#clove and cato fanfiction

[rhysandswingspan]

Hi! I’m back with a new chapter to my Clato fanfic: Fragile!

Go check it out, and here’s an excerpt from the new chapter! 

-

"I shouldn't have gotten so mad." Cato replies, "And I shouldn't have called you a child." "Is the high and mighty Cato actually apologizing?" she can't resist taunting him. "At least I don't beg." Clove flushes slightly and glares at him. "You can't deny it," he says, smirking. "The way you plead for me when you-" Clove presses her knife to his throat, cutting him off. He doesn't even look scared, instead, his eyes lock to hers.

Yes that’s right to anyone who has been reading this, the teaser from the fanfic summary is finally here!

-

New Chapter:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34894465/chapters/108117627

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34894465/chapters/86888572

[7s3ven]

LACY. cato hadley

( master list )

IN WHICH… Clove Kentwell can’t help but compare herself to Cato’s ex. They may have dated a year ago, but she sees the way he still looks at her.

“Lacy, oh, Lacy, it's like you're out to get me. You poison every little thing that I do”

—

“Cato, are you listening?” Clove placed a hand on her boyfriend’s muscular arm, her eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t usually worried but with how distant Cato had been lately, she couldn’t help it.

“Huh?” Finally, Cato turned to her. “Yeah. I’m good. Sorry, I’m just tired.” But his eyes didn’t fail to trail back to her. Clove followed his line of sight, feeling a sudden burst of jealousy.

He had been paying more attention to her than Clove.

Y/N L/N, District Two’s prized possession. A delicate beauty none the less. And Cato Hadley’s ex-girlfriend. It had been a year since the two broke up but he was still gazing at her from time to time, which angered Clove.

She had tried to bring it up with him, but he brushed her off. “Cato.” She tugged on his shirt, gaining his attention. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” The pair were sitting in a small cafe that happened to be Y/N’s favorite. She was always sitting in the corner, laughing with friends.

“I thought you liked this place.” Cato tilted his head to the side.

“I do.” Clove glanced down at the cinnamon spice coffee that she adored, “But I… want a change of scenery.” All she wanted was one day where she didn’t have to witness Cato eying up Y/N.

“Uh. Yeah. We can leave.”

Clove did her best to hide her sigh of relief. They stood up, pushing their chairs back. Clove grabbed her drink and practically shoved Cato out the door.

“What about that dessert place you like?” Cato questioned. Only, Clove didn’t like desserts. She liked warm and hot things; like hot chai lattes and spicy soup. Y/N was the one who liked desserts.

“I’m not in the mood for cold things.” Clove smiled, cooly playing it off. She couldn’t help but loathe Y/N for influencing Cato this much and leaving such a huge mark. But it was partly her fault for falling in love with a guy who wasn’t over his ex.

“Do you just want to go home and watch a movie then?” Cato suggested. Finally, he remembered one right detail about her. Clove silently nodded, taking another sip from her cup.

Cato abruptly paused. “Hey, your friend is friends with Y/N, right?” Clove wasn’t even disappointed at this point.

She heaved a light sigh. “Yeah. I guess. They talk.”

“Great. I need to return some things to her but I don’t know her new address. So do you think you could ask your friend?”

“I’m not really comfortable with you being around Y/N.” Clove fiddled with her fingers, which was another trait she had gained from her relationship with Cato.

Cato quietly scoffed, but not in a rude way. He smiled. “It’s just a few things, Clo. I’ll be in and out like that.” He quickly snapped his fingers. Clove rocked back and forth on her heels before giving in.

“I’ll ask but I can’t make any promise.” She uttered, the light in her eyes dimming when she saw Cato grin wider.

Y/N was the type of girl nobody could compare to with her stunning E/C eyes and lingering perfume that hung heavily on her skin.

She was Heather Conan talked about. She was Lacy Olivia referred to. And in a way, she was Clove’s rival.

“Excuse me.”

Clove’s heart practically dropped after she heard that all too familiar voice. Cato seemed to spin around impossibly fast.

Y/N stood behind them, softly smiling. “I think you left this.” She held up a hardcover book that Clove had forgotten to grab despite it being her favorite.

“Oh…” Clove quickly reached for it, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Thank you.” She choked out. Y/N sent her another smile that made Clove feel sick. How could she be so perfect?

“Cato, I found some of your stuff in my closet.” Y/N turned to the blond-haired boy. “Would you be wanting it back?” Clove almost prayed for Cato to ignore her. To not reply. But Cato opened his mouth anyway.

“I have some of your things too. I was planning on asking Clove’s friend, Aria, for your address.”

“Oh, Aria! She’s so nice. She let me borrow her perfume once.”

It was like Clove wasn’t even there. She clenched her hands into fists as she watched the two converse like they were old friends. They somewhat were but their dating history made it weird for them to be speaking so casually.

Cato was hanging off every word Y/N said which left Clove alone. She almost shrivelled under all the pitying looks people passing by gave her, but she continued to stand tall.

“I’ll meet you there then?” Y/N asked, her perfectly tinted lips curving upwards. Her makeup was always perfect, unlike Clove who preferred to wear none at all. Suddenly, Clove grew self-conscious.

Did Cato like feminine girls? Clove looked Y/N up and down, noticing her neat outfit. The H/C-nette was wearing a skirt while Clove was dressed in loose fitting cargo pants. Her gaze flickered to Y/N’s hair. Every strand was placed perfectly while Clove’s hair was simply pulled back into a messy ponytail.

“Yeah. See you.” Cato bid Y/N farewell. He looked at Clove again, who was losing her confidence the more she compared herself to Y/N. “You ready to go?”

Clove hid her insecurity behind a smile. “Yeah.” She muttered, her voice quieter than she planned it to be.

The couple always watched movies at Cato’s house. His family had a spare room that they used as a small movie theatre. Clove leaned against Cato and despite him allowing her to do so, she knew he wished she was someone else.

“So, what were you and Y/N talking about?” Clove carefully questioned as the movie had begun playing. She felt Cato shrug.

“Not much. We were just arranging a place and time to give stuff back.”

“Why do you still have her stuff?”

“I must’ve forgotten about it.”

The pang in Clove’s heart told her that he was lying. She saw the way he hugged a pink hoodie to sleep. It wasn’t her’s, and it didn’t smell like her either. Clove’s perfume was heavy and mature while the hoodie smelled airy and floral… just like Y/N.

Clove did her best to focus on the movie. She would get lost in her thoughts from time to time but always came back to reality when Cato shifted around.

Clove yawned and slightly slouched, letting the cushions of the couch engulf her. She glanced at Cato who was too focused on the screen to notice.

She suddenly paused the movie, confusing Cato. “Are you leaving now?” He asked, watching as she stood up. She shook her head.

“Cato, we need to talk about…” Clove paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Some things that have been happening recently.”

Cato raised his eyebrows, indirectly telling her to continue.

“Lately we haven’t been the same. I mean, I’m training more and you… you seem distracted. Did I do something wrong?” Clove had never felt more vulnerable than right now.

“I mean… you did eat salt and vinegar chips with Oreos.” Cato quietly chuckled.

“That’s not what I mean!” Clove exclaimed, “And that was a dare just so you know!” She pointed a finger at Cato. “You keep looking at her. And don’t pretend like you don’t know who I’m referring to.”

“What? Y/N?” The way Cato immediately caught on unnerved Clove. “Clo, she’s just a friend. Not even that. I only talked to her today because I needed to.”

“I see the way you look at her. And…” Clove had to take a minute to compose herself, “I know that you wish I was her.” Cato said nothing, confirming her theory.

“Clove.” He uttered after a moment. That was the first time he had called her by her real name in a long time. “I’m dating you. Not her. I”- Clove unexpectedly cut him off.

“Then why does it feel like we aren’t dating?!” She shouted, her voice slightly shaking. She was glad no one else was home. “Why does it feel like… I’m a replacement?”

“You aren’t”-

Clove didn’t let Cato speak. She launched straight into another scolding. “Why are you always looking at her?! And ignoring me! I’m your girlfriend, Cato! Me! Not her! So why do you pay more attention to Y/N than me? You hardly even talk to me now!” If Clove was a normal girl, she would be sobbing. But her parents taught her to keep her emotions, especially her sadness, at bay.

Cato remained silent, staring at her with the same look of pity everybody else did. All Clove wanted was for him to look at her the same way he looked at Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Clo.” He uttered. Clove took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for whatever was next to come. “I just can’t love you like I love her.”

“I see.” The brunette whispered. She quickly gathered her things, blinking away small tears.

“Clove. Come on.” Cato stood up as she walked away. “We can talk about this. Where are you going? Clove.” He was annoyingly insistent on following her.

Clove spun around, staring right into Cato’s eyes. “I can’t be her, Cato. So maybe it’s best if we split up.” She was prepared to leave but Cato grabbed her wrist.

