: Coriolanus x fem!reader
word count: 1.9k
Warnings: death, violence, blood, cannon-violence, hunger games level violence
~~~~~~~~~~~
You had been separated for hours. You hadn’t seen him since the ambush at the outer walls from the stringer district tributes. But you promised to him that you’d find him.
And you never broke a promise.
The quiet dread that settled over you was only interrupted by the occasional crackle of a nearby camera and the distant sounds of movement. You moved quickly through the shadows, your senses on high alert. The rustle of leaves underfoot, the chirp of insects hiding in the cracks of the ruined stone—it was all you could hear as you searched desperately for Lior.
“Lior?” you whispered, barely daring to speak above a breath.
No answer.
The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You moved closer to the broken stage of the amphitheater, your footfalls light but hurried. It felt like you were being watched, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on you from every direction. The Capitol’s cameras were always there, capturing your every movement. But right now, you didn’t care. You had to find him.
“Lior,” you called again, louder this time.
A soft gasp echoed through the rubble. You froze, instinctively dropping to your knees as you peeked around a pile of stone blocks.
There he was—Lior, lying crumpled in the dust, clutching his side, his face pale and twisted in pain. Blood stained his shirt, the dark red of it spreading across his abdomen, his hands weakly pressing against the wound. His eyes were wide, glazed with fear, as though he hadn’t yet realized the depth of his injury.
“No,” you whispered, a pang of panic shooting through your chest. “No, Lior…”
Your heart twisted in your chest. You reached out to him, but before you could even touch his shoulder, a shadow moved in the distance, a figure stepping from the edge of the amphitheater.
It was one of the other tributes. A tall, lanky boy from District 4, grinning as he approached, his weapon drawn. He’d been waiting for the right moment.
Lior’s eyes widened in horror, the realization of what was coming too late. You felt a hot, burning rage bubble up within you. Not just for him, but for all of them. All of the tributes who had been forced into this arena, some of them too young, too innocent, too unwilling. You had already seen too much death to just stand by and let it happen again.
The boy took a step forward, aiming his spear at Lior, and before you could think, your body was already moving.
You threw yourself forward, grabbing a shard of broken stone from the ruins. The boy was too focused on his target to notice you, his face twisted in grim satisfaction, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
In one fluid motion, you launched yourself at him, the shard of stone gripped in your hand.
“No!” you screamed, swinging the jagged edge down with all the strength you could muster. The boy barely had time to react before it struck his throat, a sickening crack filling the air.
He gurgled, trying to scream, but the blood poured from his mouth and his wound, drowning out his last breath. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
You rushed to Lior’s side, your hands shaking as you lifted him into your arms. He moaned weakly, his head lolling against your shoulder, too far gone to help himself. You could feel the warm blood seeping through your hands as you pressed against his wound, trying desperately to stop the flow. But it was futile.
The arena was cold, and so was the reality of what was happening.
With one last look at the boy you had just killed, you turned and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but there was no time to think. The only thing that mattered was getting him out of the open, getting him somewhere safe, somewhere hidden.
You found a narrow gap in the stone, an old service pipe buried beneath a pile of rubble, half-hidden from view. It was dark and dank inside, but it would do. You pulled him inside, cradling him gently as you both collapsed to the dust and dirt.
The tunnel you hid in was cold and dark, but it sheltered you from the other tributes—though not from the Capitol’s ever-watchful eyes.
The cameras had found you. They always did.
You barely noticed.
All you could see was the boy in your arms, his chest rising in short, shallow gasps. His name was Lior, and you had sworn to protect him. But promises meant nothing in the Games.
His blood soaked into your hands, warm and sticky, pooling beneath him onto the metal beneath you both. A dark, growing stain on your already tattered dress. A reminder of your failure. An image that would never rid of your memories.
There was nothing left to be done. The knife wound to his stomach had sealed his fate, and now he shivered against you, his brown eyes wide with fear.
“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “I want my Ma…”
Your throat tightened.
He was only thirteen. A child thrown into this nightmare, just like you. But you were older. You knew better.
But wasn’t this what would happen to you one day? On the brink of death, your fear so cold it made you shiver, reaching out for your own mother?
The thought sent a sharp ache through your chest.
“You won’t be alone. You’re not alone,” you murmured, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “I promise. I’m not leaving you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Your voice was soft, cooing gently as you smoothed his hair back, as if you could soothe him, as if you could ease the pain that had already consumed him.
