Suzanne Collins was really pissed when she saw all those edits of Snow as ‘daddy’ and whatever other bullshit after the TBOSAS movie, sat down at her laptop again and started typing “let’s see if you get the message now when HE KILLS 47 CHILDREN”
My mother theorizes that Snow killed his wife with a makeup compact full of rat poison which is absolutely brilliant and I'm pissed I never thought of that.
Does anyone think about how the other covey members , went with Snow and Lucy Gray to the meadow , to the lake? How he was the man that helped their Lucy Gray survive.
Then one day they find out Lucy Gray is missing , but Snow is also gone. So maybe the ran away together?
Then they see Snow in the capital , rising to power. They watch as he becomes president. And they watch him take 2 of their districts children every year to kill them. And then they watch as their Lenore Dove is also killed because of Snow.
And then they’re finally able to travel again, but at the cost of what was their home for 75 years. And there in the new town , he plays his fiddle. And sees at last how Snow falls.
summary: Coriolanus Snow appreciated her discipline, her silence, her flawless memory. What he didn’t expect was the way she started to anticipate him. Mirror him. He never asked her to become his right hand. But she did. And the worst part? He lets her.
A/N: Hiii, so finally the last part, I apologize in advance; English is not my first language and I may have made grammatical or other types of mistakes. i want to know what you guys think about this final chapter. Let me know!!
4.4k words
Part 1 Part 2
The office felt different that Monday. Not just because of him — or maybe entirely because of him and what happened last weekend. The air seemed sharper somehow, everyone quieter, as if some invisible rule had been set and no one had told you what it was.
You tried not to look for him, but your eyes had their own habits.
He was there, of course — already at his desk, posture perfect, expression unreadable. No trace of what had happened lingered on his face. For a moment, you almost convinced yourself you had imagined it all.
Almost.
Your chair creaked softly as you sat down, and his gaze flickered up, just once. A glance so brief it could’ve meant nothing, but your pulse didn’t believe that. You forced your attention back to your screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, typing nonsense just to keep them busy.
Some part of you wished he would say something. The rest of you prayed he wouldn’t.
Hours passed like that — the two of you orbiting around the same silence, same glares, *pretending* it meant nothing.
Meetings came and went, people drifted in and out, and still the air between your desks felt like a held breath no one dared release. Every sound — a stapler, a page turning, the low murmur of voices — seemed sharper, smaller against the weight of what wasn’t being said.
By noon, you’d almost convinced yourself you were fine. Almost.
Until Cassius appeared.
He wasn’t supposed to be there. The office wasn’t the kind of place that welcomed unannounced visitors, and yet there he was — leaning casually against the reception counter, the same easy smile on his face. His presence alone seemed to tilt the air.
He looked sweet and innocent and so foolish. You try to suppress a sigh and put on a casual smile, you have to be polite, he wasn't doing anything wrong, not that he knew it at least.
“I was around the area,” he said when he saw you, tone playful, unbothered. “Thought I’d say hi.”
He has a small bouquet in his hands.
He brought you flowers.
daisies and Snapdragons. Stupid daisies and Snapdragons. So HIMSELF.
For a moment, you just stared at the flowers — bright, fragile things that had no place in the sterile white light of the Capitol offices. Too soft. Too alive.
People glanced over from their desks, curiosity flickering like static, and suddenly you could feel eyes on you , his eyes, somewhere behind you, though you didn’t dare look.
You smiled. Because that’s what you had been taught to do.
“They’re beautiful,” you said, and your voice sounded polite, grateful, but it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Cassius grinned, pleased, as if beauty alone could fix the ache of everything unspoken.
“I thought they might brighten your desk,” he said lightly. “You spend too much time here.”
You wanted to laugh — not unkindly, but sharply, at how little he understood.
“This place doesn’t really suit flowers,” you murmured, still keeping the smile. “They don’t last long.”
He chuckled, missing the weight of your words. “Then you’ll just have to let me bring new ones.”
your smile fall but you try to not look like that comment takes your balance.
Behind you, a door opened. Quietly. The faintest sound — deliberate, not rushed.
You didn’t turn, but the air changed all the same.
Snow.
you didn't remember that his office door was closed, anyways you knew it was him.
