#thg clove imagines

[cloveswifey]

Mentor

Pairings: Cato Hadley x Fem!Reader

A/n: not exactly sure if this was what you wanted when you requested; hopefully this is good enough. Part 2 will be on its way maybe?

Type: Angst + Fluff

Warnings: blood, swearing, the hunger games, insults, arguing, fighting, medicine.

Words: 1.9k

Request: Cato × reader when he won the 74 and she won the 72 and she's younger than him and they fall in love and ppl are surprised he's soft for her

Y/n had always known that she was destined for greatness. Growing up in District 2, she had been trained from a young age to become a tribute in the Hunger Games. She had learned how to use a bow and arrow with deadly accuracy, and she was smart enough to outwit any opponent who dared to cross her.

As the day of the 72nd Hunger Games approached, Y/n felt a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew that the Games were a brutal and unforgiving competition, but she was determined to emerge victorious.

When the Games began, Y/n immediately put her skills to the test. She used her bow and arrow to take down several of her opponents, and she quickly established herself as a force to be reckoned with. She was smart enough to avoid direct confrontation whenever possible, instead using her wits and her knowledge of the arena to stay one step ahead of the other tributes.

As the days passed, Y/n continued to impress the audience with her skill and her cunning. She was one of the youngest tributes in the Games, but she was also one of the most deadly. She had a natural talent for survival, and she was able to adapt quickly to the ever-changing conditions of the arena.

Despite her success, Y/n never lost sight of her ultimate goal: to emerge victorious from the Hunger Games. She knew that there were still several formidable opponents left in the competition, and she was determined to outlast them all.

As the final showdown approached, Y/n prepared herself for the ultimate battle. She knew that she would need to be at her very best if she was going to emerge victorious, and she focused all of her energy on the task at hand.

When the final battle began, Y/n was ready. She used all of her skills and knowledge to outwit her opponents, and she fought with a fierce determination that left her adversaries reeling. In the end, it was Y/n who emerged victorious, having proven herself to be the most skilled and resourceful tribute in the entire competition.

As she stood before the cheering crowds, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. She had survived the Hunger Games and emerged as the ultimate victor, a testament to her strength and her courage. From that day forward, Y/n would be remembered as one of the greatest tributes in the history of the Hunger Games, a true champion who had overcome incredible odds to achieve her ultimate goal.

As Y/n emerged from the arena, she was greeted by a sea of flashing cameras and cheering fans. She had just become the youngest winner in the history of the Hunger Games, and her achievement had not gone unnoticed.

Alongside her stood Finnick Odair, the dashing and charismatic tribute from District 4. Finnick had won the 65th Hunger Games at the age of 14, and he had gone on to become one of the most beloved victors of all time. Now, he stood beside Y/n, the newest member of the exclusive club of Hunger Games champions.

As Y/n made her way through the crowds, she was praised for her incredible skill and bravery. She had faced off against some of the toughest opponents in the Games, and she had emerged victorious against all odds. Her youth had been seen as a disadvantage by many, but she had used it to her advantage, relying on her quick reflexes and her natural agility to outmaneuver her opponents.

Finnick, too, was quick to praise Y/n for her incredible achievement. He had been in her shoes once, and he knew just how difficult it was to win the Hunger Games at such a young age. He saw in Y/n a kindred spirit, a tribute who had overcome incredible odds to become a true champion.

Together, Y/n and Finnick became the talk of the Capitol. They were hailed as the brightest stars of the Hunger Games, two young tributes who had proven themselves to be the very best of the best. They were invited to all of the most exclusive parties and events, and they were showered with gifts and accolades from their adoring fans.

For Y/n, the experience was both exhilarating and overwhelming. She had never imagined that she would become a Hunger Games champion, let alone one who was celebrated alongside the legendary Finnick Odair. But as she basked in the glow of her newfound fame, she knew that she had truly achieved something remarkable. She had proven that age was just a number, and that anyone, no matter how young or inexperienced, could become a true champion if they had the courage and the determination to succeed.

2 years later

Years had passed since Y/n had won the Hunger Games, but her name was still remembered by many. She had become a living legend, a symbol of hope and resilience in a world that was often dark and cruel. So it was no surprise when she received a summons to President Snow's office, inviting her to mentor the tributes of the 74th Hunger Games.

At first, Y/n was hesitant. She had left the world of the Hunger Games behind, and she had no desire to return to it. But something in Snow's voice had piqued her curiosity, and she found herself accepting the invitation despite her misgivings.

Y/n pov

I soon returned to my home district, after being at the Capitol to fulfil President snows wishes.

As I arrived, Brutus was preparing to announce this year's tributes. She watched from the sidelines as Brutus approached the bowl of names.

But just as he was about to draw a slip of paper, a voice rang out from the crowd. "I volunteer as tribute!" My eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on a small, tough-looking girl.

She had dark brown hair and freckles scattered across her face. With a proud smirk, she strode up to the stage.

"What's your name?" Brutus asked into the microphone.

"Clove Kentwell," she replied with a smirk.

"Congratulations, Clove!" Brutus exclaimed, applauding. "Now, Y/n, would you do the honors and select our male tribute?"

I nodded and walked up to the bowl, but before I could pick a paper, another voice cried out, "I volunteer for the Games!"

A muscular blonde man stepped out of his aged-group line and began walking towards the stage.

"What's your name?" I asked into the microphone.

"Cato. Cato Hadley," he replied with a smirk, looking out at his district. He then turned to me and winked before taking his place beside Clove.

As they rode the train to the Capitol, Cato began making fun of Y/n for being younger than him. "How is a younger person gonna teach me anything?" he taunted.

"Age doesn't matter, Hadley," Y/n scoffed.

"Why's that?" Clove sarcastically laughed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hey, now. Let's not be rude," Brutus said, trying to diffuse the situation.

But Cato wasn't having it. "You're just a kid. What could you possibly teach us?" she sneered.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "I may be young, but I have experience," she said firmly.

"Experience in what? Tying knots?" Clove scoffed.

"Shut it, Freckles. I could easily put one of my arrows into your thick skull and send you flying across this room," Y/n spat at the small girl.

Clove rolled her eyes, but Y/n could see a glimmer of respect in her gaze. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to prove herself to these tributes.

Y/n, Brutus, Clove, and Cato arrived in the Capitol, ready for the 74th Hunger Games.

As they waited for the parade to begin, Y/n noticed that Cato looked nervous. She walked over to him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked.

Cato nodded, but Y/n could see the fear in his eyes. "I'm just nervous," he admitted.

‘Nervous? I don’t do nervous’ Thought Cato.

Y/n smiled. "I know, but you're going to do great. Just remember to stay focused and don't let your emotions get the best of you."

Cato nodded again, and Y/n could see that her words had helped calm him down. As the parade began, Cato and Clove climbed onto their chariot and rode through the streets of the Capitol.

The crowd roared as they passed by, and Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. They were representing their district, and she was determined to make them proud.

As they made their way back to the training center, Y/n pulled Cato aside. "Listen, I know you're a great fighter, but you need to be careful. Don't let your anger get the best of you. Stay focused, and don't make any unnecessary moves."

Cato nodded, and Y/n could see the determination in his eyes. She knew he was going to be a tough competitor, but she also knew that he had what it took to win.

As the days passed, Y/n continued to give Cato and Clove advice and support. She knew that they were all in this together, and that they needed to work as a team if they wanted to survive.

Cato was confident as he entered the arena for the 74th Hunger Games. He knew that he was a strong fighter, but he also knew that he had a lot to prove. Luckily, he had Y/n as his mentor, and she had been a great help to him throughout his training.

As the games began, Cato fought hard, taking down his opponents one by one. But when he came up against Thresh, things took a turn for the worse. Thresh was a tough opponent, and he managed to injure Cato's leg.

Cato was in pain, but he knew he couldn't give up. He thought of Y/n, who had sent him medicine to help with the pain. He knew he had to keep fighting, for her.

As the days passed, Cato continued to fight, but he found himself thinking more and more about Y/n. She had been there for him from the beginning, and he had come to rely on her for support.

As he made it to the final battle, Cato knew that he had to win. He thought of Y/n, and all of the help she had given him. He knew that he couldn't let her down.

In the end, Cato emerged victorious. As he stood on the podium, he looked out into the crowd, searching for Y/n. When he found her, he mumbled the words "I love you Y/n" under his breath.

Y/n heard him, and she smiled. She had grown to care for Cato as well, and she was proud of him for winning the games. She knew that they had a long road ahead of them, but she was ready to face it with him by her side.

[heliads]

Hey again! Got another idea 👀👀 But could I request a Clove Kentwell x past victor reader (won very young) who lives in the capitol? Reader is good friends with Enobaria and Brutus and decides to check in with the tributes/mentors of that years game to see what's up and to give some tips and tricks. Immediately she hit's it off with the other careers other then Clove (who likes her but has no idea how to go about it), they accidently meet on the balcony and start to warm up with each other (R gives Clove a token since she didn't get one). Later on R watches the games with the mentors and not so secretly cheers on Clove (defo get's her sponsor packages). Clove wins and they reunite, with clove making the first move after realizing her feelings during the game. Thank you, and I hope this isn't too long!

'lessons worth learning' - clove kentwell

masterlist

The Hunger Games is always your least favorite time to return to the Capitol. As if any of the other opportunities are good, though; you can be trotted around like a prize pony, gawked at as a Mentor, or called up out of the blue to reminisce on the good old days when you won your Games and were lucky enough to have the lovely experience of murdering children who had done no wrong other than the simple misfortune of having their name pulled from a bowl.

The Games are worse, though. You stand on a balcony, knuckles tight like bone around the railing. Below you, two dozen children ripe for the slaughter mill around, testing weapons and receiving instruction from their mentors. You’re here for mentorship duties yourself, having won your Games a couple of years back and thus entitling you to spend the rest of your life watching other tributes attempt to do the same or die trying.

Some would call it a blessing. Sometimes, though, you envy the dead back in your Games. Their lives, although ended early, are theirs, and theirs alone. They won’t have to live forever as a poster child of the Capitol, an example of what District can amount to if they just try. That isn’t to say that you wish you had died in the Games– you are a fighter, always have been, and you’d rather bleed a thousand times than give up– but you do wish that you could have won without having to be a puppet for all the Games afterwards.

All the Victors know the feeling. You ache like a dog on a leash, all of you, having trained all your lives to win the Games if you were Careers or at least dreaded them your entire childhood, but upon doing the one task set before you, every pretense of independence was ripped away. What was once a prize mastiff or foxhound is now a muzzled lapdog, dolled up every season of the Games before being shut up in the Districts once the fun is over.

The first year of your Victorhood, you could hardly handle it. Everything was switched around. The jokes weren’t funny, and what was worth laughing at could cost your head. The food was too much and the clothes were too little. It was like living in a backwards world, one where one false step would bring destruction to you and your family.

Thankfully, you had your other Victors to help you. Enobaria and Brutus, also from your home district of Two, walked you through the gilded trials of a successful Victor, and in turn, you mentor the next sets of tributes to be sent your way. You won your Games young, surprisingly young, so Brutus and Enobaria tend to be the ones selected for primary Mentorship. 

Turns out most tributes prefer to be taught by actual adults, thinking them more experienced and a better shot at their own survival. That’s fine by you, by all accounts; the more time out of the limelight, the better. You’re still required to show up to the Capitol, being the youngest Victor in quite a while means you’ll never fully be released from the Capitol’s fascination, but you can be a quiet darling in the shadows any time you like. If there’s one thing the years have taught you, it’s that it is far, far better to be the dusty doll left behind in the toy chest than the one out on display.

This time around, however, Brutus and Enobaria called you up to give the tributes some advice. District Two hasn’t won a round of the Games since– well, since you, and that was more than a couple of years ago. Since you’re the most recent Two victor, you’ll have valuable insights to provide. Supposedly.

Thus, you find yourself leaning against this balcony, watching the tributes prepare themselves to die. There’s a good amount of competition amongst the Reaped ones this year, it’ll be a tough fight. You don’t envy anyone down there for the task they’ll have to face. Both the tributes from One look formidable, plus a good crop of others from a smattering of districts. Of course, your fellow tributes from Two look strong too, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Then again, the girl from Two this year, a certain Clove Kentwell, does seem to be impressing everyone in her path. She’s about your age, and you probably would have seen her around Two more often were it not for the fact that you’re more fond of suppressing memories in the Victor’s Village than training for the Games you’ll never have to enter again. She seems clever, which is a good thing. Clever girls can get themselves out of deadly loopholes. You can speak to that through past experience.

She’s watching you now, actually. It’s no surprise. Clove has been keeping her eyes on you since the moment she was Reaped. At this point, the quiet weight of her gaze on your shoulders has grown comfortable, more like a woolen cloak than a knife in your back. It’s not a hostile gaze either, this, just painstakingly present. Clove doesn’t mind it if you catch her looking. She’s not the type to glance away first. Good. Anything to keep weakness off her shoulders.

