#Like Cato is always getting sick and it gets so much worse after he aged up

[luvsimskaos]

One morning when Sable gets up early to make breakfast she is interrupted by Cato. It seems that he has a fever but it's worse than normal. With Cato seemingly in pain, Sable send him to bed.

For Cato it's the worse feeling in the world, especially after having a few normal days recently. Seeing her son so close to tears, Sable tries her best to comfort him. But whether because of the pain of the sickness or just the reality of his life, Cato doesn't feel better.

As she goes to Ishmael about Cato she is shocked by what she sees. It seems Cato isn't the only one overtaken by sickness this day. Ishmael lays in bed stricken with the same sickness that Cato has.

Ishmael tries to get out of bed to complete his duties but it's a struggle. Sable tells him to stay in bed, a sickness like this could cause more damage if Ishmael overworks himself. With both Ishmael and Cato sick, Sable knows she'll have help them to get better.

The next few days as Sable takes care of Ishmael and Cato doing her best to nurse them to health, the younger Warings take over the property duties. Daphne who shadowed her mother takes over cooking meals and cleaning the main house, Casper is in charge of the crops, and Elijah takes care of the animals and helps his younger siblings when he can.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Prologue (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 2.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

As you take a seat on the pearly white couch, you turn on the hologram television that was provided with the house. Automatically, the tv starts on the station with Caesar Flickerman. This year he’s dyed his hair and eyebrows an orchid purple--basically a lavender with a huge tint of pink mixed in. 

You can’t imagine how fried his hair is. You dyed your hair once after you’d won your games, and you almost cried from how bad it was for months afterward. You counted down the days until all the dead hair would finally be off of your head. Then again, in the Capitol they have all these nice smelling products that really do wonders to your skin and hair.

That’s probably why everyone inside of the Capitol can afford to do that with every new fashion trend. You’ve seen rotations of looks happen in District Two, but they’re not nearly as intense as the ones inside of the Capitol. With neon colors, body modifications and literally dying your skin a baby pink color just to be seen as cool.

Of course, it’s not left to just the citizens of the Capitol, the victors of the hunger games are also allowed to get it too. Since you’re all so rich that you could be supporting a whole other family of ten, and still have a lot left over. But that’s on the assumption that the victor doesn’t have a family of their own to support, too.

You have no experience with that. This whole victor house is up to your interpretation. No other person has lived here, and no one will. The chances of you finding another person in the district that wouldn’t mind betraying the words on their wrists is impossible. You still can’t believe you’ve lived twenty-four years on this planet and haven’t come across your true love just yet.

It all seems like an elaborate prank, but lo and behold, people actually have them come true. Your parents certainly had been a pair back when they were alive. You’d never seen them fight once, and they always worked together as a team. They always knew when the other had a tough day. Almost like they could feel it themselves.

You asked them if they had felt that way before they had met each other, and they said that they do think they did. Your mom described it as being a gut-wrenching feeling when your dad had felt awful. Whether that be from sadness, being sick, a tough day or what, she always felt it.

But in that same way, for days that were good, it was like butterflies swarmed her stomach. She always had the urge to laugh, and there was a genuine smile on her face during the day. You’d think it would twitch like it was fake, but it wasn’t. She would dance around the house and bounce you on your hip even when you were too big for it anymore.

You can’t recall any times that you’ve felt any immense emotion without justifying it in some way. If you’re sad, it’s because something hasn't gone the way you had originally anticipated. If you’re happy, then you got your way after all, it isn’t rocket science. To be honest, you can pinpoint the last wave of grief and sadness that you felt, and it was after your victory tour.

The entire thing had felt off in the first place, even your family had told you that you weren’t acting like your usual self. And then they realized just how ridiculous they sounded because you literally just came back from the hunger games. It was their own mistake for thinking that you were a machine.

You’re human. You might have been specially trained since you hit the sprightly age of twelve to learn all the weapons, how to treat wounds, know which foods to eat, and more. And you might have been chosen to go inside of the games at the age of sixteen instead of the preferred seventeen because of how advanced you were.

