A Good Watch For Everyone. Shaun Spoke To A Lot Of My Feelings About This And Even Called Me Out A Time

A good watch for everyone. Shaun spoke to a lot of my feelings about this and even called me out a time or two.

It's easy to pretend there's layers of complexity that make this conflict too difficult to understand without a PhD. But it's actually very easy to understand. Thousands snd thousands of kids are being slaughtered by design, and every day we see it plainly on social media.

So, as Shaun says, you can donate to

HEAL Palestine

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

"If you're hopeful about the future, do it because it's the right thing to do. Even if you're a hardened cynic, do it to spite those fuckers blocking the [humanitarian aid] trucks [from getting into Gaza]."

You can also get organised:

Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions Movement

Join a Union!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄

PAIRING: dark! coriolanus snow x capitol citizen! reader

SUMMARY: coriolanus has always loved you finally after years of paining and planning he finally has you . . .

TW: 18+, obsessive behaviour, smut, baby trapping . . .

You were an only child, a sole heiress to one of the oldest, and most affluent families in the capitol.

Given the position, it had always been expected you would find a husband of equal, if not higher standing. much to the delight of your parents, you'd found one; more specifically, he, the newly appointed president of Panem, had proposed to you .

It was during new years . . .

Over the years, your family had made a habit of hosting a large banquet to celebrate the holidays. Everyone received invitations, from academy faculty to business tycoons.

Of course, President Snow had been there too, talking to your father, clad in a black suit, his lips curled into the fakest smile you'd ever seen . . .

You could feel his cold, icy eyes following your every move throughout the evening, sending a shiver down your spine, as if at any moment a beast would pounce on you.

Any other time you could have feigned some sort of sickness and retired back to your room, but this was a special night, and as such, keeping public appearances and mingling with guests was a necessity, so you did what you always did: put on a fake smile and braved through.

Then something unexpected happened.

He proposed.

The fucking bastard proposed to you.

Just as the clock struck twelve, Coriolanus Snow got down on his knees in front of you, surrounded by the hundreds of guests, and he uttered the two cursed words.

“Marry me.”

Your cheeks felt hot, no doubt to onlookers; it seemed as if you were perhaps flattered. Who wouldn't be in the face of a man like Coriolanus Snow asking them to marry him?

No, you weren't flattered you were angry . . .

He'd cornered you he knew you couldn't reject him, not in front of all there people, not in front of your parents.

“Yes.”

Few moments passed before the three letter word came out of you, and your new fiance slipped the ring on to your fingers, it was pretty you would've admired it if not for who it was from.

There was no joy in your heart a strange feeling of numbness settling in when people cheered and came to congratulate you.

“Cheers! To the president and his lovely bride-to-be!”

“My my what fabulous pair!”

“Your children will be absolutely adorable!”

Their comments didn't help; no doubt, if not for the smirking Coriolanus holding you close to himself, your legs would've given out, leaving you a crumpling mess on the floor.

In contrast to your gloom, Coriolanus felt zealous; his smile for the first time in forever became genuine, softer even.

It was no secret. He had always fancied you from afar, ever since he saw you dancing at a gathering for the upper-class society of Panem.

You were beautiful—a purebred, a rose in full bloom.

No one deserved you—not the lowlife with his hand around your waist guiding your movements with the music, not the scum suitors your father planned to introduce you to—no one could have you except Coriolanus Snow.

He swore he'd restore his family name, swore he'd become the president, and then make you his wife.

Now, he finally, finally, had you.

It was worth it, every single drop of blood he'd spilled, to get to this point was worth it.

He knew you hated him, saw the fear in your eyes when he sought you out after his rise to power.

You had rejected him then, knowing full well that under all of his charming smiles there was something dark and twisted. It was true. Coriolanus was a monster, a monster with no intention of giving up. You would become Mrs. Snow, even if he had to force it on you.

What better way than a public display of affection . . .

His plan was a success; even if you weren't happy, Coriolanus was convinced that with time, he'd win you over. You couldn't hate him forever, not when he'd be your husband and the father of your children.

Your fiancé was a charismatic man, no doubt; he'd easily charmed your family. So much so that neither of your parents noticed your strained smile and reluctance when faced with your intended.

No one did, not your father, who'd been thrilled; he would be the president's father-in-law, which came with privileges, while your mother boasted endlessly to her friends of how you'd effortlessly captured the heart of President Snow.

