#cato thg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

7s3ven · 3 months

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hello! ur writing is so fun and rahhhh i heart it. idk if ur taking cato reqs but i love him bro its an issue. anyhow, childhood friend!tribute!reader and him coming to terms with the fact that both of them cant win. could be platonic or romantic whatever u like<3

I’m literally in love with Cato.

( master list )

DANCING WITH UR GHOST. cato hadley

IN WHICH… Cato Hadley and Y/N L/N accept there can only be one winner. The Capitol watches as one falls and the other leaves the arena with a furious heart, never quite moving on.

Warnings : not proof-read, a little bit of angst, some gore (it’s the hunger games)

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THG TAG LIST : No one rn 💀

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It was a hot and sunny day when the Capitol chose to announce the tributes. Small beads of sweat rolled down Y/N’s forehead as she clasped her hands behind her back. The sun was relentlessly beating down on the large group of teenagers crowded in front of the stage, organised by age and all eagerly waiting.

Y/N wasn’t like the rest of her District. She had seen how the effects of the Hunger Games weighed down on the tributes. Haymitch had turned to drinking after the slaughter of his family. Y/N couldn’t imagine returning home to see the people you held dear gruesomely bloodied on the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cato. He stood out from the boys, being one of the tallest and towering over them. He had his jaw clenched and he was impatiently tapping his foot, waiting until he could leap onto the stage.

His head turned and they locked eyes. Y/N was the first to break into an amused smile and he returned it, his pale lips curving upwards.

Y/N paid no attention to the video playing on the screen in front of her. They showed it every year and she had practically memorised the voice lines by now. Her mind flashed back to yesterday, the day where Cato had suggested the unthinkable.

“What if we run away?” He questioned, making Y/N pause. She grasped the handle of her ax tightly as she spun around to face her childhood friend.

“What?” She needed to make sure that she had heard him right. It’s not like Y/N hadn’t thought of it before but for Cato Hadley of all people to ask was outrageous. He was Two’s greatest candidate. They were all counting on him.

“You heard me. What if we ran away? Away from all this and away from the games? I wouldn’t have to worry about being a peacekeeper. We could do it, you and me.”

Y/N has full faith in her axe skills and Cato’s strength but the idea was almost too crazy to pull off. She shook her head, “They’d find us.” She whispered. Y/N was glad nobody else was in the gym because this could be considered treason.

Y/N subtly shook her head. If only leaving District Two was that easy. They would surely notice if their strongest candidate and his axe-throwing friend went missing.

Her attention was caught by the lady, Kikoro, walking towards the microphone in a hideously bright yellow skirt. Beside her, Y/N heard Clove laugh.

Clove was a good friend of Cato’s and by default she was a friend of Y/N’s too. She was shorter than both of them but that didn’t stop her from snapping at people left and right. Her skills with throwing knives were amazing and Y/N often felt a little jealous. Surely the knives were lighter compared to lugging around a wooden stick with a blade attached to it.

“Now, I must warn you, there’s a new little rule. No volunteering this year.” Kikoro uttered into the microphone, her lips covered in yellow lipstick curling into an unsettling smile. She ignored the disappointed jeers from the teenagers as she reached into the first bowl. “Ladies first. It’s only polite.”

Everybody watched with bated breath as Kikoro unfolded the piece of paper painfully slow. Clove was practically shaking with excitement.

Kiroko cleared her throat before she leaned forward, glancing at the crumbled paper. “Y/N L/N.” She said.

Y/N clicked her tongue, thinking it was all a sick joke. She wasn’t scared shitless like the tributes in the paper districts were but she was disappointed. Why her and not somebody who actually wanted to compete?

Y/N begrudgingly stepped onto stage after being dragged by a peacekeeper. “Let go of me.” She hissed, yanking her arm out of the man’s grip.

“What’s your name, dear?” Kiroko asked, gesturing Y/N to step forward to the microphone. The H/C-nette stared at the Capitol citizen in confusion.

“You just said my name… Y/N L/N.”

Kikoro paused before she burst into a fit of light laughter. “Ah, sorry dear. I’m so used to volunteers. Next up, the boys.”

Y/N hoped her District partner would be someone useful who she could discard later. Someone strong but not too strong as to overpower her.

As Y/N rocked back and forth on her heels, she glanced over at Kikoro who was now unfolding the second paper. She read text written in black ink before grasping the microphone.

Hearing her own name getting called didn’t frighten Y/N but as Kikoro declared the male tribute, her heart dropped so fast that she may as well collapsed. It was the one person she wished hadn’t been chosen.

“Cato Hadley.”

The train ride was silent. Enobaria had tried talking to the pair but they never replied. Eventually, she gave up and went to a different compartment.

“We should’ve run away.” Y/N quietly muttered, suddenly regretting not putting the absurd plan into action. Across from her, Cato chuckled.

“Yeah…” He paused, refusing to believe that this was really happening. That he’d have to kill his best friend if he wanted to survive. He was brought back to the harsh reality as the train bumped along the tracks.

“You should’ve played dead… or something.” Y/N stirred the spoon around in her cup of coffee, having no intentions of actually tasting the bitter drink. She licked her dry lips. “What happens if we’re the last ones left?”

Cato didn’t have the courage to answer. He pushed his food around with his fork for a few moments before finally lifting his head. “May the best win.” He uttered.

Y/N glanced out the window, staring at the tall buildings of the Capitol in the distance. She took a deep breath as the train quickly approached the large city and their impending doom.

The days in the Capitol were limited. And they passed by fast. One minute Y/N was standing in front of the dummy targets, skilfully throwing axes as their heads then the next she was in front of a crowd in a glittery gold gown.

“You’re a fan favourite, Y/N. How does that make you feel?” Caesar, with his crazy blue hair and matching suit, said as he widely grinned.

“I guess I’m just that charming.” Y/N smiled as she leaned back in her seat, gracefully crossing one leg over the other.

“Our time is almost up but may I ask the question that everyone has been wondering? What on earth is going on between you and Cato?”

The Capitol had caught wind of the small stolen glances and borderline flirtatious kisses on the knuckles. Y/N shifted in her seat as she recalled the event before this very interview.

“You look…” Cato entered the room, practically starstruck as Y/N stood on a small platform. “Wow.” She frowned as she adjusted the tight bodice of her dress.

“Really? Because right now, I can’t really breathe.” Y/N let out a small laugh but she felt her corset suffocate her lungs.

“Does this look like a face that would lie to you?” Cato grasped Y/N’s hands and helped her off the platform. “I mean it. You look stunning… almost makes me wish we were getting ready for a ball instead of this.” Cato’s face was so close. Y/N couldn’t help but let her eyes dart to his lips.

“You look handsome too.” She playfully grinned as she straightened Cato’s tie. “Blue suits you.”

“We’re just friends.” Y/N repeated that overused phrase while the Capitol citizens groaned in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to admit… Cato is handsome but I can’t imagine dating someone I’ve known since childhood… his face is getting a little annoying.”

Y/N’s cheeky remark earned her a few laughs.

“If given the chance, I probably would’ve liked to kiss him once, you know?” Y/N’s confidence grew and she forgot all about how Cato could hear her words through the small screen in the waiting room. She folded her arms over her chest just as the timer buzzed.

“Y/N L/N, everybody!” Caesar declared.

She stepped off the stage and back into the shadows, away from the piercing lights. Glimmer and Marvel had already returned to their rooms and Y/N was about to do the same before Cato came into view.

She saw him wave enthusiastically at the crowd but his eyes were on her. She shrank back, suddenly aware of what she had said during the interview.

Y/N scurried off before Caesar could even ask Cato one question. She stormed into the room assigned to District Two. Enobaria was sitting on the couch, clicking the TV remote buttons.

“Need help getting out of that dress?” The sharp-toothed woman asked. Y/N silently nodded.

“Thank you.” Y/N said, finally able to breathe properly again. She would never take oxygen for granted again.

Y/N was only dressed in a black singlet and shorts when Cato burst through her personal room door. “What was that?” He demanded, slamming the door behind him. “If given the chance? I’m giving you the damn chance, Y/N!”

Y/N let out a squeak of surprise when he grabbed her face and pulled her forward, swiftly kissing her like he had been waiting to do so for years. With how his hands trailed down to tightly grip her waist, Y/N wouldn’t be surprised if Cato had been dreaming of this moment.

Cato pulled away, resting his forehead on Y/N’s. “How’s that for a given chance?”

The sun in the arena felt different. Its heat was blistering and Y/N felt her body burning up underneath her heavy jacket. She wanted to discard the warm piece of clothing but it would come in handy at night.

The Careers had already made their allies clear. Y/N glanced at Cato who was already staring at her as usual.

To Y/N’s left was Glimmer, who was impatiently tapping her foot as the countdown began. Y/N stared at the decreasing numbers until it reached five and she had no choice but to get ready to run.

This was no mere dream, it was a reality that Y/N wish she didn’t exist in, for Cato’s sake.

To no one’s surprise, Cato was the first to react as the countdown finished. He leaped off his podium, immediately making a run for a silver sword. Some tributes turned tail and ran but those who joined the mess in the middle were gruesomely stabbed by Cato.

Y/N grasped a pack of throwing knives, tossing the sharp objects at anything that moved. She managed to cut Katniss’ cheek and the ravenette was not pleased about that. The District Twelve girl shot an arrow Y/N’s way but she ducked and avoided it.

“Y/N, here!” Cato tossed a fancy looking axe her way. She easily caught it, swinging it at a foolish boy who thought he could beat her.

The bloodbath didn’t last long thanks to Cato. He either killed or drove off any of the remaining tributes. “I’m feeling pretty good about this.” He grinned down at Y/N as they waltzed around the Cornucopia. He twirled his heavy sword in his hand.

“You’re in a good mood.” Y/N muttered. The hunger for bloodshed had clouded Cato’s mind, causing him to forget that Y/N would have to die in order for him to emerge victorious. She said nothing about it, though, not wanting to spoil his cheerful mood.

“I’ll be in a better mood after this.” Cato chuckled to himself as he pecked Y/N’s lips. He held her close, burying his face in her neck.

Y/N stood still, awaiting the moment where they would be forced to turn on each other. Out of the pair, Y/N had always been the rational realist.

Glimmer was dead, filled with toxin after Katniss sabotaged the Careers’ camp.

Marvel was next. Katniss skewered him like a kebab with her arrow. He died on the forest floor, joining Glimmer in Katniss’ kill count.

And then there were two. Y/N had narrowly avoided being bashed in the head with a stone by Thresh. The side of her head was still bleeding, the crimson liquid staining the green grass below.