“Y/N.” He uttered without thinking. His grip loosened on Clove’s wrist once he realized his mistake.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Clove unlocked the front door, stepping out. “Just… leave my stuff on the doorstep and I’ll do the same.” She closed the door behind her and allowed herself a moment of weakness.

Cato stood on the other side, listening to Clove’s quiet sobs and sniffs. He slowly backed away. He knew that deep down, Clove was right. He did wish she was Y/N.

He glanced at the box Y/N’s stuff. It sat at the bottom of the stairs, almost collecting dust.

Maybe it’s for the best, he told himself. He had already hurt Clove enough. There was no reason for him to pretend that he loved her as much as he still loved Y/N.

[enobariasdistrict2]

something gave you the nerve to touch my hand by enobariasdistrict2/enobarias on ao3 | clato | modern au | childhood best friends | word count: 12k

"You rambled to your mom for half an hour, while heavily medicated, about how much you wanted the crazy girl that fractured three of your carpal bones to like you." She distinctly remembers Cato's mother releasing this delightfully sensitive information to her when she'd first come over to his house for a hangout, and just how red his indignant embarrassment had left him. "Meanwhile I thought you were a dick and had no regrets until the principal forced us both to apologize." "Like I said. Immediate best friends," he quips in response, unfortunately sending Clove into fits of laughter in the way that only he knew how - a skill he had perfected with experience and repeated stubborn attempts to coax joy out of her despite her sullen resistance.

(or: a childhood best friends to lovers modern au, complete self indulgent fluff).

[catoslvt]

Cato Hadley x Reader

Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.

Already together

Third person beginning.

Cato paces his room back and forth, unable to sleep, I mean, how could he? In a few days, he'll be going into the hunger games, but suddenly, an idea pops into his head he should go through to y/ns room to see if she's awake which is highly unlikely, everyone knows y/n could fall asleep anywhere and at any time.

Cato loves that about y/n, cato loves everything about y/n infact and she loves everything about him.

As cato presses the button, which opens the door to y/ns room, he has to hold back his laughter, for someone who's certainly not tall, she knows how to fill a big bed, laying diagonally with her arms and legs flung in every direction imaginable.

But catos eyes are quickly moved to the TV, which is showing interviews from past tributes of games.

As he slowly approaches y/ns bed, he looks at her face more carefully. It is now being lit up by blue colours as the district four interviews now begin to play, but her face doesn't move when he sits on her bed trying to stay as silent as he can because he doesn't want to wake her up.

He slowly sits down, biting his lip in fear of waking her up, and he lets out a small chuckle as it seems y/n has a cato sensor because the minute he sits on her bed she slowly wakes up.

Y/ns pov.

I let out a huge yawn as I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to the side to see the reason why my bed was dipping in only to see none other than cato sitting on my bed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He apologises, and I shake my head and pull him down so he's lying beside me, which causes him to laugh.

"You didn't wake me." I argue and he raises an eyebrow at me.

"Then what did?" He quizzes, and I smile, unable to think of an answer because cato did wake me up.

"Are you nervous?" Cato asks as he wraps his arma around me, practically pulling me on top of him at this rate and my head rests in the crook of his neck.

"Of course I'm nervous." I tell him laughing.

"But why? We trained our full life for this." He then tells me, and I nod.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't help me get over the fact I'll be dead soon." I state, and cato shakes his head as he begins to draw shapes with his finger over my back.

"You're not gonna die in the games y/n, I won't let you." He argues.

"But I don't want you to die either, cato. If it means you can live, then I don't care." I argue back, although im practically crying at the fact that one of us, or both of us, will be dead in like a week, maybe two weeks' time.

"Y/n, look at me." Cato whispers, and I slowly lean my head up to look at him, and he smiles at me, and I smile back, suddenly washed over by tiredness because of cato waking me up.

"I love you." He states, and I know he means it, cato can't lie to me, and I can't lie to him.

"I love you too." I state back as he kisses me, his hands still sitting gently on my back.

I kiss back before we both pull away, and I yawn.

"Goodnight, y/n." He laughs as I slump my head down on his chest and close my eyes.

"Goodnight, cato." I whisper.

[cloverskentwells]

ficlet: inspired by this scene from the show never have i ever

when the rule change is announced, shortly after the hunt for katniss draws a dead end and the two cannons in quick succession of each other combined with the fact that marvel never met up with them announce the very probable fact that he's dead, cato and clove are left facing one another, shocked into stillness by the news. their weapons lie discarded at their sides, gathering dirt and whatever else is lying under the arena's soil to add little dark specks among the blood. the resounding silence echoes around them in a stark contrast from claudius templesmith's booming voice that had swept the arena just seconds before.

clove recovers first - out of the two of them, she'd always considered herself the faster one - and shrinks back into a persona she's comfortable with, her default shell of biting sarcasm and scathing sharp wit wrapping around her comfortably like a blanket to a newborn. "so it looks like we're the only two left," she mutters slowly, more to herself than for cato's benefit. "and we're in the finals, apparently." cato grunts in confirmation.

"it's awesome that you made it this far," he says slowly, and she can visibly see him regaining his wits in real time, the transformation obvious in the unsubtle changes of his facial expressions - unlike her, he had no practice in carefully controlling and mastering what he allowed his face to reveal. clove observes his recovery and takes note of his surprise, which is followed by slow acceptance, and then followed by the dawning of a reality she'd accepted several seconds before him.

naturally, his irritating habit of finding every opportunity to provoke her returns with his recovered senses. it doesn't take long for him to become his typically insufferable self. gathering his weapons and approaching her with the cocky smirk she'd come to associate him with, cato continues his jab. "we'll see how it goes, clover." his large hand settles companionably on her shoulder in a friendly gesture clove decides not to punish. she also doesn't bother to protest at the term of endearment - better cato, anyways, who says it with some modicum of grudging respect and admiration, then marvel (an ally she did not at all "dearly miss") who liked to relentlessly tease her and imply that there was something going on between her and her district partner that existed under the surface of their mutual antagonism and vicious barbed-wire threats.

clove watches him walk away, probably back towards their campsite (because of course he just assumes she'll blindly follow along like he's still the leader of a pack that's mostly dead - or close to it, in peeta's case), incredulously. "what the fuck do you mean by - cato, i'm telling you 'how it'll go' right now!" in a rare moment of weakness that she isn't proud of, she hastily stumbles after him so they can walk side by side as she gets the last word. normally, clove prides herself in not putting that much effort to win a verbal battle against someone, always ready with a cutting remark, but this time he's gotten the better of her.

cato's amused chuckles only agitate her further. "it'll go bad for you! and good for me! because i'm the better tribute and we both know it, you blonde oaf!"

he comes to a stop beside her to laugh, almost hysterically. and clove can't blame him, she can only blame herself for her lame attempt to sass him.

but because she was never one for self awareness, she blames everything but her own behavior. so many factors were responsible. the stupid rule change that meant they were inextricably tied to one another, cato for making it difficult for her to contemplate a reality without his hubris and deep chuckles and strength complementing her own as they fought side by side. cato for being her only tie to home and weakening her so badly she'd begun to consider him a friend. a friend, of all things, when he was supposed to be just some competitive asshole with an ego she could easily check with a well aimed blade at a lethal area.

because he felt the need to worsen her current feeling of indignity, cato smiles down at her - fondly, with crinkling and affectionate eyes as if he has grown to enjoy her presence. like an insane person. "fine, but we can go home together now, you know."

"stop that. we're still enemies. it doesnt change anything, and you know it." she feels the need to regain distance, and fast. hide whatever is the reason for this weird sense of gratitude that claudius templesmith's announcement had drawn out of clove.

"yeah, no shit, i can't stand you," he agrees, although clove doubts his sincerity based on the impish smile he's not working too hard to cover. cato watches her glaring back at him with his arms crossed in an obvious attempt to flex, leaning casually against a tree like he's some unreasonably handsome capitol model endorsing a weird makeup product, as always too confident and assured in his sense of righteousness.

it's a fight she has no chance of winning. with a huff, clove opts to ignore him, resuming the trek to their campsite and keeping him at her back where she doesn't have to deal with visual evidence of his presence.

he laughs lightly behind her, obviously amused by her failure to one-up him. her lips twitch upwards responsively in an exasperated smile that she forcibly suppresses.

[clatoera]

Masterlist of Chapters: Always Remember We’re Burned For Better

hey guys! I just wanted to make a post with the links to each chapter of my Clato AU both here and on AO3 for convenience and easy tracking purposes.

I won’t be too verbose and will just get into it!

