#coriolanus snow

[lenoredovescovey]

Lucy Gray should be proud to know she haunted that evil man every damn day of his fucking miserable life

[jubilly]

haymitch seeing a bunny: "how could I possibly kill a creature that brings to mind my girl?" 🥺

snow seeing mockingjays:

[olya-roo]

He is a silly city girl

[eggsyfired]

The beef between Haymitch and Snow is so funny. The way Haymitch drank an entire pitcher of milk just so Snow wouldn't get any, so Snow kept supplying him milk throughout his entire stay in the Capitol after his victory... bro what are you doing you're the president of Panem😭

[micahrats]

Just had a vision

[spiralling-thoughts]

I feel like it should be discussed more how the grandma'am played a part in how entitled Coriolanus became. Like people always talk about Dr Gaul 's influence but the grandma'am is the one that installed in Coriolanus his sense of specialty and importance to the point that he was convinced that he automatically deserved all that is good in the world also she should be held accountable for the fact that Tigris took on all the responsibility by herself entirely while Coriolanus didn't have to do anything other than his school work like this instuled in him the feeling that other people exist only to serve him and fulfil his needs and it definitely must have led to Tigris having self hatred issues

[derangedchameleon]

I think Snow saw some of Reaper in Haymitch. Both of them, from Snow‘s point of view, do confusing things with the bodies of their fellow tributes.

With Reaper creating a makeshift funeral for the tributes that he killed and covering them with the flag of Panem. It never even crosses Snow‘s mind that this boy, while yes, „playing the game“ and killing tributes, has a level of cognitive dissonance here. This is a boy that wants to survive. He wants to go home. And he knows that he can. But in order to do that he has to kill people that are not really his enemy.

By making the graveyard and covering them in the flag of Panem he is saying „These were people. They are not animals. We are not animals. I may have killed them. But only because YOU turned me into a weapon. Because YOU gave me no choice. These deaths are on YOU.“

But Snow, as intelligent as he is, doesn‘t get that message.

Running around with Louella‘s body. That‘s the funeral. Applauding Snow. That‘s covering the bodies with the flag of Panem. Snow smiles when observing Haymitch‘s behaviour.

Just like with Reaper, the only explanation Snow can think up for this situation is „He has lost his mind. Poor thing.“

Yes he can recognise the rebellion in the action. But he doesn‘t understand it. Not really.

[triassictriserratops]

I know he doesn't "care" about them in a positive sense, but I would give ANYTHING to know what wild shit he thought when Snow/Coin died.

haymitch didn't have to eat so hard after every character he cares about died... like what do you mean "who will sing your songs now?" "wyatt callow who's luck just ran out. i can't believe how hard it hits me" "whoever lou lou was she's gone now" "buddy? somewhere beetee's heart breaks into fragments so small it can never be repaired" "goodbye maysilee donner, who i loathed, then grudgingly respected, then loved. not as a sweetheart or even a friend. a sister, i'd said." like alright

[blytharchives]

TOM BLYTH via Instagram.

[piscesbae7]

. . Soft as silk ,

act I

To be made of flesh was humiliation.

TW: misogyny, belittling, Coriolanus Snow’s inner monologue, implied nsfw, sex work, slight sexual harassment, superiority complex (let me know if i missed any plsplspls)

The Capitol’s most elusive nightclub is moderately packed on a Thursday evening, its opulent walls hosting diamond chandeliers and furnishings dipped in velvet worth salivating over.

Junior Senator Coriolanus Snow is, perhaps, a hypocrite of the highest form. Luxuriating in one of the underground gentlemen’s clubs he and the rest of his caucus have long sought legislation to outlaw in Panem. Oh, but they all attend — it’s merely about the lost tax dollars, Panem’s that ought to be paid into rebuilding the up-and-coming Capitol after the war.

And so he finds himself in a plush booth, nursing a glass of whiskey as he observes with a keen eye the surrounding debauchery.

