#Isn't two cloves enough?
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I love the mental image of people seeing the gang and just quickly peeling more cloves of garlic. just to be sure.
#Dracula Daily#Dracula#Macks Musings#Mihai we need more garlic!#Isn't two cloves enough?#Mihai have you seen our guests especially the young lady#I am going to add more garlic into the ciorbă. Maybe into the țuică just to be safe#Garlic infused țuică?#Well they won't know the difference just tell them it's a regional variation if they ask
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I think the reason garlic lovers (me included) are always like, "that isn't enough garlic, double it" is because we're cooking all the damn flavor out!! Like, yeah, sometimes you need more. But listen. Listen. If you want that mega sharp flavor? Ultra garlicky goodness?
Don't saute your onions and garlic together and then throw your other veggies or whatever in the pan. Don't do it! Garlic's flavor becomes super mellow as it cooks, which is why you can't taste its telltale sharpness in the end. If you saute it for 10 minutes, that flavor will basically be gone, and you'll need two or three times as much to replace it when you want that zing of garlicky goodness!!
Mince up those measly two cloves and throw them in for only the last minute of cooking. You'll get that tasty garlic aroma and flavor without using a whole head.
#aese speaks#cooking#cooking tips#kitchen witch#garlic#i love garlic and these recipes are KILLING IT#also throwing in garlic powder will help but like#if you want Super Sharp Super Garlicky Flavor. don't overcook it!
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Hi Pookies I've been working on a Nikolai x Hunger Games fanfic for a while and wanted to give you a preview before we wrap up Modern Nikolai. Lemme know your thoughts :)
Quick Info for help: Reader is 22 in this, Nikolai is 25. District 2. Takes place in Catching Fire and a bit after.
The victors are going back in.
The victors are going back in.
You lurch off Nikolai’s lap and dash to the bathroom, your dinner rising up in your throat. You're barely inside the room, barely on your knees, before you're retching into the toilet.
"'The tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors.'"
Your body shakes as you vomit, both from the force of the tears rising and from being sick. Momentarily you register Nikolai beside you, his warm body wrapping around yours, his lips against your hair in an attempt to give you comfort. I don’t want to go back, you think. I don’t want to relive the horror. There are many victors in the pool from District Two but the knowledge that it will undoubtedly be you chosen has you unhinged.
You remember, suddenly, when you volunteered at fifteen. You had been raised believing that you would bring glory to your district by competing but, after winning, you felt like you'd lost a piece of yourself. No sane person would feel good after slaughtering children. Children. Nikolai had been your mentor, then. At nineteen he had tried his best to put you back together, a shell of a girl, and afterwards he’d been the only person you'd trusted besides Coen. Coen. Your lover. Your closest friend. After he died, you trusted no one but Nikolai.
“I can’t.” You say.
“I know.” He murmurs over your gasping.
“It’s not—”
“I know.”
“It’s not fair.”
But nothing is fair, is it?
You turn suddenly and look at him. Your fingers grasp his face with enough force to bruise but he doesn’t flinch or move away--he never has. His eyes, that familiar, gorgeous blue, stay locked on yours. Your hands cup his cheeks and bring his forehead to yours, your eyes squeezing shut. Nikolai lets out a ragged breath and holds you against him, one arm flushing the vile concoction down the toilet before scooping you onto his lap. He runs his hands over your hair and holds you, just holds you, until you calm down.
“You know you’ll be picked, right?” He whispers, but of course you know. Nikolai has never been one to sugar-coat things and he won’t do it now, God bless him. “These games will most likely be rigged. They’ll pick you on purpose because of—” He stops, but he doesn’t need to finish. Warner. The victor who killed Coen only five years ago.
He’ll be there too, you know it.
“I know.” You mumble.
“I’ll volunteer.”
“No.”
“I won’t let you go in there without me. You—”
“Damn it, Nikolai, no.” You snap and shove off him, standing up. You snatch up your toothbrush and try to ignore him, your entire body trembling. Then you realize—he won’t have to volunteer. If it’s rigged like he’s suggesting, then he’ll be there automatically because you love him and the Capitol knows it. You make a strangled sound and bend halfway over, your toothbrush shaking inside your mouth.
“Y/N...” Nikolai murmurs as you finish, drying off the toothbrush. The tears on your face are warm and salty when you turn to him, your eyes meeting his.
“I wanted you to live. I wanted us to live.” You say, your voice hoarse. That's the deal, isn't it? You fight and kill, you degrade yourself, your sell parts of yourself you can never get back, only for what? To be sent back to the slaughterhouse? No. No.
“You know that this is because of Katniss.”
Your body tenses and the old feeling of hatred rises up from when you watched her games. Because of Cato. Because of Clove. Because of every tribute that died in that arena, whether it was her fault or not. You can remember how much you despised her after she and Peeta were allowed to survive their games, but you feel as though this punishment is crafted uniquely for her. Two victors won’t make it out alive, now. Besides—she’s just a kid. Who are you to blame her for saving the boy she loves?
“I would’ve done the same thing for you.” You say weakly and he knows you're referring to the berries.
“You mean Coen.”
“No.” Your voice comes out harsher than you thought it would and Nikolai’s eyebrows furrow. “I would. For—for both of you.”
He watches you for a moment before taking your face in his hands. When he kisses you, you immediately think about how this might be one of the last few kisses you can share. One of the last few times he'll make you feel like you're melting into him. Nikolai presses warm and soft, gentle, loving kisses to your mouth. He pulls away and tugs you against his chest, his hands gripping you tightly.
“The difference between Katniss and I,” he says, tone gentle, “is that I would’ve killed myself in that arena if it meant your survival.”
HAPPPPPYYY HUNGA GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMES
#nikolai lantsov#shadow and bone#nikolai lantsov x reader#wattpad#fluff#nikolai x reader#knight nikolai lantsov#prince nikolai#catching fire#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#katniss and peeta#thg#the hunger games
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I'm convinced that Snow was the one who came up with the "rule change" in THG (idc what the movie did with it--they didn't know TBOSAS and it was less than convincing they way they did it).
Just think about it. We start off the Games with Katniss's courageous action volunteering for her younger sister. Then Peeta did something radical. He decided to follow through on his declaration of love to Katniss and did everything he could in the arena to save her. Getting sponsors, teaming up with the Careers, getting Katniss to leave and fighting Cato for her. Can you imagine what that was doing in the Capitol? In the Districts? How could you watch someone do that and not hope for a happy ending, even as Peeta lay dying in the mud, whispering Katniss's name?
And then Katniss teams up with Rue and is devastated by her death. She stays with her, sings to her, until she dies. Bolstered by Peeta's words about not being a piece in their games and finally getting what he means, she decorates Rue with flowers. She honors her life and her unnecessary death. District 11 recognizes this and even though they have another tribute alive in the Games, send Katniss the bread.
In Snow's mind, everything about the games is starting to crack. Young love being selfless, sisterly affection defying the Capitol, comradery fostering between districts. He simply can't let it go on. He has to remind people in the Capitol and the Districts that this is not human nature. He is going to prove that. So he tells Seneca Crane to announce the rule change.
He expects Cato and Clove to make it to the final two. In their new advantage, they will become a deadly, mostly healthy team. Meanwhile, Snow can see that Katniss doesn't hold the same care for Peeta that he does for her (she had tried to kill him with tracker jackers, after all). Even if she goes to find him, she'll abandon him once it gets too hard, too dangerous. The hope of love triumphing will be met with annoyance at his injuries and agreeing to stay behind and not get his medicine. And even if she does, he'll still be too injured to truly be useful.
But things go awry. Thresh saves Katniss because of her kindness to a little girl he, too, saw as a younger sister. He kills Clove, bringing about Cato's wrath. And Katniss Everdeen turns out to be a better actress than expected.
No matter, though--once the rule change is revoked, the truth of the stripped-down human nature will come out. Oh, Peeta will throw out the ravings of a teenage boy high on hormones, but people will remember how awful they truly are when Katniss puts an arrow through his heart. After all, Snow's made that decision before. His lover or himself. Death in the woods or life with riches in the Capitol. It's easy, really, to make that decision. And people will remember even the best among them, even she who willingly risked her life to get medicine or volunteer for her sister, won't avoid killing in order to survive herself.
But Katniss calls their bluff, and Peeta goes along with it. They've chosen to protest the Hunger Games with their deaths. Seneca makes the call to announce two winners. Really, Snow was going to kill him either way. Someone has to be publicly accountable for the place he's in now, and Snow certainly isn't going to take credit for his idea. After this, he tries and tries to get Peeta and Katniss to have to kill each other. The Quarter Quell. The hijacking. But it never works. And not just because of them, but because a whole nation finally stands up and says Enough. We won't let this go on anymore. In the end, Snow was entirely wrong because he never truly understood love.
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Hey there, my hiatus is over
I realize I promised to have this up a couple weeks ago, but hey at least I'm here now
Hope you all like it. And thank you so much for these messages, they really helped motivate me in the periods where I was struggling to write
----
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
A Bird in the Hand, Part 8
The civilian hobbled about the kitchen in full view of the windows, collecting cardamoms, cloves, tea leaves, ginger – before dumping them into the pot to brew. The sight was peaceful, soothing, domestic.
The assassin raised his gun and took aim.
“[Civilian]!” The villain burst into the room grinning from ear to ear. The assassin’s aim swerved, and he halted his momentum just before firing the gun.
“Welcome home, darling,” the civilian said, holding out a cup of tea for the villain.
The villain took the cup and placed it on the counter, instead taking the civilian into their arms. “God it’s been a day. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing you.”
The assassin paused. The villain wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He’d lost his clean line of sight on the civilian.
The villain was too strong to kill – their shadows healed them at lightning speed. But targeting the civilian? What a perfect way to strike the Achilles Heel of the villain’s entire operation.
The assassin tilted his head, and watched the pair. The villain held the civilian securely, the two of them practically melting into each other. The civilian sang softly, and they both floated as a single unit in the gentle river of a melody.
The assassin once again had a clear shot on the civilian. He considered taking it despite the risk, just on the mere principle of seeing two people so happily in love while his home city burned.
But he paused. He thought he’d caught a detail, a little movement. And while it was possible he was projecting, years of bitter work in this business had taught him to trust his instincts.
When the villain first walked through the door, the assassin could’ve sworn he saw the civilian flinch.
---
“What are you getting out of this?” the assassin asked.
To the civilian’s credit, they didn’t scream. The assassin could see them tense, coiled and ready for a mad dash back to the house. But at least they didn’t scream.
The assassin jumped down from the tree, close enough to be a threat to the civilian but far enough still to remain out of the sight of any henchmen. He noted the civilian’s muddy gloves, their kneeling posture, the tall yellow flowers they’d been carefully pruning piled next to them in the grass.
“Like to garden?” the assassin said.
“Who are you?”
The assassin was disappointed, a little bit. His targets – the ones he actually spoke to – always asked the mundane questions. They were never perceptive enough to understand that all the “why”s and “how”s and “where did you come from”s would go unanswered. He’d sort of hoped that someone like the civilian would be different.
“I’m someone with an interest in saving lives,” he said “Now, since I like you, I'll ask again. What are you getting out of this?”
Evidently, the civilian was the expressive type. Their eyes flicked to their trowel, then the surrounding gardens, and lastly to the house some hundred meters away, never realizing how each movement of their retinas projected their thoughts to the assassin.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” they said finally.
The assassin leaned against the tree. It was a deceptive stance in which he looked relaxed and unthreatening, but could spring into action at a hair-breadth’s notice.
“One day, [Hero] is at the top of their game," he began. "The next day, main street is nothing but craters. And then some two-bit villain that no one remembers suddenly becomes god of the city." He crouched down to meet the civilian’s gaze. "Makes you wonder if there isn't a puppeteer somewhere, holding strings."
The civilian blinked. “Did you come up with that on your own, or is that the commonly held belief about me?"
“Are you saying you didn’t shack up with [Villain] willfully?”
The look of revulsion that crossed the civilian’s face said it all. The assassin’s grin widened. He loved being proven right.
“Okay.” He stood up, dusting off his pants, and held his hand out to the civilian. “Let’s go.”
The civilian glanced between the assassin’s hand and his face. “You can’t be serious.”
“Didn’t you hear my bit about saving lives?” He reached for the civilian, but they lurched away.
“Listen,” the civilian said. They slowly rose, their bad leg making it awkward. “You do not understand what is going on here. If I disappear, [Villain] will look for me.”
“Most villains do,” the assassin agreed. “Feels nice to be wanted, don’t it?” He took a careful step towards the civilian, but again they moved back.
“You’re not listening. [Villain] will kill you.”
The assassin shrugged. He leaned forward a tiny bit more.
“Help!” the civilian yelled. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, both equally surprised by the civilian's outburst. The civilian took in a breath. Then, louder, “Help please!”
The assassin was gone long before the guards even entered the gardens.
---
The civilian was a decent actor. The assassin had to give them that.
The couple went about their evening routine like usual – a warm welcome home, dinner, an after-meal tea, and then finally cuddling. The villain’s head rested on the civilian’s chest and the civilian read a paperback, all while Sinatra played on an old record in the other room. The assassin might have even bought it, if the civilian had turned the page of their book once within the last forty-five minutes.
“I would like to discuss something,” the villain said, their eyes still closed.
The civilian’s expression twinged. “Hm?”
The villain opened their eyes, and adjusted so that they were looking the civilian in the face. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Of course.”
“And do you love me too?”
“Of course.”
The villain smiled, and that almost seemed like it would be the end of it. But then their hand went to the civilian’s jaw, shadows emanating from their fingertips. “So then why did my henchmen see you talking with a stranger in the gardens this afternoon?”
The civilian’s eyes widened. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, I know what it is.” The villain’s shadows warped out like talons, and the civilian jerked back in pain.
“I don’t know who that person was. I wasn’t trying to leave.” The civilian’s voice was strained. “I love you too much to ever do that.”
“My dear, if only I could believe you.” The villain held the civilian down in their writhing. They leaned in until their faces were nearly touching. “What will you do to prove you are willing to stay?”
“Whatever you want. I – ” The shadows entered the civilian’s throat, choking them and cutting off their words. Tears sprang to the civilian’s eyes.
“Come now, love.” The villain lifted the civilian in their arms. “I need to show you what happens when you let your affections stray.”
And then, just before the villain reached the door, they stumbled. The movement was awkward and wobbly – one moment they were striding confidently across the room and the next their knees were on the ground. The civilian dropped to the floor with a yelp.
The villain grasped their head as though in pain. All their shadows had evaporated. "What? . . ."
“Holy fuck,” the civilian said, scrambling backwards. “Holy fuck it worked.”
The villain jerked their gaze up. “What did you do?”
The civilian burst out laughing.
"[Civilian]!" The villain tried to move forward but swooned, only just catching themself with their arms outstretched.
“Angel’s trumpet,” the civilian said, struggling to get their laughter under control. Their wild eyes went to the empty mugs on the table. “Brugmansia candida. Symptoms include difficulty with speech, delirium –” their gaze slid back to the villain, “– and paralysis. I’ve been told it also makes for a rather delicious tea.”
The assassin’s memory flashed to the tall yellow flowers the civilian had been pruning.
“You – ” The villain tried to stand up, but collapsed down again on their knees. “I’m going to kill you.”
“I doubt it.” The civilian rose from the floor wearing a triumphant grin, and limped to the opposite wall. “You never seemed quite unhinged enough to destroy your own power source.” They opened a closet door and pulled out a backpack.
"What are you doing?" the villain asked, their voice hitched in fear.
"Leaving, of course." The civilian went to the kitchen cabinets and threw in supplies. They returned and slung the bag over their shoulders. "As much as I want to stick around and see if I brewed enough to kill you, I best get going. I'll say one thing though." They leaned down and grabbed the villain's chin. "You repulse me, [Villain]. And I never once loved you."
"I will find you." The villain's limbs began shaking as they watched the civilian move away. "It will take mere weeks. Days, even! I don't care how much of this city I have to destroy."
The civilian's footsteps paused.
The villain's words quickened, growing eager. "That's right, [Civilian]. I will ruin this city. Stay here and you save countless lives. Mothers, children, innocent people who –"
The civilian strode back and kicked the villain in the chest. "You try anything like that, and I'm killing myself."