Y/N groaned as she collapsed beside Cato, leaning against the large tree trunk. “Who’s left?” She rasped. She had heard a canon go off but she had no idea who it was.

“The boy from Eleven, the pair from two, and us.” Cato replied, his shoulder brushing against Y/N’s. He pulled out a small tin bottle, handing it over to Y/N. She gratefully took a large gulp of cold water. “Don’t worry, we’ll get home.” He whispered, “You and me forever.” After Y/N’s near death experience, Cato realized that the Capitol had played him as a fool. But he was happy about the announcement that said two victors could win if they originated from the same District.

Y/N leaned her head on Cato’s shoulder and closed her eyes, deeply sighing. She didn’t know when she dozed off or how long she was asleep but she cracked open one eye to see Cato hurriedly shaking her.

Night time, the Careers’ prime time to hunt, had already past. When Y/N’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, she furrowed her eyebrows. She was in a cave yet she remembered falling asleep on the forest floor. And Cato was covered in bites and gruesome grazes and blood. So much blood.

“Cato…” Y/N breathed, quickly leaning forward, “What happened to you?”

“I killed Katniss and Peeta… and the mutts killed Thresh. It’s you and me left, Y/N.” His sounded sounded so weak and he sluggishly cupped her face, panting heavily. For once, he was covered in his own blood rather than the blood of his victims.

“You drugged me…” Y/N’s heart fell to her stomach as she realized what had happened. Cato had slipped sleeping pills into the water and while she was knocked out, he put her in a cave and went to hunt down the three other tributes. She furrowed her brows. “How could you? Cato… you could’ve died.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah… I know. That was kind of the point. While you were asleep, they revoked the two victors rule. There can only be one again.”

That was enough for tears to well up in Y/N’s eyes. “Don’t leave me… please.” She cried as she held Cato, her childhood friend and her first true crush. His blood stained her muddy clothes but she didn’t care. “Please…” She trailed off as Cato wheezed.

“The mutts did a good job on me.” He muttered, finding it harder to stay awake. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“No. Cato. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here!” She immediately noticed how his pulse slowed down. “Stay awake, Cato! I can fix this! Please.”

Y/N had already come to terms that there could only be one victor but she had yet to accept that fact that she had to lose Cato to walk out.

“You can’t give up now… we came this far. We can sort something out.” Y/N uttered as she shook Cato in a fruitless attempt to convince him.

“I love you, Y/N.” He grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I always have. Ever since we became friends. Ever since you were the first to find the courage to talk to me. I don’t know what I would have done with you.”

Y/N laughed as a sob bubbled up in her throat. “I love you too. If only your name wasn’t called. I could’ve won the games and come back to you.” She shakily sighed as she leaned down to kiss Cato’s cold lips. She placed her hand on his neck and when she felt no pulse, she pulled back in a panic.

“Cato?” She shook him once. Then again. “Cato?!” She repeated, this time louder. “No… no… no! Don’t leave me here! Cato!”

She screamed so loud that the sound echoed around the forest, scaring the birds and causing them to flee.

“Cato!”

Y/N walked out of the arena a free woman. Not quite since Snow would still have full control over her but she liked to think she was free to a certain extent.

The Capitol workers had tried to discard of the necklace she held so tightly in her left hand but she refused to let them take it away. It was the only remaining memory she had of Cato.

Anger swirled around in her heart like a monster, threatening to burst free and reign terror over anyone that came in contact with her.

Only now was Y/N realising why the victors never looked genuinely happy despite having everything they wanted. It was because Snow tore their deepest desires away, always holding it near but never within their reach.

Enobaria had wanted to be a mother.

Gloss wanted a peaceful life with his sister.

Cashmere wanted nothing more than to take care of the children in District One.

Brutus craved freedom from Snow’s cruel clutches.

And poor Y/N dreamt of becoming a bride but as she watched the light drift from Cato’s eyes, her wish was swept away with it.

Now, Snow had nothing to take away from her because the person she loved the most was already gone.

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mockingjaysnakes · 2 months

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this crossover, lucy gray & cato.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #the hunger games #rachel zegler #alexander ludwig #tributes #district 12 #district 2 #celebrities #cato thg #lucy gray baird

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xetswan · 1 day

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The Hunger Games- Protector; Chapter Two, The Capitol

(Peeta Mellark X Reader)

[One] [Two] [Three]

"You have three minutes." A voice calls and I hear the door open. It's my family. Prim and Katniss pull me into a rough embrace, both crying.

"Hey, shh, shh, it's okay. We don't have much time, listen." I pull away from them, Prim's arms still wrapped around my waist as I put one hand on the side of her face. I also pet Katniss's hair.

"You're gonna be okay, Prim. I promise. Don't take any extra food from them. It's not worth putting your name in." I tell her, kissing her multiple times on the forehead.

"Kat, I'll be okay, don't lose yourself, use Gale as a walking stick. He'll be right there with you." I pull her in for one last hug.

"Just try to win. Maybe you can." Prim says in a broken tone. My breathing halts for a moment but I continue on. "Maybe I can." I smile at her. "You can hunt." She reminds me. "Exactly." Katniss chimes in.

Prim then pulls out the golden pin that Kat had given her moments before the Reaping. I stare at it. "To protect you." She mutters. "Thank you." I frown, kissing her cheek. I then moved to my Aunt Clare, my dad and Zayden.

My dad puts Zayden in my arms and then he hugs the both of us. I try not to sob as he squeezes onto me. "I'll be okay, dad. I'll win. I'll be back." I promise him the unpromisable.

"I know, I know you will." I felt wet tears land on the top of my head and it only makes me feel worse but I don't want them to hurt even more seeing me cry. He let me go and I gave Zayden back to my father, he didn't talk, he was very quiet.

I knew he didn't understand and the boy doesn't talk much in general.

Clare gives me a small embrace. She begins to cry, I rub her back soothingly. "Don't cry." I whisper.

"It's time." The same Peacekeeper comes back into the room. Dragging mainly Prim out. "It's alright, Prim." I wanted to comfort her but her big sister was right there with her and I knew she would be alright without me. If I win or lose.

I glanced out the window, wanting to break down but I still couldn't let myself. Not yet anyway. I hear the door slam shut and I turn around. It's Gale, he swoops me up into a hug, lifting my heels off the ground before we pull away from one another. "I'm fine." I told him.

"Yeah, I know." He nods his head.

"Listen to me. You're stronger than they are. Get a bow-" "I'm not that good with a bow yet, Gale." I argue with him but he stops me.

"You were getting amazing, trust me. If not a bow, get yourself a spear or something. You're good with close battles but you're gonna need distance most of the time." He assured me, I wanted to argue but the timing wasn't the best. "You know how to hunt."

"Animals." I remind him.

"It's no difference, [Name]." I shake my head. "I don't know if I can do it. 23 other people. Only one is the victor. Those odds..." I sigh, thinking about my chance against District 1 and 2. The ones who are practically trained to do it. Volunteer to do it.

"And it's gonna be you. Do it for Katniss, your dad, Prim, Zayden, and Aunt Clare. Think of them." He gives me one last embrace as the Peacekeeper comes into the room.

"Don't let them starve, Gale! Take care of them! Katniss is strong but she needs you!" I yell. "Let's go." The Peacekeeper drags Gale out of the room. "We'll see you soon, okay?" He shouts back to me.

I wasn't expecting anyone else to visit me, those were the only people I really knew.

Or at least I thought until the door opens for a third time and it reveals Peeta Mellark's father. The Baker, a man I've sold a few animals to for bread. Mainly squirrel, he loves squirrel.

"What you did, it was brave." He speaks up and I only stare at him, confused on why he's here. I'm guessing he already spent his time with his son before coming to me. "And to honor you, Miss Everdeen. I will make sure your family does not starve."

I feel stuck in place but I want to say something, do something to show my gratitude. "Just win this thing, we're all betting on you." He nods his head.

My eyebrows furrow, shocked by his words. They aren't betting on his own son? "Thank you." I mutter. He places a hand on my shoulder, patting it before moving back to the door and leaving the room.

Finally leaving me to my own thoughts, alone until we're moved to the car. Peeta and I are sitting beside one another as Effie sits across from us. "You two are in for a treat! Crystal chandeliers, platinum door knobs, and it flies. We'll be at the Capitol in less than two days. Now before you do anything else..." Her voice grows inaudible to my ears as I stare out the window. Just wanting this nightmare to end. When we exit the car, we're immediately boarding the Tribute Train.

"200 miles an hour and you can barely feel a thing. I think it's one of the wonderful things about this opportunity that even though you're here and it's just for a little while, you get to enjoy all of this." She informs us, both of us stay quiet in response, making her feel more and more awkward.

"I'm going to find Haymitch, he's probably in the bar car." She excuses herself, leaving us alone.

"Have you ever met him?" He asks me, I shake my head no. "Haymitch? You know, he is our mentor. He did win this thing once." He tells me and I look at him without turning my head. "Yes, I know." I huff out. "I don't want to talk anymore." I say to him, motioning for him to quiet down. Which he does until the door opens to see a drunken blond haired man.

"Congratulations." He pours himself a bottle of alcohol. He opens the ice container to see that it's empty. "Where's the ice?" He asks us as if we would even know.

"I don't... I don't know." Peeta responds. He slams the ice container back shut. "May I?" He points to the seat but before either of us could respond he's sitting down. "Okay, so uh... when do we start?" Peeta quizzes our mentor.

"Whoa, whoa. So eager. Most of you aren't in such a hurry." Haymitch snickers at him. "Yeah, I want to know what the plan is. You're our mentor. You're supposed to-"

"Mentor?" The older man questions, treating Peeta like he's stupid. "Yeah, our mentor, you're supposed to tell us how to get sponsors and give us advice." He explains to the drunk.

"Oh, um, embrace the probability of your imminent death and know in your heart, that there's nothing I can do to save you." He then sweetly smiles at us, my eyes squint in disbelief.

"Why are you even here then?" I ask. "Oh, the refreshments." He swirls the little drink. "Okay, I think that's enough." Peeta goes to grab the drink but Haymitch pins him back down in the chair with his bare foot.

"You made me spill my drink on these brand new pants. You know, I think I'll go finish this in my room." He gets up, I scoff, hiding my face in my hands. We're going to die so fast because of this idiot.

"He's gonna come around." Peeta stands up. "What's the point?" I stopped him. "I'm gonna go talk to him." The blond tells me, leaving to talk to the man.

The tv turns on and shows two men, showing footage from the 73rd Hunger Games. I don't pay attention to it. Only turning it back off. Deciding it might be best to clean up and go to bed. Or just have that time to lay down and cry.