Chapter One: Crimson Clover    Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Two: Still, the Yearning Stays   Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Three: Checkmate, I Couldn’t Lose Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Four: I’ve Loved you three summers now honey, i want ‘em all Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Five: It’s Been a Long Time Coming Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Six: Everybody’s Watching to See the Fall Out  Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Seven: All These People Think Love’s For Show Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eight: Would’ve. Could’ve. Should’ve. Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Nine: Everything was slipping right out of our hands Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Ten: Our Coming of Age Has Come and Gone Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eleven: Baby, Let the Games Begin. Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twelve: Meet Me At Midnight Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Thirteen: Don’t Blame Me (Love made me crazy) Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Fourteen: Who You Are Is Not What You Did Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Fifteen: If I’m on Fire, You’ll Be Made of Ashes Too Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Sixteen: I nearly lost you (I really though i’d lost you) Tumblr|AO3

Chapter Seventeen: What Doesn’t Kill Me Makes Me Want you More Tumblr|AO3

Chapter Eighteen: Not my homeland anymore...so what am I defending Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Nineteen: Always Remember We’re Burned For Better  Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Twenty: We Will Never Go Back to That Bloodshed Tumblr | AO3

Epilogue:  I Vow I Will Always Be Yours, For We Survived the Great War Tumblr | AO3

SEQUEL: Picket Fences, Sharp as Knives

Chapter One: At Dinner Parties, I Call You Out Tumblr | AO3

Chapter Two: Barefoot in the Wildest Winter, Catching my Death Tumblr| AO3

Chapter Three: All I Know, Is this could either break my heart (part 1) Tumblr| AO3

Chapter Four: ...Or bring me back to life (part 2) tumblr | AO3

Chapter Five: I once believed love would be black and white...but it’s golden. Like daylight. tumblr | AO3

Chapter Six: Not Trying to Fall in Love, but we did like Children running tumblr | AO3

Chapter Seven: They Got No Idea About Me and You tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eight: You Knew What You Wanted, and Boy You Got Her tumblr | AO3

Chapter Nine: I am what I am cause you trained me tumblr | AO3

Chapter Ten: The best thing that’s ever been mine tumblr | AO3

Chapter Eleven: When you can’t sleep at night, you’ll hear my stolen lullabies tumblr | AO3

Prequel: You Don’t Feel Pretty, You Just Feel Used Tumblr| AO3

Associated works: because friends who write together stay together (or me being really thankful for my loves who share this with me)

1.  Dust Collected on my Pinned up hair: au of an au from @crookedlyniceperson for my girl glimmer

2. Enobaria and Cashmere being cuties talking shit drunk in bed from @bodyelectric77

3. Honeymoon: Cash and Enobaria in D1 post war  @bodyelectric77

4. In a world of boys he’s a gentleman: glimmer and marvel get together THE fic i dream of sometimes @kentwells

[twobraincellkentwell]

WAIT I’VE JUST REALISED THAT I NEVER POSTED THESE PHOTOS ON HERE!!

I present you… Alexander Ludwig with myself (dressed as Clove). Doing my service to the clato fandom one photo op as a time!! And with my best friend (our Katniss - yes she’d got roasted, no she didn’t mind)

[everythingcalypso]

She was an icon

[alavestineneas]

☆ masterlist ☆

Hunger Games:

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Nothing we can do - chaper 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 - finished

Soul - one-shot

Johanna Mason x fem!reader

Together - one-shot

Alive - one-shot

Clove Kentwell x fem!reader

Forever - one-shot

Silence - one-shot

Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Losing dogs, prt 2 (Poisonous bites) - finished

Glass and mirrors, prt 2 (The start reborn) - finished

Cato Hadley x fem!reader

Home - one-shot

House of the Dragon:

Aegon II Targaryen

Heaven (x reader)

 x OC series: King’s will - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 - paused

Dune:

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest -> and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

[cloveswifey]

Alone

Pairings: Marvel Sanford x Fem!Reader

A/n: apologies for the photo icba to make a collage.

Warnings: the hunger games, mentions of death, falling in love, the arena, blood, death, swearing, arguing, isolation/being left alone, apologies

Type: Angst - fluff

Words: 1.0k

Y/n had always been fascinated by the Hunger Games. She had watched every year, rooting for her favorite tributes. But now, she was one of them.

As she walked into the training center in District 1, she felt a rush of excitement and fear. She knew that she would have to train hard if she wanted to survive.

That's when she saw him. Marvel, the most skilled hunter in their district. He was practicing his aim, throwing spears at a target with ease.

Y/n was impressed. She had never seen anyone throw like that before. She walked up to him and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Y/n. I'm training for the Hunger Games too," she said.

Marvel looked up and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm Marvel. I've been training for this my whole life."

They spent the rest of the day training together, learning from each other. Marvel taught Y/n how to throw a spear and Y/n showed Marvel how to shoot a bow.

As the days went on, they grew closer and closer. They talked about their families and they even shared a few laughs.

As they got older, their friendship only grew stronger. But as the games grew closer, things began to change. Y/n started to see Marvel in a different light. She began to realize that she had feelings for him that went beyond friendship.

Marvel, too, was starting to feel something for Y/n. He had always admired her intelligence, her sense of humor, and her training skills. He was starting to realize that he was in love with her.

One day, as they were training, Y/n decided to tell Marvel how she felt. She took a deep breath and said, "Marvel, I have to tell you something. I think I'm in love with you."

Marvel was surprised but also relieved. He had been wanting to tell Y/n how he felt for a long time. "Y/n, I'm so glad you said that. Because I think I'm in love with you too."

The games were approaching, and Y/N and Marvel couldn't help feeling a bit anxious. While it was expected for Marvel to participate, hearing Y/N's name announced as well would undoubtedly make for an interesting story, to tell.

Effie Trinket's announcement of "y/n l/n" made Marvel's heart skip a beat. Without hesitation, he immediately volunteered as soon as the boys' names were called out. It was now a fight for survival between the two of them.

Yes, Y/n had been training for the Hunger Games for months, but she had never expected to be paired with Marvel, her boyfriend and one of the most skilled hunters in the arena, besides Cato.

The two had obviously, formed an alliance, but things were starting to get tense.

Y/n was scared and wanted to stick together, but Marvel had trained his whole life to hunt other tributes. He didn't want to stay put and wait for the other tributes to come to them.

"Why would we intentionally run into the enemy?" Y/N asked her boyfriend.

"I don't want to stay in one place and wait for the other tributes to come to us," Marvel replied. "We should be taking the fight to them and eliminating the competition."

"But what happens when everyone else is dead?" Y/N asked, already anticipating the answer.

Marvel shook his head, scoffed, and walked away, leaving Y/n alone without a response.

Y/n was left feeling alone and scared. She didn't know what to do without Marvel by her side. She tried to make a plan, but it was difficult with no one to bounce ideas off of. As the hours passed, she started to feel hopeless.

Just as she was about to give up, she saw two tributes heading towards her. She tried to fight them off, but she was badly injured. She knew she was going to die.

But just as she was about to take her last breath, Marvel returned. He had seen the two tributes heading towards their camp and had come back to help Y/n. He fought off the tributes and saved her life.

Y/n was grateful for Marvel's help, but she was still upset about the argument they had earlier.

"Y/n, I need to talk to you," Marvel said, approaching Y/n, as she collected wood off the ground.

"What's going on?" Y/n asked.

"I wanted to apologize for leaving you in the arena," Marvel said. "I know I should have stayed and fought with you."

"It's okay," Y/n said, trying to hide her disappointment. "I understand why you did it."

"No, it's not okay," Marvel said. "I should have been there for you, like a good boyfriend, and I wasn't. I promise I won't let you down again."

"I appreciate that," Y/n said, smiling. "But we need to focus on staying alive and getting out of here."

"You're right," Marvel said, nodding. "Let's work together and get through this."

The two realised that they were better together than apart. They made a plan to work together, using Marvel's hunting skills and Y/n's quick thinking.

As they continued through the arena, they faced more challenges, but they worked together to overcome them. They grew closer and closer as they fought for their lives.

In the end, they emerged victorious. They had won the Hunger Games together, as a team. They hugged each other, both feeling grateful for the other's help. They knew that they would always be there for each other, no matter what.

[crashhhhhintome]

never again

“Cato! Cato!” I heard her screaming.

But her voice was far away. I knew I should not have left her alone.

“Clove!” I yelled her name, just to let her know I was away but I was desperate to help her. I ran for my life but I knew there wouldn’t be time.

And then I felt it. It was her.

A thought.

Cato, no matter what happens I will always be by your side, holding you. Go get them, Cato. Live. I love you.

Seconds later, I heard the cannon and her picture appeared at the sky. Clove, District 2.

I looked up and said: "Go get them, Clove."

old fic of mine, rewritten. find it at AO3 here.

[7s3ven]

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.

[enobariasdistrict2]

wrap me in your skin and bones by enobariasdistrict2/enobarias on ao3 | clato | currently: 1/4 chapters completed

"Trust me, Cato." For once, she allows herself to speak diplomatically and with great patience, neither of which she had ever been skilled at. "I can get you that win. You've come this far because you earned it. Don't stop now. You can finish what you started, and I can be a successful Mentor on my first try - we both get what we want here."

or: AU where clove mentors cato in the 73rd hunger games.

