#capitol tbosas

[mr-nauseam]

What if the Snows were the world's most tragic lavender marriage by accident? Crassus Xanthos heir to house Snow, hypermasculine military dude who is actually the gayest person in the room but lived through a situation with Casca that left him traumatized and he would rather be shot than admit he like cock

Mrs Snow is a lesbian drowning in comphet who doesn't know not dating men is possible and is saying things like "if I could marry a woman everything would be great. How sad I can't do it" all the time while never questioning why she never feel attracted to her husband

And they both got together to conceive for the worst bisexual disaster to ever walk the earth. It's Coriolanus Snow the idiot who thinks everyone likes everyone. He never understand why Sejanus is torturing himself for like boys: "SEJANUS JUST GO OUT WITH A GIRL IF YOU ARE SO ANXIOUS OVER WHAT YOUR FATHER IS GONNA SAY IF YOU DATE A GUY. Please! Don't act like if you don't have a choice" 🙄

[jakeperalta]

"The show's not over until the mockingjay sings," she said. "The mockingjay?" He laughed. "Really, I think you're just making these things up." "Not that one. A mockingjay's a bonafide bird," she assured him. "And it sings in your show?" he asked. "Not my show, sweetheart. Yours. The Capitol's, anyway."

[evielmostdefinitely]

Imagine how distraught snow would be if his wife had a really rough time giving birth to their child where she’s coming in and out of conscience and there’s blood and he’s terrified she won’t make it like his mother leading to him hating the baby for a little bc of how badly his wife was recovering sorry for the angst! Ignore this if uncomfortable <3

forever winter |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested, troubles with child birth leaves coriolanus very cold towards your son.

contains: angst. mentions of parental death, blood, complications during birth. darkish coriolanus. kinda fluffy-ish end?

Coriolanus knew the horrors of childbirth. He knew the dangers, the risks. He’d seen the blank stares of a new mother rocking her baby, eyes blank and distant like she’d been through war. He’d heard the solemn whispers in a dim room, quiet and hushed, darting eyes that looked everywhere but the casket- sometimes two. His own mother had been torn from his grasp at a young age because of it, and for a while, he was sure he’d never let his own wife experience it. 

Then he met you. 

You who lit his world up from the inside out, who he rose only each day to see- to love. You who cradled a baby at your engagement announcement, a friend’s newborn, held him so naturally and delicately that it ignited something inside Coriolanus. He wanted a dozen babies with you, he decided at that moment that he’d do anything to make it happen. 

You’d blossomed so naturally, swelled up overnight. Round belly and a glowing demeanor- it was addictive to Coriolanus. How he’d brag, boast proudly to anyone who’d hear it- his wife pregnant, he couldn’t be happier. 

All those fears, worries, were replaced with new ones. Horror stories about infants, toddlers. His own consuming thoughts about being a father. The idea of childbirth was nothing but a fading thought to him. That had been in the war, technology was better, he was in a better place. Your father had ensured his darling daughter would have the best of the best- you always did. The best doctors, the best birthing suite, the best nursery- the best. 

But money couldn’t buy your own body betraying itself at birth. It didn’t stop the bleeding, the paling of your skin as you fluttered in and out of consciousness. 

You’d grunted like an animal, tearing yourself into two for hours, cursing Coriolanus’ name, begging him to make it stop, crushing his hands with your legs up in the stirrups, pushing your baby out. 

Coriolanus was in awe of you, though he’d never get the chance to tell you. How you’d willed yourself to hurt yourself, inflict that selfless pain to bring life into the world. It was positively poetic. 

He’d been so overjoyed hearing your babies gargled cry, the nurses announcing its gender- his gender. His son. A boy. A beautiful boy, wailing and delicate and covered in matter that Coriolanus didn’t even care about when he held him close to his own chest. 

“What is it, Coryo?” You muttered, eyes drooping, chest heaving with aftershocks of pain from the birth. 

“A boy, my love.” Coryo’s eyes shone with tears, lips pressing together to conceal it. “It’s a boy. Our boy, my darling.” 

“A boy…” Your speech was slurred, head lolling back onto the pillow. 

Coriolanus noticed for the first time how still the room had become, his son’s wailing the only sound. The nurses and doctors, once chipper and gleeful, now bearing a sickly paleness to their face, eerily quiet. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Coriolanus snapped, eyes wide, frantic, bouncing around the room. “What’s happening?” 