I changed into a red long sleeve and sweatpants that were in the dresser. Before going to bed I take out my braids, putting them into one instead of two. I think about what my family's doing at this very moment. How they feel about everything.

I feel for my father who lost his wife five years ago and now has to deal with the death of his daughter on the big screens. All for stuff that happened 74 years ago.

Children punished for a war they were never even a part of. I just wonder how I'm going to die in the games.

Will it be by a spear, a knife? Maybe even my own weapon I decide to grab. Or the weather? Die of something lame. Who knows.

That night it was difficult to fall asleep, somehow I managed but only got five hours which was more than I even expected. I get dressed before going into the next car.

"You'd freeze to death first." I hear Haymitch's voice. "No, cause I'd have a lot of fire." Peeta disagrees. "Now that's a good way to get killed."

"Why's that a good way to get killed?" I question as I join them. "Oh, joy. Why don't you join us? I was just giving some life saving advice." He grins towards me. "Like what?" I tilt my head.

"Oh, I was just asking about how to find shelter." Peeta informs me. "Which would come in handy if in fact you were still alive." Haymitch adds in. "How do you find shelter?" I place my hands in front of me, clasping them together. "Pass the jam." The long haired man avoids the question.

"How do you find shelter?" I repeat myself. "Give me a chance to wake up sweetheart. This mentoring is very... taxing stuff. Can you pass the marmalade?" Again avoiding the question, I grab a knife that was on a place mat, quickly stabbing in between his fingers.

"That is mahogany!" Effie shouts from the couch she was sitting on. I then look back to our "Mentor".

"Look at you, just killed a place mat. You really wanna know how to stay alive? You get people like you. Oh! Not what you were expecting? Well, when you're in the middle of the Games, and you're starving or freezing, some water, a knife, or even some matches can mean the difference between life and death. And those things only come from sponsors. And to get sponsors, you have to make people like you. And right now sweetheart, you're not off to a real good start." He snaps at me, taking the knife from the table to get the marmalade.

"There it is." Peeta says, thankfully getting me out of this position as he points to the window. He gets up and waves to the cheering crowd.

"Come on, come on!" He tells me, I slowly get up. "You better keep this knife, he knows what he's doing." Haymitch goes to hand me the knife but I stop him. I join Peeta at the window, placing a smile on my face like the blond beside me.

Waving to the crowd.

The next thing to deal with was horrible, being showered down then waxed of all the hair on my body. The prep team talked about me as if I wasn't right in front of them. My nails being oh so dirty, my hair not being brushed thoroughly. The little patches of dirt or coal they can't seem to wash off somehow. Then as the three walk away from me I see them holding something.

"What's that?" I question, trying to look over their shoulders. They didn't answer me at first. "What's that!?" I repeat myself.

"We;re just saying we might need to hose you down again before we take you to Cinna." Flavius tells me.

The torture was over and now I'm alone in a room, cleaned, waxed, plucked raw. I don't understand why it was important when I'm going to be fighting for my survival. A man enters the room and I sit up to be kind of polite.

"That was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. With your cousins. My name is Cinna." The man smiles at me. "[Name]." I give a weak smile. "I'm sorry that this happened to you and I'm here to help you in any way I can." He assures me.

"Thank you, I'm surprised you didn't congratulate me. Like everyone else has." I huff out.

"Well, I don't see the point in that. Tonight, they have the Tribute Parade. We're gonna take you out and show you off to the world." He leans against one of the counters. "What's the point of the parade?" I look up at him.

"You need to make an impression. Now, usually they dress people in clothes from their district." Cinna says, I nod my head. "Yeah, we're always coal miners."

"But I don't want to do that. I wanna do something that they're gonna remember. Did they explain anything about trying to get sponsors?" He asks.

"Yeah, I am scared I won't be what they want to see." I frown at the thought. "Well so far you're far more than anything they expected. I just think someone as brave as you shouldn't be dressed in some stupid costume now, should they?" He smirks, confident in me, something I can't find myself to do.

"I hope not." I say.

"It's safe I promise. It's not real fire. These suits are built so you won't feel a thing." Cinna reassures us. Both Peeta and I are in black outfits. My makeup black as well. My hair being put into two braids kind of like it was at the Reaping but way better looking.

"Looks pretty real to me." Peeta worriedly says. "Well, that's the idea. You ready? Don't be afraid." Cinna questions me. "I'm not afraid." I lied to him.

The parade gets announced and Peeta helps me up on the carriage. "Thank you." I whisper, when I talk it's as if the wind has been knocked out of me. "Of course." He says.

The horses begin to move and I feel my chest rapidly moving up and down.

"Here." Peeta takes my hand, I wanted to let it go but instead I don't. Gripping it tightly without realizing. The fire emits on our clothes and as ours goes down, cheers boom in the audience.

Flowers flying down to us. Peeta lifts our hands in the air. I remember to smile. Waving with my other hand to the people cheering our names and district.

I saw myself on the banners and it was as if I didn't recognize myself. The makeup I was wearing, the cleanliness that no one could ever really achieve in 12.

We come to a stop in front of President Snow who stands up from his seat.

"Welcome, welcome. Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice. And we wish you a Happy Hunger Games. And may the Odds be ever in your favor." The older man grins to us, and as the audience cheers once again we are put into the back.

"That was amazing." Cinna compliments us, Peeta helping me back down, the fire was still burning on our clothes.

"Oh! We are all anybody's going to be talking about!" Effie clasps her hands together, excited.

"So brave." Haymitch slow claps. "Are you sure you should be near an open flame?" I question him. "Fake flame? Are you sure you-" He's cut off by the fact that District 2 were glaring daggers right at me, I confusedly stare right back at them.

"Let's uhh... let's go upstairs."

We get led to the elevator, I stay kind of behind Peeta basically last in the line of us.

"So, each of the districts get their own floor and because you're from 12, you get the penthouse." She grins, the doors open to a large living area. I observe every detail of the lavish living these people get to have.

"So this is the living room. I know, I know! Now, your rooms are right over here. Why don't you go clean yourselves up before dinner?" She suggests, more like telling us what to do. We move to our rooms, once I enter inside mine I admire how large the bed is. How fancy everything is.

I look down at the night stand and see a remote type device. I clicked a button and the screen that looked like a window was changing. I click it all the way until I see a wooded area.

It reminded me of what Gale said. Running away together the three of us. Bringing our family even though Prim wouldn't like it, it would've been better than this.

What if we did it? Would we have made it?

"In 2 weeks, 23 of you will be dead. One of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days, particularly to what I'm about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the Arena. There are four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training. My advice is, don't ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword but most of you will die from natural causes. 1 percent from infection, 20 percent from hydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife." Atala explains to us as we all stand together in the training center.

I observe the people around me before I do anything else.

"Jason, where's my knife, huh?" The boy from district 2 asks aggressively, Cato I believe his name was. "I didn't touch your knife." Jason defends himself.

"I put my knife right there!" The blond boy shouts. "I didn't touch your knife!" Jason yells back.

"You took my knife, you liar!" Cato accuses. "I didn't!"

"You little punk! You took my knife!"

"I'm just sitting here." Jason crosses his arms.

"I'll finish you right now, kid! Actually better yet, I'll wait for you in the arena. You're the first one I get, so watch your back." Cato threatens the boy.

I glance upwards to see the young girl from district 11 hiding with the knife. I smiled up at her. We make eye contact and I can see she tries to hide her amusement but not very well.

"Everyone back in line!" Atala orders. "You don't know who you're messing with, kid." Cato gets his last words in before we move forward.

"He's a career, you know what that is?" Haymitch asks me.

"From District 2." I nod my head.

"They train in a special academy until they're 18. Then they volunteer. By that point they're pretty lethal." He explains something I already knew because Gale and I used to talk to some Peacekeepers and they told us even though they weren't really supposed to but I'm not going to say that in the Capitol.

"But they don't receive any special treatment. In fact, they stay in the exact apartments you do. And I don't think they let them have dessert. But you can." Effie tells us.

"So how good are they?" Peeta questions. "Obviously, they're pretty good. They win it almost every year but..."

"Almost." Effie cuts him off.

"They can be arrogant. And arrogance can be a big problem. I hear you can shoot." He changes the subject to me and I stiffen up.

"I'm okay. Not the best." I rub my hands together.

"She's better than okay, my father buys her squirrels. He says she hits them right in the eye." Peeta gloats and I raise a brow, what's he getting at? Katniss taught me how to do that. I only started doing that this year too.

"Peeta's strong." I say.

"What?" He scoffs. "He can throw a 100 pound sack of flour right over his head. I've seen it." I tell them.

"Well, I'm not gonna kill anybody with a sack of flour." He rolls his eyes.

"No, but you have a strong skill that will help when needing shelter. You have a way better chance of winning. And besides I'm way better with close intimate fighting which will only get me killed." I fold my arms.

"I have no chance of winning! None! Alright? It's true. Everybody knows it. You know what my mother said? She said District 12 might finally have a winner. But she wasn't talking about me. She was talking about you." He angrily admits to me, I feel like I'm melting into my seat. My face is getting flushed. How could his mother say that about him?

"I'm not very hungry." He leaves the table and I get a flashback to his mother yelling at him in the rain. I feel the weight of Katniss in my arms.

"I'm done too." I whisper, getting up after him.

Masterlist

P.M. ML

Taglist: if you want to be added lmk!

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j4zz4lop3 · 8 months

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“Blablabla clato is the better ship”

“Noooooo glato is”

“Lol I just cut out the middle man and ship glimmer and clove with each other”

“I think this discourse is stupid and ship cato with marvel as a joke lol”

“I ship marvel with clove/glimmer because i headcannon cato as dating the other one”

Guyyysss they’re literally polyamorous. They’re literally all so hot they just started dating eachother. Clearly.

#the hunger games #thg #poly careers supremacy #alternatively can get completely rid of marvel #nobody really likes marvel anyways #clove thg #marvel thg #glimmer thg #cato thg #glato #clato #most ship discourse can actually be fixed with polymory but y’all aren’t ready for that #not katniss peeta and gale tho #that one is obviously one right and one wrong option

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catoscloves · 21 days

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young gods by catoscloves/enobarias

it was determined, long before they ever even met each other, that they would become both partners and enemies. cato and clove, each single-minded and driven mad with the desire to win, spent much of their time together before the games imagining the other's screams, looking forward to the honor of fighting side by side and then fighting amongst themselves for the honor of being labelled victor. however, this year's games don't follow their best laid plans. with these unpredictable changes, they'll have to adapt, and find that this world of beauty and slaughter dressed in glamor and championship is not so glorious as it seems.

cato and clove's path to becoming young gods, and, in a surprising twist of events, falling in love. (AU: 74th games, clato win, guaranteed happy ending. title and fic inspired by halsey's "young god.")