The assassin watched with growing respect as the civilian limped out the front door, the villain screaming their name all along the way.
-----
Taglist:
@d-cs , @asrasmysoulmate
#civilian x villain#villain x civilian#villain#hero#villains and heroes#heroes and villains#whump snippet#whumpblr#whump drabble#whump writing#writeblr#writing snippet#captivity#before any botany peeps come for me#I know this is a mischaracterization of the symptoms of angel's trumpet#but creative liberties and whatnot#seriously though don't fuck with angel's trumpet unless you want to visit the hospital#not a prompt
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Isn't it interesting how language forms around food?? And of course it does, it's so central to life. Isn't it interesting how words morph over time.
In Sweden we call veggies "grönsaker" which literally means "green things". Of course not all of them are green, thats not the point. We also call root vegetable "rotfrukt" which means root fruit. Now a root of course isn't a fruiting body, it doesn't contain seeds, its more like a big battery and sometimes also a reproductive system (potatoes). Something that's also a big battery and a reproductive system is a bulb, like garlic. But a garlic bulb is several cloves, each of which can become its own plant. Some bulbs split in two, some bulbs make a ton of teeny tiny bulbs.
Garlic has been bred to make a flower that turns not into seed but into more little cloves of garlic. Many other onions do this too. In English, garlic is separated from its family, in Swedish, it keeps its name of onion, its white onion. Chives too, those are grass onion.
Is garlic a root vegetable? Why not? It's the underground part of a plant. Is garlic a vegetable? If not, then surely onion isn't either. Is garlic a herb or a spice? Depends on the definition of either. Depends on what part of the plant, and the form it takes.
If corn is a vegetable then why aren't other grains? One can hardly deny that corn is a grain. My botany teacher once said she liked vegetables, and she liked grass, and corn is a vegetable that is a grass, so it's her favorite.
Peanut is not a nut but a legume. In many places it's called "earth nut" because of how it grows. It buries its own developing seed pods into the soil, pre-planting them for the next generation. We describe things as tasting "nutty", because we associate a certain set of impressions with nuts, and this legume fits the bill well enough to be adopted under the name when used in the kitchen.
If I make a miso soup and I add kombu, shiitake mushrooms, and carrots cut into flowers into it, I'd probably say I added three different veggies if someone asked. It really doesn't matter in that moment that kombu is closer to diatoms and silicoflagellate than carrots, and that fungus has about as much in common with both as it does with the Brazilian wandering spider. What matters is neither of my roommates who have texture issues with veggies can't eat the soup I made.
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Because I am such a lucky duck °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ @iron-sparrow and @viiioca °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tagged me in this banger meme again! So I get to do it for Oli after all \o/
₊⊹♡ Thank you both for thinking of me!! ₊⊹♡
ｂａｓｉｃｓ
Name: Oliviede Ebrelnaux
(Phonetic: OH-LIHV-ee-yee-dah EHB-rel-NAH)
Nicknames: Just Oli
Age: 35
Nameday: 21st Sun of the Sixth Umbral Moon
Gender: Female, although non-binary wouldn't be wrong either, really.
Orientation: Asexual.
Profession: Travelling herbalist/alchemist. Occasional anthropogeologist.
ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ ａｓｐｅｃｔｓ
Hair: Black with a few wisps of grey here and there.
Eyes: Mossy green
Skin: Pale.
Tattoos/scars: An assortment of artistic branding and scarification, self-administered. Oli has brands on her palms, sternum, biceps and Achilles heels, currently. She will likely acquire more designs over her body as time goes on.
ｆａｍｉｌｙ
Parents:
Father, Astervain Ebrelnaux
Mother, Orella Ebrelnaux nee Cordwyk
Siblings: None. Interracial mixing is considered kind of a taboo by the games canon and so I assumed Oli's parents were nice enough not to put another kid through all that.
Grandparents:
Grandfather, Fernerin Ebrelnaux
Grandmother, Amianne Ebrelnaux nee Contillaud
Grandfather, Wyat Cordwyk
Grandmother, Tilla Cordwyk nee Kemp
In-laws and Other:
For some context, Most of Oli's family died in the Calamity. Her Aunt on her Mother's side is her only living relative, and Ermina and Orella had fallen out a few years prior to the fall of Dalamud. Her Aunt married a fellow survivor of the Calamity who had lost his wife and became step-mother of his two young children.
They live in Eastern Thanalan, and Oli's Aunt is a member of the Alchemist's Guild in Ul'dah. But, thanks to the past difficulties between her Mother and Aunt, Oli has a strained relationship with the surviving members of her family. But, here they are!
Aunt, Ermina Cooke nee Cordwyk
Uncle, by marriage, Ricard Cooke
Cousins, by marriage not blood, Willem Cooke, Edila Cooke.
Pets: None, unless you count Chessie, which you can. However Oli see's Chessie much more like a person than a pet.
ｓｋｉｌｌｓ
Abilities: Alchemy, botany, herbalism, aetherofloraculture and horticulture, conjuration magic, a really mean left hook.
Hobbies: Gardening, baking, making perfume, listening to Cyfrenne gossip and tutting appropriately, babysitting Callineaux on field work assignments, helping Leon name his mammets.
ｔｒａｉｔｓ
Most Positive Trait: Very patient!
Most Negative Trait: Very patient.
ｌｉｋｅｓ
Colors: Oli's favorite colour is yellow, however she wears it rarely. She is more prone to wearing earthy tones, deep browns, greys and creams, greens, a rust red here and there.
Smells: Patchouli, basil, petrichor, fresh bread, copper
Textures: Autumn leaves, river stones, finely spun gauze, heated metal
Drinks: Tea with a slice of lemon, apple juice, Gin Bramble
ｏｔｈｅｒ ｄｅｔａｉｌｓ
Smokes: Not habitually, but yes, she usually has some on her. Primarily herbal cigarettes like clove, or in-universe equivalents of mugwort or coltisfoot.
Drinks: Socially or for ritualistic reasons.
Drugs: Socially or for ritualistic reasons.
Mount Issuance: Oli's mount is a Chocobo named Chessie. An old, barren breeding mare that was among the bo's that fled from Ishgard into the Shroud. As the bird wasn't much use to Bentbranch, she bought her from them, and Chessie has traveled with her just about everywhere since.
Chessie is short for Chestnut, and though I haven't gotten around to dying her in-game mount, I headcanon Chessie's feathers have taken on a darker tan as she's aged, which is why Oli gave her that name.
Been Arrested: No, Oli's always kept her head down because she's half-Hyur and that's what her parents and extended family always told her to do. She got pulled up a few times for fighting in both Ul'dah and Dravania during her studies, (because she isn't the best with conflict and using her words to communicate feelings like anger.) But she's never had to spend any time behind bars.
Thank you both so much for the tags! It was fun to do this again with Oli! <3
I will try to tag a few folks who might not have had a chance to do this yet, or who I think have alts they might like to do it with! As always, absolutely no pressure if you've already done it/don't want to!
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖@aislingsurrow, @dumb-hat, @thefreelanceangel, @brazenshieldffxiv, @gatheredfates, @riftdancing, @starforger, @sealrock, @cantspelldragoonwithoutgoon, @shroudkeeper, @starres-stuff, and @houserosaire ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
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Hey again! Got another idea 👀👀 But could I request a Clove Kentwell x past victor reader (won very young) who lives in the capitol? Reader is good friends with Enobaria and Brutus and decides to check in with the tributes/mentors of that years game to see what's up and to give some tips and tricks. Immediately she hit's it off with the other careers other then Clove (who likes her but has no idea how to go about it), they accidently meet on the balcony and start to warm up with each other (R gives Clove a token since she didn't get one). Later on R watches the games with the mentors and not so secretly cheers on Clove (defo get's her sponsor packages). Clove wins and they reunite, with clove making the first move after realizing her feelings during the game. Thank you, and I hope this isn't too long!
'lessons worth learning' - clove kentwell
masterlist
The Hunger Games is always your least favorite time to return to the Capitol. As if any of the other opportunities are good, though; you can be trotted around like a prize pony, gawked at as a Mentor, or called up out of the blue to reminisce on the good old days when you won your Games and were lucky enough to have the lovely experience of murdering children who had done no wrong other than the simple misfortune of having their name pulled from a bowl.
The Games are worse, though. You stand on a balcony, knuckles tight like bone around the railing. Below you, two dozen children ripe for the slaughter mill around, testing weapons and receiving instruction from their mentors. You’re here for mentorship duties yourself, having won your Games a couple of years back and thus entitling you to spend the rest of your life watching other tributes attempt to do the same or die trying.
Some would call it a blessing. Sometimes, though, you envy the dead back in your Games. Their lives, although ended early, are theirs, and theirs alone. They won’t have to live forever as a poster child of the Capitol, an example of what District can amount to if they just try. That isn’t to say that you wish you had died in the Games– you are a fighter, always have been, and you’d rather bleed a thousand times than give up– but you do wish that you could have won without having to be a puppet for all the Games afterwards.
All the Victors know the feeling. You ache like a dog on a leash, all of you, having trained all your lives to win the Games if you were Careers or at least dreaded them your entire childhood, but upon doing the one task set before you, every pretense of independence was ripped away. What was once a prize mastiff or foxhound is now a muzzled lapdog, dolled up every season of the Games before being shut up in the Districts once the fun is over.
The first year of your Victorhood, you could hardly handle it. Everything was switched around. The jokes weren’t funny, and what was worth laughing at could cost your head. The food was too much and the clothes were too little. It was like living in a backwards world, one where one false step would bring destruction to you and your family.
Thankfully, you had your other Victors to help you. Enobaria and Brutus, also from your home district of Two, walked you through the gilded trials of a successful Victor, and in turn, you mentor the next sets of tributes to be sent your way. You won your Games young, surprisingly young, so Brutus and Enobaria tend to be the ones selected for primary Mentorship.
Turns out most tributes prefer to be taught by actual adults, thinking them more experienced and a better shot at their own survival. That’s fine by you, by all accounts; the more time out of the limelight, the better. You’re still required to show up to the Capitol, being the youngest Victor in quite a while means you’ll never fully be released from the Capitol’s fascination, but you can be a quiet darling in the shadows any time you like. If there’s one thing the years have taught you, it’s that it is far, far better to be the dusty doll left behind in the toy chest than the one out on display.
This time around, however, Brutus and Enobaria called you up to give the tributes some advice. District Two hasn’t won a round of the Games since– well, since you, and that was more than a couple of years ago. Since you’re the most recent Two victor, you’ll have valuable insights to provide. Supposedly.
Thus, you find yourself leaning against this balcony, watching the tributes prepare themselves to die. There’s a good amount of competition amongst the Reaped ones this year, it’ll be a tough fight. You don’t envy anyone down there for the task they’ll have to face. Both the tributes from One look formidable, plus a good crop of others from a smattering of districts. Of course, your fellow tributes from Two look strong too, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Then again, the girl from Two this year, a certain Clove Kentwell, does seem to be impressing everyone in her path. She’s about your age, and you probably would have seen her around Two more often were it not for the fact that you’re more fond of suppressing memories in the Victor’s Village than training for the Games you’ll never have to enter again. She seems clever, which is a good thing. Clever girls can get themselves out of deadly loopholes. You can speak to that through past experience.
She’s watching you now, actually. It’s no surprise. Clove has been keeping her eyes on you since the moment she was Reaped. At this point, the quiet weight of her gaze on your shoulders has grown comfortable, more like a woolen cloak than a knife in your back. It’s not a hostile gaze either, this, just painstakingly present. Clove doesn’t mind it if you catch her looking. She’s not the type to glance away first. Good. Anything to keep weakness off her shoulders.
Clove’s fingers tap absentmindedly on her legs, then she seems to make a decision and walks up to talk to you. Your eyes flash to the Peacekeepers stationed at the exits, but they don’t flinch. Still, you have no doubt that they’re watching. It’s fine if the tributes want to talk to the Mentors, but you can’t give them any weapons, nor any advantage at all other than a few good pieces of advice. There’s only so far advice will go anyway, but you might as well offer up what you have. At least then you won’t leave this round of the Games as you do every other: wondering if what you’d done was enough, and then trying to scrub another set of two young names out of your brain for another year in a row.
Clove reaches the top of the balcony and folds her arms across her chest, eyeing you down like you’re another tribute. It’s a mistake that’s been made before, actually. You’re awfully young for a Mentor, but then again, you were awfully young for a Victor as well.
“So, you’re supposed to be helping me win these things?” She asks daringly.
You nod. “You and your fellow tribute.”
Clove knows this, of course. She’s testing the waters, searching for some kind of reaction. You’re not sure what she wants, but she’ll probably convince herself of it soon enough anyway. Better not to get involved. Better not to get attached. You know how this ends, don’t you? You know better than to enjoy someone’s company if you know they’re going to die.
“You won a few years ago, didn’t you? You were the young one they couldn’t stop talking about?” Clove asks.
You force a smile. It’s as cold and disinterested as you can make it. “That’s me. Although I would have assumed your plan for winning the Games wouldn’t involve rattling off exciting facts about mine.”
“Isn’t it your job to share details about your Games so you can give me a strategy to win mine?” Clove snips at you. She’s fiery. Like you, when you dare to let your spark grow out of the stifling embrace of the Capitol.
“No two Games are the same,” you shoot back. “It’s a better use of your time and mine to consider the current situation instead of mulling over the past. The only things you should think about right now are the present and the immediate future. The next few weeks are your entire life. The past can rot with the rest of the tributes who died because they failed to plan properly.”
Clove whistles. “Charming. Did Brutus and Enobaria bring you here because of your knack for motivational speeches?”
Your grin is bitter. “That, and they knew I wouldn’t coddle you. These are the Hunger Games, Clove. Realism is all you have.”
“Because the Hunger Games are all that will matter in my life?” Clove asks, tone acidic. “Funny, I didn’t think the youngest Victor would have agreed with that.”
“I don’t,” you answer her. “It’s because you’re going to win the Games, and then you’re going to go home, and none of it will have mattered at all.”
Clove pulls a face, disbelieving. “Of course. Winning the Hunger Games won’t mean a single thing in Two. That makes perfect sense.”
“It won’t matter,” you insist, “Sure, it will, for a couple of days. Then you’ll be in Victor’s Village with the rest of District Two’s idols and you’ll blend right in. For months afterwards, you will be flush with victory, knowing you’ve done this spectacular thing, and no one will even care. It’ll be all you can think about, and no one will know. This is the Hunger Games, Clove Kentwell. They matter to you because you’re in them, but once everyone else knows their name won’t be pulled, it’s nothing to them.”
Clove’s eyes have gone quiet. “They’ll have to remember, though. Every year, when they make us do the Victory Tour or go back to the Capitol.”
“Sure, sure,” you say listlessly. “You’ll be one of the Victors. But they’ll forget what year you won, or what you did to deserve it. After a while, they won’t be able to remember if you were the sibling of a Victor, or the lover, or a friend. What do you think happened to me, huh? When you came in here, you didn’t even know my name, and I won just a couple of years ago. Face it, Clove. It all ends after this.”
Clove is silent for a while, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and wooden. “So how do I fight that? How do I be someone they’ll remember?”
You chuckle bitterly. “You can’t.”
Clove’s face flashes with irritation. “Then why are you here, huh? I thought Mentors were supposed to help us. Is your job just to depress us and then leave? Whose side are you really on?”
She’s started moving towards you with every word, inching forward threateningly. You don’t back down or move a muscle, and when you’re both eye to eye, barely a few inches apart, close enough to see how her chest rises and falls with the brunt of her anger, you bite out at last, “Yours.”
“I don’t believe you,” Clove hisses back.
You smirk. It’s not a nice thing to see. The Capitol has stripped the warmth from your emotions, leaving only blank ghosts of what were once shiny, vivid expressions. “You don’t have to. Look around you. You are in the Capitol. Look at how everyone here looks at you.”