Clove’s fingers tap absentmindedly on her legs, then she seems to make a decision and walks up to talk to you. Your eyes flash to the Peacekeepers stationed at the exits, but they don’t flinch. Still, you have no doubt that they’re watching. It’s fine if the tributes want to talk to the Mentors, but you can’t give them any weapons, nor any advantage at all other than a few good pieces of advice. There’s only so far advice will go anyway, but you might as well offer up what you have. At least then you won’t leave this round of the Games as you do every other:  wondering if what you’d done was enough, and then trying to scrub another set of two young names out of your brain for another year in a row.

Clove reaches the top of the balcony and folds her arms across her chest, eyeing you down like you’re another tribute. It’s a mistake that’s been made before, actually. You’re awfully young for a Mentor, but then again, you were awfully young for a Victor as well.

“So, you’re supposed to be helping me win these things?” She asks daringly.

You nod. “You and your fellow tribute.”

Clove knows this, of course. She’s testing the waters, searching for some kind of reaction. You’re not sure what she wants, but she’ll probably convince herself of it soon enough anyway. Better not to get involved. Better not to get attached. You know how this ends, don’t you? You know better than to enjoy someone’s company if you know they’re going to die.

“You won a few years ago, didn’t you? You were the young one they couldn’t stop talking about?” Clove asks.

You force a smile. It’s as cold and disinterested as you can make it. “That’s me. Although I would have assumed your plan for winning the Games wouldn’t involve rattling off exciting facts about mine.”

“Isn’t it your job to share details about your Games so you can give me a strategy to win mine?” Clove snips at you. She’s fiery. Like you, when you dare to let your spark grow out of the stifling embrace of the Capitol.

“No two Games are the same,” you shoot back. “It’s a better use of your time and mine to consider the current situation instead of mulling over the past. The only things you should think about right now are the present and the immediate future. The next few weeks are your entire life. The past can rot with the rest of the tributes who died because they failed to plan properly.”

Clove whistles. “Charming. Did Brutus and Enobaria bring you here because of your knack for motivational speeches?”

Your grin is bitter. “That, and they knew I wouldn’t coddle you. These are the Hunger Games, Clove. Realism is all you have.”

“Because the Hunger Games are all that will matter in my life?” Clove asks, tone acidic. “Funny, I didn’t think the youngest Victor would have agreed with that.”

“I don’t,” you answer her. “It’s because you’re going to win the Games, and then you’re going to go home, and none of it will have mattered at all.”

Clove pulls a face, disbelieving. “Of course. Winning the Hunger Games won’t mean a single thing in Two. That makes perfect sense.”

“It won’t matter,” you insist, “Sure, it will, for a couple of days. Then you’ll be in Victor’s Village with the rest of District Two’s idols and you’ll blend right in. For months afterwards, you will be flush with victory, knowing you’ve done this spectacular thing, and no one will even care. It’ll be all you can think about, and no one will know. This is the Hunger Games, Clove Kentwell. They matter to you because you’re in them, but once everyone else knows their name won’t be pulled, it’s nothing to them.”

Clove’s eyes have gone quiet. “They’ll have to remember, though. Every year, when they make us do the Victory Tour or go back to the Capitol.”

“Sure, sure,” you say listlessly. “You’ll be one of the Victors. But they’ll forget what year you won, or what you did to deserve it. After a while, they won’t be able to remember if you were the sibling of a Victor, or the lover, or a friend. What do you think happened to me, huh? When you came in here, you didn’t even know my name, and I won just a couple of years ago. Face it, Clove. It all ends after this.”

Clove is silent for a while, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and wooden. “So how do I fight that? How do I be someone they’ll remember?”

You chuckle bitterly. “You can’t.”

Clove’s face flashes with irritation. “Then why are you here, huh? I thought Mentors were supposed to help us. Is your job just to depress us and then leave? Whose side are you really on?”

She’s started moving towards you with every word, inching forward threateningly. You don’t back down or move a muscle, and when you’re both eye to eye, barely a few inches apart, close enough to see how her chest rises and falls with the brunt of her anger, you bite out at last, “Yours.”

“I don’t believe you,” Clove hisses back.

You smirk. It’s not a nice thing to see. The Capitol has stripped the warmth from your emotions, leaving only blank ghosts of what were once shiny, vivid expressions. “You don’t have to. Look around you. You are in the Capitol. Look at how everyone here looks at you.”

You put your hand on Clove’s cheekbone, forcing her to turn around. You can see it in her expression as she gets what you’re saying, how her eyes harden even more, how she shifts back away from everyone else and towards you again. This, after all, is what it means to be a tribute. The Capitol citizens eye you like a piece of meat, the other competitors stare you down like a hawk who’s caught onto its prey. There are no friendly faces here, just territorial or greedy or both.

“So you’re the better option,” Clove murmurs.

“That’s one way of putting it,” you admit. “I know how it feels to be out there. Alone, despite your Mentors.”

“And you wanted to make sure I felt that, too?” Clove asks, somewhat bemused.

You shake your head. “I wanted you to feel the opposite.”

Clove considers this, then looks back at you again. The hostility is gone from her eyes, replaced with curiosity. “I think I do,” she says.

“Good,” you tell her. “Now we can work together on how to make you win this.”

After that, Clove is focused, her simmering rage honed to a knifepoint’s sharpness. She finds precise techniques to master and practices them over and over again until she’s sure of herself. Those skills that she’s unfamiliar with, she gains a bare capability. She doesn’t need to be good at everything, just not bad at anything. It’s far harder than it sounds, but Clove is all too willing a pupil.

Enobaria finds you later that night. She’s mulling over a drink, and you’re watching the recordings of the tributes’ daily trainings over again so you can spot any weaknesses or potential allies. “The girl seems to be taking to your lessons,” she notes. Her sharpened teeth flash in the low light of the room.

You keep your eyes on the screen ahead of you. “Clove is a proper Career. She makes our district proud. She’s had a lifetime of lessons, and not just mine.”

“Clove?” Enobaria asks, eyebrow arched as she calls out the first name basis. “Getting along quite nicely, aren’t you?”

You elect not to comment, instead focusing on the image of Clove’s form on the recording as she practices with her knives. Enobaria shakes her head, chuckling softly in a manner not too far removed from a jackal when it sights its prey. “I thought you knew better than to get attached to tributes, Y/N. You know Mentors should never fixate on those that will likely end up dead.”

“Of course,” you answer her. “And when you were mentoring me, you never did anything of the sort, right?”

With that comment, you finally look up at her, grinning slightly. Enobaria barks out a laugh, knowing full well that she’d seen you as a sister while you were training. “Get some rest,” she tells you at last. “Your Clove needs you to be functional.”

Your Clove. You can’t deny that you like the ring of it. Enobaria is right to warn you to keep your emotional guard up, though. Soon enough, the week of training is up, and then the tributes are receiving their last words of advice from their Mentors before being sent to the Arena.

You meet with Clove one final time, relating the last bits of information, though the last thing you say to her isn’t practical guidance but a raw, naked hope that she will survive. She promises you she’ll win. You’ve heard many such promises, but for the first time, you believe it.

Then she’s gone, and you are alone with only the other Mentors and Victors to guide you. There’s not a moment to waste, though. Clove has hardly vanished from your sight before you’re racing back up to the viewing stations, where you fling yourself wholeheartedly into the masterful game of winning over sponsors. If Clove has to be out there, fighting for her life, you’ll make sure she’s doing so with the best weapons, medicine, and food that you can bring her.

It’s a terrible thing, sending a friend to die. Worse still when Clove was the first tribute you let through your walls in a very long time. You spent a while winning her over with your experience as a tribute, but Clove won you over too. You watch her as much as you dare, your brave girl, cheering whenever she survives a tricky situation and engulfed in fear whenever she’s in trouble.

At the end of a couple of the longest weeks of your life, though, Clove emerges victorious, the final cannon blast signaling the end of her trials. You swear that you were more stressed during the showdown of the last two tributes than during your own Games, although surely that would be impossible. Clove is brought back from the Arena and immediately checked into the medical wing to handle several injuries from the final fight.

Once visitors are allowed, though, you’re the first one through that door. Clove is in your arms at once. Her eyes are bright upon seeing you, but there’s a shadow that wasn’t there before. She’s a Victor now. It’s not all grand and glorious celebrations. Once the euphoria of still being alive wears off, Clove will have to walk the longer and harder path, the one that doesn’t let you go after a matter of weeks. The memories of this torment will stick with her forever, and the nightmares don’t ease up just because you get older.

Clove will have you, though. Always. You promise her this now, and have just enough time to see the rush of relief in her expression before you’re separated again. Clove will have to be made over by her team so she can be crowned Victor in front of the Capitol. They’ll make her talk about the kills and the narrow escapes, but then she can leave, and so can you.

You watch her from the audience during the interview, then meet her backstage afterwards. She pulls you into a dark corridor behind the grand mess of stylists and Capitol citizens. There are many annexes and mouse holes in the mansions of the Capitol, small places to be alone if you only know where to look.

“You were stunning,” you tell her honestly.

“It’s over now,” she says dazedly. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” you confirm. “You’ll go home. You’ll recover. They’ll drag a few more appearances out of you, but it’s over. You won.”

“I don’t know how to handle this part,” she confesses. “I don’t know how to be a Victor. Will you show me?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’ll be perfect at it, just like you were in the Games. You earned that crown, Clove. Be happy. As happy as you can.”

Clove’s eyes shine, rivaling the low glow of the Victor’s crown nestled in her dark curls. Out of some impulse, she reaches up and plucks the gold circlet from her temples before placing it on your head instead. Her hand lingers near your face, dropping slowly from your forehead to your cheek, where her fingers remain, soft against your skin. These are the hands that are responsible for twenty-three dead tributes, and your mouth is the one who taught her how to do it. Still, when it is just the two of you in the quiet dark, you would swear that you and Clove have only ever done good things; pure, too, like falling in love with a girl who grew up loving you, like finding someone to guide through death itself and ensuring that she would walk out the other side.

“I remember that from your Games,” she says dazedly. “You looked good with the crown.”

You laugh quietly. “If that’s all you remembered about my Games, I would be happy.”

Clove’s eyes are dark and large. Falling into them is easy, you don’t think you could escape if you tried. What a sweet way to drown. “If this is all I remember about mine, I would be happy, too.”

You take her hands in the dark. “I’ll help you forget if you help me.”

“Together,” Clove says. “Promise it.”

“Together,” you swear. “Always.” There is no such thing as always, not in the Capitol. Not in this hopeless city, not in this starving country. For a moment, though, for two girls away from the prying eyes of the world, it exists as a bond between the two of them, drawing them inexplicably and permanently together. It’s an oath of blood and gold, a crown that soothes and cuts to the core. Nothing is good here, not in Panem, but you will have Clove, and you will have her always.

requested by @beepboopnel-deactivated20240128, i hope you enjoy!

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[alavestineneas]

Forever

pairing: Clove Kentwell x fem!reader

summary: Maybe Clove wasn’t a terrible person. Maybe she was just seventeen. AU, in which Clove wins the Hunger Games.

warnings: typical hunger games violence

When Clove won, people around her were ecstatic - her parents, her mentors, District two and, of course, the Capitol. Sometimes she wonders if she should be too. As soon as President Snow placed a crown on her head, media all over the Panem wanted to know more, tearing her apart with cheap questions. Clove just wanted to rest - she gave them all that they wanted. What's more to say?

"Clove, what are you planning on doing next?" One of the never-ending reporters asks, and she struggles to answer. There was life outside the Games, Clove just was not sure how to spend it now. For a person who won in the arena, she was surprisingly doubtful.

_

"Are you crazy? Clove, what the fuck!?" The girl in front of her yelled.

Y/N, her main competitor in the Academy since they were ten. She was reaped this year before Clove volunteered and now stood in the room reserved for tributes.

"What, Y/L/N, are you jealous again? Oh, I am so sorry to get victor's crown this year. It seems like you lost to me. Again." Clove spatted. Why was she here? To wish her luck? Ridiculous. They weren't even friends.

"No, Clove, listen. It should have been me going into the arena. This is our last year." the tears stained the girl's face. Why was she crying? Was she that sorry not to get a chance to win?

"And give you all the glory? No, thanks. Now stop crying like a kid. It makes you even more pathetic."

Seeing her cry made Clove feel weird. It was weak, not worthy of a career. Not worthy of Y/N and her stupidly captivating eyes.

"May odds be in your favour, Kentwell. District two will be waiting for you."

Clove rolled her eyes. She did not need pity from anyone, but especially from her. ''They are never in yours, surprisingly.''

_

She sat near the fire in the arena. It was almost the fifth day here. Clove was covered in dirt, blood and sweat from head to toe. She wanted to go home.

Laughter filled the stillness of the night. It was a boy and girl from District one. Clove couldn't help but think how weird and unnatural their voices sounded. How could that be viewed as desirable by the nation? She knew the only person in Panem whose laugh wasn't annoying. Too bad it was never for Clove.

For anyone but her. Y/N was the golden one at the Academy. She was pretty and lively, making it almost impossible for the people around to hate her. Everyone was either her friend or wanted to be one. Clove was the opposite of that - most of the kids were afraid to even talk to her, except for a few.

"I am not afraid of you because I know who you are, Clove. Just a scared girl with a lot of insecurities trying to prove something. You can foul anyone but not me."