#minefic #**mine #clatoedit #clato #thgedit #thg #the hunger games #cato x clove #clove x cato #cato thg #clove thg #cato hadley #clove kentwell #mineaesthetic

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clatoera · 7 months

Text

Always Remember We're Burned For Better Chapter 20: We Will Never Go Back to That Bloodshed

Well everyone...we made it. It has taken nearly nine months but here we are. We are at the end of ARWBFB (save for the Epilogue). This has been one of my biggest undertakings and I am so so so proud of it. You guys have followed me through two board exams, applications, and so so so many different speciality rotations during this journey. You have been incredibly patient but also incredibly supportive. I NEVER could have finished it without you guys. I wanted to get this up sooner or at least on the 13th. I failed at both of those, but I hope you will understand when you see that this chapter is the longest by a significant amount. I am so proud of this fic, and I hope you all decide that it was worth giving your time to sharing with me.

The chapter title comes from The Great War. A fun fact would be that this line actually loops back to "we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover" with Crimson Clover being the title of chapter one. It's come full circle (save for the epilogue).

This chapter is designed like Chapter 4 was. Each segment is divided by a lyric that encapsulates the vibes. It is not as happy, but it is the start of happily ever after.

AO3

Masterpost

As always..this is for everyone who has helped me and loved me and supported this story. I cannot even tag everyone but I will try. A LARGE portion of this goes to @ohhowwehavefallen who has talked about MOST things that happen in this chapter with me in depth and has enabled me (VSC immortalized forever with this one, so is Cato buying the academy). @kentwells who actually helped me make major decisions regarding the sequel, which affected the way Marvel and Glimmer ended here. Thank you for putting up with me. @dukeysquid and @mackcoleslaw for the constant constant support. @clarascrabarmy who talks me off the ledge and is my go to night reader (and night validator that im crazy). @mollywog who has tolerated this fic for 9 months. @crookedlyniceperson who comes in with the memes EVERY single time. @cyansadnessI dont even get to talk to you much any more but you were an OG reader and I am giving you kisses for your love. There are so many more who I am afraid I may have missed (and I know I have missed) but i'm emotional and hormonal and crying as I type this.

This is, and always has been, for you guys who have given me your support and love. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I never would have finished without the love and support of every single person who has read this.

Thank you.

How evergreen, our group of friends

The kitchen, despite the literal war that had raged on outside in District One, was quite literally untouched. Untouched, as in, no one had ever used it even prior to the games or the war that should have resolved the house itself to rubble.

They had quickly discovered that despite varying levels of damage to the districts, the Victors Villages were left nearly untouched. Call it symbolism, call it fate, call it making a point, but this was not a fact any of the surviving victors were going to debate or question.

For now they were all just going to be thankful to even have a place to live, especially one that wasn’t an underground bunker in a district that resented them.

It’s Clove, who is opening and shutting every single cabinet in the bright white kitchen. The golden handles and marble countertops are pristine– perfect and completely new. Every drawer is completely stocked with spices and the same sorts of things her own home had come with, but it is evident that these cabinets had remained untouched from their initial stocking. There was no dusting of cinnamon around the pores of the bottle, no slight film of salt from pouring over a steaming pot. They were still perfectly alphabetized, perfectly aligned in the spice drawer, as if the kitchen itself was taken right out of a capitol home decor magazine.

Funnily enough, though the kitchen was clearly new, it was so…Glimmer. Or at least the Glimmer she had been forced to become.

Gorgeous white marble countertops, shimmering golden metal for every door handle and knob on every drawer. The utensils were a beautiful gold, and even the appliances were designed to blend right in with the shining and glamorous surroundings.

In one drawer, she found incredibly sharp knives with mother of pearl handles, in another were soft baby pink pans. It was very much designed for the fifteen year old teenage girl who had won the house as part of her victor’s spoils.

Somehow, even without the Capitol’s influence, Clove still believes Glimmer would have turned out a golden, pink-loving girl. Or at least, it’s comforting to imagine it that way.

Clove curls her fingers around the shimmering handle of one of the paring knives, bringing it to eye level to inspect it. The blade is alarmingly sharp for one designed to dice vegetables or carve into fruits, further supporting Clove’s suspicion that it had never been used prior to well, right now. She weighs it in her hand, feeling the way it settles in her palm. Her other hand comes to run over the couple of inches of metal, evaluating the quality. It was top of the line in terms of cooking, of course, nothing but the best for any victor, but it may even serve well in terms of slicing through-

She drops the knife, flinching only a little at the realization of how the metal colliding with the marble will dull the beautiful little blade. It startles her, not the sound of the metal on rock, no that any District Two girl could sleep through like a lullaby, but by the harsh realization of her own thoughts. She would likely never slice through anything but food again, there would be no more blood spitting on her from pulsing arteries, no more tendons severed.

Clove would probably never kill anyone else ever again. The thought is both disconcerting and comforting, leaving Clove alarmed and settled.

“Are you okay?” A soft, sleepy voice asks from around the entrance to the kitchen. When Clove looks up she sees Glimmer, rubbing at her eyes with her long cream colored sleeves. She shuffles into the kitchen in fluffy white slippers, a sweater that reaches halfway down her legs, and exceptionally messy loose braids that tell Clove that yeah she probably did just wake up.

“Good morning, Princess.” Clove scoffs, gently grabbing the dropped knife and twisting it nimbly between her fingers. “It’s four in the afternoon, Glimmer. Did you have a busy night?”

“I was with Cash and Gloss all night, we’re trying to figure out what to do about our parents.” Glimmer sits herself at the island continuing to rub at her eye with the heel of her hand, exhaustion written all across her pretty face. “I didn’t come back until this morning.”

Clove flinches at her own insensitivity– while she was well used to being, well, alone. An orphan. On her own. Whatever, it was..new for the others. Cato’s family was still in the wind, but Glimmer and her siblings, as well as Marvel, were new to the world of being parentless. “God, Glimmer, I’m sorry–”

At least Glimmer had Cashmere and Gloss, the same could not be said for Marvel, who was the only surviving member of his entire family. Clove could easily relate to that, because even if anyone survived, they were dead to her long ago.

Glimmer just nods her head, acknowledging but not verbally accepting the apology her friend offers.

Nothing had been necessarily right between the four of them since the vote. Cato and Clove, they were perfectly fine, of course. Marvel however had lost any progress he had made with Glimmer, and Cato nor Clove had yet to fully return to her good graces. It wasn’t even like any of them could blame her for being mad. She had been right.

“Thanks for letting us stay with you.” She decides, instead filling the space between them with gentle words of appreciation. “Like..literally in your house with you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that.. It’s nice not to be alone.” Glimmer sighs, resting her chin on her hand and looking across the island to Clove, who is still twisting a knife in her hand. “I don’t know if i’m quite ready to be alone yet.”

They weren’t necessarily far from anyone. Marvel spent the days over here with them, Brutus was in one of the empty houses, Cash and Gloss each in their own and then Enobaria was– “Is Enobaria staying across the street in the empty one or down the road–”

Glimmer cocks an eyebrow, the littlest smirk making an appearance on her face. “She’s staying with my sister.”

“Oh!” Clove looks nearly taken aback as she opens another drawer, absently sorting through the perfect, unused cutting boards and kitchen aids to distract herself from the awkward tension between her and her host. “I didn’t know they were even friends.”

“Girl..” Glimmer giggles, leaning in closer on the island, nearly pressing her upper body into the marble. “You know Enobaria and Cashmere are..” She makes a gesture with her middle and pointer finger that Clove can’t interpret, and the confused look on her freckled face must convey that to the blonde girl. “Right?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Clove? They’re fucking. They’re a thing.”

“What! No, I mean just because they’re staying together doesn’t mean–” The heat in Clove’s cheeks at the realization leaves her flustered, and flustered is not a look Clove wears well.

“Well that's what everyone thinks about the four of us.” Glimmer teases, before bringing her hand out infront of her to inspect the remnants of her nails. “Seriously. They’ve been a thing for like…god Cash won sixty-four? So… ten…ish years? Probably? I dunno. But it’s not a secret. I’m shocked you couldn’t tell.”

“Well I didn’t see them together much, okay? And noone thinks that the four of us are all fucking, Glimmer. That’s crazy Capitol type shit.” Clove defends, desperately looking through the drawers for a change of topic. Maybe she could understand why Enobaria got so irritated when ever she and Cato got caught–

Yep. Okay. Makes sense!

“Sure they don’t Clove, you don’t see the looks people give us?”

Clove digs through the drawers, finding the still boxed mixer and the perfect white plates, nothing seeming even a little out of place. She is flustered and the heat in her neck and face won’t even allow her to respond to such comments.

“For fucks sake, Glimmer, have you used anything in this kitchen.”

“Drawer closest to the refrigerator has two little plates and two forks. We used to …uh…we would eat a lot of cake.” Glimmer finds herself grabbing at the skin around her nail with her teeth, tugging at the cuticles until they ripped off. She couldn’t resist the urge to constantly be picking at and degrading something about her body, and right now her nails were all she had access to. “Other than that, not really.”

“How did you survive, Glimmer? Seriously?” Clove rests a hand on the back of her hip, strumming along the top of her hip while also trying to massage out some of the pain of her lower back that never seemed to go away.

“Well, everything I ate was precooked and preweighed, I had to keep a certain look you know?” Glimmer shrugs, kicking her feet just a little at the height of the chair, twisting just ever so slightly to keep herself comfortable. “I wasn’t really allowed to go beyond that. Cooking was never important.”

“You’re gonna have to learn to make something Glimmer, especially if you ever have kids–” Clove teases, but the biting response of Glimmer wipes the smile right off of her face.

“I told you in the Capitol I'm not doing that. I’m never doing that. I don’t want to.” Glimmer snaps before she pushes herself out of the chair so she can make a quick escape if the conversation goes any further south.

“You used to, I’m sorry, Glimmer. That's who I knew you as. The girl who wanted to settle into her life and be someone’s mother. And for what it’s worth, Glim Glam, I think you’d have been good at it.” Clove puts a hand up in defense, before she awkwardly goes back to going through the remaining cabinets, stopping prior to the refrigerator and pantry.

She pauses, and turns to face her friend. She gives a heavy sigh, bracing herself on the counter behind her, when she begins.

“I’m sorry. I am. About the vote. You were right, and as soon as you pulled me into that room– I knew you were right. About his sister and about our friends’ kids and everything. I just wanted to feel like some wrong was made right, Glimmer. It wasn’t going to be me back in the games, and I wanted them to feel what it was like. But then you mentioned Cora, and god knows if she’s alive, but if she is she couldn’t ever go to the games. Or Finnick’s kids, or yours or– I don’t know. All of a sudden it wasn’t just like..nameless kid tributes. It was people we knew. It was kids we knew. It was little girls who looked like you and little red heads in four and! It was kids we love or will love and– you were right. And I’m sorry.”