You put your hand on Clove’s cheekbone, forcing her to turn around. You can see it in her expression as she gets what you’re saying, how her eyes harden even more, how she shifts back away from everyone else and towards you again. This, after all, is what it means to be a tribute. The Capitol citizens eye you like a piece of meat, the other competitors stare you down like a hawk who’s caught onto its prey. There are no friendly faces here, just territorial or greedy or both.
“So you’re the better option,” Clove murmurs.
“That’s one way of putting it,” you admit. “I know how it feels to be out there. Alone, despite your Mentors.”
“And you wanted to make sure I felt that, too?” Clove asks, somewhat bemused.
You shake your head. “I wanted you to feel the opposite.”
Clove considers this, then looks back at you again. The hostility is gone from her eyes, replaced with curiosity. “I think I do,” she says.
“Good,” you tell her. “Now we can work together on how to make you win this.”
After that, Clove is focused, her simmering rage honed to a knifepoint’s sharpness. She finds precise techniques to master and practices them over and over again until she’s sure of herself. Those skills that she’s unfamiliar with, she gains a bare capability. She doesn’t need to be good at everything, just not bad at anything. It’s far harder than it sounds, but Clove is all too willing a pupil.
Enobaria finds you later that night. She’s mulling over a drink, and you’re watching the recordings of the tributes’ daily trainings over again so you can spot any weaknesses or potential allies. “The girl seems to be taking to your lessons,” she notes. Her sharpened teeth flash in the low light of the room.
You keep your eyes on the screen ahead of you. “Clove is a proper Career. She makes our district proud. She’s had a lifetime of lessons, and not just mine.”
“Clove?” Enobaria asks, eyebrow arched as she calls out the first name basis. “Getting along quite nicely, aren’t you?”
You elect not to comment, instead focusing on the image of Clove’s form on the recording as she practices with her knives. Enobaria shakes her head, chuckling softly in a manner not too far removed from a jackal when it sights its prey. “I thought you knew better than to get attached to tributes, Y/N. You know Mentors should never fixate on those that will likely end up dead.”
“Of course,” you answer her. “And when you were mentoring me, you never did anything of the sort, right?”
With that comment, you finally look up at her, grinning slightly. Enobaria barks out a laugh, knowing full well that she’d seen you as a sister while you were training. “Get some rest,” she tells you at last. “Your Clove needs you to be functional.”
Your Clove. You can’t deny that you like the ring of it. Enobaria is right to warn you to keep your emotional guard up, though. Soon enough, the week of training is up, and then the tributes are receiving their last words of advice from their Mentors before being sent to the Arena.
You meet with Clove one final time, relating the last bits of information, though the last thing you say to her isn’t practical guidance but a raw, naked hope that she will survive. She promises you she’ll win. You’ve heard many such promises, but for the first time, you believe it.
Then she’s gone, and you are alone with only the other Mentors and Victors to guide you. There’s not a moment to waste, though. Clove has hardly vanished from your sight before you’re racing back up to the viewing stations, where you fling yourself wholeheartedly into the masterful game of winning over sponsors. If Clove has to be out there, fighting for her life, you’ll make sure she’s doing so with the best weapons, medicine, and food that you can bring her.
It’s a terrible thing, sending a friend to die. Worse still when Clove was the first tribute you let through your walls in a very long time. You spent a while winning her over with your experience as a tribute, but Clove won you over too. You watch her as much as you dare, your brave girl, cheering whenever she survives a tricky situation and engulfed in fear whenever she’s in trouble.
At the end of a couple of the longest weeks of your life, though, Clove emerges victorious, the final cannon blast signaling the end of her trials. You swear that you were more stressed during the showdown of the last two tributes than during your own Games, although surely that would be impossible. Clove is brought back from the Arena and immediately checked into the medical wing to handle several injuries from the final fight.
Once visitors are allowed, though, you’re the first one through that door. Clove is in your arms at once. Her eyes are bright upon seeing you, but there’s a shadow that wasn’t there before. She’s a Victor now. It’s not all grand and glorious celebrations. Once the euphoria of still being alive wears off, Clove will have to walk the longer and harder path, the one that doesn’t let you go after a matter of weeks. The memories of this torment will stick with her forever, and the nightmares don’t ease up just because you get older.
Clove will have you, though. Always. You promise her this now, and have just enough time to see the rush of relief in her expression before you’re separated again. Clove will have to be made over by her team so she can be crowned Victor in front of the Capitol. They’ll make her talk about the kills and the narrow escapes, but then she can leave, and so can you.
You watch her from the audience during the interview, then meet her backstage afterwards. She pulls you into a dark corridor behind the grand mess of stylists and Capitol citizens. There are many annexes and mouse holes in the mansions of the Capitol, small places to be alone if you only know where to look.
“You were stunning,” you tell her honestly.
“It’s over now,” she says dazedly. “Isn’t it?”
“It is,” you confirm. “You’ll go home. You’ll recover. They’ll drag a few more appearances out of you, but it’s over. You won.”
“I don’t know how to handle this part,” she confesses. “I don’t know how to be a Victor. Will you show me?”
“Of course,” you whisper. “You’ll be perfect at it, just like you were in the Games. You earned that crown, Clove. Be happy. As happy as you can.”
Clove’s eyes shine, rivaling the low glow of the Victor’s crown nestled in her dark curls. Out of some impulse, she reaches up and plucks the gold circlet from her temples before placing it on your head instead. Her hand lingers near your face, dropping slowly from your forehead to your cheek, where her fingers remain, soft against your skin. These are the hands that are responsible for twenty-three dead tributes, and your mouth is the one who taught her how to do it. Still, when it is just the two of you in the quiet dark, you would swear that you and Clove have only ever done good things; pure, too, like falling in love with a girl who grew up loving you, like finding someone to guide through death itself and ensuring that she would walk out the other side.
“I remember that from your Games,” she says dazedly. “You looked good with the crown.”
You laugh quietly. “If that’s all you remembered about my Games, I would be happy.”
Clove’s eyes are dark and large. Falling into them is easy, you don’t think you could escape if you tried. What a sweet way to drown. “If this is all I remember about mine, I would be happy, too.”
You take her hands in the dark. “I’ll help you forget if you help me.”
“Together,” Clove says. “Promise it.”
“Together,” you swear. “Always.”
There is no such thing as always, not in the Capitol. Not in this hopeless city, not in this starving country. For a moment, though, for two girls away from the prying eyes of the world, it exists as a bond between the two of them, drawing them inexplicably and permanently together. It’s an oath of blood and gold, a crown that soothes and cuts to the core. Nothing is good here, not in Panem, but you will have Clove, and you will have her always.
requested by @beepboopnel-deactivated20240128, i hope you enjoy!
hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope
all tags list: @wordsarelife
#clove kentwell#clove kentwell imagines#clove kentwell x reader#clove kentwell oneshot#the hunger games#the hunger games imagines#the hunger games x reader#the hunger games oneshot#thg#thg imagines#thg x reader#thg oneshot#clove#clove imagines#clove x reader#clove oneshot#the hunger games clove#the hunger games clove imagines#the hunger games clove x reader#the hunger games clove oneshot#thg clove#thg clove imagines#thg clove x reader#thg clove oneshot
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Mentioned before that Liam's eyes glow in the dark even more when they get older- well, they also intensify a lot in their glowing when riled up!
Also, Scarab's so clearly seen because that's Liam vision (they're looking right at him debating if they should call him over) vs Scarab vision in the dark heh
Another fact about Liam, is that they can sort of sense when a Beast is nearby- not accurately, but just enough to know that's something is VERY dangerous in the the area they're in. And a vague sense of the size of the Beast.
It is like a magnet though, the closer they get to one, the more intense the feeling of anxiousness they get. Until they're right next to it and the anxiousness changes into something else.
(Depending on the size of the Beast- it's usually pure fear when its the massive ones)
What Liam slayed was a very young Beast that was trying to hunt them down; but they turned the tables on it.
A tidbit of story underneath the readmore this time! :) (Heads up it does go into detail of how Liam hunts and slays the Beast)
The moment they all started setting up camp for the night is when Liam felt it.
An intense sense of unease.
That familiar cold shiver up their spine.
The way the hair on the back of their neck stood on end.
And that irritating, strange, nonstop tickle in the back of their head.
...
Just like that time when that Beast took Chiron and Vale away from them.
Liam clenched their eyes shut and bit at the inside of their cheek. 'This isn't the time to be thinking about that.'
Besides, the feeling was bad- but it wasn't as anxiety inducing as the energy that colossus had them feel. Even that bird Beast that snapped up Scarab couldn't compare. This one was even less than that foul feathered fiend. Which meant-
It was a small one.
They stopped fixing up their sleeping bag and stood up straight and tense, scanning their surroundings and watching for any sudden movement in the dense clovers.
All they saw were their brothers and Scarab leaning against the roots branching off the flower they were sheltering under.
Finn and Jake were completely unware of the odd energy they felt in the air. Much to Liam's relief. Their little brothers were already settled in for sleep. Finn tucked away in his sleeping bag, snoring the night away. Jake was nestled right beside him, ever the faithful guardian to his little brother.
The two wouldn't notice them slipping away into the dark- they wouldn't- couldn't follow them on this lil trek they were planning.
That just left Scarab.
Liam gnawed at the inside of their cheek again when they turned to look at him.
The God Auditor was staring right at them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
His usual pose for analyzing a situation, or person, they've come to recognize.
He had already noticed how they tensed up, how they gazed wirily at the foliage surrounding them. As if anything could jump out at any moment. For a moment, Liam wondered if he could sense the foreboding energy as well. He was a Cosmic Being after all.
Them glancing at him spurred his questioning. "Is something the matter? You look nervous."
Excuse! They needed to think up an excuse!
"I just-" Liam's eyes darted back to the cloves. "I-" Their face heated up as they thought of a decent excuse. It was embarrassing, but it was one Scarab would probably believe. Them almost always being flustered under his gaze helped too, much to their dismay.
"I was looking for a spot where it wouldn't be in your eyesight for me to use the restroom."
They weren't looking at him, but they heard him make a rapid clicking noise and the sound of shuffling. He had turned around they realized.
"Go on then." Scarab waved his hand at them, as if shooing them away, "I'll keep an eye on your brothers."
Liam felt bad for lying, and just knew they'd get an earful for it later. But they feared he might not let them hunt it down if he knew.
They've done this before, before he was even journeying with them. They'd be fine.
"Thanks, I'll try to make it quick."
-
They, in fact, did not make it quick.
Liam frowned. 'By now Scarab must be suspicious.' From what they'd learned of him from their recent travels together, was that he'd be on their trail without a doubt by now.
He stuck by them like pine resin to an unfortunate burrower.
It'd still take him a while though, with the pace they were going.
Liam had swiftly wandered far from their makeshift camp, following the sensation of growing anxiety grating at their brain.
When it was nearly overpowering they slowed their pace.
It was close.
The sense of unease slowly ebbed away, like a calm settling in before the storm.
They crept cautiously amongst the undergrowth in the moonless night. Mindful of any breeze, any sound, any movement that felt off. Their mom and Gramps had taught them how to hunt, and how it felt to be hunted.
Caution, vigilance, how to wait for the right moment to strike and defend. So when Liam heard leaves crunching underneath the weight of something, they froze.
And listened.
The heavy steps were coming just a little ways to the left of them, walking away from where they were.
Heading towards the camp they realized.
Liam held back an angry hiss, instead focusing on kneeling down and practically crawled their way towards the noise.
It didn't take them long to spot it.
Its four golden eyes glowed in the dark, tongue flicking out and tasting the air in the direction of where their brothers and Scarab were. The lizard Beast was indeed small, slightly smaller than them- but still large enough to cause serious damage to a resting group.
Liam unsheathed not their sword, but their hunting knife, quietly, as practiced hundreds of times before when training with Gramps.
The Beast wasn't paying attention to its surroundings.
'Too focused on the hunt,' Liam thought to themself as they crept closer and closer, hilt of the blade between their teeth. 'Too fixated on the other's scent to realize I'm here.'
Their feeling of unease was replaced with something akin to hunger.
A sign they could take this Beast on.
A sign they'd win.
They didn't know why their body reacted like this when in the presence of a Beast, but it was useful sometimes. Especially now. Liam was close enough that they could reach out and touch its tail now if they wanted to.
But they waited.
...
The Beast had paused in its march to the camp, taking another moment to smell the air.
It turned its head left, one flick of the tongue. Right, two flicks. Left again, three flicks.
Its eyes all blinked together as it raised its front up in the air, just barely noticing an extra scent.
They carefully positioned their knife in their hand- watching- holding their breath-
It flicked its tongue one last time, refocusing in the direction of the camp. The same scent was coming from there. Confused, but not disturbed, the Beast lazily lowered itself back to the ground.
...
And that's when Liam pounced.
(It's very brief but skip past this part till you get to the other - marks if reading of details of stabbing makes you feel uneasy)
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The screech it let loose when they landed on its back made their ears ring. But they paid no mind to the discomfort- they had to do this fast!
Their legs and arm not holding the blade wrapped tightly around Beast's neck-
It screeched again bucking its horned head back- Liam hissing as some horns grazed across their cheek and hand. Its eyes were frantically looking in every direction, tail thrashing against the ground and limbs tensing to rear back up-
Liam bit down at the back of the screeching Beast's head and drove their hunting knife into the hide of its neck.
Another garbled screech and loud snap of teeth on nothing but air. Like how Vera taught them- they twisted the knife and pulled it out before plunging it back in- once, twice more!
...
It twitched and then stilled, but Liam still hung on tightly as it began to slump over. Their breathing was heavy, their eyes wide and their body shook from the brief but intense hunt.
They removed their blade one last time, and flicked the golden blood off the knife.
-
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Liam released their hold finally, ignoring the metallic taste in their mouth as they hefted themself up and away from the fallen Beast.
They didn't feel that foreboding feeling anymore.
'Good.' They thought, 'That means this was the only one.' Had there been more...Liam shook their head.
Best not to think about that either.
Taking a deep breath, recomposing themself, they looked down at the creature before them.
…It was a waste to leave good meat behind. The Beast would be good trade material too, for the next Hive they were going to visit.
It'd take them a while, but they'd drag this back to camp and properly prepare it. Without further ado, Liam wrapped their arms around its neck again, and with a grunt began to drag it back.
-
Finally nearing the vicinity of their small camp, Liam wasn't surprised when they saw a familiar flash of red in the dark.
Scarab had been certainly looking for them.
They bit the inside of their cheek again, nervous now for a different reason. He was just a little ways from where they stood past the bushes, and Liam heard him calling out their name.
For a moment they debated just sneaking by him, but in the long run that'd make him more upset. Liam winced, time to face the music. "Over here."
Scarab turned to them instantly, "What are you doing out so la-" He was interrupted by his own surprise at the sight of them. And what they were hauling with them.
Before he could question them further, Liam was quick to answer, hefting the creature's head up, "There was a Beast nearby." They dragged it over to him, "I've hunted small ones like this a lot already- before you were with our group- so I knew I could handle myself."
Liam was staring down at the beast in their arms, speaking quickly, and not noticing how Scarab was looking them over. "It was heading to the camp- I had to deal with it- small ones like this can be more tenacious than the big ones when it comes to hunting- so I-"
Their ramble was cut short when his hand grabbed their face and made them look right at him. His red eyes were trained on the cut on their cheek, "You lied about your reason for leaving."
Right to the point. Liam swallowed dryly.
"I thought you would stop me if you knew... Sorry."
"I would've." His thumb wiped off the dribble of blood on their cheek. Liam blinked- a bit stunned. This wasn't the reaction they were expecting from him at all.
They had expected shouting like how he screeched at and threatened the mantid brothers when the two almost stole their supplies. He was clearly upset still, they could tell that much.
"You can be very reckless. It makes more work for me," Scarab grumbled and his eyes narrowing back to slits, "and sometimes its very tiring to work with you." Liam was about to retort when he released his hold on them, and surprised them by snatching the Beast from their grasp.
"So next time you hunt one down-" He slung the Beast over his shoulder and turned back towards the camp, "I'm going with you."