[kentwells]

who am i to ask for more, more, more

i haven't written fic in at least four years (maybe five which is batshit time is really a bitch) but i was so desperate for more fic abt these losers that i had to write some. title is from "waiting room” by phoebe bridgers!

i love the careers because they are obviously lethal and terrifying and brainwashed and insane. but also the scenes in the movie where they're running up to the water & laughing at the other tributes? they were raised without childhoods but they are also your average teenage bullies and it's so interesting to me. that is like. what i was getting at here. they did not realize being kids was a choice.  also huge thanks to @clatoera​ for talking endless stuff abt domesticity & ambition with regards to cato & clove!! and giving me some inspiration for the scene by the lake thank you so much for reading <3

AO3 link | fic under the cut off

When the 12M announces his love for the 12F, Clove rolls her eyes. It is, however, interesting enough for her to look at the screen instead of staring off into space. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes like a child’s. The district stylists might have forced Clove to look like a child, with a puffy orange dress and even puffier hair, but at least she doesn’t speak like one. The Capitol seems to think it something interesting, judging by the way the audience gasps. 

Cato lets out a harsh laugh, the same way he does whenever someone drops a weapon. Clove meets his eyes, and they share their 800th moment of knowing that no one else takes this half as seriously as they do. 

“This is a problem,” Brutus says.

“In what world?” Clove asks, rolling her eyes. Kids get crushes every day. She doesn’t know how many girls she’s ‘accidentally’ let a knife get too close to because they wouldn’t shut up about Cato in the dormitory. Even she has them. But she’s capable of ignoring it. Her heart can flutter all it wants to when Cato grabs her wrist, she’s still going to pull her shit together and wrench it out of his grip. Peeta, who only showed his strength after Katniss told him to and is willing to blush in front of all of Panem, is not going to be capable of that.

“It’s an angle?” Cato guesses. She can tell that he’s trying not to continue laughing, nervous to upset his mentor the night before the games.

Clove smirks. “A terrible one,” she says. “That’s basically saying you don’t give a shit about winning, who would sponsor that?”

“No one,” Lyme says. “But they’d sponsor the girl who kicked your asses in front of the Gamemakers and has a compelling enough personality for someone to love”. 

“Luckily, neither Cato or Clove are really going for lovable”, their escort laughs, though her eyes are still on the screen. 

Lyme’s eyes glint at her in the cold, detached way Clove has practiced in the mirror. “Long day tomorrow. Time for bed, I think.”

Clove takes the longest, hottest shower she’s had in years. Once her skin is burning and raw, she puts on a loose pair of pants and an impossibly soft blue shirt. When she gets out of the bathroom, Cato is on her bed, sprawled out like a puppy searching for attention. 

“Can you not get my pillows wet?” Clove climbs in next to him. Unlike the Center beds, these can actually fit both of them. Cato says nothing, just staring up at the ceiling, so Clove continues. “You don't even have to do any work to dry off here.”

“Who gives a shit, you have 20.” He tucks an arm around her waist, and she wraps a leg over his in practiced comfort. She doesn’t even give him shit for still being wet. It seems like a waste of breath right now. “12M’s an annoying little shit,” Cato says as she leans her head on his shoulder. 

Clove grunts. She agrees, of course. Her mind is still thick with Lyme’s suggestion that the 12M’s idiocy will reel in the sponsors. And every time she closes her eyes, she sees the spinning 11 superimposed over the 12F’s face, like a target she’s trying to hit.

“He’s not special for liking a girl.”

“I thought you were annoying, but you’re a fucking saint compared to him,” Clove snorts. He pinches her side.

“C’mon, Clover, that’s the lowest bar in Panem.”

“Give him some credit, it’s hard to be more annoying than you.” Clove grins at him, but it quickly turns to scorn. “He’s an idiot,” she says. “He wasn’t winning anyway, but his chances went from one percent to zero when he decided to commit to that act.”

Cato kisses the crown of her head. “He wasn’t winning anyway, let him have a last few moments of fun.”

For a second, Clove thinks Cato’s going to slide his hand up her shirt and go for his own last few moments of fun. Instead, he gently nudges her head off of his shoulder, shifts to one side and presses his head deeper into the pillow. “See you tomorrow,” Clove whispers.

 ࿏

 Cato is loyal to District 2 and to the Capitol. He didn’t need to be told twice, his eyes lit up when he first saw someone win the Hunger Games and they haven’t darkened since. These thoughts drum through his head on careful repeat, so loud that he couldn’t think something else if he wanted to. He eats on auto-pilot, creating a meal as close to what the Centre would give him as possible. Azalea, his jittery, pink-haired stylist sits across from him, eating nothing.

“Clove is about five minutes behind you,” she titters. 

Cato doesn’t respond. Clove is back in District 2, watching the stream with the rest of the Center kids. Azalea retrieved him from the 2F’s room this morning.

At this point, there is nothing for Cato to do. No one for him to spar, no one to beat. He settles for keeping his mind as blank as possible so that he doesn’t tire himself out. It’s a relief when he rises into the arena, to see the other tributes and the Cornucopia.

He waits a second after the cannon, having been warned one too many times about the possibility of dying from overeagerness. It’s satisfying to watch the tributes on either side of him peel away, clearly desperate to get as far away from him as possible. He has a good foot on the girl to his right, so he goes after her first. She doesn’t see him coming when he tackles her to the ground.  

Once he’s heard enough cracking from her bones and she’s coughing up blood, he pushes himself up and glances around for weapons. He sees a few swords and spears decorating the Cornucopia walls. A few feet before he reaches them, he sees a pack of knives, the kind Clove could strap around her waist. 

“Clove!” He shouts. The breath leaves his body when he spots her in hand to hand combat with one of the older girls. The second she glances up, he tosses the knives her way. Clove’s eyes light up the second she sees them. The older girl, who’s taller than Clove but made of nothing but bone, looks hopeful when Clove darts around her, and begins to make a run for it.

When one of the knives hits her calf, she falls, and Clove flashes Cato an absolutely lethal smile before kicking her over and slitting her throat. “I’ve got the 12F!” She shouts, breaking into a run across the edge of the clearing, and Cato turns to pick a sword. 

He just about blacks out for the rest of it. Kids die. He kills them. Someone makes a very half-hearted attempt to kill him and he snaps their neck. He had expected it to be more difficult, but everyone who ran towards the Cornucopia was hoping for a quick death instead of trying to avoid it.

“Let’s tally,” Clove says, cleaning one of her knives on her jacket. She’s lectured him about 800 times on proper knife care, and this does not qualify, but a good quality cleaning kit is probably too much to ask for. 

“Can we take a lap?” Glimmer asks, hands on her hips. “Some of them might have grabbed supplies, and there were definitely a few bodies with weapons sticking out of them.” She clears her throat. “And not to state the obvious, but why are you here?” She turns to 12M, who is inexplicably standing near them. 

Clove will give him credit for looking impressively unlike a deer in headlights and starting to speak for himself, but Cato beats him to it. “He’s leading us to his district partner.”

So he must not love her. Clove is taken aback by that – not because she believes in the purity of outer district crushes, but because she would have at least hoped he had a reason to sound like such an idiot on national television. “Does she believe all of the love bullshit?” she asks.

12M shrugs, and Clove can’t really be bothered to press. “Let’s do Glimmer’s idea and make sure we get everything before the hovercrafts come around.” Glimmer beams at her, and Clove turns toward the fallen tributes. She holds the knives she finds in her hand so that she can figure out how to clean them, and stalks around the clearing.

“I think you got blood on your jacket,” 12M says. He’s putting on a layer of bravado, but Clove sees right through it to the nerves. 

“Wait, was there blood around here lately?” Clove asks, her eyes wide and her voice saccharine sweet. “I must not have noticed!” She flashes him a grin that’s all teeth and turns back to the Cornucopia. They’re all covered in it – Cato’s hair is basically red, though given his height that’s probably from being flashy more so than real necessity.

“I’m Peeta,” he says, absentmindedly. From the slightly apprehensive way he looks at the bodies at their feet, he wouldn’t have lasted two years in the Center. Clove curses herself for not having slightly better aim, because if 12F was dead, she could just knife him and be done with it. 

“Clove.”

Once everything is collected and reasonably organized, the sun is starting to set. They agree not to set a fire before they need to, settling instead for the food that will go bad soon. Clove eats her apple and watches Glimmer and Cato from across the circle. She’s directly opposite them, so if anyone questions her, she can say she’s just staring into space. 

It's not like someone would, anyways. Marvel and Marina seem to have figured out that they aren't going to win, and even if 12M is still stupid enough to think that he has a chance, Clove could have him dead before he finished his sentence. Glimmer curls into Cato’s side under the pretense of warming herself up and attracting sponsors. Clove starts to feel a flicker of something detached. She wants more than anything to make a joke about how their matching hair makes them look like siblings, but that would ruin any chance of horny Capitolites sending them shit. 