Trapped, you were absolutely fucking trapped.

~~~~

The wedding was planned to be a grand affair, not that you'd cared much what flower arrangements the venue had or if they used silver or gold plates; it was all the same to you.

“Nothing but the best for my bride.”

Coriolanus, or Coryo as he insisted you call him, had told the wedding planners you never thought he'd be so invested in the wedding details, but he was, specifically in your dress. He had you try on at least fifty pieces before picking one.

“Can't wait to rip it off you,” he whispered into your ear, right before the staff guided you to the changing room.

After that, you avoided him at all costs.

Until your wedding day.

~~~~

You cried during the ceremony.

Reporters titled it as “tears of joy” and “happy bride.” If only they'd known . . .

“You may now kiss your bride”

You froze when Coriolanus's pulled up your veil, tear-stained eyes, meeting his blue one.

Then his lips met yours. It wasn't soft or sweet; it was hungry and possessive, like he wanted to show everyone how he owned you, and he did your fiance-no, your husband would never let you leave him, never.

~~~~

Coriolanus Snow was a man of his word.

He did, in fact, rip your dress off. The sound of tiny pearl buttons hitting the marble floor made you flinch, gasping softly as the cold air surrounded you.

Not giving you a chance to flee, he kissed you again, his hands wandered around your bare body.

Your husband had been insatiable during that night, not giving you a moment of rest as he made you take his cock over and over again, whispering sweet nothings and praises into your ears.

“You're so fucking tight, my good girl,” his hands gripped at your hips as he pushed himself into you, ignoring whatever tears or silent pleas you'd whimper out. “Who knew you'd be such a whore for my cock...” his face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving bites and marks.

At this rate, you'd have to wear a scarf tomorrow.

“Coryo- slow d-” His brutal pace doesn't stop, not even when your nails dig into his flesh, drawing blood that only seemed to spur him on.

“Gonna fuck you full of me until it takes...”

That makes you cry harder. “Nooo, Cory pull-out...” it was one thing to marry him, but children? you weren't ready... but he doesn't stop, not until he's cum as many times as possible deep inside your weeping pussy.

“It's necessary,” he tells you the morning after, when you're lying in bed, limbs tangled together, as he rubs circles on your naked back.

You stay silent, knowing what he meant. Coryo wanted you to get pregnant, not just out of love and desire to have an heir, someone of his blood, to carry the Snow name; his true purpose was to eliminate any room for escape you might have.

A child, a child, meant you'd forever be bound to him.

~~~

When you found out about your pregnancy, you secretly hoped it'd be a means to dim Coryo's interest in you.

“Husbands tend to cheat when their wives are pregnant ,” one of the ladies told you during a gathering. She'd meant it as a friendly warning to keep an eye on your husband and keep him interested.

But as it turned out, Coryo wasn't like other Capitol husbands. If anything, your pregnancy had made him more feral, constantly finding ways to bend you over any surface in your home, telling you how good you looked swollen with his baby.

“My pretty wife -fuck, so damn adorable with that little bump of yours - all mine—fuck, I did that”

It wouldn't end. Even after your daughter was born, Coryo told you he wanted more.

“She wants a sibling, don't you, Adeline?” he'd smirk, watching your face go pale, holding your daughter in his arms as she blabbered something and giggled, unaware of her father's plans or your unwillingness to indulge him.

Try as you might, your husband will always get his way, a fact that never changed over the years.

After all, everyone knows, “Snow lands on top.”

rewriting and reposting all my old works.

likes, comments and rebloggs are very appreciated ♡

(roleswap au) stop staring at him with those big ol eyes

저마다 지킬 세계가 있는 용사들

Baby Blues || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: motherhood has not been kind to you, neither has Coriolanus.

Warnings: r is implied to be young, toxic, mean Coryo, r experiencing post-partum depression,

Wc: 794

A/n: I’m always gravitating to write these type of coryo fics for some reason…. I hope you like them! Apologies for lack of Tom Blyth/Coryo content, I promise I have some coming!!

You sat in the sunroom, the weight of your 5 month old daughter on your hip, while Coriolanus read his newspaper, seemingly unfazed by his daughter’s cries that filled the room.

Your hands shakily pick up the delicate china tea cup, bringing it to your lips and taking few sips.

You stared at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of both youth and motherhood. You subconsciously start to bounce your leg, all while your daughter wails in your arm, begging for attention from her own mother.