#bug world au#scarab#the scarab#blood cw#tw blood#its golden monster blood but still#just in case#adventure time oc#fionna and cake oc#adventure time#fionna and cake#liam#this blog is a mixture of cute stuff and then suddenly BAM local cryptid time Liam hunting a beast down#This moment is also before Scarab goes “you're my friend- stop putting yourself in dangerous situations”#it 100% leads up to it#scarab the god auditor
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Princess Mountain 2k23
But make him sloppy, Com. Sloppy princess in a pretty flower crown.
This is all your fault.
Credit for the earth magic idea goes entirely to @kroas-adtam.
He's having a hell of a time figuring out whose hands are where. He thinks Dew's still kneeling between his legs, the hands on his thighs are warmer than usual, dry, as they stroke up over the muscle and squeeze.
And judging by the taste of clove cigarettes, the fingers petting over his tongue, belong to Swiss.
He could open his eyes and make sure, but god they feel so heavy. His head has gone hazy and soft. There's cum slicked in the crease of his hip that he's pretty sure is his own, he can feel it drying in the hair on his belly too.
He drifts under their gentle touch until Dew's hands--they have to be Dew's--slip higher. He feels the press of two fingers as they slip easily into him.
Mountain's eyes snap open. Dew's on his belly between Mountain's spread thighs. His movements are languid as he shifts. And it takes Mountain a second to realize what he's doing.
He's--oh--he's dragging his fingers through the cum that's leaked from inside of him and is pushing it back in. Mountain shudders with it. Dew's eyes are glued to his own fingers. Mountain comes back online. He pulls his head away from Swiss' fingers with a slick noise. His lips slick with drool.
Swiss drags those wet fingers down Mountain's throat, over his collarbone, and down to circle one of Mountain's nipples.
He's sensitive, impossibly so. He feels his cock give a feeble twitch, exhausted, just like the rest of him.
"Wasn't Aeth here?"
"He went to get his princess some water," Swiss says.
Mountain feels his face heat. Some part of him wants to hide from this. But what's the point. He's spread open, leaking cum on Swiss' comforter, with two of Dew's fingers in his ass, pressing in lazily.
"You always make such a mess," Dew whispers, there's very little of his usual teasing in it, it's almost reverent. And despite the fact that the mess Dew's playing in isn't technically Mountain's, it gets the reaction Dew wants anyway. Mountain's stomach clenching, another kick to his suddenly re-hardening cock.
Dew bites softly at the inside of Mountain's thighs as he swirls his finger through the mix of his, and Swiss, and Aether's spend dripping from Mountain's abused hole.
"You want more already, huh?" Swiss asks, he cards his free hand through Mountain's hair, brushing his fingers around the base of one of his horns. "Three of us not enough for you? Maybe we should call Rain? The girls? Get everyone to treat you real good? You can just lay back and take it."
Mountain hisses. If anyone asks, he'll tell them it was because of the way Dew's teeth are digging a mark into his thigh, and not from Swiss' words. It will be a lie.
The door opens softly. Aether slides into the room, bottles of water in his arms.
"Are you back with us, princess?" Aether purrs as he sits the side of the bed opposite Swiss. He runs his cool fingers over Mountain's ribcage.
Mountain nods, "yeah."
"So fucking pretty, isn't he, Aeth?" Swiss' voice is a whisper. It's tinged with uncharacteristic awe.
"Gorgeous," Aether murmurs in the same tone, he holds Mountain's gaze. Mountain wants to look away, the shame burning in his gut right along side his arousal makes him want to bury his face in Aether's chest and never come out. He doesn't. He focuses on the feeling of Dew's fingers still sliding in and out gently. Of the press of his sharp teeth to a new spot on Mountain's thigh. Decidedly physical sensations that take his mind away from--
"...don't you, princess?" Aether asks him.
Mountain swallows, he missed the lead in to the question, he has no idea what Aether's asking him. Aether just smiles at him as Mountain flounders.
"I said," he starts again, "You take it all so well. Don't you, princess?"
"I--yes?"
Swiss chuckles, he leans close, running his nose up along the side of Mountain's face.
"You do," Swiss confirms, "so fucking good for us."
Dew hums in agreement, dragging his teeth and tongue away from Mountain's thigh. "Should take a picture of him like this, Aeth. Show him just how pretty he is."
The heat rises higher in his face. Mountain starts to slip again under the gentle press of their hands.
Dew's being distracting now, his fingers reaching deeper to curl upwards. He's hard against his hip, pulsing in time with Dew's strokes.
He sinks into their words, their touches. Suddenly, he's bombarded with the smell of wildflowers. His eyes snap open, and he moves to sit. He's so rarely loses control of his magic around others. But he can feel it now, the ebb of it in his veins. He knows what happened, knows he's sprouted flowers in his hair, circling his horns, and probably around the perimeter of his head.
Swiss barks out a shocked laugh. He strokes his fingers through Mountain's hair, around the base of his horn. Mountain feels a small tug.
And then Swiss is spinning a vibrant blue flower in front of Mountains eyes.
"Look at you now," Swiss grins, "gave yourself a crown and everything. I guess you really are a princess."
Mountain whines. Humiliation tugs at his gut. Dew's fingers pause, shoved deep inside of him. Aether puts a hand on his chest and pushes him softly back down to the bed.
"It's ok, princess," Aether says softly. He cups Mountain's jaw in his hand. He strokes his thumb over Mountain's lips and he immediately parts them, letting Aether press in just enough to bump into his teeth. "Just lay back and let us take care of you."
#comet writes#princess mountain#kro#ficlet#sloppy flower princess mountain#mountain x aether x swiss x dewdrop#mountain ghoul#ghost fan fic#ghost fan fiction#the band ghost fan fiction#nameless ghouls fan fiction#he's sloppy all right#is this what you wanted kro#written in a fever dream#and not even close to edited
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Creamy Beet Pasta Sauce with Thyme
[image ID in ALT]
This recipe just popped into my head a couple of years ago, and it turned out just as good as I imagined it would! You don't have to stick with the amounts listed, it's not a finicky recipe and is easy to adjust to your preferences. I've put a really detailed version under the cut to save your dash. But here's a link to it if you prefer (and a link to the simplified instructions, though I suggest you read the detailed ones at least once since I added a lot of tips). As always, both imperial and metric measurements are included. You do need a blender for this, but it doesn't have to be one of those super fancy, expensive ones.
I know the photo isn't very good, but this is my first attempt at photographing food, and I was getting really hungry and just wanted to eat, lol! Though it shows just how vibrant the color of the pasta sauce is, which was the point.
Creamy Beet Pasta Sauce with Thyme
The recipe yields about 3 cups/750 mL of pasta sauce.
2 cups/500 mL chopped cooked beets (about three medium beets) (directions below – you can cook them ahead of time or use precooked ones, in which case see the note below about reheating it)
1 cup/250 mL raw cashews, soaked and rinsed (directions below)
about 1 teaspoon/5 mL minced or crushed garlic – or 2 to 4 cloves of garlic depending on their size and how garlicy you want it (keep in mind that as the directions are written the garlic is raw)
about 1 tablespoon/15 mL fresh thyme (see note at the end)
2 teaspoons/10 mL apple cider vinegar (see note at the end)
1 to 1 ½ teaspoons/5 to 7.5 mL sea salt or Herbamare
½ to 1 ½ teaspoons/2.5 to 7.5 mL fresh ground black pepper
about 1 ¼ cups/210 mL water
pasta – I generally go with penne for this sauce but this is your meal so follow your heart!
A) Rinse the thyme stems in cool water and place them on a kitchen towel to dry. You can fold the towel over the stems and gently pat down to speed up the drying process, thyme is pretty sturdy so you won’t wilt it.
B) Prepare the cashews. There are two ways to soak them, it doesn’t matter which you choose.
1) Slow method: Place the cashews in a bowl or container with a lot of room, cover them with 2 cups/500 mL water. Let them soak for 10 to 12 hours. They’ve soaked long enough when you can easily break them with your fingers.
Fast method: Place the cashews in a pot and cover with at least 2 cups/500 mL of water. Cook on a low boil for 20 minutes. (If you use this method, pick a pot big enough to cook your pasta in, then you only have one pot to wash!)
2) Drain and rinse the cashews a few times with fresh water.
C) Cook the beets. You can use whatever method you’d like, but I recommend roasting them because it’s easy and retains most of the nutrients. Plus, I haven’t found a faster way to peel them. Though this method seems to work best with fresh beets that still have the greens attached.
1) Preheat your oven to 400℉/200℃.
2) Cut the greens off the beets and rinse off any dirt.
3) Wrap each beet in aluminum foil and place on a baking tray or pan.
4) Bake for 45 to 90 minutes, until a fork can easily be stuck into them all the way to the center.
5) Let them cool long enough to handle, about 10 to 20 minutes, then cut off the ends.
6) Under running cold water push the beet skins off. They should come off really easily without much force or pressure.
7) Chop the beets into smallish cubes – about ¼ inch/0.5 cm – for easier blending.
D) As the beets are cooking (and the cashews if you choose the fast soaking method), destem the thyme until you have around 1 tablespoon/15 mL of thyme leaves.
E) Start cooking your pasta. Of course the timing of this depends on your pasta of choice and how long it takes. But if multitasking is too stressful, cook the pasta once you’re done with the sauce.
F) Throw everything (except maybe the thyme – see #2) in the blender and blend until creamy.
1) Use the smaller amounts of the garlic, thyme, salt, pepper, and water at first. That way you can adjust it to your taste as you go.
2) You might not want to blend the thyme in. If you want stronger thyme flavor, a fully creamy sauce, and a deeper, less vibrant magenta color than blend it in. But if you’d like a lighter thyme flavor, are fine with the texture of the leaves, and want a bright magenta sauce, add the thyme after you’re done blending it. (For reference, the photo shown has the thyme blended in.)
3) Blend until everything is nice and creamy and the seasonings and thickness are adjusted to your preference. You’ll have to stop the blender and scrape down the sides every now and then.
4) That’s it, your sauce is done! Now just plate it up with your pasta of choice! You can sprinkle some of the thyme on top to make it look extra pretty!
This keeps well in the fridge for several days, at least up to four. When you reheat it, make sure you don’t cook it. Just get it warmed up enough to keep it from making your pasta too cold. I find it warms up really well in the microwave, but I’m sure the stovetop works well too. I have no idea if this freezes well or not, because I always eat it up too fast to try, lol!
Note about Thyme: Normally I’m a dried herb person but this recipe just wouldn’t be the same with dried thyme. So do yourself a favor and buy the fresh this time (lol). If you don’t know what to do with the rest of it, just tie the stems up with a bit of string or thread and hang it somewhere out of direct sunlight and let it dry. It should be dry in a few days to a week. You can easily take it off the stem by running your fingers down it, against the direction the leaves grow. Now you can put it in a jar and you have no wasted thyme!
Note about Apple Cider Vinegar: You might be tempted to skip this, but please don’t! When you are using plants to replicate the creaminess of dairy, you need to add a bit of acid since dairy is acidic. You can replace it with other acids but your results may vary. Lemon juice is a poor substitute here in my opinion, and you need to use more of it. You could use balsamic vinegar, but you probably need more of that too, since it’s not quite as tangy as apple cider vinegar. The point isn’t to taste the vinegar, but to add that bit of acidity it really needs to shine.
#here's a very pretty pasta sauce just in time for Valentine's day#it's not a hard recipe but there is a bit of planning involved#make sure you have enough cashews before you start -- because I didn't yesterday and husband had to quickly buy more lol#fingers crossed the formatting doesn't go to hell when I post this#creamy beet pasta sauce with thyme#pasta recipes#recipe#vegan recipes
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Revenge or Revolution
Chapter 2
• District 2 • Five Years Before the Revolution •
I shade the dragon's tongue, having him breathe fire onto my notes, causing the lettering to melt and drip to the bottom of the page. It's not like I'm missing anything that important. It's going over the survival tactics for freezing and Arctic-related arenas, which there have been very few of.
They're very boring, most people freeze to death before the actual killing begins. The two times there was an Arctic-like arena it wasn't received well by the capital. Besides, I know every survival tip about the Arctic.
1. Find a waterproof and windproof shelter
2. Ice fishing is the easiest way to find food but it's also the leaves you exposed to the other tributes. Rabbits will be your best bet for food even though they blend in with the snow.
3. Watch for bears and wolves
That's all that is expected for me to know at least, the games are so unpredictable that even the best training alone isn't enough to have a tribute win the games. The game makers do what they want, but it's very unlikely for them to do anything in that cold of an environment.
My teacher drones on and on about some I have known since I was ten until she's cut off by the loud chime of the intercom.
"Ivory Kentwell, to the Head Dean's office, Ivory Kentwell."
My head snaps up, and everyone's eyes are on me. There's no reason for me to be in trouble, so this is it. The meeting. I have been chosen to volunteer.
I have the opportunity to be a District Two's female tribute.
I have the opportunity to be a District Two Victor.
I get up and try to hide the smile that creeps along my face. I can't look too giddy. I need to compose myself, I need to be professional.
I pick up my things and pack them into my backpack. My hands shake a bit, everyone's eyes are still on me. Boys stare in disbelief while girls look either jealous or in awe. The mixed reactions are expected, but I love them all. I love how people are thinking about me. They know why I've been called. Everyone in the school knows.
I smooth out my uniform before I leave the classroom. The halls are silent, but some students are peeking out of the classroom windows watching me march my way to the Dean's office. I manage to stay calm as a few quiet whispers hit my ears.
"She's so young! How did she make first string?"
"Are fifteen-year-olds even allowed to be called so early?"
"I can't believe she beat everyone."
"I bet she's gonna win. Have you seen her throw a knife?"
That last one almost broke my stoic expression.
All the compliments and gossip mean there'll be a district buzz about me which will create more capital buzz. I'm almost guaranteed an abundance of sponsors. Better yet, I'm the first person to be called to the office which gives people even more of a reason to start placing their bets now. They even called me before any male tributes. This is everything my mother always wanted.
I knock three times before entering the Head Dean's office. My eyes land on the Dean who was speaking with my parents and Clove.
Parents; plural
My dad is here. He came home for me. The whole year he has been home for around five weeks total. He's constantly traveling for his job as head peacekeeper. He's either at headquarters training recruits, meetings at the Capitol, or protecting President Snow. But he came here for me.
Another smile tries to push itself onto my face, but I keep my stoic expression. This is a professional meeting, I have to act perfectly. Everything my mother has taught me has led to this moment.
"Miss Kentwell, please have a seat." Head Dean Clemonte nods at me, keeping her face as expressionless as mine. She's not a very personable person, and by the stories of my mother and father, she's been like this ever since she started teaching.
I follow her instructions and sit down. "Thank you, Miss." I'm in between my parents, Clove is sitting on a bench against the back wall. I wonder what she's thinking right now. Is she proud of me? Sad I'm leaving? Worried? I want to get into her brain.
My mom places her hand on my shoulder beaming with pride, my father looks at Dean Clemonte, a soldier look on his face.
"Now, I assume you know why I called you in here today, but for formalities, I will be reading from the official documents." She clears her throat, my mom squeezes my shoulder, my dad is still expressionless, and I'm dying to know what Clove's face looks like. "Congratulations Miss Kentwell, you have been chosen as the first string of potential volunteers for the 69th Annual Hunger Games."
Holy shit, I actually did it. A sigh of relief leaves my body, a weight being taken off my shoulder. I did it. My hard work paid off! I'm first string, I'm going to be in the games!
"With this, you will be required to attend Intensive starting tomorrow at 5 a.m. You will officially be excused from Inclusive and will graduate from District Two Preparatory with the grade you currently hold."
Good, I'll finish at the top of my class, that's another thing for my mother to brag about. But bragging is deserved at this moment, I am the first-string female. I gave up my childhood for this. I deserve this.
"At Intensive, you are expected to continue to prove yourself. Your ranking may change due to your performance." She clears her throat and looks me in the eyes. "Ivory, this school has a long history of Victors, even more so female. We have the most female victors out of every preparatory in this district. People are doubting you because you are young, but your rankings cannot be ignored." Head Dean Clemonte places the paper down on her desk and leans in closer. Her eyes are locked in on mine, a narrow and serious expression coating her face. "There is no room for failure. If you do not win, this will cause great shame to District 2. Do you understand?"
