For the C/P MOC. Using the first prompt ever.

Finnick's soul was like a nebula. Except it was less romantic than that, so we'll say that it was like Swiss cheese. Bacteria had eaten holes out of it, one hole for every love he had left behind. One for his mother who was never around. One for his father who was never a dad. One each for the countless one-night stands, the pets who died, the ex-lovers and ex-enemies.

The hole that was biggest was his, the one he left behind when he left himself.

"Hey!" Finnick swiped at the mouse that was sniffing his Swiss cheese that he had left on the table.

"Are you stealing from me?" He peered at the mouse as it scurried down from the table and into a hole in the immaculately plastered wall. "That's biphobic."

Being petty and dramatique was his full-time profession. One could call it his life's calling, so deeply ingrained was it into his daily routine and identity.

He sighed. "There are rats even in the Capitol, I suppose." Popping another grape into his mouth, he leaned back into his cushioned seat. "Life is so hard, especially for Swiss cheese in a city of rats."

He sat there feeling sorry for himself for a full twenty minutes, appreciating his metaphor and then imagining President Snow and his cronies taking bites out of him, contorting their faces into grotesque monstrosities as they gulped down his flesh, which looked surprisingly like Swiss cheese.

"Vore, question mark?" Finnick sat up suddenly, staring at the ceiling. "Keep this rated T, you imbecile."

He sat there feeling sorry for himself for another full twenty minutes, this time imagining President Snow and his cronies taking bites out of Swiss cheese, and definitely not Finnick's body which was apparently fashioned for the Capitol alone, which was a thing in fanfiction for a long time.

"Oi!" Finnick snapped his fingers. "Pay attention to me!"

His gasp filled the room as the door swung open to reveal President Snow. The President's chest was heaving as he pressed his hand against his chest, doubled over in the doorway.

"Follow me, peon," President Snow ordered. "Something terrible has happened and I know you're involved."

When he raised his head, Finnick tumbled out of his chair in absolute shock. "President! Your hair!"

For the first time in years, and in all his life actually, President Snow's hair was a pale Aryan blond, and his face looked like a burnt cheeto that had been left out in the sun after failing to pass manufacturing inspections. His lips were twisted into a small, anal-like feature, which his eyes also resembled. He lifted his hand, pressing his thumb and pointer finger together. "This is sad. A very bad deal."

"W-what deal?" Finnick stammered.

"I asked God to make me beautiful, and He said, 'Sure, if you want, I guess, lmao,' and then when I looked in the mirror..." Snow trailed off.

"Wait, are you saying I have something to do with God?"

"Listen, we all know that we live in a simulation created by a sheep. It's just common knowledge among the aristocracy, and I thought after asking for payment in secrets (whatever that means, you plebian idiot), you would have known that by now." Snow took a breath. "And I know that you know the sheep."

Finnick stared into the camera like he was on the office. "Undo this, please."

A great voice boomed from above. "Fine. Ex machina is kind of a lazy way to get out of this, but I have to go to class in exactly one minute."

"Thanks, bye!"

Then, Panem reversed itself as a bell rang above, years undoing themselves and plants growing back into the Earth, the Earth spinning backward and flinging itself towards the sun.

And finally, all was well in Panem.