There is a stunned silence for a few seconds that feels like years to Clove, as Glimmer looks at her with the look of a doe caught in the lights of a car.

“....thank you.” Glimmer whispers in response, but something palpable has finally shifted between them. Whatever permafrost had threatened to take hold on the boundaries of their friendship started to melt away in that moment. Maybe not a heat wave, but a start. “I…thank you, Clove.”

Clove gives Glimmer another once over as they stand staring at each other. The months of this war had taken a toll on Clove of course, evidenced by the aches in her body and the scars along her skin. Her scars would fade, as her bruises had, and even the pain isn’t visible. On the outside Clove still looked almost exactly like she always had.

On Glimmer though, the changes were blatant. The golden glow of her skin was long gone, replaced by pale, nearly gray undertones. That long platinum hair was longer than ever, but now revealed multiple inches of a honey blonde natural color that had been hidden since before she even won the games. Even the actual structure of her face and body had changed. Any capitol enhancement had long since grown out or metabolized away, leaving Glimmer with deep collar bones and sinking skin on her cheeks.

She looked exhausted but she also looked starved. She looked sick.

“Glimmer…you look hungry.” Clove gives her a look that must be riddled with pity, for the blonde looks away and at her hands instead. “Will you please let me make you something? I know there probably isn’t much in here but I can send the boys out…” B

Before Glimmer can argue or decline, Clove swings the door open to what she expected to be a barren refrigerator and is taken back by the fully stocked fridge that awaits her.

Well. Full. And Stocked. Maybe not with actual kitchen staples or ingredients for meals, but definitely full.

“What in the fuck–”

“Marvel does that sometimes. And Cato’s been talking nonstop about your cooking for literal months. They went yesterday, I think. I..don’t think either of them knew what they were doing but they’ve got the spirit. They mean well.,” Glimmer explains, not bothering to put up a fight with Clove and deny her this opportunity. Even if she didn’t eat it– Cato and Marvel sure fucking would. This was their new Hunger Games.

“Good intentions…that's why there’s seventeen tomatoes?” Clove raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile gracing her face as she surveys the fridge. Sure it was a little..odd.. Seventeen tomatoes, three bags of flour, at least fifty eggs, a dozen heads of garlic… odd but good intentioned nonetheless. “I’m going to guess they wanted pasta?”

“That sounds right. I think I heard Cato saying something about that, but they lost me when I heard them trying to remember if onions and garlic are the same thing.” Glimmer shrugs, but finds herself going back to sit at the island, no longer on the verge of running out of the kitchen at any moment.

Clove starts grabbing armfuls of the tomatoes to transfer them to the countertop, feeling the soft flesh of one under her fingertips. She probably wouldn’t even need the chef’s knife, but damn if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to use it. “Do you have a big- you know what, nevermind.”

She decides against asking for a stock pot, knowing fully well Glimmer would have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, she rummages through the cabinets until she does in fact find a blush pink soup pot practically bigger than Clove herself. She immediately sets herself to gently slicing the skin off of the tomatoes, delighting in the way the acidic juice dripped down over her fingers.

“You should give him a chance, Glimmer, he’s a good guy.” Clove suggests, tossing each individual skinned tomato into the giant pink pot one at a time.

“I’m not the one not interested, Clove, you know that.” Glimmer reminds her bitterly, reaching forward to attempt to grab a tomato, dropping it when the acid in the juice burns the raw skin around her nails. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Now that isn’t true and you know it. You two seemed fine and then the vote happened and you shut him down again.” Clove points out, turning to the cabinet behind her to grab her selection of the endless array of unused spices. “Which, I get it, you were hurt–”

“He can’t just make my trauma a personal vendetta, Clove. He can’t advocate for slaughtering babies in an arena under the name of defending me and the things that happened to me.” Glimmer hops off the chair once again, this time letting herself scope out the refrigerator and whatever the hell the boys had come up with to fill it with.

“It happened to him, too, Glimmer. Maybe not as much as it did to you. But it happened to him, too.” Clove collects salt and sugar and various other jars of spices she currently can’t name but knows for some reason she needs to add them. “Glim. Sometimes we care more about avenging the people we love, rather than actually doing what's right. The things that are done to people you love..sometimes that's just worse.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Clove. To be seen as the girl who fucks everyone. Whether I wanted to or not. And trust me, I didn’t want to. And no matter how hard I try, for the rest of my life, that is how everyone is going to see me. Do you know what the best part of all this is, Clove? That I never have to be seen in public ever again.” She filters through the fruit– half a dozen containers of strawberries, a single mango, an entire box of blueberries– before letting herself grab a single blueberry for a snack.

“We don’t see you that way, you know? Not me, not Cato, and god Glimmer you know Marvel doesn’t either.” Clove assures, using the palm of her hand to measure out the various herbs and spices she’s tossing in. There’s no recipe– she’s just doing what feels right. Such is the theme for all aspects of their lives right now. “And you never have to do that again. Hell, never have sex again at all for all I care, obviously I do but–”

“Yeah, Clove, I know. We share a wall. The wall your bed is on.”

“Oh! Right! Well.. anyway!” Clove fakes a grimace and mouths ‘sorry’ before she places a lid on her creation. “Come on. Let's go find the boys, then I'll show you how to make the pasta.”

“I think they’re laying in the yard.” Glimmer waves off, before grabbing another handful of berries to pop into her mouth.

“They’re…laying in the yard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, confusion mapped across her face. “Are they dogs?”

“Something about missing grass and fresh air in Thirteen, I don’t know, I could hear them through the window.” Glimmer shakes her head, but stands in the doorway of the refrigerator. “Do you need anything out of here?”

“They’re fucking weird.” Clove clears off a workspace to knead and roll out the pasta, recognizing that this is probably the first time these counters have been used for anything ever. “uh yeah I need eggs and flour… Honestly, I usually make Cato come do this part because I like to watch his hands knead the dough but…let them…become one with nature or whatever they’re out there doing.”

“Why do you need flowers in noodles? I didn’t think you could eat those?” Glimmer cocks her head, holding out the cardboard carton of a dozen eggs to her, but pausing with a perplexed look on her face as she searches the refrigerator for a bouquet of some sort. “I can go check the garden–”

“What? No Glimmer, Flour not flowers.” Clove wipes her hands on the side of her shirt– Cato’s shirt, actually–, and comes next to her friend to point at the various bags on the bottom shelf. “It’s like..it’s white powder, I can’t explain it. It makes bread. Noodles. Cookies… pizza. It makes all the good stuff you probably don’t eat. But we are going to change that.”

There are a few moments of silence, as Clove measures things. It’s nearly peaceful, with the only sounds coming from the dough being flopping and kneaded into the marble.

Silent, that is, until Glimmer finally breaks.

“Thank you for staying with me.” Glimmer manages to get out, when tears Clove didn’t even know were coming just start pouring out of her friend. “I-i’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I don’t want to be alone yet.”

Clove pauses her hand folding, brushing her flour covered hands on her shirt before she rests her elbows on the counter, leaning in to truly hear her friend. “Glimmer, you aren’t going to be alone forever.”

“But I am! Yeah, Cash and Gloss are here but..they aren’t here. My parents are gone. You and Cato are going to go home, I don’t want to be alone yet.” Glimmer sobs, furiously wiping at her eyes with her sleeves, Mascara from god knows when smearing along them. “Noone wants a girl that everyone has had, at least not for more than a night, Clove! I’m alone and when i’m alone I just..I swear it’s like someone’s going to come in and they’re going to touch me and they’re going to hurt me and–”

“You’re scared.” Clove realizes, and her heart completely and utterly shatters for the girl. She sees her not as the twenty something girl in front of her, but instead a scared fifteen year old victor she never got to grow out of being. “It’s okay to be scared, but no one's going to hurt you anymore.” She nearly reaches for her hand, she nearly reaches to do anything to comfort her, but something tells her that sudden touch is the furthest thing from what Glimmer needs right now.

“Someone is always ready to hurt me, Clove. It’s all anyone wants out of me. Noone wants me but they all want me. I just think about all the things they’ve done to me, Clove. How many times they’ve shot me up with something or gave me a handful of pills and just told me to swallow them. Who knows what they’ve done to me…” Glimmer cries, hot tears tracking down her face and onto the fabric of her sleeves. They speckle her sweater, soaking into the cream colored fabric and turning it dark. The levee has broken within Glimmer, and the rushing waves of grief cannot be stopped. “When I won..my sister and brother used to sleep down here. So when I wake up screaming they could come up to me. And then in the Capitol I was NEVER alone and as soon as I was…Cash would come in. She’d hold me, tell me how sorry she was that she let me become a victor, that she didn’t stop me from trying to go to the games. And then, god, once I had Marvel, he practically moved in and he slept me and I actually felt safe. I could sleep. Even back when we were just friends…he’d let me sleep in his room in the Capitol, he was never touchy or pushy or anything. He just let me sleep and sometimes he’d hold me and it was the best sleep I had since I won.” Glimmer wipes at the tears again, ignoring how messy she had to look right now. It was her own kitchen and really what did she have left to lose? Glimmer rambles on, “And you two are here and so I try to sleep and it isnt working as well as it used to and in thirteen I was so afraid every time I heard someone was in the hall that they were going to come in and —“

“When was the last time you slept, Glimmer? Actually slept?” Clove eases, sliding her a dish towel to use to clear the tears from her eyes. “You have to be exhausted.”

“Probably the games, funny enough. Weird that I felt safe enough there but- it is what it is. I tried in Thirteen! And here! it’s just…I can still feel their hands on my skin a-and feel them breathing on my neck and hear their voices and the sound of their feet coming to get me. If I fall asleep they’re there taunting me and grabbing me and-and-and!“ Glimmer continues to recount her nightmares and real life horrors, her breath catching in her throat and coming out in heaving, panicked, desperate gasps. “I just don’t see what the point of all this was. I don’t have anyone and I’m terrified in my own house and my parents are gone and what did I survive it all for if I’m going to be alone?”

“You aren’t going to be alone. You aren’t, and you can stay with someone or something but, God Glimmer. Out of all of us, all of the things we have gone through, you Glimmer deserve a happy ending. You deserve to feel safe and loved and god, Glimmer, you deserve to be happy.” Clove finally grabs at her arm, gently squeezing her forearm. “You are safe, Glimmer. And no one gets to hurt you ever again. I promise, Glimmer. You are going to be happy.”