I take a long deep breath. I assume it was only a few seconds but to me, it feels like hours have gone by. "Yes Dean Clemonte, I understand."
All Dean Clemonte did was nod and straighten out her desk before pulling out a folder stuffed with papers. As she hands them to me I can feel my mother's death grip on my shoulder. It's not out of anger or anything, just her trying to mask her excitement for me. She can't have a beaming smile, that wouldn't be proper for this occasion. She composes herself the same way she has taught me to. Face stoic, emotions calm.
The folder of papers wasn't thick by any means, no more than ten papers with only a paragraph or two on them. All they said were "Will you volunteer in your respected order" and "Will you attend Intensive" in different ways. I was signing my way into the games, I was signing my way to becoming a victor.
"Very well Ms. Kentwell. I will send these to the mayor and have copies sent to you as well as the other institutions. You are dismissed from classes for the rest of the day so you have an opportunity to pack for Intensives. Collect your things and check out as you leave."
"Thank you for the opportunity Dean Clemonte. I will make our district proud." I stood up, as well as the rest of my family. My father is the first one to leave, walking straight out of the office and into the hallway. My mother ushers Clove and me to follow, her trailing behind us but not before thanking Dean Clemonte.
"I knew you could do it." Clove's voice is a whisper, a true whisper. Her tone was exactly what I expected though, cocky.
I nudge her a bit, she pushes back. A small giggle follows soon after, interrupted by my mother's fingers snapping once loudly to get our attention.
"Girls, knock it off." Her teeth are sneered together, her voice is a hiss. "Act like you want to go into the games, not like idiots who so happen can throw a knife."
"Yes, mother." Clove's arm moves against mine, her posture straightening up at my mom's words, but I don't move.
I keep my relaxed posture until my father enters my sight. All he does is lift his chin, and I do the same, earning a huff from my mother.
"Congratulations Ivory." My father doesn't talk much, and his voice is very stern. He used to be a bit more open but once he got promoted to Captain he stopped talking. He has seen so many things he isn't allowed to talk about, so he just stopped talking. "May the odds be ever in your favor."
I can feel my cheeks tense, a smile spreading across my face. "Thank you."
My mother clears her throat and smiles. "Well, let's go- Alister! You're leaving?"
When I turn back around, my father is out the door. "I'm going back to base. It's a busy time." He doesn't even turn around to call back at us. He's in a rush. He didn't even change out of his uniform to come here today.
Now that I think about it, I don't see him much when he isn't wearing it. He's always coming and going.
My mother groans before straightening herself up. "That's fine. I need to get back to work anyway." She leans down and kisses Clove on the head. "Get back to class, you still have learning to do." She then looks back up at me, eyes are stern and almost angry. I don't know why she would be angry though, I just made her dreams come true. "Go home. Pack your bag in under an hour then go straight to studying. We'll celebrate tonight so you can leave early tomorrow morning."
She places her hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek. "I'm very proud of you darling. Our family will gain so much from this."
A small smile spreads across my face, boasting with pride. "Thank you, mother."
She pats my shoulder then turns to the main entrance. No more goodbyes, no more "I love you", just me, left alone to clean out my locker and to continue studying.
••••••
Series master list
#finnick odair#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair smut#finnick x annie#finnick x reader#finnick imagine#finnick x oc#revengeorrevolution#azawrites#thg finnick#clove kentwell x reader#clove kentwell#katniss and peeta#hunger games finnick#the hunger games
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Beef Stew Recipe - Potion of Fortitude
Whether it's been an exhausting week, a frigid winter's day, or just a stressful time, few things are more comforting than a hearty bowl of stew. I make this beef stew for myself whenever I need a true pick-me-up or when I'm preparing for an in-depth magical working. It provides lasting energy, warmth, and strength.
Plus, this recipe is scalable - make a ton and freeze it to enjoy for weeks or just make a little bit for one meal. The measurements below are approximate; measure with your heart.
Ingredients:
Chuck roast, cut to half-inch cubes (you can get pre-chunked stew meat, which is what I typically get)
Flour, enough to coat the beef
Salt and Pepper (about 1 tsp salt & 1/2 tsp pepper), for seasoning the beef coating
2 tablespoons Unsalted Butter
1 Onion, diced
2 Large Potatoes, peeled and cut into half-inch to one-inch cubes
2 Carrots, peeled and cut into rounds
5-6 Cloves of Garlic, finely diced
4 cups Beef Broth
Herbs of your choice, such as: Sage, Thyme, Marjoram, Celery Seed, Bay, Chili Flakes
Additional veggies of your choice, such as: Parsnips, Turnips, Bok Choy
Salt and Pepper to taste
Instructions:
Mix together your flour, salt, and pepper in a bowl. Toss the beef chunks in the mixture to coat. This will create a nice brown crispiness on the outside.
In your stew pot, sauté your flour-coated beef until browned on all sides. Remove from the pot and set aside.
Add more oil to your pot and cook your onion until translucent. If you don't mind soft carrots in your stew, add them now and cook until just starting to soften and brown. (Note: I often leave the carrots until after the potatoes are nearly cooked through because I don't like the texture of fully-cooked carrots.)
Once your onions are translucent and your carrots have started to soften/brown, toss in your butter and scrape the bottom of the pot. You want to get all those beautiful, delicious brown bits back into the mixture. You can add a little water if you need help loosening the bits.
Add your garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.
Put your beef back into the pot (along with any drippings from the plate/bowl you placed it in). Pour your broth over everything and give it all a good stir.
Toss your potatoes into the pot. Bring it all to a boil and reduce your heat to let it simmer.
Add your herbs and spices. I recommend salt, pepper, sage, thyme, celery seed (or salt), and bay. If you like it spicy, you can throw in a bit of chili powder or flakes.
Simmer for at least one hour or until your potatoes are soft and your beef becomes tender, stirring occasionally.
If your stew isn't thick enough by the time your potatoes are done, you can make a cornstarch slurry by combining one tablespoon of cornstarch with two tablespoons of water. Pour the slurry into the stew and let it cook until thickened to your desired consistency.
Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Serve with crusty bread, veggie side dishes, or whatever else you like.
Optional magic you can include:
As mentioned above, I often use this recipe to bolster or replenish my energy before or after an intense magical working. It also works for physical exertions - I made this for a group of my partner's friends while they were moving heavy furniture to a new apartment, and it gave them all the energy to move everything in one night!
This stew has an intense comforting effect. If someone I know has been working hard, stressing out, or hasn't been feeding themselves properly, I'll make this for them to help them remember to take care of themselves. It's rejuvenating, hearty, and full of love.
Depending on the herbs you choose to include, this could also be a powerful protection spell. Especially in the cold months, I use this as a protective ward against the cold exhaustion that pulls at the body and mind.
Pop a bit of chili in this spell to both speed up its effects and cast out negativity! Nothing clears the sinuses like a nose full of spice, and nothing clears the body of bad vibes like a good dose of chili flake.
Like many of my spell recipes, this one is most effective when it's shared. Give a bowl to your friends, your family, your neighbors, whoever. It makes a wonderful offering to house spirits or ancestors.
If you make this recipe, please let me know your thoughts! And if you enjoy this or my other posts, please consider dropping a couple dollars in my Ko-Fi tip jar!
Happy cooking, witches! 🍲
#recipes#food#spells#kitchen witch#hearth witch#witchblr#witchcraft#witch#home witchcraft#healing food#soup#stew#beef stew#food spells#my spells#my recipes#aese speaks
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Always Remember We're Burned for Better Chapter 19: Always Remember We're Burned for Better
Here we are. The TITULAR chapter. Only two more chapters follow this, one being the epilogue. We are at the end of the war. We have made it. We are just about at the end of this fic. It is absolutely wild we have made it this far together. I finally picked a title for the sequel, so thats cool. This is the longest chapter by far. It is the most important. They have been burned, and now it is time to find that it is for the better.
I have a LOT of emotions in writing this. I never imagined how it would feel to nearly finish the biggest fic i've ever done. And I'm feeling a LOT. Idk. I'm kind of sad about it?
title from The Great War. Also the titular chapter of the fic. Wild.
AO3
Masterpost.
As always, thank you to my friends. For your endless support and listening to me ramble. I literally cannot thank @ohhowwehavefallen enough. @kentwells who has essentially helped me restructure some things in the sequel already that i'm honestly weirdly excited for. @mollywog who was my first ever commenter who continues to read a story about a ship that she isn't even a stan for. @crookedlyniceperson my dear meme maker. @clarascrabarmy my nightshift angel who talked me off a ledge last week. And so so so many more. I am just.. yeah. Feeling a lot about this fic. It's been a crazy crazy ride.
And as we approach the end I just need to say thank you all.
Note: I do not own any of the Mockingjay content in italics, that all belongs to Suzanne Collins.
I'm like. On the verge of tears as I post this.
The banging at the door is incessant and alarming, more frantic than was usual in such a militant district. Compared to the festivities of the night before, with the wedding of Finnick and Annie, such a frantic rapping at the door pulls them from their comfortable position in each other's arms.
Cato doesn’t really move, shifting his face to bury it in Clove’s neck, pulling her body flush against his even more so than it already was. “Mmm, think they’ll go away if we ignore it?” He murmurs, voice muffled in the mess of hair between his lips and her skin. “Think we’re in trouble for missing breakfast?”
“Seems a bit more urgent than missed scrambled eggs.” Clove mumbles in response, pulling the thin cotton sheet higher up over their shoulders, no intention to greet the stale morning air beyond the warmth of their minimally comfortable bed. The two twin beds pushed together was a FAR cry from the comfort of their home, but they both knew they likely would not be returning to such luxuries for quite some time. She’s about to continue ignoring the banging, content to rest in his arms until something of worth drags them out, when the knocking both deepens in intensity and increases in speed. “For fucks sake,”
The banging does not relent, and Clove is reluctant unbury her face and push herself out from under the weight of Cato’s arm, which falls on the bed behind her hips with a dramatic thump. Her feet hit the floor as she rocks to a sitting position, and the cool underground air prickles the hair of her skin. She ignores the dull ache the cold introduces to her skeleton, the way her shoulders throb just deep to the planes of her skin. For a moment, she thinks about how this is going to feel in the winter in the mountains of District Two, before she remembers she will likely never step foot back in her District.
The violent outbreak in District Two eventually did turn towards the side of the rebellion, but not before sides were further divided, largely because of Cato and Clove themselves. Many of the loyalists did hear them, saw them for the children who were born, raised, and sacrificed to the games in their childhood, and took their pleas of reality. There was still a small camp, though, who dove further into their cause, citing Cato and Clove both as traitors to not only their home but their country. While it had ultimately turned out against the Capitol, the beliefs would remain. IF there was a District Two to return to, would they even be welcome?
The banging continues to hasten, and Clove actually sighs out loud as she searches for something, namely, Cato’s shirt, from the floor before slipping it over her head and shuffling closer to the door.
The exact second that she turns the door handle, the heavy metal door comes flying open as if it were made of cardboard and not steel, and Clove is pushed back into the room by the flurry of blonde that comes rushing in.
“They’re gone. Everyone is gone. Katniss, and Finnick, and their whole film crew and everyone is gone and It’s just us and Annie and Johanna and–” comes so fast that the words are nearly imperceivable by their intended audience.
“Good Morning to you, too, Glimmer.” Cato rolls to his back, now understanding that no, he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon. “Can you breathe between your words so we can understand what you’re saying?”
“You’re pleasant in the morning,” Another unexpected voice follows, as Marvel follows in the room behind Glimmer, rubbing his eyes as his socks shuffle along the cement flooring of the rooms. “I don’t remember you being all grumpy in the games.”
“You look ridiculous.” Cato snaps, before stretching his arms above his head, holding his head in his hands as they rest on the pillow behind him. As result the sheets slip lower, leaving practically his whole torso bared to the room. “Shirtless isn’t for everyone.”
“I was asleep!” He defends mildly, before stifling another yawn. “It’s like..five in the morning, give me a break.”
“Why are you waking us all up at five a.m. Glimmer?” Clove redirects, practically grabbing Glimmer by the shoulders, stabilizing the blubbering, pacing girl. She looks frantic, nearly mad even. “Glimmer! Words!”
“Everyone is gone.” Glimmer grabs Clove’s arms, digging her nails in with a panic. “They’re gone, went to the Capitol gone.”
Clove’s face must fall first, as the realization hits her far faster than it does the men. Her fingers tighten on Glimmer’s arms ,and she shakes her just a little. “This is…it? This is the end and they just…left us? They didn’t even want us to help–”
“Sure did!” Yet another voice enters the room, this time the snarky tone of Johanna sliding into the room behind the other four. “Thanks for waking the whole district Blondie- oh GOOD Morning.” She laughs the second she sees Cato in his sheet on the bed, clapping her hands together once. “We’re the leftovers, but damn, I’ll take it. Speaking of leftovers, Clove if you get sick of-”
“Johanna i’ll still fucking kill you.” Clove warns, a sharp edge in her voice that relays that no, she is not in fact even slightly joking.
“Okay hold on, why would they leave without us, we’re useful.” Marvel argues, crossing his arms across his chest, before he sits himself on the foot edge of the bed, far from Cato on the other side.
“How useful are you, really, Marvel?” Johanna taunts, before shutting the heavy metal door behind her, protecting the secrecy of their conversation. “I’m sure they gave Katniss a bow and Finnick a fucking trident, nothing like sending people into an active warzone with symbolic weapons. Did you all fail your readiness tests? I almost made it then they flooded the fucking streets… tried to send me back to the hospital and everything?”
“You can swim, what's that matter?” Cato pulls himself to a sitting position to join the rest of the group more properly. “You’d never have survived the quell otherwise.”
Johanna bristles but goes quiet, suddenly shifting her focus towards a rather interesting spot in the floor, when Marvel speaks for her.
“Back in the Capitol they uh..” He waves his hand around, gesturing something Cato nor Glimmer quite grasp. “With the water and the electricity, they shocked her.”
“Electrocuted.” She corrects, before raising her head to look around the room again. “Not that it matters now. I didn’t pass and clearly neither did any of you–”
“What test do you mean?” Clove cranes her head to look at Johanna, but does not move her hands from where she holds Glimmer’s arms down, noticing the way her wrists twitch to reach for the skin of her own arms. “They didn’t tell us about some test,”
“A field readiness test. To see if you were capable of handling whatever the Capitol threw out?” Johanna now sits on the makeshift king bed, a few feet away from Marvel but no closer to Cato to prevent the risk of Clove taking it as a move on him. “They must have considered all of you too big of a liability to even think about sending you out there.”
“Do they think we’re just..team Snow? After all they’ve done to us, after all we’ve said?” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief at the lack of trust this cause has for them, after the repeated displays of loyalty they have all given time and time again. “They just think we’re not worth including?”
“I, for one, am fine with not dying in this war. We made it this far, besides, they would have sent us out there like idiots trying to fight a war with swords and knives. A suicide mission, really, if you think about it.” Cato announces, but the disdain on his face reveals to Clove that he’s a little bitter about missing his final chance at violence and bloodshed in the Capitol streets.
“We’re all dead anyway if Snow wins.” Johanna reminds them all, leaning back in Clove’s bed, stretching her arms out around her. “May as well watch the end of the world from a bunker. Aren’t you all tired of being used as little show ponies by both sides?”
“She fucking hates us, I can’t believe she didn’t want to exterminate us. She looks at us like we’re rats plaguing her district.” Clove says, but the way her eyes flit around the room shows she’s hesitant to even elaborate.
“Who? Katniss?” Glimmer cocks her head, narrowing her eyes like she wants to defend the symbolic girl herself.
“No..Coin.” Clove whispers, looking between them all as if she cannot believe they do not immediately agree. “She looks at Katniss like it, too. She doesn’t like us. Any of us.”
“Maybe it looks better for us not to even be there, then to turn for the Capitol and die for them.” Cato suggests, leaning back to prop his head up in his hand while his elbow rests on the pillow once again.
“She hates us. We might be dead no matter who wins.” Clove warns, and immediately, turns to face the rest of them. “We should get Annie, too. It’s not fair to leave her, especially if Finnick’s already gone.”