She can save it until after the pack breaks. 

Glimmer adjusts herself so that her head is lying in Cato’s lap, and her body is curled on the ground. Clove catches Cato’s eye, and they both try not to laugh. Clove will give her some credit though — her head and vital organs are protected, and her back is to the Cornucopia. Glimmer may be annoying, but at least her survival instincts are decent. 

“Think it’s dark enough to hunt?” Marvel asks.

Instinctively, Clove’s hands go to her vest to run her fingers over her knives. “Hold on, I want to see who’s dead.”

As if on cue, the first bars of the Anthem appear. “Cato, tally?” He grins at her. “How the fuck did you get blood in your teeth?” she mocks, and his grin only widens. It's not really the arrogant smirk he’s been giving cameras for a week, much more the one he gives her after he bashes her with a pillow or plays a prank on his little sister.

Clove and Cato each have three, Glimmer and Marvel managed two apiece, and no one’s sure who got the last one. 

Countless trainers had warned her with sharp words, how dangerous it was to go into the Arena with a friend. Clove had worried about it, because she hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring the trainers, but everything was fine once they were in the Arena. She’s spent most of the last twelve years fighting with and against Cato. This is routine.

 ࿏

 Clove knows well enough to step away from Cato when he’s this angry. Her biggest reaction is to tilt her head to get a better look at the mangled way 3M’s neck holds his head and body together. It’s not that she’s scared – if she was really concerned, she could easily snap a knife somewhere fatal, especially with his reflexes slowed by emotion – more so that he’ll burn himself out soon enough. No one, not even Cato, can hold enough anger to throw a long-ass tantrum.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clove sees Marvel slowly backing away, three packs of supplies strapped to his body and spear in hand.

“Is the alliance over?” Clove calls out. He turns, slightly scared, to look at her. She grins, imagining how easy it would be to kill him right now for trying to sneak off. 

“I should think so,” Marvel says. “You should run from this bullshit while you can.”

Clove doesn’t even have to think in order to give him the coldest glare she can. “I don’t need to,” she says, her eyes immediately snapping back to Cato. Clove pulls herself up to a ledge of the Cornucopia and watches him rage.

She’s right, per usual. He kicks a pile of ashen supplies and lands on his back, and stays there, silently staring at the sky for a little while. He’s breathing hard enough for her to see his chest rise and fall. Clove jumps off the Cornucopia and walks towards him, eventually standing by his side and blocking the sun from his eyes.

“The Career alliance is over,” she says, offering him a hand. He uses it to pull himself up, and cards a hand through his hair. It’s too short for that, hair buzzed regulation short last week before the Reaping, but he does it anyways. “Not like any of them were much use,” Clove continues.

“Sticking together?” Cato asks. His voice is confident, but his eyes search hers. She’s half a step ahead in strategy most of the time, and smart enough to know he’s the biggest threat against her, all too comfortable ducking her knives and exploiting the few weak points she has.

He imagines them in the final two, the way they’ve talked about since they were eight, and how one of them will kill the other in a way that’s interesting enough to create an iconic story, but not too painful for the others. He thinks that he’ll kill Clove as quickly as possible and hack it to pieces until the hovercraft arrives. Clove’s eyes glint, something half steel and half something else. “Obviously.”

 ࿏

 “Tributes,” Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms through the woods around them, and Clove skids to a stop. “For the 74th annual Hunger Games, I am pleased to announce a rule change.” Clove turns to look at Cato. The Centre has stuffed her mind with hundreds of ways to play, but the only Capitol-created rule she can think of is ‘kill as many people as you can’. He looks just as confused as she feels, glancing around like Claudius Templesmith is hiding in one of the trees. “Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive.”

“Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared Victors if they are the last two alive,” he repeats. His voice is even, as if they were too stupid to understand the first time, but it turns to wicked as he says “May the odds be ever in your favor” and his voice disappears as quickly as it came.

Clove is paralyzed, unsure of what comes next. Cato acts first, hoisting her up and knotting a hand in her hair. His hand sliding beneath her hair tie like he needs to be as close to her as possible. He’s probably mashing blood into her scalp, but there’s plenty of that there anyways. Her arms are around his neck, probably the first time they’ve ever been there without her making a move to cut off his air supply. Cato’s breathing is so heavy against her chest that she can feel herself shift with it. “Hi,” Clove mutters, because it’s all she can really think to do. 

Cato spins her around once before setting her down, but his arms stay on her waist. She leaves her arms on his shoulders, grip loose and easy. He looks at her with a new type of intensity, almost hopeful. “We’re winning this shit,” Clove tells him, without a single doubt in her mind.

He picks her up and swings her around again, and she would scream if he didn’t do this every time he was bored. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Fuck the girl on fire, this is fucking fire, burning every obstacle in her path and making her future crystal clear.

Cato drops his pack and sits down, and Clove tumbles down next to him. Every bone in her body feels looser, itching for a fight but positive she’ll – they’ll – win it. She crosses her ankles over his, not bothering with any pretenses. They can both go home. No sense in making sure everyone knows how fast she could kill him. 

“I’m serious, Cato,” she says. She knows she sounds like a kid, but she can’t help it. If she had an ounce less of self respect, she would be jumping like a rabbit. “Serious. We can take anyone.” She glances around for where a camera might be, but decides to keep looking at Cato. “I’ve got long range, you’ve got hand-to-hand.”

“Perfect team,” Cato says, smug and satisfied and not with half as much cruelty as he normally says that. 

 ࿏

 They haven’t killed another tribute in two days, and the only thing on Cato’s mind is that he could have been doing this the whole time. He could have had two more weeks of throwing Clove into the lake without her worried that he was about to kill her. She never screams at home when he picks her up, too focused on getting him to drop her, but here, she laughs and shrieks like a kid from an outer district, playing up the childish thing sponsors seem to be in the mood for this year. She catches his eye when he takes his shirt off to clean up, and he is no longer a weapon that so happens to have this physical form but a fucking idiot that would trip on his own sword because she smirked at him.

“You know you like it, c’mon.”

“Like what, the fact that you won’t smell like rotting corpses and dirt for the next half hour?” He throws his shirt at her and splashes through the lake. She stays on the bench, carefully inspecting her knives, sharpening each one and tucking them neatly into the jacket she’s laid across her lap.

“Cato, I swear to Snow, if you come near me soaking wet, I will kill you,” she snaps, not even looking up from her knives. He laughs and wraps his arms around her shoulders anyways, laughing harder when she doesn’t squirm at the chill. He’s been doing this for years, trying to get a rise out of her because she hates how clammy wet skin feels. Normally, she’d have shoved him off hard enough to bruise by now, but she keeps her eyes trained on her knives and lets Cato touch her.

The metal screech of her knives against a rock keeps going. So does the sound of the water. Cato pulls his shirt back on from where it was on the ground and sits behind Clove, pulling her to his chest. She settles her head on his shoulder and holds a knife up to the sun to inspect it.

“If we win the same games, do we share a house and shit?” Clove asks. 

“Do you want to be roommates?” Cato asks, twirling the ends of her hair. It’s braided today. 

Clove snorts and tucks the knife into her jacket, apparently finding it satisfactory. Instead of reaching for the next knife, she slouches down and holds onto his wrists where they wrap around her shoulders. “I think that if you live alone, you’ll eat nothing but protein shakes.”

“Oh, and you can cook?”

“Yes I goddamn can,” Clove says, indignant, turning to face him. “I’m great at cooking.” That’s not out of the realm of possibility. He hasn’t seen her eat anything not given to them by the Center in years, but she’s good with knives and the smartest person Cato knows. “Will you cook for me when we win?”

“If,” Clove rams a sharp elbow into his ribs. 

Really, even if they were given two houses, Clove knows how quickly one would fall into disuse. The only reason they both actively use their own rooms are because their dorms are tiny, and at this point as stuffed to the brim with extra weapons and strategy books as Center regulations will allow. Most nights though, they crawl into the same bed after covering each other in cheap healing salve and trying to shake off the bruises, locking themselves to each other because the beds aren’t really big enough for two people. She knows that leaving the Arena together would sort of cement their melding into each other, making sure everyone who discusses them says it as catoandclove. 

She had promised herself that it would all end in Remake. They fixed her nose, which was well past crooked from the three times he had broken it. His skin is mostly clear of her tidy, elegant scars, only a few left for dramatic effect. And she had meant it, really, but now she’s thinking about how much of their goddamn stipend they’ll have to spend accommodating his ridiculous appetite and how she can win a fight over the thermostat.

“We need to get someone else soon.”

Cato exhales something long and heavy “Fuck yes. I think we should search out 12 and get it the fuck over with.”

“I’ll get 12F,” she says. She can sense his annoyance at that. “C’mon, I’ll make it entertaining. No one wants to see me methodically slice open someone who already can barely walk.”