He is perfectly in place in his tailored suit, surrounded by men whose wealth scream from every pore of their skin and the utterly indecent, though sickeningly glamorous, women who dutifully serve them. The air is heavy with cigar smoke and the scent of illicit substances and remains entirely indifferent to it all.

Pretty as can be is Clara Bow, a girl surely no older than 20 or so, though the dramatic eye makeup and undeniably filthy amount of cleavage give a slight illusion of maturity.

Smooth alabaster skin and silky brunette hair that is perfectly pin curled. She’s clad in a sparkly bodice with a sorry excuse for a skirt, the front scarcely covering her undergarments with billowing, long, light fabric in the back, a thin ribbon on each hip. Tights that sparkle in the light and give the illusion of flawless legs, a delicate flower print peeking out from the skirt on her upper thighs.

The announcers claims she is new — one would hope, as she looks nearly below the Capitol’s legal drinking age. A novelty, to the mostly married men filthily indulging in her glamorous entrance. A diamond in the rough, one could suggest.

The Senator views her performance with a detached sort of interest, as one would a newly introduced animal at the Capitol zoo. Something in the way she struts about the stage, bewitching those she displays herself before, seems eerily familiar to Coriolanus.

Always a keen observer, he recognizes a primitive sort of hunger within Clara, mirroring his own. A desperation for security, for relevance. Many would pity a cheaper, less fortune in terms of dynastic inheritance person — he merely finds her pathetic.

But then; It hits him like a punch to the gut, a sick sort of nostalgia pooling within him like syrupy sweet dread he thought he’d never again experience. Clara Bow, with the way she twirls around stage in pretty clothing and her dumbed down name, is all to reminiscent of Lucy Gray. His songbird, fallen into his lap once again — after all these years.

Her set — short, as she hadn’t yet earned the privilege of the nights best — is short. The last song is slow and seductive, winding to an end as she twirls and prances around the stage with a whimsical sort of un-coordination. Clara bends down unnecessarily low to collect final bills thrown at her feet, as if she were less than human. A true performer, gracefully yanking her wrist away from an old, well dressed man who attempts to yank her into his lap — she playfully reprimands him, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat.

Coriolanus is spared no more than a look, as a bill is slipped into her cleavage by a congressman sat near him. She winks girlishly before slinking off, the nights earnings clutched in her arms.

Another girl is introduced, and Clara Bow is gone.

Coriolanus Snow is a man with particular tastes. He regularly has his already blond hair lightened to a near white. His ties are fine silks, which he ties in a Windsor knot. His loafers, handmade and leather, are imported from a country few in Panem are aware of today. His drinks are strong, as he is a leader. He makes certain all ties are cut in his political alliances and scarce rendezvous’ alike. A carefully honed palette — luxuries he could do little more than fantasize about in his adolescence.

Clara Bow, with all of her girlish charm and surely practiced elusiveness, has proved a nuisance. A plague on his usually sharp witted mind and his nerves of steel. It is why he decides — after a particularly insufferable Senate hearing — that he must conquer her to rid himself of her bewitchment.

A thin, unamused redhead greets those coming in with a lazy questioning and instructions to head through the door, into the entrance marked ‘janitors’ and up the intricate velvet staircase. The speakeasy buzzes, its opulent walls hosting a throng of elite guests. From Senators like himself to obscenely wealthy businessmen and highly regarded Judges.

Top shelf champagne flows endlessly. Money is blown on senseless gambling and bejeweled women alike. Among the sparkling crowd, Clara Bow is nowhere to be seen. On stage, a girl with a perhaps more foolish name — Candy or Angel, something of the sort — prances around. A different band is present on a Saturday night, a far more coveted one.

Coriolanus wonders to himself if his father, for all his stoicism and nerves of steel, ever visited such a sinful establishment. No, he wouldn’t have disgraced Mrs. Snow in such a way — one can hope.

His eyes scan the room, roaming over the crowd of men and women that had come from every corner of the Capitol to indulge in tonight’s vices. The speakeasy, while lavish and undeniably opulent, was a pool of immorality in his eyes — a prime example of human weakness. And yet, there he was, ever a hypocrite.