“We-We can’t find-” The doctor’s voice shook, ducked between your legs in a pile of crimson. Coriolanus’ stomach turned violently. 

“She’s bleeding. We-We can’t find where the bleeding is.” The nurse whispered. 

“What?” Coriolanus snapped. “Bleeding? H-How can she- Find it!” The baby wailed over the sound of Coriolanus’ demanding barks. 

“President Snow, we-we’re trying our best-” 

“-Try harder.” Coriolanus sneered, clutching the baby closer to his chest. “If anything happens to my wife, I will single handedly ensure your bloodline ends with you. Each of you will know what it feels like to lose your family too if you lose her.” He spat, sending the nurses and doctors into a fearful frenzy. 

The newborn wailed, doctors shouted, and Coriolanus’ ears rang, his chest too tight, painfully tight. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t survive that loss. His eyes fell to the screeching baby beneath him, scrunched face and wailing gums. How was he to raise this baby without you? 

Anger boiled through his chest at the sight of his son- his fault. A cowering nurse, frozen in shaking fear in the corner, watched him carefully as he stormed towards her. “Take this.” Coriolanus sneered, shoving the baby in her arms. 

He hated the feeling, the helplessness that consumed him as he stood, wide eyed and shaking hands he clenched into fists. 

Somewhere, somehow, the doctor found the bleeding, stopping it with a triumphant cry. “Get the blood, get the blood!” He shouted, head hooked over his shoulder. “Infuse it now!” 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure he could remember how to breathe. Memories of the two of your: the moment you met, the first date, his shaking hands asking for yours in marriage, the way you beamed under your veil at the altar, the same glow that you had when you told him you were pregnant. It could all be gone so easily. Had his father felt this way? So helpless? 

Maybe that’s why he’d been so hardened and resentful, so he’d never feel attached- never allow himself to feel so helpless. 

Coriolanus decided he couldn’t blame him, sitting in this chair, watching as you rested. The doctor said there’d be a lot of that in the coming hours. That you’d gone through trauma and you needed time. He wanted to rip you from the bed, shake you until you awoke and told him you were ok. He needed to hear it, maddenned himself with the need for it. 

Instead, he sat. 

Coryo sent the baby out to the nursery. He knew your parents, Tigris, everyone waiting would be thrilled to see the baby boy. Coryo just couldn’t muster the feigned excitement now. The site of his own son made his stomach turn, fear soaked repulsion settled deep in the pitt of his own core. 

Somewhere in the night, you awoke. A rustling and a groan that had Coriolanus snapping out of his dazed sleep, head tucked to his shoulder, slumped in the chair beside your bed. 

“Don’t move.” Coryo commanded, eyes a kind of bright, frantic wide that had you stilling. 

Your throat burned, head dizzy with the medicine they’d pumped into your system. Coriolanus’ hands shook as he brought you the water, hand cupping your jaw gently to feed it to you. You blinked, bleary with confusion. “You’re alright, my love.” Coriolanus' heart swelled, suffocatingly in his own chest. You were alright. 

“Coryo,” You croaked, throat tight, rasping from before, you were sure. You remembered the birth, most of it anyways, the blurry memory of your baby in Coryo’s arms before your memory failed. “The-The baby… Is he alright? W-Where’s my baby?” 

“He’s with your parents, my love.” Coriolanus’ hand smoothes down your matted hair, sticky with dried sweat. “Nevermind him. How are you? Is anything wrong? Do you need anything? I-I’ll call for the nurse.” 

You shook your head, looking around the room. The sheets were clean, your gown clean, but you felt an achy soreness splitting you in half. “What happened?” 

Coriolanus felt the lump in his throat grow, strangling his words in his throat. “Y-You had some complications, darling.” He swallowed the burn of his own tears down in his throat. “You were bleeding but they stopped it.” 

You blinked, unmoving, soaking in the details of your injury. Coriolanus watched you with a studying glare, eyes scanning for any tiny, minor infliction that something was wrong. “Is-Is the baby ok?” You whispered, eyes shining with fear when you met his gaze. 

“The baby’s fine.” Coryo snapped, harsher than he meant to. It alarmed you, your eyes snapping to his carefully. He took a deep breath, holding your hand carefully into his own, thumb running over your knuckles. 