Clove hated how Y/N always seemed to be right. She was scared. She already killed five people and lost her partner to some kind of poisonous bird. And it was only the beginning.

Suddenly, she heard a scream. Clove jumped on her feet and grabbed the nearest knife. The time-out was over.

_

Almost half a year since her win. Victor's Village was relatively silent at this time. Mentors were either in Capitol or Academy, leaving Clove to herself. She had a house now - a pretty big one. It was awful to look at - she couldn't believe she thought it was worth it.

Clove still sees their faces in her nightmares - they don't tell you about that in Academy. How hard it is to continue living with blood on your hands, the blood of the children who didn't stand a chance against her knives. Some begged her not to kill them, some tried to fight back. It did not matter in the end. She was here, and they were dead. Haunting her for the rest of her life.

Enobaria said it doesn't get better. Clove believes her - now, her mentor has no reason to lie. She was mad at all of them; at her parents, who pushed their only child to almost certain death for a faint promise of glory; at mentors for inciting her to volunteer; at District two citizens who now saw her killing innocent children as one of the greatest things a person can do; at Capitolees who made her retell each day at the arena for their entertainment.

There was only one person who she couldn't bring herself to hate, although it was the most obvious choice. The one that should've been in the Games instead of her. Y/N. One more tricked child that Academy made her hate. She was the most sincere of them, Clove just realised. She was the only one that cried that day. She was the only one to care. Could she know? Clove wasn't sure.

She stood in front of a big wooden door painted dark blue. The weather was quite nice with the still warm sun hitting the tops of the buildings. Clove knocked twice, not sure if it was loud enough for the owners to hear. It was - the door opened with a slight creak, and a middle-aged woman appeared in the door frame.

''Can I help you?'' the woman asked, looking at her impatiently.

''Um, yes. I was looking for Y/N Y/L/N.'' Only now Clove realised how stupid it was to come here. What if it was not her house? What if she doesn't want to see her? What are they going to talk about? What if she got everything messed up?

The woman turned her head and called over her shoulder - ''Darling, the Kentwell girl is here to see you!'' - and turned to face Clove once more. ''Come in.''

''You know, I am sorry, I shouldn't have come, I will-'' Clove started, but the girl on the staircase already noticed her.

''Clove, what a surprise! Come in! The kettle is about to boil.''

There were no chances of retreating now. She was stuck.

_

Clove looked at the sweets in front of her as Y/N paced around the small kitchen. She hasn't changed a bit - maybe, her hair grew an inch longer. Y/N still looked strong and healthy, something Clove wished she could do. She was sure she looked horrible - Clove broke all mirrors in her own house.

It was then that she noticed a small creature on the windowsill. A pair of golden eyes looked at her almost in curiosity. The cat made its way down and rubbed against Clove's leg. ''You have a cat.'' she stated, stunned.

''Yes. Is it that surprising?" Y/N joked, placing two cups of hot tea on the table. ''You can touch it, you know. He bites, but I guessed you are used to it.''

''I'm good, thank you.'' Clove took shifted a little on the chair. The creature made her uncomfortable. She took a breath in before asking. ''When did you figure it out?'' That the Hunger Games were a dead end, she wanted to say. She couldn't. Not here.

Y/N signed, resting her chin on her hand. ''After Ms. Pitthorn's speech.''

Clove nodded. She remembered the day the mayor's wife made a speech on the Day of Reaping instead of him. Her hands and lower lip trembled like leaves under the Autumn wind when she read. Clove was fifteen, so she did not pay much attention. It turns out Y/N did. ''You were always the smart one.''

Y/N dramatically gasped. ''Is that a compliment I am sensing, Kentwell?''

Clove felt her ears grow red in embarrassment. ''I hate you.''

Silence filled the room. Y/N's smile dropped, and she tried to hide her frown in the cup, sipping now-cold tea. Clove didn't want to hurt her, yet it was all she ever did. It was a price for not allowing herself to believe the truth all those years, and maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't say this now, but she can't live with the aching feeling in her chest. She wants her to know.

''I did not mean it this way. Not now, not all those years. I'' - she takes a deep breath of warm air in, avoiding eyes drawn to her -''I think I have been in love with you since we were ten. It is so selfish and so childish it makes me laugh. At first, I was jealous, so I convinced myself I hated you. But that's the catch - I never really could, you know? To be honest, it was quite the opposite - you were the only thought that kept me going in the arena. I promised myself that if I ever was to make it out alive, I would talk to you. I did not want to die with you thinking someone could mean the words I once said.''

She finally mastered the courage to look at the young girl in front of her. Her unreadable eyes were filled with tears, the same tears Clove saw on the day of her Reaping. She hated to notice that she was the reason both times.

''I didn't know what to call it, the feeling I had for you, not until I saw you at that damn arena. I have loved no one else but you in my life.''

It was enough. Clove kissed her, their lips meeting for the first time, but it felt like they belonged together. Clove couldn't even imagine how many times she wondered what her lips felt like, and now she finally knew. They felt like home.

She pulled away, breathless. Y/N was in her arms with her forehead pressed against Clove's neck, still fresh tears staining checked shirt.

''Don't you dare leave me again.'', Y/N whispers, and Clove swears that she won't. For the first time since her victory, she thinks it was worth it. They deserved their forever.

[aza-writes]

Revenge or Revolution

Chapter 2

• District 2 • Five Years Before the Revolution •

I shade the dragon's tongue, having him breathe fire onto my notes, causing the lettering to melt and drip to the bottom of the page. It's not like I'm missing anything that important. It's going over the survival tactics for freezing and Arctic-related arenas, which there have been very few of.

They're very boring, most people freeze to death before the actual killing begins. The two times there was an Arctic-like arena it wasn't received well by the capital. Besides, I know every survival tip about the Arctic.

1. Find a waterproof and windproof shelter 2. Ice fishing is the easiest way to find food but it's also the leaves you exposed to the other tributes. Rabbits will be your best bet for food even though they blend in with the snow. 3. Watch for bears and wolves

That's all that is expected for me to know at least, the games are so unpredictable that even the best training alone isn't enough to have a tribute win the games. The game makers do what they want, but it's very unlikely for them to do anything in that cold of an environment.

My teacher drones on and on about some I have known since I was ten until she's cut off by the loud chime of the intercom. 

"Ivory Kentwell, to the Head Dean's office, Ivory Kentwell."

My head snaps up, and everyone's eyes are on me. There's no reason for me to be in trouble, so this is it. The meeting. I have been chosen to volunteer.

I have the opportunity to be a District Two's female tribute. I have the opportunity to be a District Two Victor.

I get up and try to hide the smile that creeps along my face. I can't look too giddy. I need to compose myself, I need to be professional.

I pick up my things and pack them into my backpack. My hands shake a bit, everyone's eyes are still on me. Boys stare in disbelief while girls look either jealous or in awe. The mixed reactions are expected, but I love them all. I love how people are thinking about me. They know why I've been called. Everyone in the school knows.

I smooth out my uniform before I leave the classroom. The halls are silent, but some students are peeking out of the classroom windows watching me march my way to the Dean's office. I manage to stay calm as a few quiet whispers hit my ears.

"She's so young! How did she make first string?"

"Are fifteen-year-olds even allowed to be called so early?"

"I can't believe she beat everyone."

"I bet she's gonna win. Have you seen her throw a knife?"

That last one almost broke my stoic expression.

All the compliments and gossip mean there'll be a district buzz about me which will create more capital buzz. I'm almost guaranteed an abundance of sponsors. Better yet, I'm the first person to be called to the office which gives people even more of a reason to start placing their bets now. They even called me before any male tributes. This is everything my mother always wanted. 

I knock three times before entering the Head Dean's office. My eyes land on the Dean who was speaking with my parents and Clove. 

Parents; plural My dad is here. He came home for me. The whole year he has been home for around five weeks total. He's constantly traveling for his job as head peacekeeper. He's either at headquarters training recruits, meetings at the Capitol, or protecting President Snow. But he came here for me. 

Another smile tries to push itself onto my face, but I keep my stoic expression. This is a professional meeting, I have to act perfectly. Everything my mother has taught me has led to this moment. 

"Miss Kentwell, please have a seat." Head Dean Clemonte nods at me, keeping her face as expressionless as mine. She's not a very personable person, and by the stories of my mother and father, she's been like this ever since she started teaching. 

I follow her instructions and sit down. "Thank you, Miss." I'm in between my parents, Clove is sitting on a bench against the back wall. I wonder what she's thinking right now. Is she proud of me? Sad I'm leaving? Worried? I want to get into her brain. 

My mom places her hand on my shoulder beaming with pride, my father looks at Dean Clemonte, a soldier look on his face. 

"Now, I assume you know why I called you in here today, but for formalities, I will be reading from the official documents." She clears her throat, my mom squeezes my shoulder, my dad is still expressionless, and I'm dying to know what Clove's face looks like. "Congratulations Miss Kentwell, you have been chosen as the first string of potential volunteers for the 69th Annual Hunger Games." 

Holy shit, I actually did it. A sigh of relief leaves my body, a weight being taken off my shoulder. I did it. My hard work paid off! I'm first string, I'm going to be in the games! 

"With this, you will be required to attend Intensive starting tomorrow at 5 a.m. You will officially be excused from Inclusive and will graduate from District Two Preparatory with the grade you currently hold." 

Good, I'll finish at the top of my class, that's another thing for my mother to brag about. But bragging is deserved at this moment, I am the first-string female. I gave up my childhood for this. I deserve this. 

"At Intensive, you are expected to continue to prove yourself. Your ranking may change due to your performance." She clears her throat and looks me in the eyes. "Ivory, this school has a long history of Victors, even more so female. We have the most female victors out of every preparatory in this district. People are doubting you because you are young, but your rankings cannot be ignored." Head Dean Clemonte places the paper down on her desk and leans in closer. Her eyes are locked in on mine, a narrow and serious expression coating her face. "There is no room for failure. If you do not win, this will cause great shame to District 2. Do you understand?" 

I take a long deep breath. I assume it was only a few seconds but to me, it feels like hours have gone by. "Yes Dean Clemonte, I understand." 

All Dean Clemonte did was nod and straighten out her desk before pulling out a folder stuffed with papers. As she hands them to me I can feel my mother's death grip on my shoulder. It's not out of anger or anything, just her trying to mask her excitement for me. She can't have a beaming smile, that wouldn't be proper for this occasion. She composes herself the same way she has taught me to. Face stoic, emotions calm. 

The folder of papers wasn't thick by any means,  no more than ten papers with only a paragraph or two on them. All they said were "Will you volunteer in your respected order" and "Will you attend Intensive" in different ways. I was signing my way into the games, I was signing my way to becoming a victor. 

"Very well Ms. Kentwell. I will send these to the mayor and have copies sent to you as well as the other institutions. You are dismissed from classes for the rest of the day so you have an opportunity to pack for Intensives. Collect your things and check out as you leave." 

"Thank you for the opportunity Dean Clemonte. I will make our district proud." I stood up, as well as the rest of my family. My father is the first one to leave, walking straight out of the office and into the hallway. My mother ushers Clove and me to follow, her trailing behind us but not before thanking Dean Clemonte. 

"I knew you could do it." Clove's voice is a whisper, a true whisper. Her tone was exactly what I expected though, cocky. 

I nudge her a bit, she pushes back. A small giggle follows soon after, interrupted by my mother's fingers snapping once loudly to get our attention. 

"Girls, knock it off." Her teeth are sneered together, her voice is a hiss. "Act like you want to go into the games, not like idiots who so happen can throw a knife." 

"Yes, mother." Clove's arm moves against mine, her posture straightening up at my mom's words, but I don't move. 

I keep my relaxed posture until my father enters my sight. All he does is lift his chin, and I do the same, earning a huff from my mother. 

"Congratulations Ivory." My father doesn't talk much, and his voice is very stern. He used to be a bit more open but once he got promoted to Captain he stopped talking. He has seen so many things he isn't allowed to talk about, so he just stopped talking. "May the odds be ever in your favor." 

I can feel my cheeks tense, a smile spreading across my face. "Thank you." 

My mother clears her throat and smiles. "Well, let's go- Alister! You're leaving?" 

When I turn back around, my father is out the door. "I'm going back to base. It's a busy time." He doesn't even turn around to call back at us. He's in a rush. He didn't even change out of his uniform to come here today. 

Now that I think about it, I don't see him much when he isn't wearing it. He's always coming and going. 

My mother groans before straightening herself up. "That's fine. I need to get back to work anyway." She leans down and kisses Clove on the head. "Get back to class, you still have learning to do." She then looks back up at me, eyes are stern and almost angry. I don't know why she would be angry though, I just made her dreams come true. "Go home. Pack your bag in under an hour then go straight to studying. We'll celebrate tonight so you can leave early tomorrow morning." 

She places her hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek. "I'm very proud of you darling. Our family will gain so much from this." 

A small smile spreads across my face, boasting with pride. "Thank you, mother." 

She pats my shoulder then turns to the main entrance. No more goodbyes, no more "I love you", just me, left alone to clean out my locker and to continue studying.  

