❝ It annoyed me that I could act like such a carefree child, and it made me want to lash out at the weeds, who knew nothing but to grow taller. I wanted to try to be a good girl.
coriolanus snow x fem!oc
academic rivals to lovers
I'm not afraid of dying. Pieces of me die all the time.
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As the sun began to set, Tempest carried the carefully wrapped package in her hands, making her way towards the zoo.
Her father had shared with her the hardships that the peacekeepers faced while on duty in the districts. He had also revealed to her the military secret behind their durable shoes.
The boots she had chosen for her tribute were meticulously selected for their practicality. Crafted from lightweight materials, they were designed to facilitate swift movement and featured reinforced toe caps for added protection against potential injuries.
To ensure utmost comfort, Tempest had included a pair of thick wool socks to accompany the boots. Her father had warned her about the discomfort and painful blisters that could arise from spending long hours on one's feet. The wool socks she had chosen were renowned for their ability to create a protective barrier against friction, minimizing the likelihood of blisters forming.
She wanted her tribute to be able to fully concentrate on his game without the distraction of painful feet.
She hoped her gift would be enough to sway him.
As Tempest made her way through the throngs of people gathered around the cage, she pushed past countless bodies in her determination to catch a glimpse of the tributes. Her eyes darted around the abandoned monkey house, searching for any sign of her tribute. It appeared that he was well-hidden, which was a good sign. Perhaps he could use that same stealth in the arena.
"Reaper Ash?" she called out, her voice echoing through the empty space. Her eyes scanned the area frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. "Reaper Ash," she called again, her voice tinged with concern.
As soon as she laid eyes on him, his face wore a stern expression. Tempest was all too familiar with that look, knowing exactly what it meant. "Reaper Ash," she attempted to smile, extending the package towards him, hoping to bridge the gap between them.
However, he only took a few hesitant steps forward, his gaze still filled with animosity, as if he held a deep disdain for her. Tempest understood his sentiment, considering their contrasting backgrounds - she was from the Capitol, while he hailed from the District. It seemed that their mutual hatred was ingrained in their very essence.
"I am Tempest Galdur," she speaks oh so quietly, as though any word may anger him. "I am your mentor."
He scoffs at this, rolling his eyes and going to walk away until—- "wait!" She calls to him. "I brought you something. A gift."
"I don't want no gift," he grits.
"You might want this one," she attempts to keep her tone sincere, extending her arms to him one more. "I brought you shoes— work boots. And socks. And food."
There is a small, but noticeable, flicker in his gaze. "You brought food?" Despite his attempts at unadulterated anger, he couldn't deny the rumbling that existed in his stomach. "What did you do to it?"
"Why would I do anything to it?" Tempest countered. "I am here to help you, not hurt you."
He almost laughs at this. A cynical, doubtful action. "Help me," he says under a humored breath. "It's your people who put me here in the first place!"
Fairly close to her face now, and despite the presence of bars that separate them, she still flinches at the sound of his booming voice. From the corner of her eye, she notices a familiar set of blonde curls slowly approaching, and she instinctively shakes her head in response.
"Reaper," she almost whispers. There is no need for her to speak loudly, as his nose is just inches away from her own. She recalls the advice her father once gave her - to give him something to fight for. "I am sorry."
It appears that this is not the response he anticipated from her. Perhaps he expected her to shout at him, to label him as a worthless individual, or to insist that he deserved to be where he was. Anything but an apology.
"If sorry is all you have for me, 'ion want it, sweetheart," he almost spits at her.
Coriolanus is suddenly behind her, attempting to pull her away from the cell bars. Watching the scene from afar, it looked as though the tribute was moments away from ripping her head off her body. No matter how much Coriolanus loathed Tempest, he would not allow her to perish like that.
Despite his efforts, she persistently tries to shake him off. Eventually, she turns towards him with frustration and demands, "Coriolanus, release me!"
His response seems to be one of surprise, as if he had anticipated her jumping to seek refuge behind him. "I was merely trying to help you," he says, sounding taken aback.
"I do not require your assistance!" she retorts sharply. "I neither desire nor need your protection. I am here to meet my tribute, and any discussions regarding him and me should remain between him and me. So kindly, stay out of it!"
If Reaper is mildly impressed by this, he doesn't let it show, only quirking an eyebrow towards the two Capitol students. Coriolanus's surprise quickly transforms into a mixture of hurt and confusion. He releases his grip on her, taking a step back as if physically wounded by her words. His eyes search hers, desperately trying to understand her words.
"Okay," he murmurs, voice barely audible, now stepping away from Tempest and her tribute. "Get yourself killed then. See if I care."
At his retreating figure, now far away enough to continue the conversation that once existed, Reaper whistles lowly. "Trouble with your friend?" He asks.
"He's not my friend!" Tempest swiftly replies. "And anyways, this isn't about him and I. I am here for you. I—-"
Reaper leans forward once again, his eyes searching for any hint of deception in her face. He asks if what she said earlier was true, if what they share will remain a private.
Her expression softens as she looks at him. A young boy, just like her, seeking reassurance and trust. Can she truly be trusted? She isn't certain. However, she realizes that his desire for someone to support him is an opportunity she can exploit.
"Of course," she assures him, even though she knows she has no authority to make such promises.
Reaper's eyes widen as he takes in the assortment of carefully wrapped packages. The weight of the situation suddenly feels lighter as he realizes that Tempest has not only brought him emotional support, but also tangible proof of her commitment to her mentorship.
He carefully unwraps each gift, revealing an array of his favorite snacks and treats.
As he takes a bite of a chocolate bar, a sense of comfort washes over him. It's not just the taste of the familiar treat, but the knowledge that Tempest has gone out of her way to provide him with something he enjoys. It's a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about her dedication.
Reaper can't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards Tempest. In a world where trust is scarce and secrets are dangerous, she had him cautiously close to connecting with her.
As the night carried on, Tempest still sits with him— she recognizes the significance of this moment, the fragile bond that is beginning to form between them. They discuss trivial matters, delving into shared interests and exchanging playful banter, momentarily forgetting the weight of their circumstances.
And by the time she goes to leave, Reaper can't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has found a true ally in Tempest.
And with that realization, the burden of the games becomes a little less heavy, replaced by the warmth of a newfound friendship.
