#the tragedy of coriolanus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toomanythoughts4myhead · 5 months

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Where my sorrows went to die

Summary: The prologue to my story: Ballads never end happily and neither do we.(based on my prompt).What if Coriolanus hadn’t managed to kill his lover back in district 12? What if the face haunting his life for the past three years comes back in flesh and bone? Will things be different this time or will he repeat the same mistakes? Giving you the gist of what Coriolanus has been up to since his return in the Capitol and how the story starts.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow (the walking red flag), mentions of death, mentions of grief and pain, the usual egomaniacal inner monologue Corio has (tell me if I missed anything)

Pairings: young!Coriolaus Snow x reader

A/N: Gave this man too much backstory out of nowhere, next chapters will have more action I swear. I just HAD to explain some of what was running through my head as basis of the plot. Hope you enjoy!

[Masterlis] [Next chapter ->]

Word count: 2.8K (around)

The oak trees in the fireplace were burning up, turning black and runny. The pleasant barely heard cracking from burning bark was long gone. The fire was dying, its life extinguished.

It felt familiar.

Coriolanus barely noticed the change in light or temperature, too engrossed in the paperwork that came along with his new working position. It wasn’t the boring cushiony job that he had envisioned back in his academy days, but it was better. The scribbling of pen on paper came to a halt, as the smell of burning wood turned to coals. Coriolanus didn’t much favor the smell of coals, or the cinder they left behind everywhere.

With an almost frustrated squelch of the expensive chair, he had for his study desk, he stood up and called for someone to clean up the fireplace.

He had won his way back to the Capitol, back to wealth and power, back to his true highest form. He didn’t need to breath in the cinder in the air anymore.

He didn’t need to return back to her.

In his upright position he opens one of the windows of his study, the one that overlooks the Capitols center. The cool December air hits him just right, the smell of snow heavy in early morning. The freshness clears his mind and sooths his newfound tenseness which he makes sure to correct as an avox scurries into the room. He doesn’t have to tolerate their filth anymore.

A lot of things have happened in the past 3 years. After his return from duty in district 12, he went on to university and finished his studying under Dr Gaul’s keen eye. Most of his time had truly been spend hauled up in her laboratories, discussing and going over ideas for the games before he was officially made into a part of the game makers. Youngest of them all he had acted on the same manners and sweet-talking he had used for his teachers in the Academy. Old people’s need for respect and admiration made them easy to flatter, it was almost funny.

Back in the days where he had to fear of the upcoming day, he had worked with whatever limited resources he had, running himself dry to hide his families fall from prosperity. Now that he had the Plinths grief-stricken minds, open hearts and fat wallets he could allow his mind to focus solely on whatever web he was spinning this time around. It felt good not to worry for money. Even if it was tarnished by the fact, he had resorted to taking it from districts. But who better take the money of people not belonging in this world than the future president of Panem? It was in everyone’s best interest.

For his 20th birthday the Plinths had bought him his own penthouse. He remembers it well, it wasn’t exactly a surprise, or a well-hidden one at that. Ma Plinth had been looking at him all teary eyed and smitten at the annual Friday dinner he had to sit through, blabbering on and on how he was becoming a fine young man and needed to settle in his own nest, to spread his wings and fly to a new horizon. What was with district people and their birds?

Granma ‘am always looked disdained at best by Mrs. Plinths company, but that night in particular seemed truly to be a new high. Seeing Mrs. Plinth rave about her Corio as if she had been the one who raised him must have rubbed her the wrong way, judging by the poisonous glances. She would never truly be able to stomach knowing that their way of life was supported by lucky district bumpkins, but at her old age she couldn’t complain too much. Her hair was thinning and her eyes were losing their focus, not to mention her aching knees. Thankfully with some of Plinth’s money the elevator was fixed and she could actually go out, rather than sing the hymn all day and water her roses. She was getting older, it always stuck out to Coriolanus, and he always almost immediately focus on the smiling figure of Tigris next to her.

She was able to quit her dead-end job as a seamstress, or more like the cleaner of the cloth shop. She could take life easier, even if her good heart and hardworking soul didn’t let her indulge too much in the luxuries their new life brought along. She never wanted to bother the Plinths, she didn’t like that they were leeching off of them, despite knowing it’s the best thing to do.