••••••

Series master list

[nickeverdeen]

Hunger Games masterlist

Match up:

Finnick Odair

Peeta Mellark

Johanna Mason

Gale Hawthrone

Peeta Mellark #2

Katniss Everdeen

Peeta Mellark #3

Peeta Mellark #4

Finnick Odair #2

Johanna Mason #2

Peeta Mellark #5

Finnick Odair

Peeta Mellark

Finnick Odair

Peeta Mellark

Preferences:

The Hunger Games characters getting jealous

The Hunger Games characters reacting to you wearing their hoodie/jacket while sleeping on the bed when they get home

Modern AU!THG characters as your roomates

Sorting what’s your district:

Nothing yet

Book characters/requests:

Dating Livinia SFW and NSFW hcs

Katniss Everdeen

Imagine:

Unspoken Truths

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Peeta Mellark

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Cato Hadley

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Dating Cato Hadley

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Cato Hadley SFW alphabet

Clove Kentwell

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Clove Kentwell NSFW alphabet

Gale Hawthrone

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

NSFW alphabet with gn!reader

Finnick Odair

Imagine

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Johanna Mason

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Dating Johanna Mason

Johanna x single!mom girlfriend who has a smart-ass kid which loves Johanna and when Johanna gets sick the kid won’t leave her side

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Haymitch Abernathy

Imagine:

Nothing yet

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

Cressida

Imagine:

In the Line of Fire

Hcs:

Nothing yet

Smut:

Nothing yet

Alphabet:

Nothing yet

[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)

—

THG TAG LIST : No one rn 💀

—

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.

[districtunrest]

hey! :) i just saw your tags on one of your reblogs mentioning peeta killing the d4 boy? i was just wondering if you can cite some theories about this or even canon events (maybe i missed something?) in support of this? thank you!

hi good morning! and ofc

I can't find the post now but someone within the last year or so did do the research within the first book to support this. I held the same theory before that, but I'll be going off things I remember that post referencing as well my own rationale, jsyk.

mostly, it always stuck out to me that a Career tribute died during the bloodbath (thg 157). let's forget the movie's depiction of him; the D4 boy was very likely not a younger, untrained kid. the D4 girl was in the Career pack, I think it's safe to assume the D4 boy would have been as well. but he died on the first day.

this is after Haymitch, like this post points out, advised both Peeta and Katniss to stay way from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia (thg 138-139)... and then both of them didn't, lol

because Katniss sees the bow and arrows there and thinks she can go for it, second-guessing that Haymitch wouldn't have advised her like he did if he knew how fast she was (thg 149). but when she sets herself up to run for it, she notices Peeta shaking his head at her - like, no don't please just listen to Haymitch pleaSE - and misses the gong (thg 150). fumbling, she still gets away with a backpack - and a knife from Clove - from the outer edge of the Cornucopia (thg 151). we don't know where Peeta is through all of this, but the next time we do, he's in the Career pack (thg 160).

at which point, Katniss notes,

His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait he's limping somewhat. I remember him shaking his head, telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all along, all along he'd planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had told him to do (thg 161).

...okay at this time in the story Katniss is notorioisly wrong about Peeta. she assigns motives to him that end up being the exact opposite of what's true. so piecing through her judgment here, we can tell Peeta fought, presumably in the bloodbath, and came away from it in the Career pack. we also know he wasn't supposed to do any of that - but he has a crush on Katniss, and plans to die for her, and he saw that she was about to throw herself into the thick of things.

one of the Careers remarks that Peeta is "handy with that knife" - on the first night in the arena (thg 162). so they've already seen him fight, and whoever his opponent was left some considerable damage, and they're down an ally...

so I theorize that, spurred by Katniss' last-minute decision to forgo Haymitch's advice, Peeta followed her into the bloodbath in order to protect her. but whereas Katniss got away, Peeta got caught up in a fight - I presume with the D4 boy. Peeta won, showcasing his knife skills and impressing the other Careers, and then from there was able to talk his way into the pack, with the dual purpose of saving his skin for another day as well as protecting Katniss. after all, she learns during the recap how he "misled the Careers about [her], stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let [her] escape" (thg 363). but I doubt that was his plan from the get-go, he was just working with the circumstances he had. I mean, it would be near impossible for Peeta to leave the alliance alive once he was in it - he's the first one they'd turn on - and so I doubt Haymitch would've approved it prior. to me, it seems like Peeta got stuck in it and used it for all he could.

Peeta goes on to mercy kill the girl from D8 (thg 162). this, I imagine, was harder for him since she was defenseless and not trying to kill him. but I think people conflate this as being his first kill when we don't know that for sure. when watching the recap, Katniss doesn't note Peeta killing the D8 girl - it tracks she wouldn't note him killing the D4 boy, either. not that Katniss doesn't watch/learn this information, but it's just sort of the shock of it all and she wouldn't hold it against him in any way. and we know all too well Katniss doesn't always share what she does know with us.

so that's my long-held theory! let me know if you have other questions about it :)

[thesweetnessofspring]

I'm convinced that Snow was the one who came up with the "rule change" in THG (idc what the movie did with it--they didn't know TBOSAS and it was less than convincing they way they did it).

Just think about it. We start off the Games with Katniss's courageous action volunteering for her younger sister. Then Peeta did something radical. He decided to follow through on his declaration of love to Katniss and did everything he could in the arena to save her. Getting sponsors, teaming up with the Careers, getting Katniss to leave and fighting Cato for her. Can you imagine what that was doing in the Capitol? In the Districts? How could you watch someone do that and not hope for a happy ending, even as Peeta lay dying in the mud, whispering Katniss's name?

And then Katniss teams up with Rue and is devastated by her death. She stays with her, sings to her, until she dies. Bolstered by Peeta's words about not being a piece in their games and finally getting what he means, she decorates Rue with flowers. She honors her life and her unnecessary death. District 11 recognizes this and even though they have another tribute alive in the Games, send Katniss the bread.

In Snow's mind, everything about the games is starting to crack. Young love being selfless, sisterly affection defying the Capitol, comradery fostering between districts. He simply can't let it go on. He has to remind people in the Capitol and the Districts that this is not human nature. He is going to prove that. So he tells Seneca Crane to announce the rule change.

He expects Cato and Clove to make it to the final two. In their new advantage, they will become a deadly, mostly healthy team. Meanwhile, Snow can see that Katniss doesn't hold the same care for Peeta that he does for her (she had tried to kill him with tracker jackers, after all). Even if she goes to find him, she'll abandon him once it gets too hard, too dangerous. The hope of love triumphing will be met with annoyance at his injuries and agreeing to stay behind and not get his medicine. And even if she does, he'll still be too injured to truly be useful.

But things go awry. Thresh saves Katniss because of her kindness to a little girl he, too, saw as a younger sister. He kills Clove, bringing about Cato's wrath. And Katniss Everdeen turns out to be a better actress than expected.

No matter, though--once the rule change is revoked, the truth of the stripped-down human nature will come out. Oh, Peeta will throw out the ravings of a teenage boy high on hormones, but people will remember how awful they truly are when Katniss puts an arrow through his heart. After all, Snow's made that decision before. His lover or himself. Death in the woods or life with riches in the Capitol. It's easy, really, to make that decision. And people will remember even the best among them, even she who willingly risked her life to get medicine or volunteer for her sister, won't avoid killing in order to survive herself.

But Katniss calls their bluff, and Peeta goes along with it. They've chosen to protest the Hunger Games with their deaths. Seneca makes the call to announce two winners. Really, Snow was going to kill him either way. Someone has to be publicly accountable for the place he's in now, and Snow certainly isn't going to take credit for his idea. After this, he tries and tries to get Peeta and Katniss to have to kill each other. The Quarter Quell. The hijacking. But it never works. And not just because of them, but because a whole nation finally stands up and says Enough. We won't let this go on anymore. In the end, Snow was entirely wrong because he never truly understood love.

[petruchio]

sorry, this is SUCH a specific ass question (and SO not a criticism of your work i love it!!!) but why do you think both Annie and Finnick would have volunteered? I know 4 is a career district, but I thought that it wasn't until graduating the academy that the tribute-to-be would volunteer - which in turn added to the careers' lethality in general. surely, if someone from the academy volunteered every year, the fear of being actually chosen in the reaping would be way less effective? I had always assumed that the academy was less an established and open school but more under the (official) radar but still known 'workshop' - and that there might not have been a 'graduate' willing to go every year. I think its a really interesting angle to go with that at 14, Finnick put himself in the arena so to speak, rather than an unlucky child who made the best out of a bad situation of being reaped because of his looks and could then never escape fully etc and then Annie?? who seemed frightened in the arena to begin with? hiding not hunting? did she bite off more than she could chew?? when did the game become too real?? what happened if two graduates wanted to volunteer at the same time?? much to chew on, it's not that deep, sorry, but I just love having a wee discussion xoxo

nooo it's an AMAZING question and also like, i love nothing more than talking about the INSANE thoughts i have about thg as well as the EVEN MORE INSANE thoughts i have while writing my fanfics so i am SO HAPPY to discuss!!!

so the reason i think they both volunteered is honestly bc i think like... it makes it even more interesting?? so obviously i have reasons for doing what i did in the fanfic and i also just have some general thoughts about 4 as a career district so i'll try to answer my general thinking first and then explain why i did what i did in my story

so -- generally i just think 4 being a career district is SUPER interesting given the winners that we have being finnick, annie, and mags. because katniss tells us in the first book that 1, 2, and 4 are the career districts but i think it's clear from the jump that 4 is kind of the dark horse in that lineup -- because even in book 1, she focuses WAY more on the tributes from 1 and 2 as the "careers" that she's the most intimidated by and the most threatening to her -- we don't really get all that much about district 4 in book 1 at all, so it kind of piques your interest -- because if 4 is *as much* of a career district as 1 and 2, why don't we get anything about those tributes like we do on the level of marvel/glimmer/cato/clove?? we DON'T!

and then ofc we get book 2 and the first person from 4 we meet is finnick, and at first he SEEMS like he's just another capitol pet -- but the more we get to know him, the more we realize he ISN'T, he's actually probably one of the biggest rebels we have in the entire series. in a way, he's kind of the centerpiece to the whole thing (and he shows up at like, basically the exact midpoint of the series) (i'm thinking, just for example, of the fact that finnick and annie parallel katniss and peeta in so many ways, the way that finnick ends the story by dying but his child lives on meaning the story ends with a child from a fatherless home just as it began, the way finnick is the one to point out katniss' genuine love for peeta, the way finnick is the one that creates "real or not real" by suggesting that it's "what annie does," -- i could go on. but he's genuinely one of the most central characters of the whole series and his introduction sets in motion basically the entire back half of the narrative)

so that's all to say that, i DO think 4 is a career district (bc the text establishes it) but i also think we're sort of meant to understand that it's DIFFERENT -- but it’s up to you in what way you imagine it to be different beyond what we're told in the text (basically that bc their industry is fishing/procuring food, they just have a natural tendency to be like, well fed and fit, which means training for the games is probably a pretty easy thing to do, and they can all swim/handle weapons (similarly to how we see johanna being able to wield an axe -- the industry of the district has a large effect on its people))

SO. kind of how i imagine it in my head, is that while 4 *is* a career district, the idea of winning being an honor is a bit different than it would be in 1 or 2. so when i was brainstorming, basically my thought is like, let's say they do have some kind of training academy (i agree with you that it would probably be less formal than what i wrote it to be, but that's just what i did for that story haha) but my thinking was what if it was kind of like ... a last chance kind of place? as in, it's not a competitive honor like it would be in 1 or 2, but like, if, for example, you're poor or an orphan or your parents need to get rid of you, they send you "away" to train for the games as a way of kind of controlling you. kind of like an extension of the tesserae system that we see enacted in all the districts. because four has enough resources (food-wise) that people probably aren't signing up for tesserae in the same way they would be in twelve, the sort of proxy for it that i imagine would be training for the games. if you win, you get money and glory. if you don't, well, you were probably going to die or have a terrible life anyway, so what's the loss?

because yeah, it IS weird that finnick won at fourteen and annie won despite being "mad" if they have some sort of formal training. but what if the reason they were pushed to volunteer is because they were the best of whatever crop of people that four had that year? (is this making any sense??) like, they were the best because although four might have "careers" they aren't really there because they WANT the glory of winning, but because they have no other choice than to try? (and also on the topic of annie not really fighting -- we actually don't really know that. we only know that she runs off "after" the partner gets beheaded, but we don't know when that was in the games. i kind of imagine it was like, halfway through or something, so she could've been holding it together/fighting fine for the first half but that moment was what tipped her over the edge. just some food for thought.)

so for the purposes of my story, i tried to figure out backstories of both finnick and annie that would've tracked for them being kind of "sent away" to school -- i was kind of thinking of the trope of being sent away to boarding school or some kind of military school that you see often in teen shows -- so in the story i wrote, finnick is this sort of "naughty" kid that gets by on charm and looks and his parents, in their attempt to keep him out of trouble, send him to train for the games as a way to kind of whip him into shape. and then my backstory for annie was that her mother died and her father didn't really want her around, so she put herself into the school as a way to get out of a bad situation. so for both of them, it was a *choice* -- but it wasn't really THEIR choice, it was more like, this was their best option in a world where they had pretty terrible options available to them. so that's how i landed where i did for the fic.

anyway all of that is just like, purely from my head!! i don't think there's much textual evidence to support any reading any which way, but it was one of my impulses when writing the story to try to find a way to fit all of their backstories together in a way that aligned with the very few lines we do get in the books about them -- so i was like, how do i make them career volunteers but ALSO make them make sense as the characters we meet in catching fire and mockingjay? and that was what i endeavored to do!!