With a grimace, he downs the remainder of his whiskey, setting the crystal glass down with a soft thud on the mahogany surface of the table. The room has begun to feel stifling, his usually cool and composed demeanor hastily giving way to agitation.

Though Lucy Gray was what he deemed District scum, however charming his songbird may have been. Clara Bow was almost less deserving of salvation, in his mind — a Capitol born girl, relishing in depravity for money. Is this what Tigris had partook in, when the Snow’s were rendered penniless following the Dark Days? Such senseless depravity? The very thought makes him shudder.

Pretty girls flit about the room like hummingbirds, their choice in attire utterly indecent. Simmering in his self-disdain, nursing a glass of whiskey as if it is to be his last, Coriolanus ponders prematurely taking his leave. The room is thick with cigar smoke and a mixture of high end fragrances, topped off with the thick stench of liquor. Moments before he rises from his seat, a familiar baritone interrupts.

Festus Creed.

“Snow, my boy!” Festus chimes in, cheerfully drunk as he strides over to the burgundy colored booth the Senator occupies. “Snow, my old friend. A pleasure to see you.”

His former Academy classmate’s words are spoken with an overly eager voice and a sly smile, a stark contrast to Coriolanus’s stoic demeanour. Festus squeezes into the booth, taking up far too much space with his wide shoulders and large frame, and gesturing a skimpily dressed waitress over for a drink.

“I must say, I hadn’t thought you a regular here. A bit too… uncouth for your tastes, I would imagine.” Creed taunts, cocking his head to glance at the platinum blond.

Coriolanus scoffs dryly upon sizing up the newly elected congressman. A wave of superiority unwillingly washes over him in Creed’s presence, even as the both of them are in such a sleazy establishment. Festus wed Persephone Price just last summer, a highly talked about event amongst the newspapers and gossip rags. Coriolanus had been a groomsman, albeit reluctantly.

Frankly, he wouldn’t give a damn about his bride, if it weren’t for the surge in the polls she and their newly welcomed daughter bring in.

It is no secret that President Ravinstill will soon kick the bucket. A noble man would resign in order to hold the strong image of Capitol leadership, allow another man to replace him so Panem isn’t left without a Commander in Chief even momentarily. But he is no such man, evidently. Coriolanus holds no fondness for the old bat.

Once, during the Dark Days, a young Coriolanus had ventured out of the Corso in search of something to ease the unbearable rumbling in his stomach. Upon walking past the Presidential manor, he noticed a great big bucket of bones, half-eaten. He had reached his small arm in between the fence to fetch one, only to be met with a peacekeepers rifle pressed to his forehead — the meat was for President Ravinstill’s dogs, he had been told with blatant hostility. An indent remains on his forehead this day, from the cold, hard metal of the rifle. Hence, no fondness is held for the republics current leader.

That being said, beating Creed in the primaries when the time arises is essential. No one is competent in the way he is competent — not when it comes to ruling Panem with a harsh first, keeping the Districts in order and adequately rebuilding their glorious Capitol.

“I have my moments.” He replies cooly to Festus, taking a sip of his own drink. The amber liquid burns down his throat.

“You ought to come to the backstage room with me,” Festus offers, nudging Coriolanus’ shoulder under the guise of playfulness, asserting dominance the gestures underlying theme.

He emerges from the wretched room feeling filthier than before, mentally looking down on his former classmate like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Wordlessly he leaves adequate cash on the table he’d sat at for payment, quickly taking his leave. Not a word is spoken to the unpleasant woman guarding the door. She is beneath him. Everyone here is beneath him.

The cold air is merciful, helping to ease his simmering frustration almost instantly. It feels conspicuous, standing outside of such a building. The speakeasy’s building is disguised as a paper company, therefore rendered unsuspected. Even if it weren’t, a decent chunk of lawmakers attend the club — including but not limited to Snow himself.