She had mentioned it to Coriolanus once, over a glass of some fancy alcohol Strabo Plinth had brought over after the main dinner had ended. The Plinths had returned to the apartment above them and grandma ‘am had retired to her room. With a creased brow and wine-stained lips she had mentioned it didn’t feel right to suck so much money out of the grieving minds of the Plinth’s, that it just didn’t sit right with her to see the poor family crumble so much so that they would turn Coriolanus into their pseudo son and project all their ruined dreams on him. Coriolanus had thrown her a glance over the rim of his glass, expression plane and unbothered, even if faint disdain could be read in his eyes. Not feeling like going in detail over the matter he had simply asked what should they do instead. They continued to drink in silence into the late hours of the night.

Despite this she now worked in a respectable position at Strabo’s Ammunition enterprise. She made a decent paycheck, way better than the scraps she was offered before. The weight of the family’s survival had been lifted off of her frail, still too young shoulders and it seemed that her youth had returned. Coriolanus always knew that their age gap was small, but he also knew how much Tigris had sacrificed: her education, wellbeing, personal life all to provide for him and Granma ‘am. Now her face shone with delight and beauty, lighting every room she entered. She has formed friendships at work, most of which Coriolanus approved, she was even seeing some girl, it made her happy. Coriolanus was glad to see her live the life she was always meant to have, despite everything. She was always the most deserving one, the kindest, the most compassionate, untainted by the same hate that seemed to be rooted in the family line. The one he seemed to be burdened to carry. Some days he envied her, most days he pitied her.

The gifted penthouse was luxurious and spacious, no surprises there. Most of the walls were bare except for a recent portrait the Snows had gotten as a gift from Ma Plinth, actually almost everything was bare, Coriolanus supposed that it was part of the “wing spreading” process for him to design his living space. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor for a few days until his furniture came, brought back some memories certainty, but in the end, he was able to decorate as he pleased rather than deal with the sentimental cluttered nonsense he had witnessed on many occasions at the Plinths. It screamed of people who weren’t used to having money and that’s the last thing Coriolanus needed.

Now he had it all, lavish furniture, a private study, a grand bedroom, personal avoxes to take care of it for him. All colours, items on the walls, tables, shelfs and their clearly expensive prices, it all created the image of the person Coriolanus wanted to be perceived as, all people should know of him. It made him fit in enough with the rich snobs, but shine apart from everyone else with his own personal taste. He would take pride in inviting possible work partners and sponsors for the games over.

Between balancing his position as a game maker, his shares in the Plinth business, he would no doubt inherit in a few years, and his personal relations with family and possible allies, he was spread thin in the best way possible. He was busy building his empire, his legacy, he knew he would achieve what he wanted in the end.

Not because he was blatantly arrogant, not only at least, not because he was charismatic and silver-tongued, not because of how the population of Panem seemed to swoon for the charm and looks he presented himself with. It was all because there wasn’t a price, he wasn’t willing to pay to achieve what he desired. That was the truest form of power, to have the control over your own attachments, the things that rendered everything and anything important. When you have none of that, what will stop you?

He has learned his lesson, he had felt the sting of powerlessness because of his stupidly naive love. Coriolanus Snow will never love again, he would be the one sinking his poison and manipulating this time, pulling the strings of other people’s attachment, but he would never hand over the reins of his heart again.

The angular clean shapes created by the Capitols buildings were smudged by the fast pace of his personal car and the falling snow. Dr Gaul had managed to haul him out of his warm home and call on him to personally visit her.

Coriolanus must admit that he did not miss this side of his new obligations. As he had begun to climb ranks in the social rings Dr Gaul had also stopped breathing down his neck as much, seemingly satisfied by his choices. Back at University when he was basically her apprentice he would have to see and act on her whims every single day. He respects her and her realistic views on humanity and society, but her unpredictability has always made him uncomfortable. He could feel safe knowing he was needed in her future plans but he could never be fully sure what they are exactly. Her mind seemed far too outlandish and out of the box, possibly mad even, for him to decipher and it always put him on edge when he got a call out of the blue.

The car rolls to a stop and his expensive boots leave marks in the snow as he climbs the stairs to the Citadel. The building had always been rather extraordinary and over the top in the way the Capitol seemed to love, so it had faced no renovations or changes in the past years. The same couldn’t be said for most structures in the Capitol. It seems that people have grown tired of seeing all the damage done by the war on the streets and buildings. Especially as the success of the past few hunger games had got the population of the Capitol more hyped, the nationalism seems to have grown.