Above you, a camera whirred softly, capturing every moment. Showing you, and this moment, across every screen.
Far away, in the grand halls of the Academy, Coriolanus Snow leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped beneath his chin. The screen before him flickered, illuminating his pale face in the dimly lit viewing room.
The other mentors had long since stopped watching, having already declared the boy a lost cause.
But Coriolanus… he couldn’t look away.
Not from you.
You, with your torn dress—once a lavish Capitol gown, now shredded and stained with dirt. You, with your eyes too bright, too alive, too real for the arena.
He had heard the whispers about you before the Games began.
A girl from the Capitol, sentenced to the arena as retribution for your family’s betrayal. Your existence had been a scandal, a symbol, a warning.
A name once spoken in the glittering halls of the Capitol with admiration, fond smiles, and indulgent sighs. A girl of quiet elegance, always kind, always graceful. You had never belonged to the shallow vanity of the city’s elite, but that had only made you more beloved. Desired. A rare thing—someone from the Capitol with a genuine heart.
And now, you were an example.
A lesson in loyalty.
Your parents had been exposed as traitors. Not open rebels, but sympathizers—people who whispered the wrong things to the wrong people, who sent money and medicine to District families in need. The place where your family had come from a century ago. Their secret had unraveled like a loose thread, and you had been swept into the punishment alongside them.
A Capitol girl in the Hunger Games.
A symbol of what happened to those who betrayed the system, no matter their status. A statement loud and clear.
Not even the Capitol was safe from itself.
And yet, as Coriolanus watched the screen before him, he wondered if they had made a mistake in sending you there.
You weren’t breaking the way tributes from the districts did. You weren’t sobbing, screaming, clawing for survival with bloodied hands.
You were singing.
A soft hum left your lips, barely audible at first, as if you were gathering yourself, gathering the strength. Then, gently, you began to sing.
“I remember tears streaming down your face
When I said, I’ll never let you go
When all those shadows almost killed your
light.”
The room around Coriolanus faded into nothing.
Your voice was soft, trembling but sure, wrapping around the boy like a fragile shield. The song wove through the silence of the arena, carried by the hush of the dying light.
“Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You’ll be all right
No one can hurt you now.”
Coriolanus exhaled sharply.
The sound was haunting—too raw, too full of something the Games never showed. It was haunting, the way your voice wove through the silent arena, wrapping around the boy in your arms like a lullaby.
The way you held him, as though your touch alone could keep death at bay. The way your eyes shimmered, full of something raw and unguarded, even as you watched him slip away.
It was mesmerizing.
In the arena, Lior’s breathing slowed. His fingers twitched against yours, gripping weakly before going limp.
Your voice wavered.
“Come morning light…
You and I’ll be safe and sound.”
Then, silence.
Coriolanus barely noticed the way the room stirred around him. The way the professors murmured, the way the other mentors whispered, already spinning the moment into strategy.
He just kept staring.
You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream.
You only pressed a soft kiss to Lior’s forehead, then laid him gently against the damp ground of the pipe. When you rose, there was something devastatingly beautiful in your quiet grief, in the way you carried his loss.
But Coriolanus saw it—the shift in your eyes, the way you held yourself.
This was not the same girl who had been forced into the Games, trembling and wide-eyed on the stage. This was not the Capitol girl they had expected to crumble.
No.
You had become something else entirely.
Coriolanus’s grip tightened around the armrest of his chair.
He had seen tributes die before. He had seen them beg and bleed and break. But this—this was different.
This was something dangerous.
Because the way you sang, the way you held that boy, the way you refused to let them strip you of your humanity—it would be remembered.
Even now, the audience watching across Panem would not forget. The Capitol citizens who had once known you would whisper your name with something different in their voices. The districts would see you and know that even a Capitol girl—someone raised in luxury—could still hold compassion in the face of cruelty.
The Gamemakers had wanted a symbol of punishment. A reminder that even the privileged could fall.
Instead, they had created something else.
A spark.
Something too compelling, too raw, too alive to be crushed beneath their heel so easily.
Coriolanus knew how the Game worked. He knew what they would do to you now.
The Gamemakers would see the whispers forming, the way people leaned in when you were on screen, the way the Capitol citizens watching at home softened, the way the districts might see hope in the way you carried that boy.
They would turn on you.
They would make sure your story ended before it could take root.