Glimmer…does not learn how to make pasta that day.

Ten minutes of egg and flour stuck to her fingers is enough to send her back to the verge of tears and back to a safe distance away where she instead watches only.

Once the dough is chilling and the sauce is stewing, they retreat to the living area, sprawled out on the baby pink couches.

They sit in comfortable silence while the sauce cooks, Glimmer curled up on the foot of the couch, Clove outstretched on the other end with a book of District One history spread out in her lap.

It’s peaceful. Comfortable. Safe.

When Clove notices the Glimmer has fallen asleep, she grabs the fur throw blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over her friend. Never in her life had she planned to care for some random victor girl from District One, with enough trauma and abuse in her short life for all of them combined, but here she was. War, she supposed, changed the way you see the world.

She doesn’t even need to call the boys in for dinner like a mother calling for her kids to come in at sundown, because like the bloodhounds men tend to be, they all but run through the glass back door like the children they never got to be once the smell of dinner reaches the outdoors.

“Clove? Clove, are you cooking? Do I smell food?” Marvel slips in the door first, literally just edging Cato out to get in before him. “Holy mother of god, that's food. I can SMELL the spice, there's salt in it isn’t there. You’re a fucking saint.”

“You’re a moron.” Cato rolls his eyes, but pushes Marvel out of the way just so he can beat him to the island. “…there is salt and stuff right?”

“You’re also a moron.” It’s Clove’s turn to roll her eyes instead, as she fishes a single pasta noodle out of the water to try it. “If i remember correctly you did talk about my cooking every day for weeks…”

“Months.” Glimmer chimes in as she makes her appearance. It’s only been a couple of hours since she fell asleep on the couch but even the brief nap has her looking noticeably better and more rested. “Every day for months.”

Clove catches Glimmer (but not Cato) off guard with how fast she moves when she reaches out to grab Marvel’s wrist as he goes to dip a spoon into the sauce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Clove, I'm serious,this is the best moment I've had in months, let me have this. I need something good in my life.” Marvel half pleads, and the tired tone in his voice paired with the exhaustion behind his eyes is all that it takes before Clove is releasing his wrist and turning away.

“Do NOT go in twice, I will cut off your fingers.” She threatens and has to nearly slap Cato’s fingers away from the pasta noodles where they are cooling. “You two are like fucking children.”

“Oh my god.” Comes from Marvel, but it sounds somewhere between a cry and a gasp. “Clove this is the best thing i’ve had-maybe ever. Maybe that's the war trauma but-” Ignoring her threats he risks it for another dip, and then steps immediately a few steps out of her reach. “Can you stay here? Seriously, can we keep you? Cato you can stay too, if that helps.”

Marvel slides to the other side of the island, safely out of reach of all three of them as he debates just dipping a coffee cup and drinking the sauce. “For fucks sake, Cato, kiss her. Or Glimmer, you do it. I don’t care. One of you..just..appreciate her.”

“I’ll still kill you.” Cato warns, but he is slightly distracted by the handfuls of fresh pasta he is dropping into his mouth. “Clove is very appreciated, thank you very themuch.”

“.....are you crying?” Glimmer leans onto the counter, propping her chin in her hand as she outright smirks at her once boyfriend. There's the spark of light behind her eyes that Snow had snuffed out long ago starting to glow just a little again.

“No!” Marvel defends himself indignantly, but they all hear the sniffle and the stifled“......maybe a little.”

I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home

Two months after their initial arrival in One, at the end of the second great war, after months of Clove feeding them, many tears from Glimmer at their goodbye, and promises of continued communication under the new mechanisms and options– phones communications, along with travel between districts, were allowed once again– Clove, Cato, Brutus, and Enobaria were on their train home.

Maybe it was irony, or maybe it was fate, but they take the incredibly short trip home on the same train they had come to the Capitol on in their prior games. Neither had ever noticed how the high speed trains went from One to Two in under half an hour, but then again, why would they have paid attention when they were young invincible victors with the entire world at their fingertips?

Still, even a twenty seven minute train ride feels like absolute eternity when you do not know what waits for you on the other end.

She is sitting as she always has on these trips– curled up with her back against his chest, settled between his legs, head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers snake up to where his arm is resting on the back of the couch, and she laces her fingers in with his.

Clove sighs as her eyes flutter shut, choosing not to watch the passage of destroyed buildings, burned farms, and mass civilian graves. There was a time in her life where no amount of bloodshed or the loss of life made her bat an eye— it was what they were trained for— but now…something about it made her stomach turn.

“It doesn’t feel like we’re going home.” Cato mumbles into the crown of her head, sliding his other hand firmly around her waist and holding her tighter to him. “It doesn’t feel like we even have one.”

“I don’t think we do.” Clove twists in his arms just a little so that she can see his face and languidly brings her free hand up to graze along his jawline. “I mean, we have a house, but I don’t think anyone will want to see us. Exiled to Victor’s Village ..” Her nails scratch along the planes of his skin gently, as she cranes her neck back to really look at him.

She has spent over half of her life looking at him, learning with him, and ultimately the last six loving him. Looking at him now, though, it’s almost like seeing him through new eyes.

Scars that the capitol would never take from him along his arms from retraining, golden blonde hair that had grown out enough it reached nearly to his eyelashes, the brightest sky blue eyes that harbored exhaustion far beyond that of a twenty one year old man.

And yet. It almost felt new to look at this man right now, in the same position on the same train they had been in time and time again.

It was new to see him in a world without The Hunger Games.

In a world where they would not wake up day to day to train the next class of tribute children, a world where they would not mentor victor and victor to parade home with pride to their district. A world where they would not raise their own children to volunteer for the games, where they would sacrifice them with a smile on their faces for the glory of being the parents of their own victor child, or pretend it did not shatter them to lose that same glorified baby to the games because they wouldn’t want to raise anything less than ideal little victors.

There was a version of them, somewhere, that dedicates the rest of their lives to the Hunger Games.

This is not that version of them. Not anymore.

Maybe it is because she knows what the life of a victor truly holds now. She learned in the confessions of Finnick, in the strangled screams of Glimmer in the middle of the night. She learned in the stories of Johanna, in the depravity of Haymitch. She learned in the desperation of Katniss, the destruction of Peeta. She learned of it in the loss of her mother.

She learns of a different life of a Victor, now. In the disapproving, but secretly adoring, looks from Enobaria when Cato carries her across a room. In the appreciative murmurs of Brutus, when he has pancakes with chocolate chips before him. In the updates on Annie’s growing family, in Marvel’s silly, stupid, but nonetheless endearing jokes.

Above all else she learns of it in the love of Cato, who saw her at the lowest shell of herself, and loved her even still.

Cato raises an eyebrow at her, shaking her just a little. “You’re thinking of something.” It’s his turn to bring a hand to her face, unwinding from her waist so he can tilt her chin up to meet his eyes more properly. “The corners of your lips twitch when you’re thinking too hard.”

Clove smiles gently, allowing the corners of her mouth to come to a soft grin. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this particular train. On our way to the Quell. I didn’t think we’d be on our way back like this.”

“I also thought we were only leaving that arena in pine boxes. I didn’t think I’d be coming home. I never thought we’d come home together alive. ” He nods, looking past her rather than at her as he recollects the feelings and emotions of that day, leaving their district for what they expected to be the last time. Their days were numbered, or so they had every reason to believe.

For the first time, maybe in the entirety of their short lives, that was no longer the case.

Clove stretches both her arms out to wrap them behind his neck, relaxing fully and truly into his arms. “Is it crazy to say it feels like we won?”

The station is barren and silent when the train stops. There is no great crowd to welcome home the newest victor this time, no officials to celebrate them.

And yet, when the four of them are back on the train platform, surrounded by the rubble of what was once the greatest district in the country, there has never been a sweeter homecoming.

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you

The walk home is harrowing. Two months of cleanup had barely touched the majority of the evidence of the violence, especially along the bases of the mountain, where the various villages had to stack their dead. Slowly but surely they had been transported back to their towns to properly be buried under the traditions of each of the different villages.

That, of course, was just for the bodies that had even been recovered.

Nearly half of District Two’s population was unaccounted for, and reconstruction efforts had only barely begun to move the piles of rocks that represent the rubble of what was once towering buildings and neighborhoods full of homes.

The true carnage of the war, the gravity of the loss in this district alone was yet to be understood and tallied. Cato cannot say a word on the walk home, as every time he thinks about the bodies of his parents and sister rotting away under the ash of two, his throat feels like it is going to close on him. Clove by extension says nothing either, only threading her arm around his, holding that same arm with her other hand. There are no words to negate the pain of loss, to ease the ache of the unknown.

The gate to Victor’s Village is somehow perfectly intact, and from what they can see beyond, so are the pristine lines of ornate houses. A layer of ash covers the ground like fallen snow, and the air feels unseasonably cold up here. It is as if the ghosts of the victors, the families, all of the dead haunt these gates, encasing them in a blanket of melancholy as a reminder that they are the survivors yet again.

The chill especially wraps around Clove, sending an ache deep to her joints, a reminder that while she is a survivor, she was a victim, too. They have survived but they do not come home unscathed, they do not come home the victors they left as.

There are lights on in the two houses across the street from their own, and the reminder of life of their mentors is one of the only calming thoughts they can cling to.The rest of the houses sit empty, stale air circulating through them with no victors left to call them home. There is no evidence that there was once life in these houses, no shoes on the porch, no watering cans in the yards. Just like that what was once the fullest victors village has become a ghost town.

The decision to come back had not been an easy one. District One was in a far better condition, and frankly, none of them were quite ready for life on their own after so much time relying on each other for company and sanity during the war. They didn’t even really have motivation to come back– what did they have waiting behind for them. Eventually the announcement came – much to the dismay of many many many citizens– that the surviving Victors would continue to receive monthly stipends (albeit not near as much as pre-war days) as reparation for the torture and violence inflicted on them at the hands of the prior government ever since their victory. It made it easier to know that upon their return they weren’t going to have to assimilate into societal roles (and for Glimmer, the real relief came that she would never have to work in retail in one).

Ultimately, the decision to come back was their own. This place, despite the horrors, the violence, the brutality…it was their home. Maybe it was those things that made it home.

They stand in the charred grass at the very edge of their yard, Clove with her head resting against his body, Cato running his hand over her arm in an attempt to warm her body to ward off the ghosts of pain that the cold brings on. He rests his head on top of hers as they look at the grandiosity of the home they left behind, still frozen in time, as a relic of the time they were eighteen and in love, feeling invincible.

“Hey…babe?” Cato wrinkles his brows together, lifting his head from atop hers. “Do you have a key?”