“I’ll go grab her.” Johanna volunteers, pushing herself back to stand. “What a wedding night, wonder how that feels to have your brand new husband choose war over you.”
“He might not have had a choice.” Glimmer suggests, knowing all too well how it felt to be a symbol of something against your will.
Johanna heads towards the door, pausing to look Clove over, pausing to bring attention to her bare thighs and legs that peek out from under Cato’s shirt. “You know, you have nice legs under all that crazy, Clove.”
“Go get Annie, Jo.” Marvel sighs, once again stifling an exhausted yawn “If we’re going to wait out a war in here, can you two at least put clothes on.”
“Awwww…don’t be jealous you aren’t getting any Marvel.” Cato taunts just as a pillow smacks him in the face.
——
They are kept in the dark on the status of the battle of the Capitol.
Perhaps the whole district, the whole world is, but it feels like the six of them are particularly cut off from the reality of the outside world.
The day itself is very…odd. No other term to describe it than weird, really. There are no overhead announcements of the change of a shift, nor announcement of mealtimes beginning. Maybe they are happening and the group of them are simply unaware, but after hours of, well, nothingness…Cato makes the call that he’s starving and he will be finding something to eat.
He's on his way back from the kitchen, leftover cake from Peeta’s creation the night before in his hands to serve as their snack, lunch, AND dinner, when he physically collides with Haymitch in the hallway.
The older victor tries to nod and go on his way, but Cato grabs him by the shoulder to stop him from running.
“Why didn’t they tell us?”
“She didn’t tell me, either, sunshine. Katniss isn’t one to give other people a heads up.”
“That's not what I mean and you know it, Haymitch. After all we did for them, they don’t even want us there when it ends?”
Haymitch gives a hesitant glance around, all too aware that the walls listened for even the lightest whimpers. “Plutarch wanted as many victors there as possible. Coin didn’t want anyone who could be seen as a Capitol loyalist-“
“We’re loyalists? Me and Clove, who literally have no home anymore as a result of this war? Glimmer, who risked it all to expose what they did to her? Marvel? Who doesn't even know what to believe? We’re loyal to Snow?” The thought is unbelievable to Cato, who has lost his home, his family, and everything but Clove to this war. Have they not given enough to show that they are anything but a threat to this new world.
“It isn’t me saying it, kid.” He gives another hesitant glance around. “Remember what I'm telling you right now, okay? About how she sees you all.”
—-
The four of them sit on the still unmade bed, the screen in the room turned on in case of any sudden update that has still yet to come. Johanna had ushered Annie out of the room not terribly long before, after the lack of update had sent her spiraling to something akin to a panic attack. Johanna insisted she just needed to be alone, and that she’d bring her back once she was more stable.
Clove’s head is on Cato’s thigh as he feeds her bites of the cake, her feet up against Glimmer’s legs where she is curled up under the blankets, head resting on Clove’s pillow. Marvel sits at the foot of the bed, distracted from all but the turquoise buttercream on the cake before him.
“Shame he’s from twelve, he could’ve made a killing in a bakery in One.” Marvel comments, swiping the left over icing off the plate with his finger, before shoving it in his mouth. “That kid can bake.”
“I’m not sure there's really going to be district divisions left after all this. You can go get some loverboy cupcakes anytime you want.” Clove teases, before accepting another fork full of cake. “If there's even a Peeta left after today.”
“Why would they send him? Isn’t he literally programmed to kill Katniss? Isn't that a liability?” Marvel questions, before full on just digging directly into the entire tier of cake Cato had brought back with him.
Something clicks for Cato, the words of Haymitch Abernathy combined with months of watching and absorbing the way things go down here. Everything is always intentional. “Maybe that's the point.”
“You think the point is to kill Katniss?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, but props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at them. “Isn’t her whole point like…to represent the cause?”
“..but maybe she’s more symbolic dead?” Glimmer suggests, following along with what Cato is implying, tucking her blanket over her shoulders before snuggling deeper into the blanket. “...do you think we’re all more symbolic dead?”
“Honestly, I don’t know-” Cato is cut off when the TV actually flashes on for the first time all day, proudly displaying the Capitol seal before one Caesar Flickerman appears in a news anchor-esk desk.
“For fucks sake, how is Caesar still alive?” Clove groans, but pushes herself to sit beside Cato as the tv calls their attention.
“He’s the capitol’s favorite cockroach.” Marvel jokes, before he too turns around at the foot of the bed to watch whatever news Caesar brings.
“They’re alive.” Is the first thing Glimmer whispers, tuned out to the snide remarks on alliances and loyalty from Cesar, as she tunes in directly to seeing FInnick, Katniss, and even Peeta alive.
As Peeta grabs Katniss to throw her down, and some unidentified member of the squad pulls him off, a silence falls across them all. An uncomfortable silence, one that settles in the air and makes any word feel simply futile.
“Do you remember the night before the quell?” Marvel finally says, clearing his throat as he does so. There's something in his voice, something between realization and fear, and Glimmer is the first to recognize it.
“On the rooftop, yeah, why?” She follows up, and nearly reaches forward to grab his shoulder but stops herself, still, even in this end of the world moment, afraid of what he would think.
“Doesn’t this feel a lot like it?”
—
Two entire days pass without another update. Two turns to Three. Three turns to Four into Five.
It is five days later when they get their next news on the active battle in the Capitol. Ironically, they are in exactly the same space. Clove leaning with her legs and feet in Cato’s lap, who is sitting up against the wall that serves as the head board on their bed. Her head is across the bed, in Glimmer’s hands where the girl threads intricate braids through the length of her hair giving her something productive to do with her hands. The biggest change is that she now also leans on Marvel, who once again sits cross legged at the foot of the bed.
“What do you think will happen next?” Glimmer brings up, raking her fingers through the soft waves at the end of Clove’s ever growing hair. “Like..what's next for us?”
“I think the answer is supposed to be live happily ever after, if you ask Annie.” Clove snorts, but stretches her legs against Cato’s torso to get him to pick up her feet. “I honestly haven’t thought about it.”
“You haven’t thought about what happens after this ends?” Marvel questions, leaning back against the metal bar of the bottom of the bed.
“Why should I? Who knows what's left out there for us? District Two is literally ashes. I’m an actual orphan now, Cato’s probably also a war orphan. We literally probably don’t even have a home left for us.” Clove looks over at Cato, who is just nodding his head in disagreement. “Are we going to have to be drifters?”
“You could always just come stay with us for a while, if we even have standing homes. Otherwise we can all go hide in the mountains of District Two, living out of tents… it’ll be like we’re in the Hunger Games forever.” Marvel suggests, but his face twists up as soon as the words are out. “Scratch that. Not like the Hunger Games. I don’t want to think about those..honestly? Ever again. But seriously. We may all be living out of tents so–”
“I am not living out of a tent.” Glimmer scoffs, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “After all this, I deserve at least running water. And a maid. And a chef.”
“You don’t need a chef, Clove’s right there and homeless.” Marvel teases, but the concept does bring another pending issue to the front of his mind. “....do you think we’re going to have to get like…jobs?”
“Oh absolutely fucking not.” Cato chimes in, taking Clove’s foot into his hand and digging his thumb into the center of arch of her left foot and for a moment they are seventeen on the train to her games for the first time again. “We won the Hunger Games. Monthly stipends for the rest of our lives, remember? Have we not done enough?”
“They may not care about all that, if there's no games, does it even matter if we won them?” Clove questions, before she tugs her foot back out of his hand as he pressed his finger in, nearly kicking him in the process. “You asshole.”
“I am not getting a job. When I was little my mom used to say I could either marry a victor or be one. And I am one. Working retail in One was just never even on the table for me!” Glimmer sounds nearly scandalized at the suggestion, sitting a little straighter and leaning against her once-boyfriend. “Katniss should add that to her list of concessions. We keep our income.”
“It’s not like there’s going to even be that many victors left.” Cato points out, smirking as he goes for Clove’s other foot, holding her ankle firmly in his hand so she cannot pull away this time. “It’s the least they could do for us.”
They had destroyed their homes. Stripped them of their livelihood as victors. Slaughtered their families and their friends. A monthly stipend was the literal least that the new government could do.
It’s not like any of them really had employable skills, anyway.
The television crackles on against any of their will, and the Capitol insignia once again covers the entirety of the room in a bright, blinding light. The familiar anthem of the Capitol plays, and Clove is the first to scoff.
“I wish Katniss didn’t have dibs, I’d love to get my hands on Snow for this-” Clove starts, but her blood runs cold as soon as she sees what is being displayed behind him.
It is an image they are all too familiar with. As the anthem plays the holographic pictures of fallen tributes scroll on the screen. This time, though, the tributes are people they know all too well.
Finnick Odair. Katniss Everdeen. Peeta Mellark.
“No..no. no. no.” Glimmer shakes her head, disbelief quickly turning to agony as her own breathing speeds up and she falls quickly over the edge of her own emotional distress.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, is as chilling as the screams of Annie Cresta-Odair that echo through the depths of District Thirteen.
“They can’t be dead, there's no way they’re all just..gone.” Clove tries, but the evidence is in front of her. Of course there is a way. They are in an active battle ground with literal bows and knives and tridents. They were never intended to come out as victors.
Glimmer is beside herself, resolved to hyperventilating, body shaking sobs as the broadcast transitions to Snow.
“We should go to Annie..” Marvel suggests, but as Glimmer physically collapses against him he can’t find it in him to do anything but bring a hand up to her shoulders, as he had done all those years ago during Clove’s games. Johanna is probably with her, if the footsteps running through the hall and the two rapid door slams indicate.
Snow appears on their screen, and gives some speech about Katniss being a misguided girl.
“...I think we need to have another conversation.” Cato warns, leaning forward to grab Clove and pull her into his lap. “What do we do if Snow wins this?”
“I’m not living in a world with him in control, I can’t I can’t I can’t.” Glimmer cries, further digging herself into her ex-boyfriend's shirt, letting (or rather pleading) him wrap a single arm around her to give her any semblance of comfort. “I can’t go through it again.”
“I’m in no fucking hurry to get back in his hands, I won’t. He took everything from me. He stole who I am. I’m not living in his world.” Clove agreed, noticing the way she herself was also breathing rather heavy as a result of the news. Not to say she was panicking but..she also wasn’t far off. Her heart pounded, raced really, in her chest. After everything..she couldn’t survive in a world with Snow.
The screen is disrupted when Coin takes over, and gives an empassioned speech about Katniss as well. Her false emotion is obvious to them, who are all too accustomed to her fake niceties.
“She caused this! She’s the one who sent her in there with Peeta and Finnick and it’s her fault.” Glimmer blames, an arm at her waist the only thing that keeps her from lunging at the television in her rage. Coin is justly the target of her ire, as the loss of Finnick is like feeling the loss of a limb. They were the ones who went through it all together, and she is likely the one of the only ones who remain who have experienced the sexual abuse at the hands of elite capitolites.
“Lesser of two evils, Glimmer, lesser of two evils.” Marvel tries, but it is no use as Glimmer loses it yet again.
“Cato’s right.” Clove says, leaning back in his arms. “We need a plan if Snow wins, we can’t get back in their control.”
“What do you suggest, Clove? We hold a Hunger Games down here of the surviving victors? Just take each other out?” Marvel questions, not even slightly considering it. It’s preposterous to him, that they’d just be able to annihilate each other as if they had not gone through an entire war together now.
“I don’t know if we could do it.” Cato admits, shaking his head just a little as he pulls Clove properly onto his lap. “After all this..yeah we can take ourselves out but could we really kill Annie? Or even you , Glimmer, I'm not sure I'd be able to.”
“I couldn’t kill you.” Clove fully admits, tucking her head against Cato’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist for him by grasping his hands. “I spent my whole life trained to kill you.. And I couldn’t do it. Not now. I couldn’t kill you, Marvel, even though you irritated the hell out of me when I met you. We survived the fucking capitol together. Glimmer… you are the closest thing to a friend I have ever had. I guess that makes you my best friend, doesn’t it? You have taken care of me for months down here. I can’t kill you. And God, Cato, you’re the love of my life. After all this shit, there's no chance in the world I’d be able to kill you so easily anymore. I don’t know what comes next if Snow wins…but come on. We can’t throw it all in so easily. We’re probably the only Career Victors left. We can’t give it up so easily.”
—
The war ends three days later. Formally, at least.
The television refuses to shut off, with mandatory viewing of evacuations and all cameras focused on the president's mansion an endless background noise.
Clove is laying on top of Cato, face tucked into his neck as he runs his hands over the small of her back absently. There has been a tension in the air ever since the conversation of the end of the world under Snow, and they had spent the majority of what could be their last days on earth alone with each other.
Go out with a bang, right?
Go out with a bang, quite literally, when the mandatory viewing of evacuations turns into a mass civilian bombing by the Capitol. Or more specifically a mass bombing of the capitol children.
“It’s like their own Hunger Games. Just..mass murder of kids.” Clove remarks from her place on his chest, tucking her chin against his sternum so she can look up at him. “Feels funny to see the games that way.”
A second bomb wipes out the camera footage as the bomb wipes out thousands more.
Neither think much of it. They had been broadcasting the mass deaths of peacekeepers and rebels alike for days. What is one more bombing, what are thousands more added to the death count.
It is not until an hour or so later, long after the broadcast has cut out, that a banging resumes on their door as it had days prior.
This person, though, does not wait for the door to be opened, and instead keys in a code from the outside that flings it open.
On the other side of the door is Haymitch Abernathy, a beanie on his head and a smile on his face for the first time maybe ever.
“It’s over!” He announced from the door frame, hand still grasping the handle. “It’s over.”
Clove raises her head first, and Cato’s face whips around to face the door. It is Cato’s turn to break into the ghost of a smile as he waits to confirm what Haymitch is saying. There’s no way the man had broken in that enthused if Snow had won, right.
“We won?” Cato calls out, grasping Clove’s hip under the blanket so intensely that it was sure to leave bruises behind.
“We won.” Haymitch narrows his eyes at the two of them, gesturing to the sheets that covered them. “If you two will disconnect from one another and get dressed, they’re going to fly us all out for the big execution of Snow.”
“...we’re invited?” Clove snarks, raising a dark eyebrow, but unable to stop the smile that is threatening to creep across her face. “What’s the occasion?”
“The war is over, kid. Everyone’s going.” Haymitch winks at them, and for the first time maybe ever, Clove recognizes him as another victor like herself. And maybe, just maybe, he sees them for that too.
The door shuts on them both as Haymitch hits Glimmer’s room next, as evidenced by the shriek they can hear through the wall at the announcement.
The reaction of Glimmer, or Marvel, or Annie, Or Johanna doesn't matter, not right now.
Not when Cato grabs Clove’s face in his hands, and pulls her up so that they are only inches apart, his thumbs brushing across the freckles that dance over her cheeks like constellations.
It is better than winning any fight, better than the night before any Hunger Games.
“It’s over.” Clove whispers, her own hands coming up to rest along his jaw, her thumb stroking over his cheek. “We won.”
“It’s over.” Cato agrees, the smile fully breaking out on his face now. They won. And if they have nothing else in the world..they have each other.
He pulls her face down to crash their lips together, and if he can taste the saltiness of tears he is kind enough not to mention it.
Seconds, Minutes, who knows how long passes before Clove forces herself to pull back just a little, just enough to catch her breath. Their noses still brush, foreheads still together, when she finally, finally lets out a sigh.
“We survived a war, Cato.”
“We always survive, babe. We always do.”
—
The flight to the Capitol is unlike any train ride or victory tour ever felt. It’s a moment of victory all its own, yes.
And yet, there is the feeling of unfinished business in the air. A war that is over but not quite.
It is also the longest a journey to the Capitol has ever taken, a far cry from the quick train rides from Two.
“Everything is going to change.” Clove warns Cato, sitting in their own little corner of the hovercraft.
“Maybe it’s for the better.” Cato suggests, lacing his fingers with hers as he crosses his ankles out in front of him. It was strangely reminiscent, sitting side by side like this, of being kids on their lunch break at training. Their entire lives have centered around anchoring the other, really. He nods in the direction diagonal from them, where caddy-cornered to them sit Marvel and Glimmer, in a position not at all unlike their own. They watch as Glimmer rests her head on Marvel’s shoulder and how he smiles down at her like she’s the source of all the light in the room. “Maybe it’s for the better.”