Coriolanus sips at his black coffee, trying his best to drown out the cries as he tried to focus his attention back on his newspaper. Your concerned servant in the room exchanged worried glances with Coriolanus, and finally, he glances at you, frustration etched on his face.

“Y/n, tend to her,” he instructed, irritation evident in his voice. “Don’t just sit there like a mad woman, do something,” He hissed as your gaze moved to him. Your eyes seemingly empty as you stare at his icy blue ones.

At an attempt to soothe her down, you stand up to bounce her on your hip, hushing her. Your daughter’s cries only intensified, drawing Coriolanus to his feet.

The rustle of the newspaper ceased as he took his daughter into his arms. Almost magically, her cries subsided in the secure embrace of her father. A wave of inadequacy washed over you as you witnessed his effortless ability to calm her.

~

You stand infront of the large floor to ceiling window that overlooked your courtyard, gazing blankly at the last few socialites leaving the presidential mansion after a soirée that Coriolanus hosted.

Your once vibrant, youthful eyes now dull, overshadowed by the weight of motherhood. Coriolanus, sat on one of the chairs, watches you from where he was. “You’ve been standing there for about 20 minutes, sit,” He says, gesturing to the seat beside him as you turn your head, lightly biting your lips before moving.

“It’s like you were in another world tonight, what ever is the matter with you now?” Coriolanus remarks, frustration edging his tone.” You feign a smile, “I’m just tired, Coryo. That’s all,” but your eyes betray the facade, revealing a profound weariness that transcends mere fatigue.

“You always seem tired,” Coryo scoffs. Your gaze flickers towards the nanny, cradling your daughter in her arms. Your heart aches with a mixture of guilt and relief as you observe the bond forming between them.

Coriolanus’s gaze follows your eye line, “Perhaps you’ve been focusing too much on your duties and not enough on our daughter,” He suggests, unaware of the storm raging within you.

“I’m doing my best, Coryo,” you respond, voice barely audible as Coriolanus lets out a tired sigh, massaging his forehead.

The baby’s cries cut through the air, and you flinch as if struck—something Coriolanus observed. He glances at you, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his features.

“Can’t you tend to our daughter? You’re her mother, after all.” You nod absentmindedly, standing up and making your way toward the source of the cries.

The nanny, a woman just a couple years younger than yourself, hands over your daughter, a look of sympathy etched on her face.

You clear your throat, feeling Coriolanus’ eyes on you. You cradle her awkwardly, attempting to soothe her, but your efforts were feeble. Coriolanus observes, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re always like this. Will you always treat our child as if she’s a stranger?” He spat, and you bit your lip, glancing down at your daughter whose features closely mirrored yours, except for her eyes and blonde hair.

Your eyes well up with unshed tears, swiftly wiped away. “I just… just need time, Coriolanus. I’ll adjust,” you stammer, seeking to reassure your husband and, more importantly, convincing yourself that you will.

Nearly half a year has passed since you gave birth to her. Skillfully, you’ve evaded numerous public appearances with your daughter, fully aware of the pervasive curiosity surrounding your role as a mother.

You were aware of their judgments. The notion that you were too young to be a mother echoed in your mind, a sentiment you shared as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your stomach swollen with the imminent arrival of a child into the world.

Coriolanus sighs, a blend of disappointment and impatience coloring his tone. “Pull yourself together, for both our sakes. The people want to see their First Lady and my heir. You can’t keep hiding away. There are already whispers going around,” he admonishes sharply, and you gulp, your baby cradled in your arms as you turn to face him.

Coriolanus couldn’t deny the noticeable change in you since giving birth. When he married you, the youthful aura enveloped you, a stark contrast to the transformation he now witnessed.

The aura had dissipated entirely. Despite your youth, you appeared to have weathered a lifetime. Fatigue etched into your eyes, weariness evident in your mental state.

“It’s wise for you to step back from the public eye for a while, away from your duties. You need to rest,” Coriolanus states firmly, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the window.

Your gaze shifts to your baby in your arms, her doe-blue eyes locking onto yours. Unaware, Coriolanus discreetly signals the nanny to take your daughter.

Caught off guard, you hesitated when she reached for your child, desiring to hold her longer. Reluctantly, you allowed her to take the little one. With a heavy heart, you observed the nanny exit the room, and Coriolanus broke the silence, reassuring you, “Don’t worry about her; go rest.” Slowly, you nodded in agreement.