Well of course they didn’t have a key– it wasn’t like they had considered leaving one under the doormat on their way to their certain deaths.

“Fuck.” Clove laughs against his arm, burying her face in the dark wool of his coat. Her laugh is contagious to him, and he’s shaking his head with a laugh not too long after her. Out of all the obstacles that should have kept them from ever crossing the threshold of their home again, they had not thought to anticipate a key being one.

She flashes him a playful smirk, raising her eyebrows teasingly. “Are we going to break into our own house?”

Sure, Cato could probably just go through the front door. Of course with the current state of Two, that door would not be replaced because a couple of kids broke into their own house.

“We left the bedroom window unlocked.” Cato reminds her, catching her off guard as he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder. “I mean.. I hope we left the window unlocked.”

Clove nearly shrieks as she ends up in the air, his hands giving taunting pinches on the very top of her thighs as he fully carries her to the back yard. The grass is overgrown in some places, burnt in others, Clove notices as she stares at the ground from her place on his shoulder.

Cato surprises Clove again when he flips her from his shoulder to his arms, one hand under her knees and the other under her shoulders as he cradles her against him. “Okay. You’re going in.”

It’s not even surprising how easily he lifts her to a standing position on his hands, how he can push her towards the bedroom window with such ease. All that to say, Clove's short arms and legs do not make it any easier, with her fingertips barely able to reach the window screen to pry it off. When she does she sends it flying down behind her, and only from the groan she hears from Cato can she tell it hit him. It is using all the dexterity of her little fingers that she is able to slide the window up and open.

“Got it!” Clove calls down to him, and lightly twists her ankle in his palm. “You gotta throw me a little.”

“I can’t throw you through the window–” Cato scoffs, shaking his head adamantly. “No way in hell.”

“Cato I can’t reach, You need to just give me a little boost-”

“A little boost i’m already holding you above my head–”

“Cato! A little toss!” Clove insists, jolting her foot with a little annoyance. “I’m serious, we need to get in–”

“Fine! But if you bust your face open don’t blame me.” Cato grumbles, and grabs her by the bottom of her shoes. “Okay, ready?”

Clove nods, already bracing her hands on either side of the window. When he gives her the little bit of a toss (more than a little, considering the strength he doesn’t even realize he exerts sometimes), Clove is able to flip in through the window.

All Cato can hear is a slight scream from his wife as she tumbles into the house.

“Clove…babe…you alright?” Cato calls up, an edge of panic infiltrating his cool tone. “Baby…”

Clove appears in the window, resting her elbows on the window ledge as she smiles down at him with a coy smirk. “You look like you’re here to beg me to sneak out.”

“If I remember correctly it was me who had the house first..” Cato responds to her smirk with his own, running a hand over the side of his hair. “Will you let me in? I didn’t throw you through the window just so I could still break down the door.”

“Patience, patience, Cato.” Clove teases, but the smile on her face could keep Cato going for the rest of his life. “I’m coming, meet you out front.”

Cato beats her to the front door. Patience has never been his strength, and frankly, it’s fucking cold and she is taking a weirdly long amount of time before she comes down. “Clove open the door, I'm not playing around.”

When the door does swing open to Clove, somehow already changed into one of his shirts and one of his shirts only, she greets him with a dark smirk, looking up at him from thick lashes. “Welcome home.”

The thin layer of dust that covers every surface in their house is a problem for another time.

Later…after.. Clove sits between his legs in the bath, the water as hot as they can possibly get it, soothing every ache in the crooks of her spine. His fingers trace imaginary shapes over the back of her hand, her head against his chest and shoulder. Hot water had been one of the biggest losses in Thirteen. Clove had imagined this particular moment for months. So much so that it was the first- well…second– thing they did once they were back in their home.

Their names were still carved into the bedpost, their laundry still in pre-sorted piles on the bathroom floor. Clove’s skin yearns for the softness of the clean sheets they had left behind (though maybe they were not so clean with the dust and ash layer on every surface). In the morning, Clove will treat herself to tea with the rest of the honey in the cabinet above the sink and to the left.

“You know, I think Enobaria had the spare key.” Cato realizes with his lips on Clove’s neck, and he deserves the light smack to the side of his head once he says it.

“I do not want to think about Enobaria right now, thank you very much.” Clove mumbles, tilting her neck so he can have more more more as she feels his other hand wrapping around her waist and sliding lower.

“We made it home, sweetheart.” Cato kisses into the skin of her neck, pulling her somehow even closer. “We’re home.”

“We are home.” Clove repeats, but the emphasis she places changes the meaning of the statement. Yes, they are home. But they are home.

He is hers and she is his.

They are home.

And If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still around.

Home is not as idyllic as they may have remembered, but it was home.

The thunderstorms that once lulled her to sleep, jolted her awake with a racing heart. The sound of rain no longer rain, but too identical to the distant sound of bombs in their homeland. When she ends up sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, forcing herself to face it, she is always joined by a heavy blanket being draped around her shoulders, and Cato sitting wordlessly beside her. What they don’t know is that in a district not too far away, another girl screams herself awake from nightmares of the past, and is joined by the innocent affection of a man who slides into bed next to her only to sleep, who holds her only with the intention to comfort her while expecting nothing in return.

The cold hurts more than she imagined it would. It is not just the recollection of nearly freezing to death that frightens her anymore, it is the pain in her body. Their home is somehow always chilly, her wrists and shoulders and back always aching fiercely. Cato knows her, he has her entire life, and is always adamant to add another blanket to the bed or turn up the heat even when it leaves him himself sweating.

Brutus and Enobaria still let themselves in multiple days a week for breakfast.

A few weeks into their return, a knock on their front door long before breakfast startles them both. He’s sitting at the kitchen island admiring the concentration on her face as she carves into something she will undoubtedly transform into something fantastic in an hour or so.

“Who comes to see us?” Clove raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from her task before her. “Enobaria and Brutus have never knocked, and you know Glimmer and Marvel couldn’t be awake this early..”

“They’ll leave.” Cato shrugs, reaching out a hand to nab some of the intricately carved strawberries Clove had already finished with. “Ignore it.”

The knocking only increases in frequency and volume, and Cato rolls his eyes as he pushes himself away. “I’ll get rid of them.”

Clove can’t wipe away the smirk that rises as she watches him walk away, all shirtless with sweatpants slung so low on his hips that it wouldn’t take much effort from her when he comes back to–

She hears the door swing open but does not hear him scare anyone off with a threat, nor does she hear anything at all. “Babe?” Clove calls out behind him, wiping off the blade of her knife with a towel before she lays it down on her cutting board. “Cato?” She calls again, quickly covering the distance from the kitchen to the front door. Cato isn’t even in the doorway, and Clove doesn’t know why that makes her heart race.

Once she makes it to the door, to see what is waiting on the porch, her heart fully stops.

Wrapped around Cato’s torso are the long baby limbs of his baby sister, little arms clinging around his neck, long blonde curls covering where her face is absolutely buried in his neck. He’s got both arms around the girl, one hand holding her head to his shoulder. Immediately to his left, with her hand on his arm, is his mother. War was unkind to her, as the woman Clove once looked up to and yearned to emulate in some ways looked more fragile than ever.

“Hi Clove, Honey.” Cato’s mother greets her with an exhausted, bone tired smile. There is a lack of light in those blue eyes, a sorrow Clove hopes never to imagine.

Clove furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head just a little and it is enough of a question for the older woman to perceive it.

His mother takes in a sharp breath and shakes her head very quickly in the negative and it is all Clove needs to see to know that this is it, this is all that remains of Cato’s family. A mother and a sister.

“I missed you, so so much kiddo.” Cato whispers to the girl, gently running his hand over the back of her head over and over again.

Clove steps forward and gently places a hand on the taller woman’s arm, ever so slightly squeezing. “I’m so sorry.”

The blonde woman presses her lip together and nods, taking her arm off of her son and instead wrapping them around Clove in a hug. “I’m glad to see you again. I don’t think he would have survived it without you.”

“I wouldn’t have either.” Clove admits, allowing herself to squeeze a little tighter to the woman, analyzing her change in body structure.

“He’s been gone a long time.” His mother informs them both, patting Clove’s cheek gently before she goes back to wrap her son and little daughter in her arms.

“Where have you been?” Cato gets out, his voice nearly cracking as he looks down on his mother. “Where did you go?”

“We’ve just been on the move, huh baby?” His mom brushes Cora’s little arm, pulling her attention from where she is hiding in her brother’s arms. “We have just moved constantly, no one could catch us if they didn’t know where we were.”

“Is home…” Cato starts, unable to force the rest of the words out into the world.

“Gone. long gone.” His mother explains, as Cora raises her head and latches eyes with Clove.

“You can stay in my house.” Clove immediately offers out, waving slightly at Cora. “Hi, sunshine.”

Immediately Cora lifts her little blonde head and practically wriggles out of Cato’s arms, nearly running into her once she has her little feet on the ground. With his arms free Cato wraps his arms fully around his mother in a hug, and Clove can see the way he melts into his mother;s arms like a little boy

Clove initially wants to kneel to Cora’s level, to become eye to eye with her. However, this six year old child is nearly to her shoulder’s already, and Clove is taken back by how tall this little girl has become. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“I’m as tall as you!” She cheers, and this bright angel of a child wraps her arms around her sister in law. “I missed you, Clove.”

“We missed you too, Cora Jade.” Clove promises, leaning down just a little to kiss the top of her head. “I think you’re going to stay in the house next to us for a little while!” She can no longer scoop her up, with how tall and gangly she has become in the last year. Clove tries anyway, scooping Cato’s sister to sit on her hip despite the fact they are nearly the same size. Cora immediately relaxes against her, and somehow, some way, Clove feels like something deep inside her relaxes with relief, too.

And though I can’t recall your face, I’ve still got love for you

For kids who had been trained to kill, who have taken lives, they were more surrounded by death than ever before. They hadn’t expected the influx of funeral services and war memorials they would be expected to attend.

His father had of course been the most painful, with the heart broken sobs of his baby sister, asking when she’d see her daddy again. It was devastating for Cato, too, who had to learn how to be an adult man in a world without games without his father to guide him. The loss had hit him harder than he dared to admit.

At the end of what felt like the tenth funeral service they felt obligated to attend, this one of an old classmate and her younger sister, while Cato played nice with another ex-classmate Clove found herself wandering to a part of the cemetery that she had never allowed herself to cross into.

It was sacred ground, really, treated with utmost respect. Perfect lines of simple limestone grave markers stretched in perfect lines of 25, save for the last row. No tribute came home to be buried from seventy five. The victors, they were in a separate area even still, with lavish, over the top headstones. But here, in a well maintained corner of the District Two cemetery, rest every single tribute who did not make it to victor status.