Cassius noticed it too. His voice lowered it just slightly. “I should let you get back to work,” he said, stepping closer to hand you the bouquet. His fingers brushed yours, warm and clumsy, too human.
“Thank you,” you said softly, though the words tasted strange on your tongue.
He smiled, and left.
When you turned, he was there.
Snow stood a few paces away, a folder in hand, posture immaculate, as though he’d been standing there long enough to see everything but not long enough to be accused of watching. His eyes flicked from the bouquet on your desk to your face, then back again, the smallest tilt of his head betraying nothing and everything all at once.
“Personal deliveries during work hours,” he said finally, tone smooth and perfectly level, “—how efficient.”
You froze, just for a second. There was no edge in his voice, no raised brow or obvious reprimand. But God, he didn’t need one. The cool detachment of his words was sharper than anger could ever be.
“He just—” you started, then stopped. You didn’t owe him an explanation. Not for this. Not for anything.
Still, your voice came out quieter than you wanted. “It won’t happen again.”
He regarded you for a heartbeat longer, then set the folder down on your desk with a soft, deliberate thud.
“I’m sure it won’t,” he said.
The faint scent of his cologne trailed behind him as he turned away, walking toward his office. No further comment, no glance back. But the air he left behind felt weighted, like gravity itself had thickened.
You stared at the papers he’d left—signed reports, schedules, numbers. Ordinary things. But your eyes kept drifting to the flowers, their cheerful colors mocking you in silence.
You hated them.
You hated the way they didn’t belong here, the way you suddenly didn’t either.
And behind the closed door of his office, you swore you could feel him thinking about it too.
You finally set it on the corner of your desk, beside the neat stack of files waiting to be signed. It looked wrong there, an intrusion of softness in a world that demanded precision.
By midafternoon, your focus had begun to fray. Coriolanus was sending folder to your desk nonstop, lots of work that were total disposable and there was no need to do, you knew that, he knew that.
You fill everyone of them anyways, telling yourself it was just routine, that your heartbeat didn’t need to speed up for something as ordinary as this, but you couldn't help it, it felt like a test. As you end up with a folder an other arrives, and you keep up with that pace for hours.
He didn’t look up when you stopped in front of him. Not at first. His pen moved in slow, deliberate strokes, the scratch of it the only sound in the room. You waited, the folders balanced in your hands, your pulse counting the seconds.
Finally, his voice came measured, quiet, without looking at you.
“Leave them on the desk.”
You did, and saw some new paperwork waiting for you. The silence stretched, thin and taut. Outside the window, the city had already darkened; the office lights had that late-hour hum that only happened when everyone else was gone.
Everyone was gone. You were sure of it, and you could bet you heard someone mention the boss give permission to leave early.
You shifted your weight, clearing your throat softly. “It’s getting late.”
He still didn’t look up. “So it is.”
You waited for the dismissal that didn’t come. The clock ticked, steady and merciless. You could’ve left—should’ve—but something about his stillness pinned you in place. He was deliberately dragging out the moment, flipping through the papers like there was something new to find in each page, something that required you there.
Your fingers brushed the edge of the desk, a quiet, involuntary movement—half impatience, half restraint. The faint rustle of pages was the only sound between you. He wasn’t reading them, not really. You knew that. He was waiting—for what, you couldn’t tell.
Finally, he set his pen down. The soft click against the desk made you flinch, though his tone, when it came, was perfectly even.
“You’re free to go,” he said.
But you didn’t move. Neither did he.
The words hung there, strange and hollow, like they weren’t meant to be taken seriously. He glanced up at you then, briefly, and that small, cool flicker of his gaze felt like a test. You opened your mouth to say thank you, or good night, or anything at all—but his attention had already drifted back to the documents.
You lingered another second too long. Long enough for him to notice.
He exhaled quietly, not quite a sigh. “Or do you intend to stay?” you could swear it sound like a teast.
You straightened, caught off guard. “No, I just thought….”
He looked up again, and that was all it took to silence you. His eyes caught yours with a precision that felt surgical. “Then go.”
But even as he said it, his tone contradicted the command, unreadable, but laced with something that wasn’t dismissal it was more like a bet. Something that made you hesitate
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, in one fluid motion, he stood—tall, composed, gathering a few loose sheets into perfect order.
