❝ 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
They were men who guarded their free will with wiles and murder. Their wills could be subverted only by death. Or the utmost reasonableness.
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There is a certain significance in observing an individual who has reached their breaking point. When fury takes hold of their gaze, and each word spoken echoes with a burning sting. It is akin to an imperceptible strand, a minuscule thread that binds everything together, finally giving way, and the individual they once were becomes completely consumed by wrath.
Tempest is succumbing to this concept. It is possible that anger has always been an inherent part of her essence, but it is only now that it surges forth from within her in uncontrollable torrents.
She was becoming a monster. She must be.
Gone were any traces of empathy or kindness, vanishing into thin air, leaving her as nothing more than a woman consumed by bitterness. The fear of inadequacy gnawed at her soul, and as her once pristine reputation crumbled into ruins, she realized the urgency to reverse her fortunes.
How audacious it was for her classmates to whisper about her injury, a wound that would forever mark her existence.
How audacious of Dr. Gaul to publicly question her essay, tarnishing her image and insinuating her incompetence in front of her peers.
How audacious of the Capitol to believe she was so gullible that she would fall in love with a boy from a lower district.
And how audacious of Coriolanus to witness it all, triumphing over her and rendering her speechless.
No, the moment had arrived for each and every one of them to behold the sheer magnificence of Tempest's unparalleled might. Strengthened by these undeniable truths, attempting to engage in rational discourse with her would be utterly futile. Power, that was her sole desire.
Reaper gracefully positioned himself in front of the young lady, graciously accepting her farewell offering with a gentle smile adorning his countenance. An abundance of delectable sustenance was bestowed upon him, a lavish feast capable of satiating his hunger for days to come.
"We only have ten minutes," he uttered, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he conveyed the urgency of their limited minutes together. Meanwhile, Tempest remained immobile, resembling a statue carved from unyielding stone.
In the absence of her response, he persists with his inquiries. "How're you feelin'? After the accident? Your friend wouldn't tell me much, just that you were recovering." The girl, with immense effort, suppresses her instinctive recoil upon the mere contemplation of the detonations. The echoes of those deafening sounds persistently haunt her whenever solitude engulfs her for an extended period.
"I am in perfect health," she softly murmurs, dismissing his genuine worry. Goodness gracious! What if an eavesdropper were to catch him anxiously fussing over her condition? Undoubtedly, Lucky Flickerman would swiftly appear, capturing the moment with his camera and broadcasting it to the entirety of Panem.
It is inconceivable that such an event could transpire. Reaper, a boy hailing from the District, was a destitute soul with meager possessions. Despite his inherent benevolence, his very kindness would inevitably prove to be his demise.
Reaper's countenance shifted uncomfortably as he uttered, "Oh, glad to hear it." The unexpected absence of Tempest's remarks had left him feeling disconcerted. Could this truly be the manner in which they would conclude their final encounter? "Heard you came to the interviews. Did you hear the poem I wrote? Sure it ain't as good as nothing your ma' wrote, but I thought it might make you feel better after everything."
The fury, once emanating from her like the tender caress of a sunbeam, has now intensified. Ah, that wretched poem! It is the very cause for which the entire Capitol deems her a pitiful schoolgirl, lost in a world of romantic illusions.
"I heard," she clips, and Reaper takes notice to the way she seems dismayed.
"Tem', I'm real sorry if I overstepped. Was only tryin'a do something nice for you, after you have done so many nice things for me. You know?" His voice is like a gentle hug. "I appreciate it, really. Everything I mean. You have shown me greater kindness than—"
"Kindness?" She interrupts him abruptly, her laughter tinged with exasperation. "Pray tell, what form of benevolence are you referring to?"
Reaper finds himself utterly bewildered by this perplexing situation. "The shoes? And all the food? And talking with me at the zoo, and sharing your ma's poems with me. I'm confused. Did I say something wrong?"
"And behold, all those things. Did you perceive them as acts of kindness?" The mellifluous tone of her voice resonated with such an astonishing severity that Reaper found himself questioning the authenticity of the figure before him. This young lady, adorned with a contorted expression and a razor-sharp tongue, bore no resemblance to the Tempest he had come to know.
"Well, yeah," he says. "I did think they were kindness."
With a contemptuous sneer, she utters, "You were gravely mistaken," causing him to instinctively recoil. "Naive, foolish boy. Did you truly believe that I bestowed favors upon the denizens of the District out of the goodness of my heart? I regret to shatter your illusions, but this perceived benevolence is merely a manifestation of my ambition. My sole intention was to elevate your position so that you could secure victory for me and I could claim the coveted Plinth Prize. Are you aware of its significance? It is awarded to the mentor whose tribute performs the most outstandingly. And my dear Reaper, you executed your role with such exquisite finesse. I already have a firm grasp on the prize, with victory within my reach."
Countless emotions dance within the depths of his gaze - astonishment, realization, fury, sorrow, incredulity. Tempest struggles to keep pace with the bewildering speed at which his perspective shifts. And she ought to be remorseful for uttering those words. That moral compass, the very essence that distinguishes between righteousness and wickedness, should be resounding alarm bells within her mind, yet it remains eerily silent.
"Tem'" he whispers in disbelief.
"And goodness! That horrid nickname! Did you truly believe that I was an acquaintance of yours?" She scoffs. "Did you truly believe that a young lady of my stature, a girl hailing from the illustrious Capitol, could ever consider being your friend?"
"Fuck you!" With a resounding bellow, he unleashes his fury, the very same rage that had long dwelled within Tempest now manifesting itself in the form of Reaper.
With a derisive chuckle, she mocks him openly. "Do not dare to direct your anger towards me," she patronizes. "It is not I who has rendered you pitifully gullible. It is solely I who skillfully exploited it to my benefit. And oh, what a simple task it was! I had you completely deceived! I had everyone under my spell. And you, my dear, willingly carried out all my deceitful deeds, just like a puppet. But oh, how much more foolish you were!"
In this moment, he remains tranquil, consumed by the seething emotions of wrath and treachery that abruptly tarnished his being. "Oh Reaper," she cooed. "Poor Reaper. I fear our time has come to its end. Let me leave you with a final parting gift—-
Search history, my boy, and see What selflessness has done.
Find if you can one victory, A nice guy has ever won.
There is no record there to read, Of men who spent his life too kind.
No instance of a truly great man who was selfless you will ever find."