The boy from her games did not even have solid grass on top of his grave plot yet, and the ceaseless bombing did nothing to aid in that process. The girl from Cato’s games is a little further grown over, with a thin but respectable layer of fresh grass that grows in all directions. She can remember some of the others, mildly. The boy who lost against Glimmer, the girl who Johanna took out.

It is not her own peers, though, that interests Clove.

She weaves through years and years of games, of either single or double headstones from every single Hunger Games, from 75 to 62, and finally to the one she had avoided the entirety of her life.

Six feet below her feet was the remaining body of Sevina Kentwell, being the closest Clove has been to her mother in nearly eighteen years.

It is a simple marker, like all of the others. With the name of the tribute, the date of their birth, and what place they came in their games. Somehow, seeing first runner up, though she had known it the entirety of her life, manages to rip her heart from her chest, coating the white limestone with the spray of hot, wet blood.

Or at least it’s how it feels.

There is no mention of the life Sevina had prior to the games. No mention of the daughter she left behind, how she was a mother who loved deeply and to the last day of her life, how she was the daughter of a cruel woman who only became that way after the loss of her child.

Clove does not know when exactly she ends up on her knees, kneeling before the stone that is no taller than her in this position.

It is when she notices the little symbol on every stone– some knives, some stars, some hearts– that she realizes there is some small personalization that makes these tributes people. Children.

Clove’s right hand reaches out, shaking just enough that she notices, as she traces her pointer finger over the etching of her mother’s name. It is then, as she reaches the I, that she realizes the dot over the initial is a clover.

The weight of a war, of physical torture, of two Hunger Games, the destruction of her home, and a loveless, empty childhood hits her. If she were not already on her knees she would have fallen to them, as it feels like she is the one who just had the breath slammed out of her against that cornucopia.

The death of her grandmother meant next to nothing. She had openly spoken out against Clove after her appearance in Two, proudly sharing the narrative that she was a traitor and that her daughter died because of this mistake of a child. Yes, she raised Clove and turned her into a victor with her cold demeanor and cruelty, and for that Clove had no choice but to be thankful, but still, she did not feel a great loss at the news of her death by rebels in Two.

She thought nothing of the news that her father and his entire new family also died in the roles of loyalists. He had been dead to her long before the war.

The entirety of her family would die with Clove. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in sixty years, but there would be no one left to remember any of them after her inevitable death.

Maybe that was the gift she could give to the ghost of her mother– the erasure of the people who treated them so cruelly.

That of course meant the erasure of Sevina Kentwell and Clove herself, as well.

While Clove had spent the entirety of her life to become a victor, to carve her place in history, right now the idea of slipping into anonymity and living a mundane enough life to not be remembered didn’t sound like the worst ending in the world.

Sevina Kentwell died nearly eighteen years ago, but somehow it hits Clove like it is the first time all over again. This feeling– the elephant on her chest, the choking, gagging sobs that she could not control, the tears that felt like burning salt on her cheeks– may as well have been from the little girl whose mother never came back for her.

She felt an overwhelming need to speak out loud– to the air, to the universe, to whatever could hear her– that she couldn’t really explain. It felt silly, to just speak into thin air, and yet she doesn’t have it in there to stop herself.

Clove wipes her tears on the back of her sleeves, rocking back to sit on her heels. She pushes her hair behind her ears, before she crosses her arm over her chest, tucking her hands along her hips on opposite sides of her body.

“I’ve always kind of wondered what was so wrong with me as a baby, if I was so unlovable of a little girl that it was just..so easy to leave me. Grandma always told me thats the case…that I’ve been fucked up since I was born and that it was easy to leave a crazy little girl. That the risk of dying was better than having to spend eighteen years with me. I believed it, too.” Clove leans her head back, squeezing evergreen eyes closed and taking a deep, shaky breath to the sky, desperate for cool morning air to fill her lungs and quench the burning that ravages the back of her throat. “I can’t remember what you look like. I’ve seen pictures but I can’t remember. I don’t remember the sound of your voice, or what it was like to be held by my mother.”

“I want to be angry and I want to blame you for everything that is just so fucked up about me, but I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have been sent to training if you were a victor, huh?” Clove sniffles heavily, the skin of her face burning from the continued assault of tears that just cannot cease to flow. “And then I wouldn’t be a Victor..And then I never would have met Cato.”

She isn’t quite sure she can believe it, though it is rational. If she had not needed to win the games herself, she never would have been sent to training to become a victor, and by extension would have never crossed paths with Cato.

There is another part of herself though, the far less rational part, the part that let her fall for her training partner, that believes in any universe, in any version of reality, some way somehow, they would always find each other (though that she would never say out loud).

“I married him, you know. I’ve never said it out loud.. I’ve never told anyone about it.” Clove whispers to the universe, words barely falling past her lips. “But I did. I guess I wasn’t so terrible and unlovable after all, or maybe I was, and he’s a little terrible and fucked up too. We’re made for each other in that way. He’s…the love of my life.” She finds that her right hand is twisting at her left ring finger, the empty digit lacking any physical or public reminder of such love. It didn’t matter. They knew. “Enobaria took really really good care of me, too. Like she had promised you. I don’t know if I would have survived without her. Both literally as a baby, but also in the games.”

She exhales shakily. Her breathing is weighty and consuming, as she feels her throat tightening with the burning feeling of exhaustion. “I wish I had a mom these days, not that you’d know what a world without the games is like anyway…but it would be nice. To have a mom for the rest of my life….Whatever it looks like.”

Clove rests her body weight on her hands in front of her, steadying herself as she catches her breath and regains her composure. She raises her left hand again, branching herself on her mother’s headstone so she can push herself to a standing position. She brushes off the grass on her knees, smoothing down the skirt of her formal black dress. Digging the heels of her hand to stop the tears, she is unconcerned with the fact her makeup is certainly smeared around her eyes. Clove takes a shaking, stabilizing breath, gently reaching down to pat the top of the rock.

“I miss my mom. I miss you, and I don’t even know you but I know that I love you.” Clove brushes her deep hair behind her shoulders, standing up straight like the victor she will forever be. She is all that is left of, and all that there will ever be, of the woman who eternally rests deep under her feet. “I owe you, quite literally, for my life. In all senses of it. So uh..thank you. For ruining your life to give me mine.”

Clove takes one final shaky breath, craning her neck to the sky to stop the flow of tears. She wipes at her cheeks quickly, before shoving her hands in the pocket of her coat. Clove weaves back through the tribute corner, and before she even reaches the little gate she sees Cato leaning against one of the metal posts, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in the pockets of his own coat.

As soon as she’s within reach his arm is around her shoulders, using his hand to smooth down the hair at the top of her head before he kisses the crown of her hair gently and swiftly. Of course he can see the tracks of tears, the pink tint under the field of freckles, but he doesn’t comment on it. This was a private moment for her.

“Ready to go home?” He pulls her in closer to his side, body heat warming her against the cool, rainy air.

“I think we have one more stop to make.”

Everything you lose is a step you take

The only thing left of the academy which they met, trained, and ultimately, became themselves is a set of chipped marble stairs. The grand archway is reduced to piles of rubble, the long stretch of the building that was once home rests in various piles of rocks and decay.

Their classmates were mostly dead, either after being forced into roles as peacekeeper soldiers or victims of various bombings. There were no more dorms that they had once snuck around, no more rooms full of knives or spears or dummies to use as target practice. There were no more closets to sneak off too or bad showers with cold water and low water pressure.

All that was left of their childhood were the very steps they sat on now.

Cato sits beside Clove, hand in hand.

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives in this building.” Clove admits, brushing the hand that is not interlaced with his over the remnants of the grand staircase. “I imagined we’d be the most successful mentors, well, ever.”

“Spend our lives in the building? I thought we’d own it. Rename it to the Kentwell-Hadley Training Academy, then we could claim every District Two victor forever. It would be like our legacy.” Cato teases, but the longing edge in his voice tells Clove that no, that is not entirely a joke. He clears his throat, shifting so his chin was sitting on top of the crown of her head instead. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

“Yeah, you broke my collarbone.” Clove smirks, craning her neck so she can look him in the eyes. They would never be back in the place they met, in the place she realized she loved this arrogant, temperamental boy. This, right here, was as close as it would get. “I thought we were going to hate each other forever…that we’d go out killing each other in the most violent, showy way we could.

“And you stabbed me!” Cato indignantly nudges her with his shoulder, but brings his other hand up to cradle her face in his. I never thought, in a million years, we’d be lucky enough to be right here, Clove.”

“Alive?” Clove teases, but takes the opportunity to lean in and press her forehead to his. “On the rubble of the academy?” As much as she teases, she knows what he means. He means hand in hand, far from the enemies they were the day they met. He means the love they share.

“Together. I never thought we’d get to be together.” Cato admits, leaning in somehow closer still, so that their noses also could touch. “All this shit Clove, and the only constant in my entire life, from the time we were actual children, has been you. It has always been you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.” She promises, wrapping her arm around his neck so that she can pull her upper body flush to his as she finally finally finally connects her lips with his. Clove melts in his arms as he fully wraps his arms around her and holds her as close as he humanly can to him. When she pulls back, resting her nose against his once again, she laughs. “What do we do now with the rest of our lives?”

“I could say each other–” Cato taunts, but laughs as he gives the slightest shrug before she can refute him. “I don’t really know. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“Together?” Clove teases, leaning back so she can fully lock eyes, green with blue, as a coy little smile creeps onto her face. “I love you. More than I loved the games.”

“Aren’t I special.” Cato soaks her in. Wet dark curls framing her face, freckles like constellations across her nose. If he got to see this for the rest of his life.. He’d die happy. Hopefully not for many many many years, but happy nonetheless.“I love you too. More than anything.”

“You just have to one up me..” Clove rolls her eyes playfully, but she does not actually move from her place in his arms. “You know, if you want to actually get married again, you do have to ask again.”

“Are you going to say yes?” He pinches her hip playfully, causing her to squirm in his arms which he uses as the opportunity to grab her even tighter.

“Depends on the day.” She warns, but grabs his face in both her hands immediately after. She can see it all in his eyes. The nine year olds they once were, the twenty one year olds they are now. Their entire past lies crumbled beneath them, but with her arms around his shoulders and his around her hips the entirety of their future rests in their arms.

All the uncertainty of this new world, it didn’t matter. The future, whatever it would be, would be okay. Whatever their future held, would be just fine, so long as it held them.

Cato and Clove.

“Always and forever, Cato. It’s you and me, always and forever.”

I had the time of my life with you.

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