But that in absolutely no way dismisses the fact that you would feel some sort of sympathy for the parents of all the kids you killed. At the beginning of the victory tour, it was just beginning to dawn on you that you’d be seeing all those tributes faces again.

Impressively, you can say that you wouldn’t get upset over something as small as that anymore. However, the times were different. You were sixteen then, and you’re twenty-five now. It’s quite the time to get over babyish things like that, especially since the victors that you’re surrounded with, didn’t get upset after they had won.

It was almost like you were the weakest one to come out of the games. Enobaria--your mentor--had remarked something along the lines of ‘they’re too emotional and mushy if we send them out before seventeen’ to the instructor. Enobaria told you that you had been a test run to see if others would be capable of handling it.

You had taken that as an insult, since on some proportion it was. She told you that you were weak emotionally. When you’re trained in the academy, you’re taught to think of the other tributes as nothing more than cattle. It didn’t really sit right with you then, and it doesn’t sit right with you now. It’s a tactic you can’t deny, though. It does make it so much easier.

Anyway, her saying that to your face was a whole other reason why that entire tour was a nightmare. You were trying to redefine yourself, and get over it like a hurdle. It took up to District Six or Seven before you had gotten some handle on it. 

Honestly, that whole year was a handful and you hope that you don’t have to experience that again.

“Let’s get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!” Caesar shouts, which makes your eyes turn to his artificially tanned figure with glaring eyes. The crowd that he’s speaking to cheers ecstatically in agreeance.

Katniss Everdeen this, Katniss Everdeen that. They only think she’s special because she’s from District Twelve. The only volunteer that dirt ridden district has ever had. She was on a lucky streak with that damned bow and arrow. Cato and Clove should have won, had they been a little more careful, and not as cocky…

Clove could have killed Katniss, but instead she chose to taunt her. You wish that Clove had a little more common sense then, and gotten the entire thing over with. It would have been down to Cato, Clove, Thresh and Peeta--the deadweight that Katniss was holding onto.

You seriously can’t believe that the Capitol is eating up their romance like any of it is actually real. One look at Katniss’ face and you can tell it’s full of disgust. With all the wedding gowns that they’ve been showing on the holo lately, you’ve begun to purposely keep the holo off and find some other hobby to delve into. You know a fake smile when you see it.

Peeta seems to be the only genuine one, anyway. Anyone who isn’t a moron would see that, and therefore would know that Peeta means absolutely nothing to Katniss. As you said, he’s nothing but deadweight to her. He’s holding her back from whatever goal she’s trying to accomplish.

“Don’t go just yet!” Caesar has his signature smile plastered across his face, “This evening we have a very important event happening. That’s right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the hunger games, and that means it’s time for our third Quarter Quell!”

This is what the mandatory viewing was about. You pull your feet off of the couch cushions and instead place both feet on the ground, leaning on your knees with your elbows.

You had completely forgotten that’s happening this year. Technically, you were alive for the last one too. You don’t remember any of it though, you were literally fresh out of the womb. All you do know, is the basics of the games, that twice as many tributes went in that year. 

Even worse, it was a tribute from twelve that had one--Haymitch Abernathy. The same Haymitch that you’re supposed to believe mentored Katniss and Peeta last games. What a joke, the man can’t stay sober for more than an hour. Hell, during their reaping, he fell off the damned stage. He’s not just a joke to you, but the entirety of Panem. No one takes him seriously.

However, you have to admit that it is impressive to some degree that he was able to pull himself together long enough to not only get one, but two winners out of those games. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the numbers that one and two have racked up. 

You wouldn’t call the academies an advantage, you’d call it strategy. It’s not your guys’ fault that they haven’t caught a clue and begun their own. Even then, though, they might as well be as useless as cattle. Half the tributes that go in from those outsider districts don’t know how to wield a weapon. Much less, survive.