“You’ll finish those first thing Monday,” he said, voice low, measured. “I expect them on my desk before noon.”
“Yes, sir.”
It slipped out automatically, too formal, too practiced. His gaze lingered on you again—sharp, assessing—but he said nothing more. Just turned toward his office door, pausing for the briefest moment before speaking one last time, almost as an afterthought:
“Lock up when you leave.”
Locking up wasn't your job, he had someone specifically hired for that, of course he probably sent them home early too. You lock up at any rate because you didn't even know what your job or workstation was anymore.
The next entire week was like that, quiet punishment wrapped in routine. lots of useless paperwork, endless insignificant tasks, and non important stuff. Of course you didn't care about being covered in work, you care about that work was pointless, it was wasting time. You hate wasting time. he hated wasting time.
By Thursday, the tension in your shoulders had started to ache. By Friday, even your pen moved slower. And by Saturday morning, when you found yet another stack of useless reports waiting on your desk, you decided you were done
so this saturday you didnt think twice when a plan came up, after all, those papers weren't a big deal and any intern could do them, which meant you could have them ready in a couple of hours if you did them at home after going out.
You didn’t even bother to ask Snow if you’d take the work home, you had made it before and there had never been a complaint.
You almost smiled at the thought as you shut down your computer, no more stupid tasks, the clock blinking past nine. The office was dim now, lit only by the soft amber glow of the desk lamps and the faint shimmer of city lights spilling through the glass. It was the kind of night that didn’t belong to work — quiet, heavy, almost kind.
For once, you’d let it belong to you.
Or at least, that’s what you thought when you reached your bag taking the last things before leaving.
Because that was when you heard it — his voice, low and sharp in the stillness behind you.
“Leaving early?”
You froze.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried — smooth, deliberate, like a blade drawn slow.
You turned, hand still on the doorknob. He was standing by his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled, the pale light cutting across his face. He looked composed, of course he did, as if he hadn’t been sitting there in the dark, waiting.
“It’s past nine,” you said, trying for casual. It didn’t land that way.
He hummed, a sound that might’ve been agreement. “And yet there’s still work unfinished.”
You bit back a laugh. “The reports can wait until Monday.”
“Can they?” His tone wasn’t mocking — it was worse. Mild. Controlled. “Or do you think the company runs on your schedule now?”
“I can finish the rest on Monday,” you murmured, half-hoping he would answer, half-hoping he wouldn’t. “or before monday, in my house.”
He did. “You’ll finish them now.”
That made you look at him. Really look. He met your gaze this time, calm and steady, but there was something in his eyes—something unreadable, something almost… possessive.
“I have plans for tonight.” You felt the sting of it, the deliberate push. He wanted a reaction. He always did. “I’ve done everything that matters,” you said.
His gaze lifted then, sharp and unflinching. “Not everything.”
Something in your chest tightened — not fear, not quite. Just that familiar pull he seemed to summon without effort, the one that made air itself feel thinner between you.
Your throat went dry. “Then maybe you should be more specific,” you said, testing the waters.
The only sound was the faint hum of the lights, the slow turn of the clock above his desk. He looked at you the way people look at things they’re trying not to want — or trying not to destroy.
When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped, steady but quiet enough that you had to strain to catch it.
“I shouldn’t have to be.”
That shouldn’t have felt like anything. But it did — too much. It lingered in the air between you, curling through the space like smoke, heavy and hard to breathe.
You were the only one who understands him, you two work like gears of the same clock.
You tore your gaze away first, because someone had to. “You’re being unreasonable,” you managed.
He exhaled, slow, a ghost of a laugh with no humor in it. “And you’re being careless.”
That caught you off guard. “Careless?” that sound more offended than you attempts
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to look like a challenge. “You think I don’t notice when you stop paying attention? When you rush through things just to be done with them?”
You didn’t know if he was talking about the paperwork anymore. You weren’t sure he did, either.
You straightened your spine, forcing steadiness into your voice. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m not so sure you do,” he said.
There was no anger in it. Just something else — colder, quieter. Like he wanted you to prove him wrong.
Your grip on your bag tightened, ready to go.