[bitteur]

*     ◟    :    〔   cillian murphy  ,      cis man    +   he/him    〕      JEAN-PAUL   ‘   JP   ‘    CONSTANTINE ,      some say you’re a    FOURTY-EIGHT  lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  BEGUILLING  and  DECEITFUL,  one can’t help but think of  SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE   by   MUSE  when you walk by.    are you still a    BOSS  at    WHITE    WRAITHS,     even with your reputation as the   GOD   EMPEROR?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and    TO DEVOUR THE DIVINE IS TO BECOME ONE WITH THE GODS   ;   THE DIVINITY WITHIN YOU IS A GLUTTON   -   THE BEAST WITHIN CAN DRINK ‘TILL IT’S SICK BUT IT WILL NEVER TRULY BE SATISFIED,   LORD HAVE MERCY FOR ANYONE WHO STANDS IN YOUR WAY   -   FOR YOU ARE NOT MERCIFUL,   NOR ARE YOU KIND   ;   AND YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN AFRAID TO MAKE EVERYONE WISH YOU WERE,   IF THE DEVIL LOVES DETAILS   -   GODLINESS FLOATS IN THE VAGUE   ;   A GROTESQUE CURSE IN HAVING YOUR OWN EVILS BE YOUR ONLY SALVATION,    although we can’t help but think of TYWIN   LANNISTER   (   GAME   OF   THRONES   ),    PAUL   ATREIDES   (   DUNE   ),   CORIOLANUS   SNOW   (   THG   FRANCHISE   )    whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

TW : cult activity, drug use + parental abuse mention

FULL   NAME.   jean-paul   ‘   jp   ’   constantine. GENDER.   cisman. PRONOUNS.   he/him/his. NATIONALITY.   french-american. AGE   +   D.O.B.   fourty8   +   nov   13th,   1992. LABEL.   the   god   emperor. OCCUPATION.    boss   of   the   white   wraiths   /   a   study   in anti bible thumping + what happens when you let a sexc man keep winning !

HEIGHT.    183   cms,   6’. WEIGHT.     80   kg,   176   pounds. HAIR   COLOR.       black,   raven-like   ...   angel   of   death   made   flesh. EYE   COLOR.   ice   blue,   reminiscent   of   an   arctic   chill. SKIN   TONE.    pale,   ghostly   ...   desperate   need   of   some   sun. ORIENTATION.       pansexual,   greyromantic. TATTOOS.    one   @   forearm,   one   @   side. PIERCINGS.     both   earlobes   ,   studs RELIGION.       cult   évadé,   now   atheist   ...   dabbled   in   self-practicing   satanism BUILD.       mesomorph,   forged   battle-trained   finesse. SCENT.       wafts   of   smoke   from   clove   cigarettes       +       ash   &&.   rubble SKARS.       healed   cut   across   his   right   eyebrow. LANGUAGES.       native   french,   fluent   in   english. EDUCATION.       no   known   formal   education. ALIGNMENT.       neutral   evil. MENTAL DISABILITIES. c-ptsd &&. antisocial personality disorder - moderate ; both undiagnosed VOICE.       controlled,   levelled   +   low   in   its   use   of   intricate   syllables,   carefully   crafted   words   with   hidden   agendas.   heavily   accented   in   his   mother   tongue   of   french. DRESSING.    formal,   crisp   white   button-up   shirts   often   cuffed   to   his   elbows   -   almost   a   competent   professional   but   not   quite   yet.   fingers   always   adorned   with   silver   rings   +   somehow   always   bloodied.

as   wayward   prophets   preached   the   name   of   the   false   gods,       your   family   followed   suit   to   seek   enlightenment   in   the   face   of   an   unknown   power       -        one   much   bigger   than   what   could   be   imagined   by   a   starving   family   living   just   outside   the   outskirts   of   marseille.       you   were   the   youngest   out   of   the   four       ;        the   accident,       runt   of   the   litter.        often   forgotten,        casted   aside   in   favour   of   your   older,       much   stronger   brothers.       your   bones   break   the   easiest,        but   never   your   resolve.   bending   your   back   under   the   scalding   summer   sun   to   seek   penance   under   your   parents’   unforgiving   hands.       god   will   only   forgive   those   who   earn   their   forgiveness,       afterall.       it   was   only   a   little   later   in   life   where   you   finally   started   to   learn   more   about   the   world   outside   of   the   commune   your   family   now   calls   home       ...        tales   of   a   world   of   possibilities,       where   you   can   start   anew.       broken   boy   reborn   into   a   man   of   newborn   faith       -       now   you   finally   understand   what   is   meant   by   enlightenment       ;       there   is   no   truer   god   than   yourself.

you   ran   west,       as   far   as   you   could   go,       taking   whatever   jobs   you   could   until   you   landed   yourself   a   one-way   ticket   to   new   york   city.       dirt,       and   grime   were   nothing   short   of   familiar       :       you   build   your   way   up   through   bronx's   underground   boxing   rings   as   a   fighter       -       long   gone   was   the   boy   born   of   bird   bone,       now   forged   of   stone-cold   steel.       every   scar   is   a   reminder   of   what   it   took   for   you   to   get   here,       and   you   wore   it   with   an   unwavering   pride   that   could   topple   great   empires       -       you've   seen   many   come,       and   go   before   you       …       but   you   were   the   only   one   who   managed   to   rise.       a   tale   of   fate,       sacrifice,       and   unrelenting   faith       ;       there   could   never   be   a   faith   that   is   more   holy   than   the   one   you   held   of   your   own   brand   of   strife-ridden   divinity.

cunning   as   you   are   cruel       +       cold   as   you   are   callous       :        nothing   truly   shocks   you   anymore.   the   unwelcomed   plunge   of   a   blade,       ringing   shot   of   a   gun,       desperate   plea   of   one   begging   for   another   chance   at   a   second   breath       ...       someone's   worst   day   becomes   your   everyday.       you   indulge   yourself   in   every   vice   you   can   find       :       blood,       bodies,       and   benders       ...       you   have   become   your   own   personal   devil.       you   know   many   but   trust   a   fair   few,        only   allowing   for   a   certain   handful   to   be   welcomed   into   your   inner   circle       -       you   never   believed   in   keeping   your   friends   close,       and   your   enemies   closer       ...        not   when   the   latter   far   out   number   the   former.       there   has   been   a   hit   out   for   your   head   for   as   long   as   you   can   remember,       but   you've   paid   no   mind   to   the   infamy   that   drenches   itself   through   every   rolled   syllable   as   they   utter   your   name.

afterall       :       there's   no   one   that   can   touch   god.

[cloveswifey]

Made it out

Pairings: Cato Hadley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hunger Games, mentions of death, blood

Type: Fluff?

Words: 1.0k

Cato had never imagined that he would be volunteering for the Hunger Games. He had watched the games for years, cheering on the contestants from the safety of his living room. But now, here he was, standing on the stage and accepting the honor of representing his district in the games.

As Cato walked off the stage, he spotted his girlfriend Y/N in the crowd. They had been dating for two years, and he couldn't imagine his life without her. He made his way over to her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Hey," he said softly, taking her hands in his. "I'm going to do everything I can to win this thing and come back to you. I promise."

Y/N's eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at him. "I know you will," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But please, be careful. I don't want to lose you."

Cato pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "I'll be careful," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I come back to you."

Y/N pulled away from him, wiping her tears away. "I know you will," she said, her voice firm and confident. "But you need to go now. The train is waiting for you."

Cato nodded, taking one last look at Y/N before turning and walking towards the train. He knew that the days ahead would be filled with danger and uncertainty. But he also knew that he had something worth fighting for – the love of his life, waiting for him back home.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Cato settled into his seat and closed his eyes. He couldn't wait to get back to Y/N, to show her that he had won the games and defeated all of his opponents. But for now, all he could do was focus on the challenges that lay ahead, and hope that he would make it back to her safe and sound.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Y/N sat in front of the television, eagerly waiting for her boyfriend's interview to begin. This was the only interview before the start of the Hunger Games and she wanted to see Cato's face, hear his voice, and find out what he was thinking before he entered the arena.

Finally, Caesar Flickerman's bright face appeared on the screen and the interviewer began his introduction. Y/N's heart raced as she watched her boyfriend enter the stage. Cato was now standing next to Caeser, looking taller and more confident than ever.

Caeser greeted him with a big smile and asked him how he was feeling. Cato responded, "I'm feeling ready for the challenge of the games. I'm physically and mentally prepared to give it my all".

Caesar Flickerman, sensing that the audience wanted something more personal and emotional from him, dove deeper and asked Cato more personal questions.

"So, Cato, tell us what you would do if you won the games?" he asked.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do, Caesar. I'm going to win for my family, for my district, and for Y/N," Cato said, looking directly into the camera.

Y/N's heart swelled up for a moment. It felt amazing to hear that from him.

Caesar asked, "And who is Y/N?"

Cato smiled and his eyes sparkled with affection, "Y/N is my girlfriend. She's the most important thing in my life. We've been dating for two years now and I love her more than anything else in the world."

Y/N blushed, feeling happiness and butterflies in her stomach after hearing those words. It was like the entire arena and television audience had disappeared and it was just the two of them, connected by their love for each other.

As the interview came to a close, Cato looked into the camera and addressed Y/N directly, "Stay strong and have faith, Y/N. I'm doing this for us."

Tears rolled down Y/N's face as she watched Cato exit the stage, feeling grateful and confident in Cato's ability and promise to come out victorious.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Y/N watched anxiously as her boyfriend, Cato, entered the arena of the hunger games. She knew he was a fighter, but the thought of him being hurt or worse, losing his life, sent shivers down her spine.

As the games progressed, Y/N watched every moment, glued to the television screen, anticipating every little sound and movement on the screen. Each day, she hoped that Cato would survive and make it out alive.

Finally, after weeks of waiting, Y/N saw Cato emerge from the arena, victorious. He was battered and bruised, but alive. She could hardly contain her excitement, running towards the train station where he was to arrive.

As he stepped off the train, Y/N could barely contain her emotions. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, tears streaming down her face. Cato held her tightly, both of them feeling each other's warmth.

"How did you do it?" Y/N asked, looking up at him in amazement.

"I did it for you," he said, beaming. "I had to come back to you."

The two walked back to their home in District 2, holding hands tightly, taking all the excitement in. When they arrived, they sat on the front porch, cuddling and talking.

"I'm just so glad that you're back," Y/N said, holding Cato's hand. "I couldn't handle losing you."

"I never stopped thinking of you," Cato whispered, stroking her hair. "It was you that kept me alive."

They sat for a few more moments, taking in every little detail of their surroundings before finally, they leaned in for a kiss, held tight and passionately.

"I love you," Y/N said, looking deeply into Cato's eyes.

"I love you too," Cato replied, a smile spreading over his face. "Always will."

[heliads]

Hey! I gotta request something for our girl Clove. So could you do a Clove Kentwell x district 2 reader where they have been close friends since they were young and shared feelings for eachother but were scared to mess it but one day for some reason (ex: family invites them back or smth) has to move back to the capitol. The 2 lose contact and years later meet again in the lobby of the tribute building at night finally catching up on what has happened in their life. Perhaps also finally confessing to each other! I hope I've sent this in in time! Take your time!

'it's been a while ' - clove kentwell

masterlist

After years of living there, the Capitol is just as gaudy and useless as ever. The sheer quantity of ostentatiousness increases exponentially with the annual arrival of the Hunter Games, to the point where it’s damn near unlivable. Then again, when has it ever been somewhere you’d want to stay?

If you had it your way, you would have stayed in District Two forever. If you had it your way, you never would have come to the Capitol at all, not even as a tribute to become its latest Victor. District Two takes great pride in training its children to become winners in the Hunger Games, but you never fell for the whole spectacle. The only thing you had ever wanted was simply to be home, and then that was taken from you.

All your life, you were District. Your parents had ties to the Capitol, you knew that, but they had direct orders from President Snow that they were to maintain the strength of the district government by remaining there. You had assumed that you would go your whole life without ever leaving Two, and then their orders changed all of a sudden and you were gone. Back to the Capitol, although you had never been there as long as you were alive. Away from home.

That was a couple of years ago. It is expected that one would still nurse faint pangs for home, but over the months, everyone seems to assume that your passions would transfer over to such a remarkable place to spend your days. The Capitol is rich in many things, to be sure. The food is sublime, the houses are magnificent, the dresses sparkle.

Still, what it gains in material wealth, it lacks in substance and in soul. What you see as you look around you every day is a garish facade. Everyone here is dripping with wealth, but the only thing they cannot buy is true spirit. If anyone had a heart in the Capitol, they’ve long since sold it off to buy more gems and shoes. Nothing here is worth living for.