The anthem to the Capitol cuts you out of your thoughts again, you watch as the logo suddenly cuts to President Coriolanus Snow. Not your most favorite person in the world, considering the history between you two. But you don’t mind him too much.

As Snow walks up to his microphone, a small boy dressed in a white suit trails behind him. There’s a wooden box in his hands, which he holds onto like his life depends on it. The anthem comes to it’s stop, and this is when he begins to speak. 

It’s a very special occasion, so he takes his time explaining the Dark Days, and the history of the Hunger Games and how it all came to be. With the rebellion that had happened seventy-five years ago. He goes on to say that it was decided that every twenty-five years, there would be a special games to freshen the memory of the citizens--district and Capitol alike--about the people who had been killed in the rebellion.

You watch with boredom as he drones on. The Dark Day’s speech is given at every reaping, and everyone has the speech memorized by the time they hit twelve. You can’t recall the amount of times you’ve cited it back to yourself when there’s been overwhelming silence.

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.” Snow says.

Imagine that, picking the tributes that would have to go inside of the games… it wouldn’t matter to you guys, one and two. The career districts--as you’re called--already pick their tributes. Trained in the academy until they’re good enough, and then they’re told to volunteer. 

You have the greatest percentage of winners, and your victors village is as full as it gets. A new house is built every year, with the exception of the chance of a past victor dying. Then, the new victor would inherit the old house. Which is consequently filled with all of the old people anyway. 

Doesn’t matter, it’ll be overrun by teenagers soon enough. It starts off as an old part of the neighborhood, but it gets younger as they begin to drop off like flies. You’d say you feel bad for them, except they all lived a fantastic life inside of those houses. Filthy rich, a big place to raise kids… the only problem is that it’s swept away from the family as soon as the victor dies.

However, the money is all handed down to the heirs anyway, so it’s not like they’re leaving empty-handed. They can take their belongings back to the house that their parents or grandparents had originated from, which is undoubtedly covered in dust from top to bottom and might be overrun with bugs. But they have all that money that they can fix the house with, and probably still have a ton left over. Enough to support generations to come.

Back to it, the twenty-fifth games wouldn’t have been that much of a shock to District One and District Two, maybe even four, considering that they’re a career from time to time. Though, the last time they produced a victor, she did end up going a bit crazy. The only good one they’ve had in a long while is Finnick Odair--and you shouldn’t get started on him, otherwise you’d never shut up. You absolutely despise the pretentious man.

Your district had likely ‘voted’ for the best candidates that had come out of the academy that year. And that’s just that.

“On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.” Snow says.

Like you said, it’s the year Haymitch won. Which is so unfair, considering that there had been eight to twelve--again, four is an unreliable career district--careers and you mean to say that some dirt poor kid from twelve won it? There’s no way that those games hadn’t been altered in some way to favor them.

Or rather, Haymitch just got extremely lucky, the bastard.

“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell.” Snow announces, there’s a faint cheering of the crowd. The boy in white steps forward with the box, opening it up for Snow, which is when you’re able to see the rows of yellowed envelope paper. Wasting no time, Snow pulls out the one that has a neat ‘75’ written on the front. 

He unfolds the flap, and pulls out an equally yellowed square of paper. Setting the envelope aside, he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

The roaring of the crowd in the background is deafening because of their excitement.

Your mouth falls open a little bit in awe as you tilt your head back, and a little to the left, thinking about how this will all work out. 

Surely, you guys can’t exactly be picked to win the games since you’re not fresh out of the academy. Which means that these games have to be up to grab, for the people who want to go back in. For those who can volunteer the fastest…

The prizes that you must get for it--double the cash? The title of being a legend inside of District Two? People would fall at your feet for being such an honor. Of not winning the games once, but twice.

Oh, you have to get a hand in that.

--

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[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op.64 Chapter 1

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x

Ao3: x x

April—Six Months Earlier

“Don’t be so obvious,” her music stand partner Leevy whispered in amusement, “but Peeta Mellark is staring at you again.”