“He’s fine.” Coryo said, softer this time. “I need to know how you are. What do you need from me, my love? What can I do to make it better?” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, your strength weaker than normal. It made Coriolanus’ spine tingle with shooting chills of concern. “I want to see my baby.” You whispered, head leaning against Coryo’s shoulder. 

“No,” Coriolanus shook his head furiously. “No, you-you need to rest, and-and not be bothered by the baby-” 

“-Coryo,” Your eyes rounded, so pitifully pleading Coriolanus would have walked through fire for you if you asked him to. “Please? I just want to see our baby.” 

And how could he say no? He couldn’t, so instead, Coriolanus called the nurse in. Your parents, proud grandparents, holding the baby, tutting over you. Everyone flitting about the birthing room, Tigris even gleaming with joy at the birth of her nephew. All except Coriolanus, who watched in the corner of the room, a stoic look on his face. 

You looked positively radiant, glowing with joy as you held your son. As if that baby hadn’t nearly killed you, Coriolanus wanted to scream the reminder to you, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare upset you, risk upsetting you in front of your family. 

“Coriolanus,” Tigris’ soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, brought him away from his own sinking, heavy feelings of disappointment. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Tigris.” Coryo’s voice was tight, firm and forced, like the look of awkward contentment he tried to paint across his features. 

“You… You haven’t held your son.” Tigris hesitated, voice dropping softly so the others wouldn’t overhear. 

“I don’t wish to hold him right now.” Coriolanus sneered. 

“He is your son, Coriolanus.” Tigris hissed, her voice dropping to a low hush in the room, terrified you or the others might hear. 

“And he almost killed her.” Coryo’s eyes flashed to Tigris’ in horrified rage. “Nearly fated her as my sister did my mother, and if you think for one second I am to be happy at that, then you are-” 

“-Coryo,” Your voice croaked, still weak and tired. It made his heart lurch, attention on you in a second, already walking towards your bedside. 

“Yes, my love? What do you need?” Coriolanus muttered. Normally, he’d be embarrassed, showing such affection especially in front of your parents, but he hoped they’d pardon his vulnerability in the moment, given the circumstances. 

“Look at him,” Your eyes shone with love, pure adoration, as if you weren’t cradling the very thing that almost killed you. It made Coryo sick. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” 

Coriolanus looked down at the small newborn, wrapped in swaddles, eyes closed and lips twitching with the faintest whimper of a cry. He looked so much like you, so much like himself- the perfect blend of the two of you taking your lips but Coriolanus’ nose. 

His heart swelled with pride before he could help it, lips curling in a half smile. He’d grown weak, Coriolanus decided, softened by you and your love. He should be disgusted by the baby, despise him and reject him like an animal in the wild would. But he couldn’t bring himself to it. 

“A fine young boy.” Your father boasted, nodding proudly. “The two of you should be very proud.” 

“Yes,” Coryo swallowed around the lump in his throat. You leaned into his touch, shifting the baby so he could better see him. 

“Any idea on the name?” Your mother hummed, moving beside you. 

“I still think Cyrene would be fitting.” You’re beaming, beautiful and proud when you meet Coriolanus’ gaze. “What do you think, Coryo?” 

“Yes,” Coryo nodded. “I think that would be a fine name.” 

“Cyrene Snow,” You cooed, pressing your nose to the baby’s, pressing a gentle kiss there. Your eyes brimmed with tears when you met Coriolanus’ gaze. “Do you want to hold him, darling?” 

“Are you getting tired?” Coryo watched you carefully. “Do you feel alright?” 

“Yes,” You nodded. “I don’t want to hog the baby. Want you to have a chance too, darling.” 

“That’s alright.” Coryo shook his head politely, suddenly very aware of your parents and Tigris’ gaze on him. “You hold him, my love.” 

You frowned lightly. You knew something was off with Coryo, the tightness in his tone, lips falling in a flat line. You waited until later, when Cyrene lay in his bassinet, your family all gone for the night, just you and Coryo in the birthing suite. 

“Why will you not hold him?” You asked through the still darkness. Coriolanus' eyes snapped to yours fiercely, startled by your tone. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Our baby.” You groaned when you sat up, Coryo rushing to your side. 

“You need to be careful-” 

“-You won’t hold him, Coriolanus.” You gripped his arm, eyes shining in something new- something Coryo wasn’t certain of, but it made his stomach twist. “Why?” 