And, with the Hunger Games drawing ever near again, you’re painfully reminded of the emptiness of your current life once again. It is pure privilege that you could live here, secure in the knowledge that you’ll have enough food and clothes and shelter to keep you more than comfortable, yet you’d throw it all away if you could just be back in the one place where you actually felt alive.

You walk listlessly in the back corners of someone else’s mansion. Your family has been invited to an opening gala celebrating the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games. You’re decked out in the latest fashions, although your clothes are noticeably subdued compared to everyone else. Although it might bother your parents to no end, you can’t convince yourself to adopt the endless frivolity of the other Capitol residents. Not when you would be sickened whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Apparently all sorts of important people to the Hunger Games are here tonight, Gamemakers and past Victors alike. It seems as if half the Capitol has been brought to this particular event, whether by their choice or otherwise. The main parties are happening a few floors up, with plenty of screens displaying the opening interviews of the latest round of tributes, but you just can’t force yourself to watch. Why get wrapped up in the stories of twenty-four new children when all but one are about to die?

Instead, you slink around below, where the lights are dim and you don’t have to worry about being seen. Your parents will be busy upstairs, where they’ll be too lost in the bubbling crowds to find you. Tomorrow, if they question you about where you were, you can lie and say you were up there with the rest. With these crushing throngs of partygoers, they would have absolutely no idea if you were telling the truth or not.

You’re not the only one down here, either. Although the significant majority of the Capitol is very interested in the results of the Games, there are a couple of people here and there who cannot stand the idea. Haymitch Abernathy, the District Twelve mentor, will spend most of his time upstairs wining and dining potential sponsors, but on occasion he cannot stomach the eager discussion of his own district’s children as lambs to a slaughter and he hides down here to catch his breath and sneak a sharp mouthful or five from a flask at his hip. 

Other Victors occasionally dip down the stairs when they’re sure they will not be found. They all have the same look in their eyes, and respond with the same flinching terror when they hear a loud bang like the cannons that announce dead tributes in the Games. This whole thing is a horrific show, and you can’t bear it any more than the others. Although you may be a Capitol citizen now, in your heart you will always be District. Your oldest friends were the ones sent in to die.

In fact, last year someone closer than a friend entered into the Games. Sometimes, as a child, you’re fortunate enough to have a best friend, someone who means the world to you because you mean the world to them. You’re past friendship bracelets and always remembering each other’s birthdays. This person is everything to you. The idea of forgetting them is impossible. Whoever you are, there will always be some part of you made up of them, all the insignificant habits and odd pronunciations you picked up from them.

This person is your world, and then you leave them for the Capitol. The day you had to tell Clove Kentwell that you were leaving District Two might have been the worst of your life, except for the day you left the district behind entirely. Although you had limited notice of when you were leaving, you still dreaded the hour in which you would have to inform your best friend that the most inseparable pair in all of Panem was about to be split up for good.

It is hard telling your best friend that you’re never going to see her again. It is harder still when she’s stopped being just a friend in your mind. Your feelings for Clove have changed over time, shifting from emotion to emotion without your approval, but in the end, you know for certain that you love her. You’re also fairly certain that Clove loves you back, but neither of you ever said a word about it to each other.

After all, how could you? The chances that either of you would be reaped for the Hunger Games were quite high, as was the expectation that you would volunteer. And even if you weren’t sent into the Games, the risk of confessing when the other didn’t feel the same way was catastrophic. You could destroy the friendship forever, and worse, still have to live so close together. The remnants of the glorious thing you once had would hang about you forever, choking you out whenever you dared to think about it. All of your days would be spent grieving Clove even while she still walked your streets and passed by your house, and then you would grow up and apart and the whole thing would be lost forever.

It was too terrible a fate to bear for both of you, and so you never said a word about it. You regret that sometimes, especially after you moved, but there’s nothing more to be done about it now. You are here, Clove is there, and never shall the two paths cross again.

That’s what you had thought, at least, and then last year you had been at a party celebrating the beginning of the seventy-third annual Hunger Games, and Caesar Flickerman had announced the two tributes from District Two, and one of them was Clove. You remember that night perfectly, how you spent the entirety of that evening frozen in place, unable to move a muscle while the rest of the party around you danced and cheered and placed bets. Your best friend was going into the Arena, and there was nothing you could do to save her.

You never saw Clove while she was in the Games, for better or for worse. Random strangers weren’t allowed to see the tributes, and since you live in the Capitol and Clove is from Two, that’s what you would always be:  strangers. Even though you knew everything about her, from the way she laughed to the exact balance of the syllables of your name in her mouth. Strangers, that’s what you were. Forever separate, never to meet again.

The course of the Hunger Games was immensely difficult. Each day you spent obsessing over the footage, trying to make out if she was injured or hungry or dead. Each night, you had to be all but dragged away from the monitors, so addicted were you to watching your girl. Even after they took you away, you could hardly sleep a wink. In the mornings, you rose early and ran to the live recordings of the Games, torn to pieces by the thought that she might have died while you were away.

In the end, though, Clove was victorious, and you watched from afar as she was paraded around and all but worshiped by the adoring Capitol and District Two. No amount of words can adequately describe the relief you felt when you knew that Clove would survive, although it was shadowed by the knowledge that even as Victor– especially as Victor– Clove would never be able to escape the hold of the Capitol.

You’ve seen many Victors come and go. They’re paraded to and from the Capitol whenever the Hunger Games are so much as mentioned, brought up every time so they can give their takes on the latest round of tributes or the design of the Arena or merely an update on what they’ve been doing since their latest publicized appearance. Once the Capitol tires of them, they’ll be allowed to return to their Districts for a couple of months before the TV cameras are sent out again to catch a glimpse of a Victor in its natural habitat.

She’s here now, probably, with some of the other Mentors or forced to mingle at any of the dozens of events happening across the Capitol. The thought turns your stomach. The on camera bits had been Clove’s least favorite part of being a Career, you’ve known that since you were a child. Clove dreamed of volunteering for the Hunger Games just like any other good District Two girl, but she’d told you fervently that she despised the interviews and all the acting fluff.

You’d been able to see that for yourself, too, while Clove was involved in the seventy-third Games. Although it may not have been apparent to any other onlooker, the advantage of the years you’ve spent by her side is that you know exactly when Clove is uncomfortable or unhappy, and she was just that while being grilled by Caesar Flickerman. Her mentor had trained her properly, and her impeccable demeanor never shifted, but you could see the tightness in her hands, the strain in her eyes. Clove didn’t want to be there any more than you wanted to be watching her.

A champagne bottle pops somewhere upstairs, causing the ceiling to rattle with a chorus of shouts. You’ll probably have to go up there sooner rather than later, or you really will be in trouble for skipping. To clear your head, you push open the doors to the house, letting the cool air wash over you. Just one lap around the mansion, then you’ll entertain the rest. You just need this one last moment of peace if you have any hope of survival.

You’re not expecting to see anyone else out here, but halfway through your circuit, a shadow crosses your path. You move out of the way automatically, not wanting to bother or be noticed by anyone from the Capitol, but you’ve hardly started moving again when a soft, careful voice says,

“Y/N?”

Instantly, you freeze in place. It’s been a long time since you last saw Clove Kentwell in person, but you’d know her voice anywhere, that precise cadence of syllables, each and every inflection like a feather-light touch upon her words.

You turn around slowly, and there she is, taller than you remember but no less stunning. Her eyes are more guarded than they used to be, but maybe that’s what you deserve for going away for so long and leaving her with a gaping hole in her armor.

“Clove?” You ask in return.

Hesitantly, you drift closer. You’re waiting for her to step back or leave, maybe, anything befitting someone you no longer quite now, but she doesn’t go. She doesn’t get closer, either, no delighted embraces for a long-absent best friend, but Clove’s never quite been that type anyway.

“It’s been a long time,” you say, when it becomes apparent that she’s waiting for you to do something.

Her brow twists. “Hasn’t it?”

The question is daring. After all, it is your fault that so much time has passed since the two of you crossed paths. You were the one who left, she was the one who stayed. It is perfectly reasonable for Clove to have nursed a grudge all this time.

“I didn’t want to go,” you remind her. “Trust me. I begged my family to let me stay, but they wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

“I do trust you,” Clove says softly. “I always have.”

The words twist in your heart like a knife. You’re not sure what to say to that, not sure even that you can say anything to it, not without losing yourself, so you briskly change the subject. “I saw you in the Games. You did well.”

Clove scoffs. “There were a couple of sloppy kills. I could have done better.”

This makes you laugh. It’s just like Clove to have won the Hunger Games and still have pointers for herself on what she could have done better. “You had an excellent showing, Clove, and you know that.”

Clove arches a brow. “You saw my Games?”

“Every minute,” you admit. “I couldn’t look away. I was scared that if I did, you’d die. I’ve lost a lot of you, Clove Kentwell. I didn’t want to lose your last moments, too.”

She’s quiet for a while, and it occurs to you that you might have overstepped. Ducking your head, you mumble something about heading back inside, and move to brush past her. Clove catches at your arm before you can go. Her grip is as steady as always, radiating quiet strength without having to hurt you. She’s never hurt you. Not in all those years of training and playing around has she harmed so much as a hair on your head.

“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Don’t go yet. You– you haven’t told me what happened to you yet.”

You frown. “What?”

Clove shakes her head slightly, her dark curls catching in the moonlight. “You saw how I’ve been in the Games last year, but I don’t know what you’ve been doing. It’s been years. Don’t you know how many times I’ve thought about you? Wondered what you were doing? If you were making friends you liked more than me?”

“Never,” you pledge immediately. “I’ve talked to people here, but none of them could come close to you. They don’t get me, not like you do. Everyone here is cold and insincere. Sure, they’ll pretend to tolerate me so they can get to my family’s money, but they don’t actually like me. Not like you did.”

Clove’s voice comes quietly in the dark. “No one could like you like I did.”

Your eyes dart up to her. “Clove–”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ve done enough running. I wanted to tell you when I knew you were moving, but you were gone too fast. I don’t know if I’m going to get another chance so I have to take this one while I have it. I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for years.”

A firework goes off overhead, the remnants of someone else’s late night party. It feels as if the red matter between your ribs has been tossed up there in the sky, made glittery and meteoric so everyone can see and delight in the cascade of bright emotions rippling through your heart. It is one thing to imagine that Clove might have feelings for you, to assume that you enough of her mind to decide what she thought of you, but it is an entirely different matter to hear her confirm it after all this time.

“I love you too,” you say in a sudden rush.

The corner of Clove’s mouth pulls up into a victorious smirk, so familiar an expression that you can remember a hundred other times you’ve seen this exact impression, heard her voice tinged by triumph in this same way. “I knew that, obviously. I just wanted to make sure you know I loved you first, that’s all.”

You laugh. It’s a giddy sound. You don’t think you’ve laughed for real since you arrived at the Capitol, and your voice is a little hoarse from disuse, but it gets easier in moments. Everything is easier around Clove, it always has been. “You loved me first? I didn’t realize it was a contest.”

She snorts. “Everything is a contest, Y/N. We’re Careers.”

Your delighted mood slips away from you once you remember where you are, what you’ve become since you saw her last. “Am I? I’m not in Two anymore.”

Clove’s dark brows narrow. “Of course you are. You grew up with me, you think I don’t know who you are? You’re one of us, Y/N. You’re part of me, and you always will be.”

A soft, tentative smile starts to slip back onto your face. “Always, huh?”

It’s dark, hard to see Clove’s expression, but you swear you can still sense the heated flush as it creeps onto her cheeks. “Always.”

The voices from inside the house are starting to grow more insistent. “We should probably go back inside,” you say reluctantly. 

In a perfect world, you would stay outside forever, talking happily with Clove while the fireworks flared overhead. Then again, in a perfect world, you never would have left District Two at all. However, when Clove takes your hand, and you walk side by side back into the house, you start to think that maybe you’ll have some semblance of your perfect world after all, one in which even the distance can’t stop you and Clove from being together. Victors are always in the Capitol, after all. Your paths will cross again, and this time, you will have nothing to fear. Not even separation.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[alavestineneas]

Silence

pairing: Clove Kentwell x fem!reader

summary: There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point? 

warnings: out of character,  violence, mentions of death and torture

word count: 3k

author’s note: It’s completely my take on Clove’s future if she won the Games years before Katniss and lived long enough to see the Second Rebellion. In my head, she would grow to hate the Capitol as much as most victors do.  As for the fic, I wrote a more certain ending for this one but was not sure whether it fits here. If you are interested in reading a so-called part 2, let me know. Enjoy!

Silence. The thing that has followed Clove the most since her victory. It was everywhere—exhausting, haunting, and almost inevitable. Her mother calls it peace, but she doesn't seem to understand much of Clove's life. There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point? 

 Silence is yet again her only companion in an empty office. She has been there countless times but never received a punishment. It is almost interesting; to see how things work from the other side, although her body aches in alarming waiting.

The office feels lifeless, and Clove thinks it has something to do with the lack of decor. It's as if the space is designed to be temporary, as if no one is meant to stay here for long. Clove wonders if this is intentional or simply a byproduct of the job's demands. Either way, it adds to the sense of isolation that she feels. She tries to push these thoughts aside, but her mind keeps drifting back to the emptiness around her. She wonders how long she can keep up this charade of normalcy before it all becomes too much to bear. 