“What?” Katniss looked straight up, not even pretending to be subtle, and locked eyes with the first chair trumpet player sitting directly across the room from her. His eyes widened for a moment, probably assuming she wouldn’t catch his stare with the clarinet section in front of him, but instead of looking away like a normal person would after being caught, Peeta Mellark smiled at her, his right eyebrow raising suggestively in question. Katniss gripped her flute and pointedly turned back to her music, knowing her section would be criticized next on their sloppy runs.

He liked to do that every so often during rehearsal, look at her like she was some kind of joke that amused him. Get her all flustered with those stupid eyebrows and smiles. Leevy enjoyed pointing it out all the time, drawing kissy faces with their initials in hearts on their shared music that Katniss would then furiously erase because what if someone saw that? People in band were gossipy enough with who was dating whom and who broke up with whom.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she had a crush on Peeta Mellark.

Mr. Abernathy, their band director, stepped between them on his podium, breaking any eye contact Peeta could make on her, and tapped his baton on his stand to grab everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, ya mangy teens! A few announcements before you all age me once more with your apparent lack of practicing. First being, next season’s field show—”

“Oh, can I say it?” Miss Trinket, their assistant director, asked, already pushing Mr. Abernathy off the podium. Miss Trinket was a small wispy woman, her height mainly due to the massive heels she sported no matter the season, but despite her title and small stature, it was clear to anyone with eyes who was in charge of any decision making for the band program.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, smiling brightly as the room waited with anticipation. 

Marching season was one of the biggest things they did in the school year. Everyone looked forward to it and a strong field show could finally mean getting Athens Ridge High’s Marching Gladiators to finals and beating the crap out of their arch rivals: the rich snooty Capitol Heights Academy’s Imperial Marching Crusaders.

Every year they always came so close to beating them, but Capitol Heights had the money for large expensive props and Athens Ridge did not. They were lucky enough to have been able to afford new marching uniforms a few years back, replacing the threadbare grey ones with sleek black and gold. Mr. Abernathy always reminded everyone that he didn’t care about winning, nor did he give a rat’s ass about Capitol Heights and all their achievements. All he cared about was that they performed to the best of their ability and marched off the field with pride, but Katniss wanted their band to be the best. Everyone in the Athens Ridge band did.

“Can I get a drumroll, please?” Miss Trinket asked, looking pointedly to Gale in the back.

Gale rolled his eyes, but started the roll on his snare drum.

“This year’s marching show is…” Another dramatic pause.

“Will you just tell them, woman? This ain’t the Oscars,” Mr. Abernathy snapped, sick of all her flairs and dramatics. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet. There. Now get off my podium.”

Miss Trinket held her ground, her pale features brightening under her anger, making her purple-streaked hair stand out more than usual. “Haymitch—!”

Everyone watched, entertained by yet another round of the two directors going at it once more. Katniss turned to look back at Gale, the head keeper of the betting pool, and he signed another two months before their directors would go at it like rabbits. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, and turned back to watch as the directors duked it out.  

“I’ve heard the music to this field show,” Leevy said after practice, cleaning out her flute. “It’s really pretty. I can see why Miss Trinket picked it.”

Katniss carefully tucked her flute back in its case, giving it one final shine before locking it shut. “You think Miss Trinket picked it?”

Leevy laughed and threw a pointed look over to where Mr. Abernathy sat slunk in his chair, stained coffee mug in hand as he scowled at some piece of paper. “I highly doubt Mr. Abernathy would choose a show like Romeo & Juliet without some heavy outside persuasion.”

She had a point there.

As they waited by the door, ready to book it the second the bell rang, Katniss and Leevy rolled their eyes at the chaos in front of them. Thresh Armstrong, a tuba player known for sneaking in toys from home, had brought out a foam football and had tossed it over to Johanna Mason, one of the smart ass percussionists, who almost crashed into the chimes trying to catch it. She held the ball up in victory and the guys around her hooted and hollered in applause. With a dramatic bow, she tossed it to Gale behind her, who caught it and called out for his girlfriend Madge to catch. Madge squealed in shock when the ball hit her in the back of the head, throwing the ball back at him in protest. 