The silence that followed felt like a test. You could’ve walked away, you could’ve said something sharp and final. But instead, you found yourself asking,
“What do you want from me?”
For the first time, his expression shifted — not much, but enough to show he hadn’t expected the question.
When he answered, it was with a calm so careful it almost sounded gentle.
“I want you to take this seriously.”
But his tone betrayed him. It wasn’t about work. It never was.
You gathered the folders into a neat stack, the gesture deliberate, almost defiant. “I think we’re done here.” your tone so passive and polite that it was aggressive.
He didn’t stop you — not with words, anyway. But his gaze followed every movement, burning into the air between you. You could feel it, like static against your skin.
“Are we?” he asked quietly.
The question made your fingers still for just a second. You hated that it did. You hated the way your pulse jumped.
You lifted your chin. “Yes,” you said, calm and sweet. “We are, I have plans tonight.”
He leaned back in his chair, that small, measured motion of someone who already knew the ending but wanted to see how you’d get there. “cancel i need you here.”
Your pulse fluttered. Your lips part but nothing comes out, not knowing what to answer, so you nod, not knowing if smile sweetly or get scared by how busy and firm he was being.
you take a sit in front of him, reorganize the papers to start working on them, and finally after long minutes you can talk again.
“You don’t,” you said — careful, controlled. “You don’t need me.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I do.” just impossibly composed, the kind of calm that left no room for refusal.
“Snow, it’s late,” you tried again, softer this time. “You should go home too.”
“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to the papers. “When you’re done.”
You froze. The words weren’t cruel, but they landed like a lock turning in place.
You wanted to argue — to say something sharp, something that reminded him you could leave whenever you wanted. But the way he said it… it didn’t feel like a command. It felt like a tether. one you didn't mind to not undo.
The scratch of pen against paper filled the silence. Time blurred — minutes, maybe hours. He didn’t leave. He didn’t even pretend to.
Every time you looked up, he was there — behind his desk, coat still on the chair, sleeves rolled up, reading something he’d already read twice.
By the time you set your pen down, the clock had slipped past midnight.
He finally moved, closing the last folder with precise care.
“Good,” he said simply. And somehow, the quiet approval hit harder than anything else he could’ve said.
You nodded again, slow, the air between you thick with things you didn’t have the courage to name, and before you could answer his voice take the silence away.
eyes still fixed on you, the corner of his mouth almost — almost — tilted upward.
“See?” he murmured, voice dipping. “I told you I needed you here.”
You hated how it made your stomach tighten, you hate that he knew you chose to stay instead of leaving like you should have. Because you knew it wasn’t the work keeping you there anymore.
He stood then, the chair scraping lightly against the floor — that quiet, deliberate sound that made you straighten instinctively. His movements were unhurried, precise, every inch of control deliberate.
For a heartbeat, you thought he’d walk past you, head for the door like he always did. But he didn’t. He stopped beside you
“You did well today,” he said, and it should have sounded ordinary, routine. It didn’t. It felt like a line drawn and crossed in the same breath.
Your throat tightened. “Thank you.”
“you stayed,” he point out and keep talking “like a good girl”
you turn your head up in a hurry, almost to comprove You weren't hallucinating, that coriolanus was there, that he had said those words, he didnt let time to you to precess and keep talking.
He hummed, a low sound, eyes still on you searching, assessing, maybe something else. “You work better when it’s just us here.” then a little smirk lifted in his lips “oh dont give me that look, didn't you told me you needed motivation? A prize?”
Your pulse skipped, but you forced your expression to stay steady, professional. Whatever game he thought he was playing, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. little that you knew you were already pressing your legs together, and he was seeing it.
“You are my boss” You met his gaze and held it this time.
"Are my words too much for you?" he asked, the question a challenge.
For a second, you forgot to breathe, but your job came first more than anything else. "Even I have a little decency to know when to stop.” your tone is even, calm, a perfect mask. you stand from your sit and adjust your clothes.
a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Decency? He closed the distance between them again, his gaze locked on hers. "But I thought you wanted to be pushed. Pushed past your limits, past your decency. Isn't that what you asked for?”
you bit your lips, looking up to catch his eyes. “even if i ask for it is not your place to give it to me” a soft and all sweet whisper.