Recuperated and having already held down the small button on the key inside of his pocket to alert his driver to come and pick him up, a voice sweet like honey and pathetically emotional rings in his ears. The girl from last week, Clara Bow, is stood on the sidewalk alongside a well dressed, fairly handsome man. Her pimp, Coriolanus would guess. The thought earns a mental scoff from him.

She’s draped in a thick wool coat, the red contrasting her fair skin beautifully. In no scenario imaginable does he think she bought it for herself.

“You forget yourself, Lucius.” Clara all but scoffs, shoving an envelope harshly at his chest before heading hastily down the sidewalk, her little heels clicking against the recently redone stone with each angrily fueled step.

“Hey, I didn’t offer to belittle you. Yeah? I want you out just as bad as you want out.” The man shouts back, shoving the thickly stuffed envelope into an inner coat pocket. He isn’t overly hostile, shaking his head as he ventures back down the outdoor steps, jaw clenched harshly.

The scene before him is a pitiful one, but for once it doesn’t invoke his usual sense of revulsion at such moral lacking women. Instead, he finds a sort of morbid fascination with the girl who he had found so very irksome not a full week ago.

Only then does the feeling he though long forgotten occur. It itches beneath his skin, causes his mouth to go dry and his heart to pound within his chest.

Obsession has been hardwired into Coriolanus’ brain since he was a boy. He has known since his brief time serving his country in District 12 — since Lucy Gray Baird — that it would quickly engulf him fully and lead to his demise if he were to be rendered unable to outsmart it.

For he is nothing in his soul if not obsessive.

Authors note;;

highly recommend taking a look at the moodboard!!!!!!!

i enjoy this story so so much & i hope you do too <3 more parts to come 100% !!

[schrodingersjigsaw]

No bc I see that argument a lot (her not loving him) and I just don’t buy it! This is a woman who BIT HER EX!!! She would’ve never in a million years agreed to run away with him, or be as consistently happy as she was to see him, or bring him around her family if she didn’t love him.

Hate when ppl are like 'we dont know if Lucy Gray really loved Snow, she was a mysterious character and we dont know her thoughts'

Like our homegirl wrote 'Pure as the driven Snow' about him AFTER seeing him kill a man, she was in love with him

[catastrophic29]

Lenore Dove and Haymitch are NOT parallels of Lucy Gray and Snow

Yes, Lenore dove represents the last of Lucy Gray to Snow, but her rebellious and impulsive behaviour definitely reminded him of a certain brown haired boy who tried to share his gumdrops on the first day of school.

Likewise, while Snow obviously saw himself in Haymitch, he (like peeta) is a performer, charismatic, cunning and resourceful, knows how to play the audience. He wasn’t meant to be reaped but was because of the cruelty of other people. A direct parallel to Lucy Gray.

Lenore dove, while covey, dislikes singing in and public and uses her music to rally and complete rebel acts. Her uncles Clerk carmine and Tam Amber are a bit more wealthy than the majority of district twelve and can reliably bribe the peacekeepers so she doesn’t get in trouble (sound familiar).

She, like sejanus, is an outcast due to her outspoken nature and her being a (technical) outsider (Covey).

And Snow saw this too as represented by their ends in the book, with Lenore Dove indirectly killed by snow using poisoned gumdrops, and Haymitch being locked in a golden birdcage, a manifestation of him being caged by the capital as a victor, just as he wished Lucy Gray was.

Snow, you will never get away from the sound of the girl (and the boy) who love[d] you.

[slaymitchabernathy]

i feel like halfway through their relationship with one another, haymitch & effie’s dynamic would consist of haymitch shushing her & effie hissing: “don’t shush me!”

[sweetlucygray]

sadly the only copy of s10 of thg i found is in the spanish dub but the only thing theyre saying is i love you and i know thats not right so can someone hook me up with their panem plus pleasee

[twitt3rpate]

OOP-

May her arrow signify the end of tyranny.

THE HUNGER GAMES: MOCKINGJAY PT II — Dir. Francis Lawrence (2015)