“You’d think Abernathy would put a stop to that,” Leevy commented, laughing despite herself when the ball nailed Marvel Baxter in the face. “People can get hurt.” 

“Maybe he wants to see assholes like Marvel get hit in the face, too,” Katniss snorted, glad she got to witness it. “Do you think we’ll get to see Cato get hit in the face?” she asked, eyeing the bulky blond in the far corner with interest. 

“Doubt it.” Cato Martin was that stereotypical asshole who thought he walked on water and expected everyone to treat him as thus. And the sickening part was that people did. The school’s star quarterback was praised constantly in their school paper for his dedication to both the school’s athletic department and music department, despite being last chair in Symphonic Band and always being hounded for how bad he played by Mr. Abernathy. Despite his assholery, though, he always had a gaggle of followers around him, probably praising him for breathing. 

Katniss hated him so much, and it wasn’t just because they were locker neighbors and she was constantly having to shove him and whatever girl he was making out with off her own locker to squeeze in. Or that, since the 7th grade, he’s only referred to her as “Katnips Everslip” after a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at the community pool. Or even that time he taped rubber baby bottle nipples all over her locker sophomore year and only received a slap on the wrist by their dean, Mr. Flickerman, because he didn’t realize how offensive it was and he was so so sorry. Yeah, Cato sucked and she hated him for all those things and more, but she hated him most because Cato Martin was that entitled ass who just expected things to be given to him. He never faced any consequences and those were the worst kind of people.

Laughing at Marvel and his botched up nose, her eyes briefly caught Peeta’s and the amusement she felt seeing Marvel get nailed in the face vanished instantly. Every bully had that one lackey who wasn’t really an asshole, but was kind of one by association because he just went along with anything the bully did. Yeah, that lackey was Peeta Mellark. Which somehow made it even worse. She knew Peeta. Used to be friends with him in elementary school, back when your neighborhood friends were your whole world and nothing could come between you. Now he was just one of Cato’s goons who blindly followed whatever Golden Ass commanded. 

“Are you auditioning for color guard again?” Leevy asked, snapping Katniss’s attention back to her friend.

“Huh?”

Leevy’s eyes followed where hers had been and Katniss pretended not to notice the knowing smirk on her friend’s face, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead. “Are you trying out for color guard this year?” she asked again.  

“Of course.” Katniss flushed at her sure answer, but she always did color guard. It was kind of her thing, especially since Miss Trinket had singled her out freshman year, snatching 14-year-old Katniss off the practice field where she had been marching with her fellow flute players. “You’ve got the perfect arms,” Miss Trinket had told her and she’d been part of color guard ever since. 

“I’m hoping for captain, actually,” Katniss admitted, looking down at her beat-up sneakers. She hadn’t told anyone but Prim that, afraid she’d jinx it by putting it out in the universe too much, but going into senior year next season, she’d be the most experienced one auditioning. The odds were definitely in her favor, but the universe also had a tendency of fucking things up when she least expected it and she didn’t want to chance it.

Leevy sighed. “I wish you’d stay with the flutes. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with that”—she pointed at the giggly flute players who were now fawning over Cato like lovesick puppies—"all by myself.”

Katniss gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’d rather shoot myself in the eye than have to deal with Golden Ass’ fan club. Why don’t you try out? You’re small, like me. I bet Miss Trinket would love that.” Their assistant director would be beside herself with joy at having another petite person in guard she could have tossed around. Miss Trinket was always complaining how there were too many tall girls nowadays and that it limited her “vision.” 

Leevy shook her head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think I could ever do what you all do. Who would trust me to throw something in the air and expect me to catch it? And the way you did those handsprings for last year’s show?” She shook her head again in amazement. “I can’t even balance on one foot without falling. I’m nowhere near as talented as you.” 