—
The first person they see upon landing is Effie Trinket who is back in her head to toe over the top regalia. Well. Some things change and some things do not.
“Welcome, Welcome!” She greets, a megawatt smile plastered across her pale painted skin. Even in her Captiol attire she is still not quite as outlandish as she had once been. There is a wig and heavy makeup, yes, but it is not at the level that an escort would have once been.
She had likely been brought out earlier, with Coin and Plutarch and other military stars. Still. It was nice to see a familiar face, with all the loss they were about to face.
“If you will all follow me, we have thrown together a little prep team of sorts! To get you all presentable for the execution. It’s a big day!” Effie leads them into the president's mansion, and Clove straightens as she is reminded of all the torment she faced in these very rooms. Cato notices– of course he does, they are truly two halves of the same soul– and instinctively wraps his hands around her just a little tighter.
“The other surviving victors are slowly coming in, there's not many left but!” Effie starts and it is the immediate scream of Annie Cresta that draws all their attention.
“Finnick!”
“Annie!”
Clove and Cato turn around just in time to see the two of them collide, when Annie wraps all her limbs around his shoulders and hips, as he holds her as if she weighs nothing.
“I thought he was dead.” Clove whispers, disbelief and even joy laced in her tone as she addresses the district twelve escort. “And Katniss and Peeta–”
“That's what they had us all thinking! But no! Katniss and Peeta, they’re alive as well. Katniss’s poor little sister, though, it’s truly tragic.” Effie puts a hand over her heart to show sympathy, but continues to lead them down the hall where various groups are being reunited.
“Prim is dead?” Cato pauses, and quite literally stops walking in his tracks. “How was she even involved in the war to begin, she's a kid–”
“The bombing. At the end. She was there as a medic.” Effie explains, though the tone in her voice indicates that something is, once again, being left unsaid. Something didn’t fit.
Cato and Clove share a look, one that speaks their agreement, that something is off and they need to discuss what exactly it is.
They pass yet another door and a flurry of blonde and sparkle catches Clove off guard. Her eyes go wide, and she nearly says her name, before a manicured finger comes to shush her.
“It’s a surprise.” Mouths Cashmere, where she stands side by side with her brother Gloss just beyond the door. Glimmer had clearly not seen them yet, but the shining smiles on their twin faces revealed to Clove they were all too excited to be reunited with their baby sister.
Clove felt the sinking feeling in her stomach, at the realization that there is no one waiting to be reunited with her.
Cato must feel it too, as he realizes that he likely lost his sister just like Katniss. He did not have a little sister any more to excitedly await the reunion of.
“Perfect! The District Two Room!” Effie announces, and leaves them at the door. “You two will be prepped soon. Enjoy the meantime!”
Effie cracks the door for them, and gives them each a knowing smile before she heads off in the general direction of what they can only assume is District Twelve preparations for Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch.
Cato takes the lead on pushing the door open with his fingers, and god is he glad he did when he feels Clove practically sink like jello in his arms beside him. He feels her before he hears her little gasp, and Cato is looking at her, missing exactly what stands beyond the door frame that is bringing his girl down.
Clove, though, couldn't miss it if she tried.
“Well you two have looked better.” The cocky voice comes from just beyond the door frame, and Cato feels Clove’s hand slip from his just as he finally looks up to see who waits for them.
Brutus and Enobaria.
Their lifelong mentors.
“Enobaria.” Clove whispers, before she is moving as fast as her legs can carry her to cross the couple of steps between them. Immediately, she throws her arms around the woman’s shoulders, clinging to her as she did seventeen years ago when she was the only person in the world to find her worth comforting. And like she had seventeen years prior, Enobaria pulls her close, her hair finding the back of her head as it had so so many times in her childhood.
She is not just her mentor, no. This is the woman who raised her. This is who made her into a victor. It only took a war to see that.
“You’re alive.” Clove cries against her, as she buries her face against her shoulder. “You weren’t in Two, I thought you were dead.”
“Oh, we were there.” Enobaria promises, pulling Clove’s head back so that she can wipe at the tears under her eyes.
“You should have seen her, the day that interview with Peeta aired. I heard you in the background, and in no more than thirty seconds she was in my living room demanding we get involved.” Brutus admits, holding out his arms and scooping up the tiny girl, for the first time in her entire life showing Clove any semblance of appreciation and affection. “You had half a district coming together in your defense, kid. All led by Enobaria.”
He sets her back down, and no sooner do her feet hit the ground before Enobaria is back to hugging her.
“I am so so so proud of you. Both of you.” Enobaria promises, running her hand over the crown of Clove’s hair, pushing all the curled fly aways back from her eyes.
“I hate to say it and pad your already unmanageable ego, Cato, but I am too.” Brutus admits, running a hand over Cato’s head to ruffle his hair playfully. “I can’t believe you two joined a fucking war against the capitol.”
“We can’t either.” Cato admitted, brushing his fingers through his hair to settle the now fluffed blonde atop his head. “We didn’t really have a choice.”
“It was for the best, though.” Clove points out, practically hanging her arms around Enobaria’s shoulders as if she were still the little girl all those years ago. She can see the way Cato’s jaw is tightened, the way he is holding back a comment or remark of some sort.
“Do you know anything about Cato’s family?” Clove asks for him, eyes flitting between Brutus and Enobaria for any trace of an answer. “His sister..”
“We don’t.” Brutus admits with a disgraced shake of his head. “We were so deep on the other side of the district.. We don’t know much about anyone. But we do know that we’ve never heard them in the counts of the dead.”
Cato just gives a single nod of his head, looking to the ground so as to not show disappointment. This was something. They had someone left alive.
Clove lets go of Enobaria, immediately going to lace her hand with Cato’s, wrapping her other arm around his back before resting against him. It was always a comfort to him, just to touch her.
“I’m sorry, Cato.” Enobaria frowns, reaching out to gently touch his upper arm in comfort. “Victor’s Village is still standing. That's about it. But it's still there, and I think it’ll be livable within a few months. At least I hope. I’m going to One until it’s finished.” She gestures to Brutus with a nod of her head. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll go wherever I can get a Clove Kentwell breakfast. You know. The pancakes. With the chocolate chips.”
They unpack the rest of the realities of District Two while the prep team comes and dresses Cato and Clove.
Clove and Enobaria are dressed nearly identical, all black trench coats and slicked back hair. The difference relies in the bubbles down the length of Clove’s ever growing dark hair, versus the sleek straightened length of Enobaria’s.
Cato leaves Clove’s side only for the sake of being whisked off to get dressed himself, and by God Clove just about undoes all the hard work of the stylists the minute she sees him in that all black ensemble. The black button down is unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“You know, for all I hate this whole capitol thing, they always did make you look good.” Clove grins, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his hips.
“I did not miss seeing this.” Enobaria mumbles, tossing Cato’s black wool coat on top of Clove despite the appalled yelps from the stylists over Clove’s hair. “Can’t you two save this for literally any other time.”
Cato smirks, wrapping his arms around Clove’s hips before turning her in his arms so they both faced their mentors. “Oh you are going to fucking hate the bitch in charge of this new country, Baria.”
—
Cato is not wrong.
While they are all led into a conference style room, the looks of thinly veiled disdain are not hidden on Coin’s face.
She has since cut her hair, but that is about the only new thing about a leader in what was once Snow’s conference space. Different sides of the same coin, and all that.
This is all that remains of a pool of what was fifty nine victors prior to the quell. Fourteen of them.
Glimmer waves at them excitedly from where she is nestled between her siblings, and Finnick shoots them a million dollar smile from where he holds Annie’s hand atop the table.
Katniss looks cold behind her eyes, but nobody can say they are surprised. Katniss Everdeen went to the games and led a war for the safety of her baby sister, just to come out on the other side without her. Primrose Everdeen would never see the safety of the new world her sister had created just for her.
“We’re sorry for your loss, Katniss.” Annie offers in a soft voice, rubbing her hand atop Finnick’s hand. “Both of them.”
“Thank you.” Katniss said politely, but her gaze is trained on Alma Coin.
“Both of them..?” Cato whispers to Finnick, who sits at his right.
“Prim and Gale. He got dragged off right before the second bomb. He was shot right before it ended.”
Cato nor Clove offer condolences for that loss.
“I have invited you all here for several reasons…but first i’d like to announce myself as the interim president of panem.” Coin starts, calling the meeting to a start without bothering to announce she is doing so.
Cato is the first to shoot her a look of disbelief, followed by Clove and Haymitch.
“How long exactly is that?” Haymitch questions, echoing the confusion of every victor in the room.
“The people will vote when the time is right. I’ve called you here for a much more important vote.”
President Coin goes on about the execution of Snow to occur that afternoon, followed by an explanation of the trial of every peacekeeper, official, and capitol elite who was responsible for the war atrocities they had all faced. She targets Glimmer and Finnick with reminders of the abuse of the victors, and directs commentary on loss of life to Katniss.
“An alternative plan. A majority for can approve it. Noone may abstain. In lieu of these barbaric executions we hold a symbolic Hunger Games”
“You want to hold a Hunger Games, with the Capitol Children?” Johanna Mason clarifies, a deranged giggle escaping her.
“You’re Joking.” comes Peeta.
“Was this…Plurarch’s Idea?” Haymitch clarifies.
“It was mine.”
The admission is enough for it all to fall into place for the surviving careers. This is what Haymitch had meant, when he has warned him to remember how she views them. Every capitol atrocity..how easily that could be assigned to them.
“You may cast your vote.”
Peeta votes no, first. Citing the kind of mindset that started these uprisings as his reason.
Johanna is next, and with a laugh she votes yes, claiming she wants to see Snow’s granddaughter in the arena.
“Let them have a taste of it” is how Enobaria casts her yes. “After what they did to our people..Let me in the gamemakers room.”
“I agree. It’ll be the fastest game we ever have. These kids won’t be able to hold a sword.” Brutus gives as his yes.
“No. I vote no.” Annie dissents.
“Me too. Absolutely not. These kids are not responsible for the crimes of their parents. We have had enough bloodshed. I’ve been hurt as much as the next person by the Capitol. But we cannot keep punishing kids for the crimes of their ancestors. That's how we got to this point in the first place.” Finnick agrees with his wife, a firm and vocal no. “We need to end this. That's why we just had a war.”
“No. We need to stop seeing each other as enemies.” Beetee adds.
“We never got our chance to mentor.” Cato announces, wrapping an arm over Clove’s shoulders. “The things they did to Clove..If I could put their kids in the arena directly, I would. I’m not mentoring those ones though. I don’t want to see them win. Besides… I think we need one last game. Fuck yes.”
“What Cato said. I had my life ruined by Snow. They stole my identity. Fuck them.” Clove agrees, giving a firm nod of her head. “And what Enobaria said. Let them have a taste of how it feels to lose everything to the games. I don’t even want one of them to win. Absolutely Yes.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you all. Did we learn nothing? Did we stand up in those last games, did we fight this war for nothing?” Glimmer’s disbelief seeps into her voice as she looks frantically between her fellow victors, and hurt fills her eyes as she makes eye contact with her so-called friends. “What happened to no more children being sacrificed? I have been hurt as much as anyone by the Capitol..but I don’t want to kill their kids. How are we any different than snow if we condone and support the murder of children. That's what they are..that's what WE were! We were all kids when we won the games. We were children.. And shouldn’t we, as the adults who have survived it..want better for these kids. Shouldn’t we want better to protect our children? No. Absolutely not. I can’t believe you would support this.”
“I disagree.” Marvel admits, trying not to flinch when Glimmer recoils away from him in downright horror and disgust. “I have seen the things they did to you. They did them to me, too. I remember how hurt you have been. I remember what it’s like to be tortured in a basement, and I remember how it feels to hope you can hear your friend–” He looks to Clove, “Whimpering across the cinder block wall you share to have proof she is alive. Johanna is afraid of water. Clove lost her ability to defend herself. Annie lost her mind, and Peeta lost himself. And Glimmer, I lost you, because of what they have done to us. So you know what? Yeah. Fuck them. I say yes.”
She is glad to be sitting between her siblings, who each take one of her hands in their own.
“Noone else has the right to use our trauma and our abuse to justify further violence. I vote no.” Cashmere announces, making a point to shoot absolute daggers in the general direction of Marvel and the other careers.
“You don’t get to weaponize our experiences. Only we can do that. And I stand with my sisters. I vote no.” Gloss agrees.
“It’s down to Katniss and Haymitch.” Coin announces, shifting her eyes between the two remaining revolutionaries.
“I get to kill snow.” Katniss all but demands, and in that moment they know exactly which way her vote is going to go, and her yes will completely tip the scale in their favor. When Katniss votes “Yes. For Prim. “ it brings the vote to a solid 7 to 6.
There is a wordless exchange between Katniss and Haymitch, and there is murder in her eyes. Whatever is said is well understood by both players.
Haymitch holds the power to play peacekeeper or tip the scales and he does what he knows best.
Haymitch sides with Katniss. Notably, he does not vote yes, more so that he is with the Mockingjay in whatever she brings to the table.
“That Carries the vote. Excellent. We’ll announce the games tonight after the execution.”
—
“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Glimmer grabs Clove by the shoulder as she passes her room, pulling her out of the hallway and into the privacy of a guest bedroom. “Was all of this for nothing, Clove?”
“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You were raped and beaten and horrifically abused by the capitol and you don’t want a little bit of revenge?” Clove snarls, ripping her arm out of Glimmer’s grasp. “You want to lay down and be remembered for what they did to you, or do you want to be remembered for getting back at them? Think like a career, Glimmer.”
“You don’t get it, do you?! She isn’t going to stop with the Capitol kids! What happens when it’s not enough for her for it to be the kids of Capitol Elites. What about when it’s kids of ex loyalists in the districts? When It’s the kids of careers? Or even just the children of victors, Clove? What happens then?” Glimmer peaks into the hallway, to be especially sure they are alone. “Clove. You and I both know that neither of us are going to have kids. We know that. We are never having children. But you know who’s at risk under this whole plan? Cato’s little sister. Any kids of Annie and Finnick.”
“Glimmer, it’s just one last game–”
“That's what they always say, Clove. But it won’t. It won’t. And then it’ll be us again. She hates us. You said it yourself. She hates us and we are no safer under this plan than we were with Snow.”
How can Clove refute that when she knows, deep down, that it is alarmingly and painfully true.
–
The knock on the door startles Katniss, who is catching the reflection of her Mockingjay costume for the last time.
Clove doesn’t wait for permission to enter, and slips in through the unlocked door. She waits along the wall, hands tucked behind her back. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Yeah, well, this is the least we can do for her, right?” Katniss slings her bow over her shoulder, before she turns to Clove. “This isn’t about Prim, is it?”
“We aren’t safe under her are we?” Clove whispers, fully aware that her words are probably treason and a one way ticket to her own execution. “This isn’t going to stop with one game.”
“No.” Katniss agrees, but does not vocalize which part. However, the look steely look when she locks eyes with Clove tells the other woman all she needs to know. “...do you still carry knives with you?”
“Of course I do, who do you think I am?” Clove rolls her eyes, but stops another snarky remark from coming when she realizes there must be a reason for Katniss to ask such a thing. “..why?”
“I’d just say to have them ready. You know. In case I miss.” Katniss suggests before straightening her Mockingjay pin for the last time.
“You don’t miss, Katniss.” Clove nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Katniss would never have made it this far if she were anything less than flawless with a bow.
That being said, Clove would never have made it this far if she weren’t born to throw a knife.
“Neither do you.”
—
Katniss leads the march out to the execution, followed by a line of Victors who have been wronged in some way or the other by the Capitol. Clove is on the Far right, Cato immediately to her left with their hands interlocked.
It is symbolic, as this whole thing is, that the remaining victors lead the march down the boulevard of the tributes, revolutionaries filling the stands on either side of their flanks.
“Bet you never thought we’d be doing this again.” Cato teases, giving her hand a light squeeze. When he turns to look at her face, hoping for any glimpse of a laugh, he catches the glint of something shining in her palm.
No.. there's no way it’s that.