His eyes rove over her, a mixture of calculation and desire in his gaze "Don't be afraid of me," he murmured, his voice low and gruff. "You shouldn't be afraid of me. I can be... unpredictable, but I'd never hurt you. You know that, don't you?”
That throws you off balance,"I know,” your tone is soft and caring, "This is about you doing something without thinking.”
He takes another step closer, his proximity almost claustrophobic. "Are you accusing me of being impulsive? Of not thinking before I act?”
you simply nods.
Snow's jaw clenched, his expression hardening. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, his voice low and dangerous."I'm not some reckless child. I think. I plan. I calculate. and you do to, you do to and you stay here with me instead of going out with that spineless pathetic boy" He pulled you closer, his other hand coming up to her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“sir…” you could barely whisper
He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to keep my hands off you? To stop myself from giving in to my desire for you?”
"And what changed?” trying to force a little reason into both of you.
Snow's gaze darkened, his expression a mixture of hunger and frustration. "Everything," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're here. You're so close. I can feel you, smell you, taste you. And I can't have you."
“why?” you murmured, eyes fixed on him. Your voice was calm, but your pulse was anything but.
and that was it.
Coriolanus lets out a shuddering breath as he begins leaving a trail of hot kisses along the curve of your neck—his grip on you tightening even further as he murmurs against your skin “tell me to stop and i will”
you could just let a little hum, and god, coriolanus kisses were nothing like any other man has touched you, he was hungry, he knew what was doing, and even as hungry he seems he takes the right times and moments to savor, to enjoy.
“god, sir.” you said in a husky murmur.
"Again." The vibration of his growl made your chest tremble. He wants—no, needs to hear you say it again. To know that you're just as lost in this twisted game as he is; that you're just as addicted to the feeling of his touch as he is to the sound of your soft gasps and whimpers when he takes exactly what he wants from you…
Coriolanes lift you onto the desk.
your lips part slightly, looking for air, He takes in the slight parting of your lips, his gaze darkening further as his fingers tighten on your skin. He leans forward, his body settling between your legs, trapping you in place, leaven a little distance, enough to look at your face properly “I need you to tell me you want this..”
you didnt think twice, you didnt think once to be honest, and your head was already nodding.
“used your words sweetheart" his thumb tracing her bottom lip, his touch sending a shiver through her body.
“i want this, sir” you mumble feeling you just took a bad decision but anyways you could help it.
He leans in closer until his lips are hovering just above yours as he murmurs lowly, “i will take your shirt off” his tone way too controlled, so much that it make you feel so unexperienced.
it was both cute and maddening, he was being careful and you were getting desperate, he hadn't kissed you yet and you were almost a mess.
he takes out your skirt and you let an unintentional frustrated sigh, he smirk at that.
Snow took his hand to your hair, a little chuckles got caught in his chest, his grip in your hair tightened—almost painfully—as he pulled your head back to expose the lovely arch of your throat to his lips. His free hand roamed your body, his touch rough and urgent. "Say please, sweetheart. I might be feeling generous.”
you were done with games. “corio…” your tone was more a whimper than actually words.
A feral growl rumbled in Coriolanus's chest at your plaintive plea. He leaned down, nipping at your neck before whispering into your ear, "Beg. Nicely. Then I'll give you what you want."
“please..” you say so needy that you feel your cheeks going red.
"I could take you right now." He growls, his voice low and rough, sending another shiver down your spine. "Like this, with just your pretty little bra on and nothing else. How would you feel about that, darling?”
He lets out a sharp exhale—half amusement, half frustration. His fingers twitch before he finally gives in and pushes his pants down just enough to free himself.
he take his hand to your panties, that now have a wet spot way to notorious, you couldn't help but whine at his hot fingers rubbing your soaking panties, your eyes fix in his.
"Wouldn't you like that?" He murmurs gruffly as he spades beat of his touches and run his other hand through your hair as he guides you closer, "But no. Tonight I want my cock buried deep inside this pretty little cunt of yours.”
The next thing you know is that your underwear is in some part of the floor and he is aligning himself to take you.
Start soft and you can already tell he is big and you would regret this later, but as you think that his lips get their way to yours.
you focus on the kiss and moments later he is spreading up.
