Is It Just Me Or Does "Carolina" By Taylor Swift Really Suit Lucy Gray Baird?

Just finished The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. What blows me away is how Coryo has all the influences for him to become worse and to become better.

Here's what I mean, he's a mentor, so he has a close view of the games, which could make him more sympathetic with the districts or more cruel to them.

He writes the papers for Dr Gaul and talks with her a lot, their interactions could have made him more pro or more anti Capitol.

Dean Highbottom resents the Snows, which makes coryo anti-whatever-highbottom-believes, but hearing about the origin of the games could have changed his mind.

Sejanus, Tigris, and Lucy are all anti-capitol and they are the greatest influences in his personal life.

Spending time in D12 could have made him sympathize with the people that are the same as Capitol people, but instead he becomes more pro-capitol.

But as the first chapter makes very clear, he's out for personal success. It foreshadows everything. At the beginning he has some sympathy for the tributes but sees them as pawns for his own success. At any point, he had the catalysts in place for him to become anti-capitol. The conversations and family and friends. He could have been.

So I've been watching Henry Danger and how come people don't talk about how funny and chaotic these guys are?!

thinking about mags flanagan, the silent living victor of the 11th hunger games and how she walked into her death for revolution. thinking about lucy gray baird, the singing dead victor of the 10th hunger games and how she ran from it for the same.

thinking about finnick odair. thinking about primrose everdeen. thinking about johanna mason. thinking about coriolanus snow.

MINHO ⋮ MEXICO CITY SOUNDCHECK — 250413 (© rojizas.room on tiktok)

At night, Elia dreams of Filippo.

It’s weird, because he’s been obsessed with girls before, absolutely, so it’s not like infatuation is a new thing for him. But never has Elia dreamt with such vivid clarity and an undertone of such desperate want, longing, for someone before.

He dreams of lean abs painted like a statue of ancient Rome. He dreams of corded muscles tensing and relaxing as long fingers flick the end of a cigarette. He dreams of bleached curls and dark eye lashes; of freckles like constellations on smooth tan skin. 

He dreams of gasps and moans and whispers of “please” and “more” and “god don’t stop.” He dreams of soothing touches and bruise-educing grips; of laughter and the morning sunlight gleaming off of espresso eyes still hazy from a night of pleasure and sleep.

But Elia doesn’t dream reality. 

He doesn’t dream the careful way in which his eyes never fail to look out for Filippo across a rooftop party composed of mutual friends. He doesn’t dream of their eyes meeting and holding for an eternity, only for Filippo’s to eventually trail away when the disappointment that Elia can’t quite bring himself to make the first move after their night together weeks ago sets in. He doesn’t dream of Marti’s considering looks, or Gio’s pursed lips, or the way Luca seems oblivious to it all. 

(It’s not the boy thing, guys, it’s not that. I’m not ashamed, it’s just complicated.)

He doesn’t dream of his father slamming a Bible down at the dinner table in front of him, repeating over and over that the Santini family are good Catholics, great ones, and that good Catholic boys marry good Catholic girls and that there are no exceptions. 

It wouldn’t be hard to be a good Catholic boy. Elia likes girls without trying; he likes curves and giggles and the smell of perfume. 

But more than he likes girls right now, Elia likes Filippo.

Elia wants Filippo.

And Elia is nothing if not selfish.

So he looks up at the dark ceiling, watching the way shadows flicker as cars pass by. Then he glances towards his bedside table.

02:43

To Filippo Sava: can I come over?

Coming Out Series

After three months of dating they finally decide to tell their friends about it. To come out. 🌈

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

It’s like as soon as I have something else to work on, all I want to do is write fic… So okay, who am I to fight my impulses?

***

The smell of food wafted through the air as Filippo pushed open the front door to the apartment and he paused as he set down his camera bag. Eleonora’s cooking certainly didn’t smell like that on a regular basis. The chances of it being his mom were also slim, and he headed for the kitchen, poking his head curiously around the corner.

A smile spread over Filippo’s face as he caught sight of Elia, his back to the door, stirring something on the stove.

“What are you doing?” Filippo asked, stepping inside and watching Elia whip around, spoon clattering on the stovetop, as though Filippo surprised him.

“Fuck, Filo, make a sound next time,” Elia said, letting out a breath, but he didn’t seem upset, dipping his finger in something on the stove and holding it out. “Here, taste this.”

Amused but not surprised, Filippo stepped forward obediently, licking the white sauce off of Elia’s finger. He caught Elia’s wrist, holding him steady, meeting Elia’s smirk.

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it’s been a while since we talked. 

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