“As long as it’s a good show,” he sighs. It will be. Clove imagines pinning her down, carving up her face so that no one wants to see her corpse. At this point in the Games, there are no slow deaths, not when it could be her last chance to slice someone open. Clove wants so much blood on her skin that she has to spend an hour in the lake to get it all off.

“Fucking obviously, who do you think I am?” Clove teases. She twists, albeit a little awkwardly, so that she’s properly facing him instead of pressed to his chest. The smile he gives her is lazy and content.

She slides a hand across his hip, searching automatically for the long, thin scar that should wrap around it. She finds nothing but smooth skin and a scrape, probably from a tree or some shit. She memorizes it, holding onto these new details. 12F and 12M, dying far apart and without the other knowing. An entryway littered with shoes and warm sweaters and a freshly polished rack of weapons in the Victor’s Village.

Cato leans in and kisses her, tugging her to lie on top of him. She’s about to lean back and curse him out for this, but the strategy seems to be working out alright for 12. And if she were in the Center watching this on a screen, she would be laughing with everyone else about how these kids are virgins who barely know each other. This easy affection, hidden among violent plans and strategies, is sure beneath her hands for the first time. 

(She’ll make 12F’s death especially brutal, and remind everyone that they should not fucking think about making fun of her.)

 ࿏

 5F would be hell to track if her hair weren’t bright red. He keeps seeing flashes of it in the distance, egging him onwards. Four more. He’ll take 5F, Clove will get 12F. If 12M doesn’t die on his own, he still won’t be able to put up any sort of fight. 11M will be a solid, respectable final fight, bigger than Cato but not nearly as skilled of a fighter, and Clove will back him up with her knives. It’s so close he can taste it, can’t stop thinking about sharing a bed instead of a shitty sleeping bag.

The first time he hears a Clove’s strangled, high pitched scream yell “CATO!”, he doesn’t slow down. He’s never heard Clove sound anywhere near that scared, not when the air is being choked out of her lungs or the night before a ranking exam. This is a Capitol trick, some sort of trap that he’s meant to fall into.

When he hears it again, every ounce of logic and training goes out the window, and he sprints towards her.

He doesn’t spot her at first, and there’s a wink of relief that she’s somewhere out of sight, ready to hurl knives at everyone but him, but then he sees a flash of red and brown against the grass.

Clove. The bubbled ponytail she tied and untied whenever she didn’t have enough to do with her hands. He is on his knees and she is next to him, a full on fucking dent in her head, lying on the ground, eyes still awake but no longer full of fire. He’s screaming, but he truly does not give a shit if someone hears. He’s easy enough to track down anyways.

And how the fuck could this have happened. How could a fucking nobody from 11 do this to her, careless and cruel, when she was the first person his age to figure out how to escape his chokeholds. 

“Clove, you’re going to get through this,” he tells her, and he does almost believe it. She’s broken endless bones without so much as crying. She likes doing things for dramatic effect – she’s doing this for sponsors, for attention, to create an iconic games moment that will be shown forever after they win. 

He maneuvers her so that her head is in his lap and tries not to think about how this feels like Clove’s dead weight, like lead weighing him down instead of the feather light Clove who fights back like a tiny speed demon. The last time she felt like this was in her dorm room, long after they had stopped pretending to analyze their earlier training stats, and Clove, flushed and catching her breath, fell asleep half on top of him. 

Clove’s always had a reputation for being cold. It annoyed the fuck out of Cato when they were younger, the way it was near impossible to get a rise out of her, but he likes it now. It’s most of why they were sent in together, the way he runs hot and impulsive and she stands a few steps above everyone else. This is different though, it’s not so much that her mind is whirring like crazy behind a thick shell, moreso that everything has gone hazy for Clove. Clove, who can muster a terrifying glare even while freshly concussed. 

On the ground, most of Clove’s energy is going to distinguishing one word from the next. The words Cato is saying are familiar – “I’ll slice him open for this, just how you like it. I’ll smash her head in, break enough bones that she’s unrecognizable. Remember – fuck, I still don’t know his name, actually – remember that kid that tried, yeah, I’ll recreate that, except now I can actually fucking finish the job.” She knows his threats, but his voice isn’t the hard monotone or reckless yelling she’s used to. It’s cracking like it hasn’t done since they were thirteen. She’s heard his voice wracked with emotion before, but never like this, equal parts warm and desperate. His hands cradle her cheeks, oscillating between desperately grabbing her like he can keep her alive with his touch and holding her face so gently that she thinks she might be imagining it. 

For a moment, she wonders if the cameras are still on them. She’s not sure where the line is – what violence the Capitol citizens find hot or funny or impressive, and what violence they find disgusting. Clove doesn’t find any of this disgusting. She knows Cato would do everything he’s promising if there were enough bodies in the arena for the amount of threats he’s making. He might use all of them anyways, to keep a promise to her or work out any extra anger.

He’s thought about this more than enough times since they were kids, the way he’ll eventually stand next to her dead body. This is a nightmare, the kind where he’s holding his breath and waiting to jolt awake in the Center, because she’s actually slipping away and he doubts she could so much as laugh at him right now and someone else did this to her and he wasn’t fucking there in time.

Cato doesn’t quite know what he’s saying anymore, but Clove does. It’s a babble more than anything, and she would bet that it’s because of his own emotion instead of her inability to distinguish words. He tells her that he loves the smirk she gives when she hits every bullseye in the training room and the way her face twists as she pulls her hair into a braid for training. He loves how she never slows down from an injury and the way she makes fun of him as she sews shitty stitches into his skin. He’ll do anything to try and make up for this, the way she lies on the ground, eyes glazing more and more with every minute.

She knows what he’s building to. And she already knows it, has for a while, really, but didn’t let herself think it until Claudius Templesmith told her she could. The two of them have endless, endless advantages over the 12’s, but at least those dickheads got to say whatever they wanted.

She can’t quite make words anymore. She can’t quite do anything. But despite the way she shakes violently beneath her, his knee is solid on the small of her back, and for once it’s not a trap. 

[arcadian-litterateur]

the hunger games masterlist

𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

💕 - fluff, ⚰️ - angst, 📚 - reader insert, ✏️ - oc,

🃏 - crack, 🍼 - agere

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives: Chapter 1 At Dinner Parties, I Call You Out (ARWBFB sequel)

Heeey besties. We're back. We're back. Thus begins the sequel to Always Remember We're Burned for Better. Fucking wild right.

So. This is chapter one of the sequel. The title of the sequel comes from High Infidelity, not because they're experiencing that, but because I liked the line being about picket fences. This fic is structured much different than ARWBFB. It's going to be more vignette day in the life style fics. It's not high intensity. It's not high drama. ARWBFB has all of that. This is the life after the war and that is this.

This concept of this fucking chicken...this is entirely what I wanted to write the sequel for. The mental imagery of spatchcocking a chicken. I'm not lying as you are about to see.

Thats what this whole sequel is to be. Just..moments of life. Fun moments of life. You are welcome to send requests. I will do my best to honor and address them.

So yeah! Fic title from High Infidelity (t swift)

Chapter title from gold rush (t swift).

AO3 Link

masterpost

So! Yeah!

Here we go again. Thank you all for being here and rejoining me.

Life moves blessedly slow in a world without the Hunger Games. 

A life without training to run, a life without interviews to attend. A life with morning runs as a leisure and not a warm up, a life with meals with seasoning and flavor, a life with friends a forty minute train ride away.

It is a peaceful life, albeit somewhat boring for two twenty something kids who spent their life learning to kill. 

It is unbelievably peaceful, actually.

 Cato and Clove sit nearly on top of each other on their living room couch, her little legs tucked in his lap, her feet in his hands. Their luggage sits unpacked by the door from a ten day trip to District Four, having been discarded immediately upon their return in long awaited exchange for their own cool bed sheets on their sun warmed skin. If you ask Cato the best part of the trip, he will tell you it was watching more freckles appear on the skin of his wife every passing day. If you ask Clove she will tell you it was watching Cato’s hair lighten and his skin take on that golden hue she hadn’t seen since he won his games what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

They don’t need to talk, not when she’s lounging in his lap like this, reading aloud the new curriculum designs Enobaria had dropped off for their input. It was more difficult than any of them had anticipated, adapting their training plans to regular recreation activities. Every once in a while Cato gives a hum of approval or digs his thumb into the arch of her foot in a way that makes her lose her place in a sentence. 

“Do you think they’ll let us come teach?” Cato wonders out loud, before kicking his own feet up and pushing his side of the couch back in a reclining position. “Feels like it could be fun, it’s something to do..”