The door finally opens, and the man in his usual white uniform enters the room. Clove doesn't stand up, although the protocol says she should. What's the point of formalities? 

The man recognizes her. While District 2 has a lot more victors than others, they can still be counted on ten fingers. The soldier's face twists, his mouth curving in a slight O-shape. 

''Kentwell?'' he barks.

Clove nods, almost curious about his following actions. Undoubtedly, the whip doesn't discriminate between the golden stars of Panem and commoners. However, they live in separate areas, earn more money, and wear different clothes for a reason. The Capitol's goal is to divide the district from within, diverting their attention from the real threat. She knows that now. 

''I'll make a call.'' 

The man leaves as rapidly as he came, - the door closes behind him with a loud thud. The walls here are paper-thin. Does the Capitol not trust its guard dogs? Although it has its perks, she must admit - Clove can hear the call better than her heartbeat.

''Report.''

''Ma'am, I have case fifty-eight.''

Clove knew exactly what that meant. She braced herself for the inevitable order that would follow.

''And do I need to remind you what to do in such cases?''

''No, ma'am. But I thought it was better to report: we have a victor.''

There was a moment of silence before the female voice spoke again.  

''Lessen the whipping.''

''But ma'am, the protocol states that...''

''Roundtree, execute.''

''Yes, ma'am.''

Clove hears the man take hurried steps back to the office but doesn't pay him much attention. Her sentence, while not as harsh as it should be, remains. Clove's stomach turns in dread; this time, she gets what she deserves for not being careful enough. 

 -

The party is at its peak when Clove shows up. Her movements are slower than usual; while the wounds are not bleeding anymore, they still ached. The dress stylists gave her barely covered white bandages—if you looked long enough, you could put two plus two together.

The mayor's house is crowded with important people from the district's elite. Those people look idiotic in a pitiful attempt to mimic Capitol's people. It's almost funny how they think they are closer to them than their people here. The real power lies with those who control the resources and manipulate the masses for their own gain. Clove can't help but feel a sense of disgust at how easily these people are fooled into thinking that they are part of something greater, when in reality they are just being used for someone else's benefit.

''Miss Kentwell!''

The mayor's face is a little red, likely from the heat or the amount of alcohol he consumed. The man is near sixty, although Clove is not entirely sure; they say work like this ages people quicker. His face, framed by odd round glasses, expresses nothing but delight. If Clove had to guess, she would assume he doesn't know about her small rebellion yet or doesn't bother remembering it.

''I believe you haven't met Miss Y/L/N before; she isn't a big fan of our smallish dinners. A woman of work, you see.'' The man throws up his hands as if it were a ridiculous idea. ''But what can be better than this, am I right?''

Clove agrees, chuckling into her glass. The mayor seems not to notice her obvious sarcasm, happy to prove his point. The woman beside him, however, doesn't miss it; her piercing eyes are riveted to Clove, examining her.

''What do you say if I get you, ladies, something to drink?'' 

The mayor breaks the silence settled between them, and Clove opens her mouth to disagree—her glass is half full anyway, but the woman is quicker.

 ''Sounds wonderful, Fellord.''

If she wasn't curious about the woman before, she definitely is now. Not a lot of people consider themselves good friends with the mayor, and, for sure, not people her age—the woman looks a few years older than Clove. 

''I would ask you to dance, Miss Kentwell, but, unfortunately, I am the proud owner of two left feet.''

The woman smiles, and Clove thinks she has heard this voice before. Perhaps she works at the mayor's office.

"Well, that makes two of us, Miss Y/L/N.''

''Oh, call me Y/N. I can't have such a beautiful woman think I am a prune, can I?'''

''That would be a catastrophe indeed.''

Clove likes the woman. She doesn't look as posh as most people here; her dress is much simpler, and her neck doesn't bear the burden of a hundred pearls. She is quite captivating, too. Something about her stance and confidence make Clove's brain a little cloudy.

''Here come the drinks.'' The mayor is yet again near them, holding two stemwares with bubbling liquid. ''Miss Y/L/N, I am afraid I have to steal you; there is a line of people I absolutely need to introduce you to. Miss Kentwell.'' he nods, passing her a glass. 

The woman left, leaving nothing but a fling of curiosity in Clove's mind and a pleasant warmth in her body. While taking a woman as a lover wasn't unusual in the Capitol, here it would raise some eyebrows. 

Clove's eyes fell on the glass left behind by the woman. It was half-full, the condensation on its surface glistening in the dim light of the room. She couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and what her story might be. Yet Clove has more important things on her mind now. She needed to focus on her mission, gather information, and make connections that would help the rebellion. 

  -

 It's 4 in the morning when Clove makes her way into the kitchen; nightmares keep her sleepless most nights. The day is already breaking, slowly painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The district is long awake; workers are just now returning from the night shift in the Nut. Clove sees their small, dark figures coming down a broad path. It is too far to make out the faces, although it's not hard to predict how tired and dirty they look.

The Capitol doesn't pay half what their labour is worth—not enough money to feed a grown man, let alone a family. Clove hears the talks in pubs—people are angry, and rightly so. The discontent is growing, but not as quickly as she would like it to. 

But Plutarch believes that the time for revolution has come, and Clove can't help but feel a glimmer of hope. She knows that the 75th Games are fast approaching, and with them, the potential for change. Though she also knows that change won't come easily. The Capitol will fight tooth and nail to maintain their power, and it won't be long before they realize what Plutarch is planning. 

Clove can only wish that he's right about the people being ready to rise. As she watches the sun set over District 2, she can't help but wonder what the future holds. Will they succeed in overthrowing the Capitol? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain: Clove is ready to fight.

Maybe it's the reason for her sentiments now—she had never felt this way before. Clove had dated in middle school, but it was nothing serious. And since then, she had only had a few hookups—nothing that made her heart race like this. It was almost embarrassing to admit to herself that she was blushing at the thought of someone she barely knew. 

Clove sighs, gathering her thoughts. It is time she got going; the revolution won't plan itself.

 -

A few gunshots are heard somewhere nearby. Clove is running for her life through the narrow streets of the slums. She feels her legs burning with heat and a sharp pain aches in her calves. Was disobeying Lime's orders and attending the worker's gathering stupidheat,? Sure. She wishes she had never done it, but it's too late for regrets now. 

Clove has run far enough to be out of peacekeepers' reach for now. The fire in her lungs is almost unbearable, and her heart is high on adrenalin. The shouts of the less fortunate are loud and clear; if she closes her eyes, it's like she is back at the arena.

She had escaped death once again, and it was starting to feel like a blessing and a curse all at once. Fate seemed to be playing a cruel game with her. As Clove caught her breath, she knew that she needed to move quickly before anyone came searching for her. The home was the safest place for her right now, and she needed to make it there without being seen.

She straightens up, lifting her eyes off the dusty ground.

Looking right at her are two pairs of eyes.

Peacekeepers.

Caught.

Clove feels the air leave her lungs. Her mind races with regret and fear as she realizes that this is the end. She had always known that being a rebel was a death sentence, but she never thought it would end like this. Clove had been so careful, but now it seemed that all her efforts had been in vain. The peacekeepers stood before her, their eyes cold and unfeeling as they trained their weapons on her. 

The gunshot fires faster than she has time to react. The foul ground colours are red with blood, contrasting with a white uniform on the still warm, dead body. 

The pair of unfazed, cold eyes sent shivers down her spine. Clove finally recognizes her saviour. Y/N. She is also in a white uniform, slightly tinted with blood. She speaks into her radio calmly: ''Soldier 237 is eliminated. The subject is armed. The perimeter is clear. End of report.'' before turning on her feet and leaving in the opposite direction.

Clove takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looks down at her hands, still shaking from the intense encounter. She is alive.

As Clove starts to wander away, she can't help but feel grateful for her saviour. Why did Y/N shoot her partner and not her? Was it because of one conversation a few months ago? Ridiculous. Her mind races with questions, but Clove knows that she may never get the answers.

 -

They didn't come for her. Clove waited for interrogation or a gun to her head at night—nothing. Lyme was furious with her, of course, but Clove still managed to grab a few pieces of information vital to the planning.

Clove has looked at death's face many times, but she hasn't been so shaken in forever. Perhaps she is getting older, or the impact of betrayal was big enough to darken her mood.

It wasn't even a betrayal to begin with; she has to remind herself that Y/N promised her nothing. Hell, they spoke once or twice, and she was already head over heels. Clove is losing her grip, or maybe she is just tired of not allowing herself to feel anything, but it still hurts more than she would like to admit.

Y/N was an enemy—a serious one. Clove's heart surely knows whom to go for. It would be easier for her to convince herself to hate the woman if she let her partner shoot her. But no, Y/N saved her not once but twice already—she was the voice on the phone. Then she is not just an ordinary soldier; she is someone of higher rank. Someone who can have her dead in a matter of seconds and, for some reason, doesn't.

Clove feels as if her head is ready to explode; the Games have already started. It's only a matter of time before the rebellion begins. Before then, they have to plan a lot. Lyme had gotten the message from District 13: they are ready. Clove isn't sure if she is, but there is no turning back now. The rebellion was coming, and it was only a matter of time before everything exploded into chaos.

 -

The dim light above cast eerie shadows on the blueprints. The silence in the room was suffocating. Their recent mission failed; the rebels lost a lot of their people and weapons. The revolution raged in all parts of Panem; however, the power of authority in District 2 remained strong.

Clove was low. Besides a few wounds gained on their last mission, she lost a few good soldiers. Those past months were nothing but agony; the constant lack of food and medical care destroyed the rebellious spirit better than any propaganda. Clove doesn't want to admit it, but she is scared. Lyme is too, and that kills Clove from within. The only person who seemed to know something is lost too.

Now, at the meeting of commanders, no one speaks a word. They know that they cannot afford to make any mistakes or take unnecessary risks. The faint knock disturbs the silence. The soldiers look at one another at a loss; their team is already here. The knock grows louder, and the commanders exchange wary glances. They know that they must proceed with caution.

Clove stands up from her seat, grabbing the nearest gun. The door creaks open, and while the lighting isn't helping to make out the face, Clove still does—it's Y/N. Years of training kick in. Her fingers wrap tightly around the trigger of the loaded gun, and she feels a rush of adrenaline as she raises it to point directly between the woman's eyes.

''Drop the gun,'' Lyme commands.

Clove isn't sure if she heard the woman right. It's their enemy she is holding at gunpoint—the reason for their losses.

''Lyme, she is a -'' Clove starts.

''I know who she is. She is on our side. Lower the gun.''

Clove hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether to trust Lyme's words or not. But as she looks into Y/N's eyes, she sees a glimmer of distress that she can relate to. With a deep breath, Clove lowers her gun and steps aside to let Y/N in. 

The woman rolls her eyes. ''Finally. I don't have all the time in the world.'' She takes a few first-aid kits out of her bag. ''All I could sneak out without drawing too much attention.'' 

Lyme nods. ''Commanders, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She was recommended by Plutarch as a valuable soldier.'' 

Y/N looks around. ''Shall we start?'' 

The meeting lasted for almost four hours and only ended because of Y/N's departure; they couldn't afford to blow up her cover that foolishly. The woman brought many new points to the plan; having someone who knows the system from within made an enormous difference.

And while a lot became clear after the gathering, Clove found herself even more confused. So as the last person left the room, Clove approached Lyme with a furrowed brow. 

"You don't trust her," Lyme stated. 

 ''Clearly. The thing is, why do you trust her?'' 

 Lyme looked at her calmly. ''I don't. When the rebellion was in planning, Plutarch introduced me to her. We've worked together since.'' 

 ''How do we know she doesn't betray us at any given chance?'' 

 ''She didn't before.'' Lyme shrugged. ''Or did you forget the time she saved your ass?''

 As Clove sat there, staring at her friend, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her guilt bearing down on her. She knew it was wrong to hide such a vital piece of information, but she was too ashamed to admit her mistakes. It wasn't just the fear of being judged that held her back; it was the fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for. 

 ''Look, I know it's hard, and frankly, that Plutarch man is slimy, to say the least. But it's all we've got.''

 Clove nods. Lyme had always been honest with her, and she had no reason to doubt her now. ''Okay. But I'll keep an eye on her.'' 

 -

 The attack was successful, finally. Clove loosens up a little; a light of hope sparkles in the rebels' eyes once again. More people have joined the resistance since Y/N's addition to the commanders' board. The woman is bright, Clove must admit—she is a trained officer after all. 

 Lyme has them work together most of the time. Y/N renders an account of the peacekeepers' tactic and plans one to counter. It's hard work—if she makes it too easy, she will be under suspicion; if she doesn't, rebels lose people. Clove is there to report recourses and check for mistakes; after hours of work, it's easy to make one. 

 ''That's it,'' Y/N announces, ''Those are the exists, the ones marked with red—the weakest points.''

 Clove nods, taking a seat next to her on a tiny piece of wood—an improvised chair and desk. She feels Y/N tiredly stretch next to her. The handwriting is small and uneven, but understandable enough. ''Good,'' she mutters under her breath.

 ''The Nut won't be easy to take; you have to know that. I have fifteen people making the decisions there; I can't go against their commands.'' 