Coriolanus swallowed, the lump in his throat suffocating him. “The last time I held him,” Coryo’s voice was soft, rasping in the quiet room, barely above a whisper. “You nearly died.” 

The room was still, far too still for either of you to find comfort. A harsh, shocking truth for the both of you, sickening and cruel. Your near damned fated reality, Coriolanus’ worst fears, the peaceful baby resting in the bassinet besides the two of you. 

Pressed into the side of your hospital bed, Coriolanus held you carefully, a stilled reminder that you were still there, that you hadn’t left him. The icy wall he’d built high for his son melted with every soft coo and whisper you gave him, a reminder that you were still with him and would be. 

When Coryo finally held Cyrene again, when he’d stirred awake and you were asleep, he turned to the window overlooking Panem’s Capitol, eyes shining with tears- of regret, joy, pain? Even Coryo wasn’t sure, but he rocked his son to sleep carefully, promising him that one day, he’d have what Coryo had. That he wouldn’t leave him the way his father had, that he’d keep him safe, teach him how to keep you safe.

[falllpoutboy]

knowing that mags wins the 11th hunger games a year after lucy did while dr gaul and snow were working together hits SOOO different now

[its-tea-time-darling]

➸ The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (2023) vs. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (2013)

Look at this. They're holding hands. I want them dead.

[myfairkatiecat]

I feel like Lucy Gray’s fashion sense had an influence on the Capitol. It’s mentioned in the book that she’s wearing makeup, which is notable to Coriolanus and he wonders where she got it from since it was barely becoming accessible again in the Capitol. In the movie one of his classmates mocks what she is wearing, asking if she thinks she’s a clown. It isn’t common to dress like her, but she owns her own style and the Capitol LOVES her. Coriolanus, as he tries to get sponsors for her, makes the case that since she is Covey perhaps she isn’t really district at all, in fact she’s really more Capitol than anything… and perhaps it rubbed off. Perhaps her sense of extra-ness, her fun makeup even at the reaping, her colorful dress at a dark occasion….perhaps that’s one part of her legacy that never truly goes away, even when the name of Lucy Gray Baird is erased from the memories of the people of Panem.

[katnissandpeetamellark]

GENUINELY SHOUTOUT TO CHAPPELL AND BALLADOFSONGS LOLOLOL

[mockingjaysnakes]

"finally, the star pupil".

[sadalmostlesbian]

Absolutely criminal that the TBOSAS movie didn’t show more of weirdo city boy Coriolanus Snow. Bro spent a month and a half going batshit insane about birds to the point he suggested going on a mass murdering spree TO THE SERGEANT ON BASE.

He literally will not shut up about the humidity he’s so insufferable about it. And Sejanus, who lived ten years in the same place he did, is completely fine and honestly thriving in D12.

Dude is unnerved by the forest in District Twelve like it’s not the most tame North American forest ever. Acting like it’s a tropical jungle cause he’s never seen a tree before.

Anyone who calls Sejanus whiny I dare you to read part three of TBOSAS and listen to Coriolanus bitch about the weather for 150 pages.

[praxidikegal]

A Dance with the Victor

Snowbaird Secret Santa gift for @crazyexshipper

Happy Holidays, I hope you like my gift 🎁❤💖

[mariiastales]

capitol fashion at the time of sotr

[mr-nauseam]

I know in my heart Capitol have a jelly phase

[hrrystylesbookclub]

rereading tbosas and i KNOW that the capitol are demonic people who see the district citizens as less than human, but it’s SO clear with the reaction they have to arachne’s death (a capitol child killed by a girl brought to the capitol for the sole purpose to kill and be killed) vs orchestrating the slaughter of hundreds of innocent children. this privileged girl who died making a cruel joke was a hero, but the 230 children who have died, and the countless more who will die in the upcoming 64 years are necessary causalities for a war they didn’t fight, and on top of everything a pleasure to witness suffer.

and somehow of everybody it’s snow who sees the hypocrisy and how arachne’s death was her own fault for taunting a girl with nothing to lose for a cheap laugh, and yet her cruelty ends up being spun into heroism.

which arguable makes snow so much more demonic than the average capitol citizen- maybe even more evil than dr gaul, he sees the humanity of the district children and acknowledges that the capitol can be wrong, and yet he pushes forward anyways and continues to boost the credibility of the games for his own personal gain.