“I think after reading this shit they better let us do whatever we want, I don’t even think i’m pronouncing the word Calisthenics right.” Clove latches her knees over his thighs and pulls herself closer, the warm thrum of his hand on her knee keeping in cadence with her reading. She writes something in the margins of the paper that Cato cannot see, but it’s almost certainly something about the meaning of a word that she will look up later to save herself the embarrassment of asking Enobaria. “Do you think they’re going to keep teaching kids to read after they turn twelve? I feel like thats a skill we should prioritize.”

“I’m not even sure I learned to read well enough before them.”

A frantic rapping at the door interrupts their commentary, and they share a suspicious look though neither move from their position intertwined on the couch. 

“Who knocks?” Cato raises an eyebrow, his hand stilling from where it strokes at her knee. “Doesn’t half the country have a key to our house?”

“We really should change those locks.” Clove muses lightly, making no move to answer the door or even see who it was. Cato had a point. Whoever it was..either they’d let themselves in or they’d leave. 

“What, tired of Enobaria letting herself in for breakfast?” Cato taunts, but there's no real malice there. If the worst that happened to them for the rest of their lives were their family members inviting themselves over at eight in the morning then they are better off than they were with all the victor glory in the world. 

“I just want to know when I became responsible for feeding the world,” 

As if on cue the front door creaks open, and shuts incredibly softly within the same second. There is only one person, one frame, that could slip in like a ghost and as silent as a wisp. 

They hear her soft voice and the ruffling of what sounds like bags before they see her. 

“Clove? Clove I need help.” Glimmer turns the corner from the entryway, two large white canvas totes on her arm. Whatever panic she was in pauses as she sees them for the first time in nearly two weeks, as if they were separated across a war torn nation again. “It’s been so long since i’ve seen you- oh! Don’t you two just look so cute and in love.” She raises a hand to her cheek dramatically, pursing her lips out in a plush. “How was the honeymoon?”

“So long? We got married twelve days ago, and it was you who disappeared without a goodbye-“‘Cato starts to debate, but a firm kick to his thigh shuts him up. “I mean, it was great, Glimmer.”

“I was going to ask if you even enjoyed the beach but from the looks of it you did go outside!! I’m very proud.” The woman sits herself down on the other side of Clove, still holding a canvas bag on each shoulder. “I’m still just so happy for you!” 

“I’m assuming you did not bring gifts?” Clove closes the portfolio of ideas, placing it on the arm of the couch on the other side of Cato. “The wedding’s over, what kind of emergency could you possibly be having now? The dresses fit, they were perfect, what do you need help with, Glim?”

Glimmer lets out a sigh of clear distress, finally letting the bags fall to the floor and relieving her shoulders of the weight. “I may have overcommitted.” She begins, and the repetitive way she starts to twist at her fingers betrays the anxiety that’s been building. “My mom used to make this chicken when I was little. She didn't make it a lot, but it was for special days. It was just so warm and comforting, Clove. And for the last few days it has been all I have wanted. It keeps me up at night. I think about it all day and I want it so bad and I don’t have a mom to make it so I told Cash and Gloss to come to dinner because I was going to try and I did try and it was terrible and pink and Marvel definitely hated it but lied not to hurt my feelings and I don’t want to kill my brother and my sister and my- Marvel, and I really really want this chicken I don’t even like Chicken with bones but it’s all I want and-“ Glimmer ceases her ramble to takes a deep breath  and squeezes her eyes shut, willing away the tears she is on the verge of releasing over this chicken she desperately craves. It isn’t even that remarkable- she just wants the comfort that her mother cannot give her. “And long story short they’ll be here in two hours for dinner.”

Clove sits up far straighter than her lounging position in Cato’s lap, and his chuckle in the background would have earned him a glare had it not been for the shock filling Clove’s face. In fact, Clove is sure if she had not literally returned from vacation last night, she would have choked her. 

“You invited your family to dinner at my house. That I have to make?” 

“Well…Cash was bringing Enobaria! So! I told her to invite Brutus too!” Glimmer buries her head in the heel of her hands, physically forcing the tears back into her head. “I’m sorry! I just want this so bad and I almost killed Marvel with it earlier, and I’m lonely, and all I want is this chicken.” 

Cato and Clove share what can only be described as a what the fuck look, and Cato puts his hands up in defeat. There had been an unspoken agreement amongst all of them, that knowing Glimmer’s precarious history with food, that they’d never tell her no if she wanted something to eat. This, unfortunately, fell into that category. 

Of course there was the question of are we actually crying over chicken or is this something bigger, but that was simply not something they were willing to address right now. 

“….as long as Brutus doesn’t bring those fucking dogs.” Cato concedes, and can’t help but shiver in distaste. Something about those three giant puppies made him feel incredibly unsettled, despite the significant size advantages he had on the literal dogs. “I sure as hell won’t complain about anything you make.”

Clove shoots him a look of disbelief, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, as he merely shrugs. “You should make those really good potatoes with it too, Clovey. ”

Glimmer look’s up with glistening eyes, and nods enthusiastically. “I promised there’d be salad too.”

“Am I your personal chef, Glimmer?” Clove mumbles, but pushes herself from Cato’s lap to a standing position. “I need to start now. If you only gave me two hours, come on, you’re helping.”

“But I can’t cook!” Glimmer tries, but Clove is grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her along regardless. 

“You’re going to learn SOMETHING today.”

Clove drags Glimmer, who shuffles her feet in hesitation, all the way to her kitchen island before beginning to dig around her kitchen drawers. “I’ve seen Cato eat an entire chicken for breakfast when we were younger, you better have at least two between him, marvel, and Enobaria.”

She’s fluttering around the kitchen, sliding a cutting board in front of Glimmer along with an impeccably sharpened chef's knife. Directly beside Glimmer she places one for herself, but instead pulls out something that not long ago Glimmer would have seen her throwing at a target in the capitol training center before their conjoined games. She must make a face at the realization, because Clove’s soft laugh grounds her back in reality.”

“It makes me feel like I'm still doing something cool.” Clove explains, running her finger over the sharp edge of the knife. “Not much use for them other than this, anymore.”

Glimmer shakes her head rapidly, eyes wide as Clove pulls the two little chickens out and plops them directly in the large, steel sink behind them. “This is so cool, Clove. So cool.”

“What? Cooking? It’s a basic survival skill when you’re seven and no one likes you, Glimmer.” Clove comments, before bringing the cleaned chicken over to Glimmer. “Okay. You’re going to learn how to do this, today. What’s your mother put on them?”

“...I don’t know. It was just good.” Glimmer shrugs, and takes the most minute step back away from the raw bird carcass, hands flush against her abdomen so she doesn’t have to touch it by accident. 

“What the hell do you mean that you don’t know, I can’t just magically recreate it? Didn’t you want it specifically?” Clove whips her head to look at Glimmer in sheer disbelief, taking the opportunity to pull her long hair to the center of her head, securing it back and out of the way of her work before reaching out and flicking the ends of Glimmer’s ever increasing long blonde hair. “I’d pull this back, unless you want raw meat fluid in your hair.”

Glimmer gags. Audibly gags. So loud in fact that Cato peaks into the Kitchen with a bewildered, but smug expression before he pulls a chair over to the island across from them. “I have to watch this.”

“God you’re such a dick.” Glimmer mumbles, but composes herself in time to loosely tie her hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let's just..do this.”

“You’re the one who wanted it.” Clove rolls her eyes, but hands Glimmer a pair of kitchen shears. “Okay. Pull out the insides, and then you’re going to cut out the spine. It cooks faster that way.”

What little color Glimmer had in her face drains immediately, leaving her a sickly shade of translucent white. She drops the scissors instantly, and braces herself on the marble countertop. “T-the insides? We’re going to cut out the what?”

Clove tries, oh she tries, to hide the amused smirk dancing along the corners of her lips, and notices Cato does not even bother to hide his own laugh. “Yes the insides, there's a bag of organs in there– Glimmer didn’t you say you already tried this? What did you even do?”

“I just..I unwrapped it and put it in the oven for a while, I don’t know!” Glimmer defends, but anxiously wrings at her hands. “They don’t come with directions.”

“Damn, I get it now, I wouldn’t want to stick around if I were Marvel either-” Cato starts, but the look Clove throws his way is as sharp as the knives she once did.  “I mean..totally understandable mistake…you know what, I value my life and I enjoy being married so I'm going back to the couch if you need me.”

“Smart move.” Clove remarks, shaking her head as he walks away. “Smart fucking move.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” Glimmer decides, pushing herself away from the cutting board and the knives. “These look like babies.”

“They’re featherless, dead, headless chickens, Glimmer.” Clove reminds her firmly, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her in again. “They aren’t babies.”

“They look like the size of new babies. I can't cut them up.” Glimmer insists, pulling away until her back hits the countertop behind her. “I can’t.”

“Glimmer! YOU have killed people’s babies, now get over here and cut out the spine of this fucking chicken.” Clove snaps, grabbing the pair of scissors. “It’s going to make it cook evenly and faster and it’s called spatch-cocking–”

“You’re doing what to a chicken?” Comes from the living room, the disembodied laugh of Cato following behind. “Say that word again!”