He could feel your shiver, your body trembling against his chest, and it made the possessive fire within him flare up even more. He was painfully hard, his body responding to the way you felt.
He let out a low, shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips even harder. "You feel that, sweetheart?" He growled, his voice hoarse. "You feel what you do to me?”
you just moan “yes”. and suddenly all you could do were soft and needy noises.
he keeps saying teasing things but you are way to lose in the feeling of him inside of you.
“corio” you whine when he hits the right stop
The way you cried out his name, broken and pleading, sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through him. Coriolanus let out a ragged groan as he felt your walls tighten around him—your body begging for release.
His thrusts turned erratic now—deep, relentless strokes that had you seeing stars within seconds. "Come on," he snarled between gritted teeth as one hand slid down to circle where you needed it most.
"Let go. I want to feel it.”
and you obey him, after all he was your boss.
you just stay there, numb by the feeling when you feel him moaning your name.
and then you may understand why this was a bad idea, and even more when he didnt pull off right away.
snow rarely falls in district twelve. but when it does, it always takes something, or someone away with him.
peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader. reader meets snow at the hob in district twelve. Written with blonde buzzcut white tee blue uniform and dog tag in mind ofc. In which reader peaks an unhinged corio’s interest post lucy gray… whether it’s a pure or toxic interest is up to u babe (but it’s meant to be a lil toxic okay).
“You can’t be here if you’re not gonna dance. Or drink.”
A flash of blonde swished towards you, so bright it seemed to reflect even under the dim light.
“excuse me?”
You chuckled as you stepped into the corner he was hiding in, hopping onto the stool and grabbing two pints of the watered-down beer before sticking an arm out. his arms remained crossed, eyes focused on into the bubbling liquid.
“Oh, come on, mr. peacekeeper. You’re off duty. I won’t tell.”
his lips thinned in an attempt to smile before he finally grabbed the glass from your hand. you took a sip, using the opportunity to scour the quiet man in front of you. peacekeeper, obviously. if the classic blue uniform and dog tag didn't give it away, the buzzcut identical to an array of people in the room certainly did.
Although, his hair was a brilliant shade of blonde, white, almost, forcing a separation from him and the rest of his comrades.
you set your cup down, wiping your mouth with the frilly sleeve of your dress. "so, why aren't you dancing?"
he opened his mouth, then closed it. you raised your eyebrows, chuckling lightly at his wooden expression. "well?"
He sighed. “I’m leaving this district tomorrow. I've been reassigned to district two," he finally spoke. "I'm here because they," he swiped a hand over at the men behind him, "wanted to celebrate. I don’t… care for it."
you blew out an annoyed breath, rolling your eyes lightly at his response. his eyes squinted, silently assessing the way you gulped down the last of your drink and the way in which you brushed your tongue over your lips.
"you're looking at this all wrong..." you paused.
"coriolanus."
you grinned, "...coriolanus."
you hopped off the wooden stool, patting down your fluffy skirt. "you think they have bars like this in district two? you think they have beer, music, and dancing like this over in that fancy district?"
"well, I assume-"
"Well, stop assuming,” you ran your hands through your hair, staring into his blue eyes as you strode in his direction. “And simply live. You never know what might happen. tonight's your last chance to celebrate in the best district there is, corio. your last chance to dance, drink..."
going on your toes be at level with his face, you stepped even closer, close enough to smell his freshly washed shirt and feel his slow breaths on your eyelashes.
"...kiss," you whispered. the corners of his lips perked up ever so slightly, his blue eyes glossy from the flickering candles. you backed away with your eyes still locked together, only looking away when you slotted your way into the expanding dance circle in the middle of the room.
you laughed and yelled as you twirled and tapped your feet, linking arms with the seamstress you always see at the supermarket, holding the hands of the baker that always snuck you an extra muffin. when the lively music finally came to an end, you instinctively looked in his direction-- but he was no longer there, cup still half full on the worn-down table.
Wiping your forehead with a cloth, you panted as you opened the door leading to the outside. you relished in the cool breeze, feeling an immediate relief from the humid dancing quarters. you looked to your right, and there you spotted the same shimmering blonde hair, the same shiny blue eyes making their mark on you.
your feet were moving before you even realized. when you neared him, he looked down at you with an unexplainable gaze in his eyes, hands clenched by his side.
you opened your mouth to speak, but your words never got a chance to escape. In one moment, you were close enough to touch the brick wall in front of you with your hand, and in the next, your back was up against the prickly surface.