while dr gaul is cruel and probably clinically a psychopath the way she takes such pleasure in torturing animals and humans alike, snow doesn’t take the same kind of pleasure yet still consciously makes descion that will lead to more torment and spectacle of district suffering as long as it means he gets an ounce of respect from other capitol citizens

[evielmostdefinitely]

finding coriolanus’ old peace keeper uniform.

after the engagement, you two are moving into a shared home in the center of the capitol. it’s buried deep in a silver trunk, stashes of photos, his dog tags, a few other odd things, and the blue jumpsuit. it’s slightly stiff with storage, the material thick and sturdy.

“maybe you should put it on.” you grin at him, playful in tone, but the glint in your eye tells him otherwise.

so he humors you, if for not other reason than his own morbid curiosity. see where this goes.

“how does it look?” the material fits tighter around his chest now, more mature, more grown up.

your mouth waters at the sight, ogling his dog tags hanging around his neck. “i think i miss the shaved hair.” you giggle. “can’t believe i’m saying that.”

coriolanus grins, watching you carefully, calculated steps coming towards you. “what is it?” he hummed, hands smoothing over the thick, blue material.

“i-i like your dog tags.” you admitted, eyes flashing to his sweetly, his heart skipping. “you should wear them more.”

your legs are around his waist after that, scratching and grabbing at his the bare skin of his back. coryo’s soft grunts mixing with your own breathy whimpers, fucking into you on the mattress. his dog tags dangling over your face, your chest. he’d purposefully hover so you could grab them in your mouth, sucking on them while you looked at him, eyes rounded and begging.

[chamomile-tea-time]

[spoilers] coriolanus and sejanus's relationship throughout tbosas is like:

coriolanus: you disgust me. get out of my life. wait can i use you? i can. stop being a good person. go away. no wait sit next to me. what a loser. i hate this guy. or do i? yes i do. WAIT no he's literally my closest friend. no wait. no he sucks. NO WAIT- yea

sejanus: guy is pretty :0 *gets executed*

[effieotto]

The capitol style from each of the sub-classes

1. The Patrician (or Patricius)

based on the groups of ruling class families in ancient Rome

The Patrician was a very exclusive and hereditary segment of society constituted of the few wealthy families that survived the old days! As the real “old-money” from Panem, their social class was plainly showed in the way they presented themselves: with an strong sense of elegance, grace and tradition, they preferred sophisticated over frivolous, as their fashion style embraced classic cuts, high-quality material, gold-plated fabric and refined textiles that harmonized perfectly with their offensively expensive jewelry and accessories. It was where mostly of the people who were wealthy enough to Sponsor the games and afford appointments with young victors, came from -full of long lines of Gamemaker, Politicians and absurdly rich house wives

2. The Equestrians (or Equites)

The Equestrians, although still part of the upper class and usually associated with glamorous fashion and Propaganda, weren’t important enough to have direct contact with the President and his administration. Developed from the “new money” families who survived the war, this caste was constituted by owners of huge fortunes with no political impact- therefore, as a way to compensate the lack of governmental influence, the Equestrians opted to draw attention by chosen pompous and extravagant outfits. The style embraced loud colors, fluffy dresses, exaggerated accessories with almost comical makeup techniques and ostentatious hairstyles. The goal was to mix haut couture with maximalist fashion in cloths that screamed excessive wealth, however still prioritizing good quality fabrics and expensive jewelry. There was no restriction for creativity when i came to explore all kind of shades and forms, resulting in a bunch of different modern-cuts and colors that were comical identical to clown costumes. This segment of society were usually constituted by the high income category of entrepreneur, models, escorts, actress and etc…

3. the Plebeian (worst of the best)

As the lowest class of the Capitols, the Plebeians assumed the position of powerless and low incomes families that somehow managed to survive in the modern world. The lack of power and money forced them to improvise their clothing in shabby pieces of cloth with scraps of other disassembled dresses. Without enough budget to spend in haut couture, good quality fabrics and expensive adornments, their style embraced tacky and cheap textiles that were made into overwrought and gaudy dresses, old, shredded wigs or hair scarves and trashy makeup techniques. This caste system was usually constructed by forgotten stylists, traders and fallen socialists who eventually lost their importance