“I married a fucking child.” Clove murmurs, and once again drags Glimmer closer. “Just wait until you have to put butter under the skin.” 

“Oh my fucking god.” Glimmer whines, but stands dutifully beside Clove. She does not reach for the scissors, as she isn’t sure she’s capable of steadily holding anything in this immediate moment. “I just feel so so sick.”

When Clove digs a knife through the back of one of the chickens, the grinding sound of ribs and bones separating from the spine push Glimmer over the edge. “I think I need to lay down.”

“Wait, listen to this. Cato always wants to do this part but it’s my favorite.” Clove climbs on top of the counter, and flips the raw chicken over. She kneels over the cutting board, and puts both her hands on top of the chicken. Quickly and efficiently she presses her weight forward, and the sound of ribs shattering and cracking echoes through the kitchen. 

Glimmer hits the floor within seconds.

“Oh for fucks sake…Cato! Glimmer’s down.” Clove hops off the countertop, and steps over her friend. She switches the cutting board to work on Glimmer’s untouched task. She doesn’t bother to move Glimmer as she begins to work on that one as well, cutting through skin and tissue as if for a moment she is back in the games. 

“Hey that's the best part,” Cato pouts as he appears behind Clove, leaning down to kiss her cheek briefly, before leaning down to scoop Glimmer’s unconscious body into his arms. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“I dunno. Put her in one of the extra rooms.” Clove shrugs, but cocks her head as she looks at Glimmer’s uncharacteristically pale skin. “She seems sick, Cato.”

“What’s new?” Cato grumbles, but does as he is instructed to carry their friend out of the warzone that is Clove’s kitchen. 

Marvel arrives within the hour.

He lets himself in directly through the back kitchen door, a goofy, warm smile on his face. “There’s my favorite ex-bride, how was your little trip!” He announces himself, setting various bottles of wine and other alcohol on the island as a peace offering for Glimmer’s otherwise frantic arrival. “I burn if I even think about the beach too long, but it sounds fun.” He glances around the kitchen, where various arrays of trays full of food cooling or waiting to go in the oven are spread. “Where’s Glim?”

“That's a great segway. I think I should be asking you about your last two weeks.” Clove teases, narrowing her eyes at the man. “Are you two like..back together? Are you just fucking, what’s going on over there?”

“Great question Clove, great question. Things are good, really, they’re great. I’ve been staying there for like two weeks but I don’t know, Clove. I don’t know how I'd explain it.” He reaches for one of the still sizzling roasted potatoes, but drops it both from the burn on his fingertips and the sharp whack on the back of fingers with Clove’s rubber spatula. “I’m just taste testing! Seriously, where is she?”

“I cut the spine out and she passed out. The whole thing really freaked her out, I don’t know. She’s upstairs sleeping.” Clove waves off, focused instead on the slicing and peeling of pomegranate for the salad in front of her. “I thought she said she tried to do it herself.”

“Clove. She did. I threw up for forty five minutes after she left, it was raw. And cold. All she talked about for three days was this chicken, I couldn’t just say no.” Marvel admits with a low whisper, as if the sound would travel all the way upstairs and wake her up with fresh betrayal. 

“Look who it is! I think we need to start calling you loverboy.” Cato surprises Marvel, grabbing him by the top of the shoulders and squeezing. He leans in from behind him and whispers “I have videos of you drunk, crying over her, at eight in the morning. I will never delete them.” 

“It was an emotional day, Cato.” He defends himself, but can’t help the silly little smile that he cannot wipe away from his face. “I was just feeling the love.”

“You were feeling something alright, and that something is five-seven and blonde-” 

“Okaaay, who wants a drink.” Marvel jumps up from the island chair, scurrying over to let himself into the cabinet that contains all the various glassware. “Glimmer made this cranberry thing the other day that was so good, well.. I thought it was good. It made her do that gaggy thing.” 

Clove slowly turns her head to watch him shuffle around the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do we need to be concerned that everything is making her do that, because the chicken did too. Is this some new ploy to not eat?”

“Nah, she wants to try things, maybe she’s just getting sick. She’s the one who wanted this dinner so badly.” Marvel insists, stealing a handful of Clove’s pomegranate seeds to sprinkle in the coup glasses. “I guess if she’s sick we’re all going to get it so. Enjoy it before it hits us.”  He slides a glass in Clove’s general direction, before sliding a matching one to Cato. 

It’s Clove’s turn to choke, when the burn of the liquid hits her tongue. “Uh yeah, Marvel, this is straight up vodka.”

Cato seems unphased, and instead takes the entire thing like a shot. “I don’t think it’s half bad.”

“Ah. Right. I’m supposed to add the juice to it. Sorry!” Marvel helps himself to the refrigerator, searching for whatever he simply assumes Clove will have on hand. On his way past a tray of croutons, he nabs a handful to shove in his mouth before he continues speaking.  “I was thinking, you could use the leftover chicken to make chicken soup, that could be REALLY good.” Marvel suggests, words barely comprehensible around the crunch of toasted bread. 

The look Clove responds with is a blend of disdain, disgust, and amusement as the blade of her knife does not stop rocking to slice through the salad vegetables in front of her, a skill to cut and look away from training days past. “...do I look like your mother, Marvel?”

“Well, no, my mother’s dead and you’re not.” Marvel says so easily, so casually, it’s almost possible to ignore the ache in his voice,

Clove can’t help but drop her knife, bringing her head to rest in her hands as her shoulders shake with laughter, “Hey, so is mine!”

Joining in with borderline giggles, Cato adds; “Hey, Clove, tell Marvel what you had to do to the chicken.”

“...I cut out the spine and broke the ribs?” Clove plays with an innocent intonation in her voice, knowing full well what Cato’s trying to get her to say again. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Noooo, Clove say it. Say the word.” Cato pleads, sticking his bottom lip out in a little pout. “Say it.”

Clove audibly sighs as she rolls her eyes, but gently places her hands on the counter, and looks to Cato with a serious expression. Without flinching, smirking, or letting her expression betray her, Clove looks him dead in the eye as she says, “it’s called spatchcocking.”

Cato and Marvel both erupt into childish laughter, Marvel even more so than Cato, as he has to place the glass in his hand back down so he doesn't drop it. Marvel continues to laugh, nearly bent in half with his forehead resting on the countertop as his entire body shakes with his laughter. “Say it again, say it again.” Marvel begs, resting his face on the cool marble countertops. 

“You’re also a fucking child.” Clove reminds, going back to her task at hand of trying to rapidly finish dinner before the rest of their friends (family?) arrives.  “Leave my kitchen. Both of you.”

“But Clovey-” Cato starts, reaching to wrap his arms around her waist before she slaps his hands away. 

“Out.”

Marvel wipes the tears out of his eyes as he grabs one of his wine bottles and heads towards any room but this. “Hey, do you have any wedding cake left I didn’t get to have any-”

“Out.” 

 By the point Glimmer is awake, she remains curled up on the couch looking rather green. 

“Glimmer do you want to come try the chicken, see if it’s how you like it?” Clove offers, holding out a tiny plate to her. 

As soon as Glimmer reaches for it, the smell hits her and leaves her maybe even more nauseous than before. She gags before she can even skewer it with a fork, and Clove walks away with fury all over her face. 

The audacity to come all this way, beg for dinner, and then outright gag at it. 

Fuck you, Glimmer. 

All four of their older counterparts arrive at once, exactly on time, as if they were waiting across the street for the clock to strike dinnertime.

“At least you didn’t bring the dogs.” Cato greets Brutus, who otherwise would in fact be tormenting him with three pitbulls running through his yard. 

“Clove won’t let them around the food. I had to prioritize.”

Gloss follows close behind, and immediately is confused by the way Glimmer is curled up on the couch rather than playing her favorite role of hostess (even at someone else's house.)

“She had the audacity to gag at my chicken. She better get used to fending for herself. What a bitch.” Clove explains, standing to the side as Cashmere leads Enobaria in by her hand.

“She’s not herself, Clove, don’t take it out on her. She tried to cook. You know something’s up with her.” Cashmere gently reminds her, tugging in Enobaria behind her. 

“Cooking is Clove’s love language these days, Glimmer just broke her heart.” Enobaria teases, but pulls out a bottle of the good District One wine to have with Dinner. “I knew there was no way in hell we were eating in one.”

“I thought you were in One this weekend at Cashmere’s?” 

“Oh, yeah. Whenever Glimmer said dinner at six everyone came to two. We’ve been patiently waiting by the door.” Enobaria explains, looping her arm over Clove’s shoulders. “Look at you. A little housewife making family dinner.” 

“Do NOT call me that-” Clove warns, but any further commentary is interrupted by Marvel, who runs into the living room with that stupid, goofy grin on his face. 

“Clove! Tell everyone what you did to the chicken!”