Most simply enjoyed the games as a really bloody reality TV show at this point, but the older people who still felt the burning hatred for the districts were left satisfied and made big donations, satisfied by the cruel blood baths. Donations were made for rebuilding too, people wanted to drive home how truly better the Capitol was, how its reign would last forever. That was a sentiment Coriolanus was very satisfied to contribute to, he wanted to feel everyday how much better he was than those animals.

The acidic warm air of the labs underground makes him feel a bit better, winters seem to have grown harsher in the past years.

Good.

The staff directly assisting Dr Gaul hadn’t changed much, a few new unimportant faces but most knew him well enough not to even ask what business he had there. He made his way down the narrowing corridors, unbothered by all the abominations that were crying or wailing in their cages. He had seen them too many times to pity them and had watched them rip to shreds a few too many tributes in the newer editions of the games to feel remorse.

He opened the white heavy door to Doctor Gaul’s personal labs and searched for the woman with his gaze. She was waiting for him in her preferred red robes, purposefully stained, it always gave her a sinister aura, especially when she was wearing that unpredictable smile to match. Nothing friendly or even sadistically happy, it was all teeth and that unpredictable glint in her eyes.

She always looked at people like they were her little test subjects, thrilled to find out if they will die or live another day at her hands.

“Snow is falling heavily on Panem this winter, it seems to be overtaking the city by a storm. I am wishing you the same fate Mr. Snow.”

Coriolanus really hadn’t missed her little word plays and he had missed even less having to rake his brain for possible answers.

“Dr Gaul you requested to see me for something important, as I understand?” – Coriolanus asks calmly, making sure his impatience to return back home wasn’t too obvious, as he fiddled with the petals of the white rose tucked in his suit pocket.

“Young Mr. Snow you have been doing well, it seems you are putting what you learned back from District 12 to good use. You have realized the way people’s puny brains work and how attachment controls them, your ideas based on this thesis have helped raise the Hunger games to the civilian’s interest. For that I applaud you.”

The click clacking of her heels sounded oddly hollow compared to the deafening silence created in the laboratory.

Where was she going with this?

“But I often wonder if you yourself are able to withstand those powerful emotions within yourself. If you truly have been cured of it as you claim to have been.”

“Doctor Gaul I don’t understand-”

“Then perhaps we should test it to be sure. Follow me, Mr. Snow”

And with that she was walking away and deeper into the secluded laboratories down the hall. Coriolanus had no other choice but to follow her, even as his mind was running lightyears ahead of him.

What did this crazy woman intend to do? Flashes of Clementina’s fate flash before his eyes from all those years back and he knows that Dr Gaul would do whatever she pleases and stop at nothing. If she meant to test his attachment then that would mean she would harm Tigris? Granma’ am?

Flashes of strung up corpses accompanied by screams of birds fly through his mind and almost dull his vision. Thankfully he doesn’t walk head first into the wall at a specific sharp turn. He stands up straighter and slows his step, he is Coriolanus Snow, he is in control.

As he follows the menacing figure of Dr Gaul around a seemingly endless corridor of small rooms, that had a striking resemblance to a medical wing, they came to a gradual stop in front of room 278. No words were exchanged as they wordlessly stepped inside. He realized with a baited breath and fastening heartbeat, that his assumption about the medical wing had been correct. The room consisted of white walls and a simple medical bead that lay in the middle of the floor, currently hidden by drapes. The clinical acidic smell and lack of corpses at first glance made his shoulder untense under his red vest, just a little.

Dr Gaul walked over with the same unshakable calmness she always carried and went to stand next to the bed, just inches from the curtains, signaling for Coriolanus to come and open them. She observed him unblinkingly, the spark of interest never wavering.

If something gained such a strong response from doctor Gaul, Coriolanus was ready to sign his loved ones’ obituaries.

His heart was beating out of his chest and he hoped his breathing hadn’t intensified, as his hand took a hold of the rough material. He knew that he wasn’t visually showing anything, years of play pretend and weaving lies had made him an amazing subconscious actor, but he also knew that nothing escaped Dr Gaul’s gaze.

He pulled back the curtains with a sharp tug and for a few moments he didn’t know how to respond.

He felt almost naïve relief as he witnessed sprawled out body, so foreign from his family’s. And then it all came back cascading onto him as his mind cleared and he looked past the stress induced haze.

The image he had been seeing every night, the ghost haunting everything beautiful, the job he never finished properly.

It was you.

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