Katniss’ cheeks darkened again at Leevy’s appraisal. Those handsprings were a bitch to grasp, she remembered, and the only reason she was the one doing them wasn’t because Trinket saw her as some talented goddess. No, it was just because everyone else was too afraid of doing them without any type of mat underneath them and Katniss wasn’t. She was about to tell her friend this—that yeah, she was pretty good with a flag and rifle, but all that can be taught and Leevy’s lack of gymnastic talent shouldn’t stop her from auditioning—when the foam football smacked her hard on the side of her head.

“What the hell?” She scanned the chaotic room for the culprit, rubbing at the spot where the ball hit. “Who threw that?” 

The culprit in question raised his hand apologetically and jogged over to pick the blue ball off the ground. Her hands balled into fists.

Peeta Mellark.

Of course.

“My bad!” he apologized, smiling down at her in that totally non-assery way that just pissed her off more. “I was trying to throw the ball to Glimmer and—” he started to explain, casually pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Your aim sucks that much?” she fumed, interrupting him. Glimmer was clear across the room by the other French horn players, far from where she and Leevy stood. “That could have hit my eye!”

There was a time, long ago, when she was once taller than him. She used to jokingly lean on Peeta while they waited in lines at school or the grocery store, calling him squirt and messing up his curly blond hair like his dad did, laughing when he’d scowl and pull away, hating that nickname. He always vowed he’d reach his growth spurt someday soon, just like his brothers, and she’d be sorry she ever called him squirt. Peeta stood almost a foot taller than her now, but she stood her ground. Glaring up at him, she considered using the old nickname, just to see if it rattled him

There was no way his aim was that bad. They’d had the same gym class for almost six years now and she knew he wasn’t terrible. Peeta was one of those guys things just came naturally to, especially sports. For years she has watched as he made the winning pass in basketball, smacked a volleyball down to score like nobody’s business, swiped the puck in during hockey. She smelled bullshit. 

This was probably some stupid dare Cato or Marvel put him up to. She eyed Marvel off to the side, still rubbing his nose. He was probably pissed at her for laughing at him and thought it’d be funny watching her get nailed in the face, too. Let’s see how hard the ball can bounce off Katnips Everslip’s tiny head! she could hear the idiots snickering. Marvel always did have a small ego. And of course, like always, Peeta just went along with it because that’s what Peeta did. Just go along with anything his friends suggested, even if meant injuring an innocent bystander.

“So why’d you throw it at me?” she point-blank asked, crossing her arms. “Did Marvel put you up to it? Cato?” 

His face quickly went from apologetic smiles to annoyance, rolling his eyes at her sneer. “You know, Katniss, believe it or not, accidents do happen.”

“Accident? Please,” she scoffed. “I know you, Peeta. You don’t do accidents. Everything you do is strategically planned and executed with exact precision. So who dared you? It was Marvel, wasn’t it?”

He looked back at his buddies and laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m touched that you think I’m so robotic, Katniss, truly, but believe whatever the fuck you want. I said it was an accident because it was an accident.” 

“Just answer the question.”

“I already did.” He leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes mocking, and tapped the football on her nose with a smug smile, walking back over to his friends. Some of the guys made kissy faces at his return, laughing when Peeta shoved them to quit it, but he was laughing along with them. 

Katniss’ nails dug into her palms as she watched them, briefly wondering if someone could be glared to death. God, they were the worst.

“Wow,” Leevy breathed, watching the trumpet players, too. “The sexual tension is strong today. Felt like I was in a movie just now.” 

She turned to her friend, incredulous. “Sexual tension? With Peeta Mellark?” She gagged at the thought. “Did you not just see him be a complete ass to me? He hit me with a football!”

“Yeah and apologized for it.” Katniss rolled her eyes at the low standard bar Leevy had for apologies. Peeta’s apology was obviously fake and what about that annoying ball tap to the nose? Did she not see how condescending that was? “You two are so going to bone by the end of this year.”

The bell rang before Katniss could choke out a rebuttal.