 ''I know.'' Clove feels the ache in her chest growing. Why can't things be easy for once? When Y/N steps out of this forgotten factory, she is a peacekeeper. And if she had the order to kill her, she would. 

 ''The sun is almost up. I have to go.'' Y/N stands up, and Clove feels the cold touch her skin. She wants to say something to make her turn and listen, but she knows deep down that it wouldn't have made a difference. Clove watches the woman look around before disappearing in the morning fog. If only they had more time.

 -

 The Nut was invincible, just like Y/N had predicted. They've already tried four times. Nothing. A crushing defeat each time. Their miserable position even earned them guests—the Mockingjay and her famous squad.

 Clove listens to their discretions, not too attentively—what do these people know about her home? Was a seventeen-year-old speech supposed to make workers turn their backs on the system they had been under for 75 years?

 She shares a look with Y/N; she is also not impressed. As the conversation progresses, Clove finds the situation they are in dreadful—after executing the plan, most of the workers will be dead. She knows her people well; they won't surrender to someone who just bombed them. It's common sense.

 ''I'll check the weapons for tomorrow.'' Y/N stands up. She is angry.

 ''Alone? How do we know you won't purposefully ruin them?'' one of the newcomers asks.

 Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Clove is quicker. ''I'll make sure of that.''

 -

The walk to the armoury is silent; Y/N is fuming. She goes over the guns and bullets, the weapons in her hands changing faster than Clove blinks.

''I'll try to save as much as I can," she finally says.

''What?'' 

''The people. I'll command them to surrender.''

Y/N's words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence. 

Clove feels a lump form in her throat as she realizes the gravity of what Y/N has just said. 

''But they will kill you then.''

''Earlier than you can say cheese," Y/N chuckles. ''But I'm dead anyway.''

''I'm afraid we both are.''

They look at each other for a moment. 

''Fuck it then.''

Y/N shortens the distance between them in a few quick steps, her body pressing Clove against the cold wall. The closeness of their bodies sends shivers down Clove's spine. The kiss is hungry, almost heated. Clove feels her cheeks burn, and blood rushes through her veins. It's hard to focus on anything Y/N is doing to her; it feels too good.

''Fuck me.'' Clove's voice is hoarse with desire, and she doesn't immediately realize that the words have left her mouth until she hears a familiar chuckle.

''Right here?'' Y/N raises her eyebrow, her lips a hot, soft, rosy mess. 

Clove nods almost too quickly, but she is far from caring; she wants those lips on her body again.

"You don't have to ask twice."

Their lips met again in a passionate embrace. Clove moans softly as Y/N's hands roam over her body, exploring every inch of her skin. The intensity of their desire is almost overwhelming, but she doesn't want it to end. Tomorrow, the world will burn; they have a few hours before then.

 -

Y/N left at dawn, as she had all those times before. Except for this one, Clove couldn't hold her tears for long; small, almost invisible droplets ran down her cheeks when she returned to her troop. Lyme threw her a meaningful glance, and Clove shook her head. She is fine. For the first time, Clove felt at peace with the silence around her.

[kentwells]

youre a swiftie and a clato stan that's so slay. i literally have thg/clato brainrot currently (i should be studying for my ap precalculus test tomorrow but haha yeah that's not happening). I literally love your fics/characterizations of cato and clove/ideas in general

ALSO so yk how gloss and cash were like a package deal/brother-sister team and they were reaped into the 75th games together ON PURPOSE? yeah i'm imagining a clato au like that where basically they won back to back games fifteen years beforehand and got married shortly after (thinking about childhood friends at the career academy to lovers excellence), and then they get reaped into the 75th games/quarter quell together as this husband-wife team that kat&peeta have to contend with. their murder-married couple energy is off the charts in the games and kat doesn't really know what to do with another pair of star crossed lovers in the arena - people who aren't putting on a performance.

ahh hi!! i am having to do absurd amounts of writing that is not that fun rn which is zapping my will to write anything clato... perhaps a 2024 return is on the horizon!! tysm for ur kind words tho <3

i love love LOVE this au. it's SO good. the added intensity and maturity of like. 15 years of marriage? obvi if you want back to back clato winning games... read always remember we're burned for better by @clatoera! but having kids and a life together and getting lulled into safety to some extent adds so much DRAMA and INTENSITY. also peeta is great at playing the pr game but katniss... hates it! and cato and clove, in the nicest possible way, are attention whores. can't help thinking about the kids. and the tension of knowing their kids will one day be reaped if the games don't end, and how it makes them physically sick to think about their kids growing up orphans. this sounds like an INCREDIBLE idea and i am very here for it.

[justrainandcoffee]

You're not the only one. My mind is full of thg thoughts 🙃.

I'm afraid if I don't write them, my brain cells are going to collapse 🤭.

If Lucy is from District 5, power... Imagine her power 🥁, no just kidding 😂😂. But Imagine her using power, electricity, to win. Frying them like an egg. I don't know if like Beetee did with during the 75th games with the tree...but almost.

If Tommy is her mentor (❤️) then he can find sponsors to give her some pieces she can use..idk. Tributes after all use what they know.

But the knives! Like Clove! Fuck yeah!

People underestimating her because of her height, definitely is something that could happen. Especially those from the wealthier districts.

Please, know that if you write this AU I'm going to devour it 😌.

Laur!!

Do you like the hunger games as well? Because thanks to Shark I'm jumping around asking people about their ocs and this world 🤭.

If so, what can you tell me about Lucy in THG? District? Weapons? Do you think she can win??

If not, you're free to ignore this!

Flor, I was sitting here working on my response, and then I started more seriously thinking about a tribute!Lucy x mentor!Tommy fic and oh no I think I now have half the plot outline for another AU written in my head what have you doneeeeeeeee

You all have been absolutely killing it with your posts about your OCs in The Hunger Games! I am obsessed with reading about everyone's lovely little murder babies! 🥰

I'm not 100% sure what District Lucy would be from. Probably 5, 7, or 12 (let me know if you think a certain one in particular would suit her!) Her family would still be impoverished, and she and her brothers would put their names in multiple times to get more food and resources. She would still be an avid horseback rider from the time she was little, and her mother would be of Covey descent.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel like I remember that guns are not a weapon option in the area, which does put her at a bit of a disadvantage. Her weapon of choice in that case would be a set of throwing knives, which she's still pretty damn accurate with.

I think she'd have a pretty good shot at winning, and not just because I'm biased 🤭 She would have a good element of surprise on the other tributes, because she's so tiny I doubt many of them would consider her a legitimate threat. She's physically much stronger than she looks, and smart and adaptable enough that she would be able to adjust based on whatever arena she gets tossed into.

It depends on the arena, but I could see her employing stealth: hiding out and picking off tributes one by one. She would approach things very carefully and methodically, at least in the beginning. I don't see her being the type of make allies. She's too distrusting and would prefer to lone-wolf it. She's more than willing to play dirty if she has to, and can be downright vicious, especially if backed into a corner and in hand to hand combat. And she's not above tossing someone at a mutt to save herself if she has to.

Also, if she's got Tommy as her mentor, he'll be working hard to get her lots of sponsors and help from the outside.

[glitteryglitter]

gold rush

𝙰𝙽: I wrote this on my porch listening to Britney Spears, while it was raining. it was EVERYTHING

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: None, I think!

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Clove X Belcourt! Fem! Reader

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 ���𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1158

                                                     ๑*˚🍓˚*๑      

"That has got to be the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen"

Y/n didn't realize the words had left her mouth until she saw her sister staring at her with a knowing smile.

"Y/n! You're here! I thought you'd never make it. Due to the fact that you're clearly in love with Clove"

"Glimmer, I was 5 minutes late. Also, I am not in love with her! We don't even know each other!"

"Y/n you've walked home with me every day for the past two years. If you really think I wouldn't notice you staring at Clove, you're wrong. You're clearly in looooooove!" Glimmer cooed.

"I'm not in love with her! I just admire her. A lot!" Y/n protested

Suuuure that's what you always say! Then a few months later it's all "Glim, can you sew me a dress? I'm busy and she might ask me on a date! And Glim! Do my shoes match my nails? I want to impress her!"

Y/n gave her sister a look.

"Come on, it's time for you to meet her!"

"No, no no don't do it"

Unfortunately, Glimmer's excited waving got Clove's attention.

she looked up and smiled, carefully putting down several knives

"if I have to flirt with her for you, I swear..." Glimmer hissed through gritted teeth

"Glim, I will kill you! Y/n whispered back

She merely laughed.

"It's time for you to get to know Clove!"

Glimmer dragged y/n by the wrist towards where the dark-haired girl was talking with a tall blond boy.

"This is my sister, Y/n, she was admiring yo-"

Y/n clapped a hand over Glimmer's mouth before she could spill anything of importance.

"Hi, I'm Y/n! You must be Clove?"

The girl nodded and smiled.

"Your sister told me about you! you're even prettier than she described! And so far, a lot less irritating."

Had Clove just called her pretty?

Y/n forgot to breathe for a few seconds and merely smiled.

That is, until Glimmer's voice came from behind them.

"Rude!"

Y/n turned and came face to face with her sister.

She'd forgotten how good she was at eavesdropping.

Clove sighed

"Glimmer, It's so great to see you again. Especially since I thought I'd be rid of you by now..."

"Oh come on, What's not to love about me? I have a gorgeous sister who's very single and my family owns the most luxurious boutique in district one!"

"That right there! That's unlikable!"

"Suuure, Kentwell. Dream on! Just try to hate me. It's impossible!"

"Wow, Glimmer that was really smooth" Y/n whispered

"Y/n, not you too! You're supposed to defend me!"

Thankfully, Glimmer had unknowingly saved her sister from a potentially very awkward conversation.

                                                     ๑*˚🍓˚*๑      

As soon as the two had left the training center, Y/n pulled her sister aside. "Glim, have you been trying to set me up with her?" she shrieked

"Well, it's obvious that you're starstruck, but if you'd rather fend for yourself..."

"I'm not starstruck!"

Glimmer raised an eyebrow

"Okay fine, maybe I am a little starstruck. That doesn't matter though! How do I even tell her I like her!"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

All through the walk home, the two Belcourt sisters discussed getting Clove's attention.

"I don't even know if she likes me that much! I mean we've talked once. Today. Because of you!"

"Y/n she called you pretty. I'd say you have a shot"

"Well, yes, but lots of people can call you pretty, but it doesn't mean they all want to date you"

"Oh, believe me. She wants to date you"

"But how do you know"

"Y/n I have my ways! I just know. Just wear something fabulous tomorrow. You're going to talk to her again whether either of you like it or not!"

                                                     ๑*˚🍓˚*๑      

Y/n had one more hour to prepare for Clove.

She didn't really know why she was even doing this, she'd only met the girl once officially and she had no idea what could possibly happen in 24 hours.

The whole idea seemed a bit ridiculous, but for some reason, it felt a bit like Y/n was working towards something instead of doing nothing at all.

She smiled as she found a small pink skirt and a frilly blouse and got to accessorizing.

She would look stunning, she was sure of it.

As Y/n poked around her closet searching for accessories, she felt her mind going back to clove, wondering if she'd like the bracelet with a heart better than the floral one?

would she think y/n's rings were excessive?

What about necklaces?

She had to look absolutely fabulous if she wanted to get Clove, that's what her sister had been hinting at, of course, but she just didn't know what to do!

She barely knew her and she was already trying to get noticed.

What was she doing?

Y/n knew it wasn't just her sister who was to blame.

She'd always loved the idea of romance as well.

She just really did want to find someone.

Someone who was truly unforgettable and made her heart skip.

A certain someone Y/n knew definitely fit that description.

As Y/n spritzed herself with a cloud of her favorite perfume, she glanced in the mirror.

The girl she saw looking back at her was immaculate.

Glimmer would've been proud.

Y/n took a deep breath and smiled.

She could practically see her sister in the back of her mind nodding approvingly and telling her to go after Clove.

"Go get your girl, Y/n! Before she's gone for good"

Just as Y/n stepped out of her family's boutique, ready to meet Clove, she saw two sisters walking down the street.

They had nervous looks on their faces and were clutching their shopping bags so hard, their knuckles were turning white.

As they walked closer to her, Y/n noticed them from school.

They weren't really close, but they'd always been kind to her and glimmer.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

She'd never seen anyone that stressed before.

"Y/n I'm so sorry." one of the girls looked up at her.

She was confused. Why was the girl sorry?

Her sister nudged her and whispered something in the other's ear.

"Oh- Y/n I don't know if I should tell you. Glimmer should be the one to break the news, we're here for you though. If you ever need anything..."

Y/n noticed a small group of people staring at her from across the street.

She felt a sense of unease growing.

There was something really wrong happening.

"No, please! Tell me! What's going on?"

The other sister pursed her lips.

"Glimmer's been selected to volunteer at the reaping."

"Oh."

Y/n didn't know what to do.

She knew that her sister was talented and very well-liked. Of course, she was!

the Belcourt family was extremely well known and it seemed too fitting that the sister who wasn't set to take over the store would be selected.

That lead Y/n to another thought.

Clove.

                                                     ๑*˚🍓˚*๑      

Question: should I do a part 2?