He inhaled sharply before he pressed his lips against yours, his fingers skimming your chin as yours grazed the back of his head. you couldn’t help but smile at the bitter taste of beer still on his tongue, pushing his head harshly against your mouth while you relaxed against the wall.
his lips lingered on yours for a long moment before he pulled away.
"snow," he breathed against the flesh of your lips.
you scoffed, still dazed and breathless. "what?-"
"coriolanus snow."
you slowly reached for the silver tag dangling around his neck, turning it around to observe the cold metal. "if you ever come to the capit-"
"I am never going to the-"
his hand came up to clutch your hand, which was still latching onto his chain tightly. "if you ever come to the capitol..."
pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand danced along your waist while he pulled your chin closer to him again.
"come find me.”
-
a/n: hey guys... did I just write a pic about president snow? yeah I did. I would like to formally apologize to katniss, finnick, peeta, johanna, etc and suzanne collins I’m sorry but I’m just a girl
Btw everyone I’ve only ever seen the movies n have never read any of the books (shame on me ik but I’m planning on it) so pls excuse any inaccuracies in setting, timeline, etc, etc.
It's so important to me that Haymitch figures Lenore's mystery.
We know Lucy Gray was such a remarkable woman in spite of Snow's pov. He never understands her and to the audience she remains mysterious despite the fact that we (the audience) know there was more to her than the pretty songbird or traitorous snake. To Snow she stays his manic pixie dream girl, a lesson in getting attached to pretty things he can't control.
But not Haymitch.
There are multiple characters (including Lenore Dove herself) that allude to Haymitch not knowing all her secrets. Even when he's dreaming of a life where he's not reaped, he immediately starts thinking about how Lenore Dove has that side of her that doesn't include him. Does that make him rethink his love for her? Does he ever wonder if he should find another girl that would be happy as just a miner/bootlegger's wife? Nope.
He understands that Lenore Dove has her own interior life, her own dreams and her own agency. Haymitch knows that he doesn't play a major part in all of those. He fears her rebellious spirit for the trouble it may bring to her, never blaming her for the major problem it caused him, but he doesn't try to stop her and control her. Haymitch never once wants to ask her to do what he wants, he doesn't even seem to register that as a possibility.
I keep thinking about how Snow hated Lucy Gray's poem, how he dismissed the poetry as silly and never cared about metaphors. I don't remember his exact words, but he made it sound beneath them, barely managing to pretend he cared only to get Lucy Gray off his back.
How Haymitch admits that a lot of Lenore Dove's philosophies go over his head, but instead of just giving up he keeps trying to understand her explanations. How he never got angry or frustrated despite wanting to chill with his girlfriend when she started quoting David Hume. He's constantly reflecting on what she teaches him, he's proud of how many new words she's taught him through songs, and laments that the covey can't sing them. She recognizes the dangerous lyrics and makes them his flag in the games. He memorizes Lenore Dove's name poem and he constantly analyzes its meaning. That man is 24/7 rotating The Raven by Edgard Allan Poe in his head because it's his girl's poem. He was never a singer but he learns to love and understand poetry to be worthy of the girl he loves.
So the fact that, in the end, he learns about the orange nail polish and the posters is so important. The fact that he gets the final piece to understand that Lenore Dove wasn't just his girl (he never thought that, he's not Snow), that she wasn't just smart, philosophical and a bit rebellious; that she was actively a Rebel. The fact that he takes it as a sign to forever forsake whatever remains of his dreams and commit to his promise to her, to bringing her dream to reality... He is the antithesis of Snow.
Haymitch truly, selflessly, loved Lenore Dove. In the end, he understood her better than anyone else and honored her wishes above his own. When he found out that her dreams were so much bigger than he first thought, so much bigger than him, he wasn't turned off by it. He never wanted a woman that was reduced to just him, but he gladly sacrificed all that he was for her legacy.
Snow tried to erase Lucy Gray from the world, Haymitch worked his entire life to transform the world into Lenore Dove's dream, even if he had to erase himself in the process.