“Bet you never thought we’d have survived a war before we turned twenty one.” Clove teases in response, rubbing her thumb over the back of his fingers. She is at the far end, and she cannot even see Glimmer, Marvel, Finnick, or Annie on the other side. Enobaria and Brutus walk in line with the two of them, and for the briefest moment, it reminds Clove of the end of a Victory Tour, when the victor is led to the President by her mentors and her team. Is this really all that different from that moment, anyway?
It is somehow both the longest and shortest walk of Clove’s life, seeing as every other time she had been on this particular stretch had involved a horse and chariot ride.
The end approaches as soon as it starts. Clove feels a tightening in her chest that stretches all the way across her back. It isn’t quite panic, and it isn’t fear. It is the kind of heart racing she felt in the beginning of every day of training, how she felt when the podiums rose in the hunger games.
It’s adrenaline.
Katniss is at the front of their pack, yes, but from where she stands on the far right end she has a clear shot at the president tied to a wooden pole. It’s less than 20 feet, there's no possible way Katniss would just..miss?
Coin is beginning her ramble about a shot to end all wars, about the end of tyranny, but Clove is focused on Katniss.
“Babe, what are you doing?” Cato whispers, noting the way she does not even look up to the president as she speaks, nudging her with his shoulder.
She does not budge.
“Mockingjay. May your aim be as true as your heart is pure.”
Clove sees the decision the minute Katniss makes it, and suddenly she gets what she meant by miss.
This was her gift to Clove.
Katniss’s chin and shoulders tilt up at the same moment the handle of the knife slips from around Clove’s forearm and into her palm.
In the same moment that Katniss releases the arrow, there is a gasp of shock when it is not an arrow that pierces Snow’s heart but a knife that lodges itself right between his eyes.
Coin falls to the ground with an arrow to her heart as Snow’s skull splits in two.
He had taken this very thing from her, he had taken her aim and her strength, he had taken what made Clove Clove.
Two leaders were dead, the fate of Panem now resting in the unknown hands of democracy for the first time ever.
Peeta slaps something out of Katniss' hands, just as she is pulled away by guards. Clove lets out a laugh, throwing her head back as Cato is the one to grab her and pulls her to the side.
This is what all those countless hours of training with Cato had been for. To get Clove back.
And that's the thing about Clove Kentwell.
She never misses.
—
Clove does not face the same consequences as Katniss in the aftermath. He was scheduled to die– as far as it is seen Clove simply carried out a mission Katniss abandoned.
It is the victors who write a litany of letters in immediate support of Katniss Everdeen’s release. They write of tyranny and the horrors the country would have faced under Alma Coin, terrors that are not at all unlike the dictatorship they just escaped.
All together, there are letters from Cato, Clove, Marvel, Glimmer, Johanna, Finnick, Annie, and Beetee that are brought together in their undying, complete, and total support for Katniss Everdeen and her decisions that day. Victors will always support their fellow Victors.
“We’ll see you soon, in One?” Marvel checks the morning after the executions, leaning on the doorframe of the guest room Cato and Clove are currently packing their minimal belongings to leave. “Glimmer..hopefully she’ll move past all her issues with us all soon. You can stay with me.”
They do agree to go to One, first. The train doesn’t even stop in Two, all things considered, and from the discussions with Enobaria it would be futile to even stop. Their home was in shambles. They need time to heal before addressing the crumbled castles of their childhood.
“Come on, we get our own train car!” Enobaria reminds them as they stand on that train platform, Her own minimal luggage in her hands. “We won’t have to listen to Cash and Gloss lecture us until we arrive in the district, isn’t that a real treat.”
Clove cannot seem to will herself to take the steps forward towards the doors of the train. The last time they had taken them had been to this very spot, where neither of them had intended to come back. Even though they are not going home– and likely will not for many months– it was just the right side of unbelievable.
“It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?” Clove looks to Cato, holding her hand out for him to take. “For the first time in our lives.. We can do anything. We can have anything. We can go anywhere in the world we want. Just..not home.”
“We’ll go home, one day.” He promises, before he bypasses her hand and instead wraps his arms around her shoulders. Cato rests his chin atop her head before kissing the crown of her hair. “We survived three Hunger Games between us. A little bit of post-war reconstruction has to be nothing, right?”
Clove snorts, leaning back in his arms as they take in the remnants of the Capitol together. “Yeah, but post war reconstruction involves us living with Glimmer and Marvel. We’ll be finding Glitter in our hair for the rest of our lives.”
“If the rest of our lives are a hundred years, I will be happy to smell like glitter and roses for all of them.” Cato promises, leaning down further to kiss her on the cheek more properly. “What do you think we do now?”
“....we live our lives?” Clove offers with the tiniest shrug, before she turns in his arms. “I love you. I don’t say it enough. But I love you, Cato. More than anything else in the world.”
“I know.” He promises his girl, leaning down so that their foreheads touched despite the massive height difference. “And I love you, too. But you already knew that.”
“You forgot something. You said we survived three Hunger Games, and reconstruction. But we survived an entire war, Cato. We survived the greatest war in Panem history.” Clove points out, before she laces her arms around his neck and rests them there.
“Will you two get on the train?” Brutus grumbles as he walks past, shaking his head in fake disdain. “You two never change, do you?”
“You may be adults who survived torture and a war, but I’ll still beat your ass if you have sex on this train.” Enobaria threatens from the doorway, waving her hand towards her. “Seriously, come on, I’m already tired of babysitting you two again.”
Clove laughs. Genuinely laughs as she leans back in his arms, taking a step back and nodding towards the train.
They pause in the doorway, giving one last look over the Capitol as they remember it. They’d be back, probably, but never quite like this. Never in the shadows of war. Not as the remnants of the teen tributes they still feel like they are.
“You know, how you said everything is going to change for the better?” Clove asks her husband, sliding her arm through his, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow as she rests her head on his shoulder. She lets out a content sigh, and smiles against his arm.
“Yeah?” Cato cranes his head down to look at Clove, at the girl who has quite literally been at his side for the last fifteen years of his life. And now, she’d be there for the next fifteen. The next fifty, if they were lucky. It’s about time that the odds were in their favor.
“I think you were right.”
#arwbfb tag#the hunger games#clato#cato and clove#clato fanfic#clove#clove kentwell#the hunger games fanfiction#cato and clove fanfic#glimmer and marvel#always remember we're burned for better tag
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OG Guys (Info Dump: Revamp)
Warnings: Violence! Underfell, Horrortale, famine, rebellion, etc.
Classic - Undertale Sans
Personality: He is a very funny guy, a punny man if you will. He makes a lot of jokes and has struggled with his own apathy, but he is devoted and loyal. He gets along with almost everyone and is a bit of a smart-ass. When he confuses you, he’ll wink at you and then vanish. He can get a bit hostile and rude to anyone he thinks would be a threat to the immediate safety of his family. He is very laid back and enjoys a good prank or two. He also is very flirty when the right conditions are met. He is incredibly lazy and can be very apathetic, but he really cares a lot.
Appearance: It's Sans, Sans the skeleton.
Vanilla - Undertale Papyrus
Personality: He could probably beat your ass and you'd still love him for it. He believes in people and is an optimist, but he is not naive. He loves puzzles. He is a very kind and considerate skeleton. He is incredibly brave, gentle, and smart. He is very clever and knows a lot of things he doesn't actually tell anyone. He’s simply too good for this world, and everyone eventually falls in love with him. It’s difficult to dislike this lovely skeleton. He is, however, tougher than he seems and can get snarky with people who mistreat those he loves. He also isn't afraid of a fight.
Appearance: It's the Great Papyrus!
Cardinal - Underfell Sans
Personality: He's a funny man, a punny man, but he has a temper. Hes very straightforward and a bit flirty. He’s like a feral angry cat; once you become his friend and demonstrate that you’re not a threat, he’ll be all over you. He is a flirtatious boneman who loves to help others. He's extremely fond of animals and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty when it comes to fighting and helping animals. He is a very passionate and hands-on type of person. He is able to keep calm in dangerous situations and makes sure everyone is calm when danger is coming.
Appearance: He is a skeleton with a scar on his left eye and two golden teeth. His jacket is red and black.
Captain - Underfell Papyrus
Personality: The living embodiment of a feral cat energy bone man. He is easier to befriend compared to his older brother. He is hostile and harsh, but if you work hard enough, you can befriend him. He’s protective of his friends and will show hostility to protect them, but once you’ve fully befriended him, he’s really loving and sweet. He will also gladly carry you if you ask. He is harsh and cold otherwise. He can be very flirty on accident and he is very protective over his loved ones.
Appearance: He has a large scar on his right eye.
Navy - Underswap Sans
Personality: He is similar to Papyrus, but he takes advantage of his cutesy nature. He is very charismatic, bright, and intelligent. He knows how cute he is and uses it to his advantage like no other. He will befriend you and he actually can cook. He is loving and sweet af. He is incredibly stressed a lot and has a bad habit of not taking breaks, but he tries to take care of himself! He is an incredible workaholic and often needs to practice a lot of self-care when he can, which is usually a rare occurrence. He is trying, he swears.
Appearance: He has a small scar on the edge of his left eye.
Syrup - Underswap Papyrus
Personality: He’s definitely something. He is a very funny man, but he has his limits. He’s an introvert who also happens to be a social butterfly. He cracks a lot of jokes and is fiercely protective of his family. He works hard and often worries about his brother. He sometimes struggles to focus and work. He sleeps a lot and often is weighed by a lot of things. He is very flirty too and he is incredibly affectionate and will love and console you if you are in need. He adores physical touch.
Appearance: He has two small scars on the edge of his left eye. His jacket is orange.
Clove - Horrortale Sans
Personality: He's a sweet man wi with PTSD. When you first meet him, he’s a little hostile, but once you get to know him, he’s really sweet. He is very quiet and often uses his knowledge to find things out. He is very affectionate and enjoys cuddles. He has memory lapses, but nothing major; just minor details that are easily forgotten. He loves to cook and take care of animals. He likes to farm as well. He will also never let you go if you hug him when he is in a good mood. He is incredibly soft and he is also very warm.
Appearance: He has a large crack on the top of his skull. He also has a red eye light and a white eye light.
Cinnamon - Horrortale Papyrus
Personality: He's a sweet and gentle skeleton. When you meet him, he is a sugary sweet bone man. He is very strategic. He’s a little nervous and untrusting, but he’s an angel, and he’ll love you to death. He will take you in his arms, hold you tight, and never let you go. He is also concerned about your health and is a doctor, so he often checks on his loved ones. He is a rebel at heart and does not stand for injustice. He cares a lot for people and loves to help.
Appearance: Cinnamon has a slight scar on his eye and his teeth have been long fixed. So they look almost normal, but his canines are sharper. He has a cane!
Hip Hop - Dancetale Sans
Personality: Ever heard of a “lazy” Sans with confidence? Well, now ya have. He is very confident in his ability, but he's quiet and often keeps to himself. He adores dancing and, while he does not dance frequently, he still enjoys it. He doesn’t dance in public very often, but that doesn’t stop him from doing it. He’s a witty, outgoing, and laid-back dude. He is very quick on his feet and can get anyone out of a sticky situation. He has a strong sense of justice and hates to lie to people.
Appearance: He is a Sans! He wears blue.
Latin - Dancetale Papyrus
Personality: He is a cheerful and upbeat skeleton. He is outgoing, self-assured, and courageous. He enjoys being a public figure, but he is not arrogant or overconfident. He will offer to dance with someone he believes is lonely and is extremely difficult to despise. He is an extrovert who saves his brother when he is in need. If necessary, he will also carry you. He is very cautious and very gentle, he loves to teach and his students. He is very fast on his feet.
Appearance: He's definitely a Papyrus!
Rhythm - Dancefell Sans
Personality: He is very fierce and angry, but also loving. He’s a feral cat who enjoys the attention he and his brother receive. If you require it, he will dance with you. He enjoys dancing, and everyone can tell by the way he moves. He’s a hilarious flirtatious asshat, but once you get close to him, he’ll be so sweet and cuddly. He is very passionate about what he does and loves to teach others. He is very fast on his feet.
Appearance: Rhythm has a single golden tooth in comparison to Cardinal. His hoodie is red and black. He has a large nasty scar on his right eye.
Tango - Dancefell Papyrus
Personality: He is very nice and understanding. On the surface, he appears to be at ease and warm-hearted. He can be harsh and stoic at times, but he means well. He is a dancer, and he never leaves anyone sad or alone for an extended period of time. He is a sweet man who enjoys making new friends and has done so frequently. Because he is well-known, he has saved many people from situations. He is very fond of teaching and adores teaching. He is very quiet, but understanding.
Appearance: Tango has two scars on his eyes.
Ebony - Fellswap Carnelian Sans
Personality: He is a major tsundere. He’s an angry, feral cat, but he’s very approachable. He’s a little rude and harsh, but he’s sincere. He's passionate about everything. He is extremely protective of his friends and will growl at anyone who gets too close to them if he believes they are a threat. He will throw hands and pick fights frequently, but he is also stern and serious about following rules and laws. He’s a jerk to his brother, but Hound bites back, and they adore each other. He is very protective and will fight anyone who harms his loved ones.
Appearance: Ebony has three scars on his left eye. He has more red in place of the purple.
Hound - Fellswap Carnelian Papyrus
Personality: He is definitely something. He's a joker and a person who enjoys a good prank. He’s a shameless flirt and lover, and it shows. He enjoys playing practical jokes, and he and Syrup are best friends. When he’s with someone he considers a threat, he acts like a feral cat, but he’s a good guy, believe me. He can be a jerk to his brother, but he adores and admires him. He goes for the throat when someone harms his loved ones. He enjoys being close and loves to be able to hold and comfort his loved ones.
Appearance: Hound has a single gold tooth compared to Cardinal. He has more red with his outfit. He has a scar on his left eye.
------
@kioko-noodles / @kiokodoodles @miscneilleaneous @und3rwat3r-a5tr0naut @hearty-dose-of-ranch @underfell-crystal @rainbowut
#undertale#underswap#underfell#horrortale#dancetale#dancefell#Fellswap Carnelian#ut au headcanons#ut au imagines#undertale au headcanons#undertale imagines#undertale headcanons
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Also let’s talk, sisters, about the tiny ways in which Peeta influences Katniss’ thinking. We all know the reoccurrence of being a piece in the games.
“No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their Games,” says Peeta.
“But you’re not,” I say.
- The Hunger Games
Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I'm sorry if I made things worse,” I say.
“No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says.
“I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?” I say.
He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn't understood what he meant. Now I do.
- Catching Fire
“I'm not their slave," the man mutters.
"I am," I say. "That's why I killed Cato...and he killed Thresh...and he killed Clove...and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games."
Peeta. On the rooftop the night before our first Hunger Games. He understood it all before we'd even set foot in the arena.
- Mockingjay
But also, I noticed how Peeta’s asking if people have wings literally got into Katniss’ head as well.
Well, that's good, isn't it?" I ask. "If you can separate the two, then you can figure out what's true."
"Yes. And if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he says. "Real or not real?"
“Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive."
"Mockingjays do."
[ a few chapters later ]
I zigzag through the mansion and disappear into a wardrobe full of silken things. I yank them from hangers until I have a pile and then burrow into it. In the lining of my pocket, I find a stray morphling tablet and swallow it dry, heading off my rising hysteria. It's not enough to right things, though. I hear Haymitch calling me in the distance, but he won't find me in his condition. Especially not in this new spot. Swathed in silk, I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon awaiting metamorphosis. I always supposed that to be a peaceful condition. At first it is. But as I journey into night, I feel more and more trapped, suffocated by the slippery bindings, unable to emerge until I have transformed into something of beauty. I squirm, trying to shed my ruined body and unlock the secret to growing flawless wings. Despite enormous effort, I remain a hideous creature, fired into my current form by the blast from the bombs.
If I think of more, I’ll reblog but yeah. I just find it super interesting how Peeta intrinsically gets into her head.
#everlark#thg#hunger games#mockingjay#catching fire#Peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#there’s no reason I included her being like BuT yOuRe NoT I just find her funny#text post ✨✍🏻🤎#200
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