Fourth prompt! December 28, 2012, to January 4, 2013.
The prompt for this week is:
christmas!fic: your eyes are like starlight now
Rules:
The fic must somehow incorporate Christmas (or just winter, if you prefer), and must take place in THG-verse. No AU's, please.
The fic must be a oneshot, preferably somewhere between 500 and 5,000 words.
Please try to keep Cato and Clove in character, as much as possible.
Stretch the prompt if you’d like, and feel free to make a graphic or something. Make sure to put the fic under a read more if you post it on tumblr.
Don't just write! Read other fics in the exchange, and give support and feedback.
Lastly, of course, tag and track #clatoficholla so your work can be seen by others and to keep up with other stories.
As always, we can't wait to read some new Clato fics! If you have any questions about the prompt or the exchange in general, just visit the askbox of either me or kim.
"But Clove is growing tired of fighting fire with water, and seeing nothing but smoke. Fire against fire could make a spark, and a spark could spread."
prompt: i did not choose him, he did not choose me (history au)
summary: alternate universe set during the french revolution in the early 1790s. at that point during the revolution, groups of radicals were starting to rise in paris, and although they were fighting to overthrow the king and to achieve equality in the government, they often resorted to violence and brute force, and paris was engulfed in chaos and violence for a number of years. anyway, the whole bloody/violenty/brutal thing struck me as very clato-y, and basically in this fic, cato is leading the violent revolts in paris and clove is a parisian citizen who is appalled by his brutality. this is also heavily inspired by the story of charlotte corday and jean-paul marat (don’t look them up unless you want to spoil the story ((!)) ) read
prompt: broke a promise that i tried (but my heart no longer beats)
title: twisted fantasies, twisted realities. rating: t. words: 1,000
They're always playing games.
Every moment of every day, around the clock, everything is a game, everything is a challenge; every laugh, every smirk, every sideways glance, and every cut, every scratch, every bruise and every scar.
She'll break his arm, and he'll snap her wrists.
She'll slit his throat, and he'll cut her neck.
She'll call him stupid, and he'll laugh, make fun of her small chest.
"At least I've got a brain," she'll snap, eyes throwing daggers just as sharp as the ones she throws with her hands.
"Whatever you say, sweetie," he'll reply, patronizing and arrogant and endlessly infuriating.
They're always playing games, all the time, but neither ever wins.
It's been a great week, guys! First off, Kim and I would like to give a huge thank you to everyone who participated, whether by writing or reviewing or simply reading. It's awesome that so many people are interested, and we received some fantastic fics this week. Without further ado, here is a list of the fics that were written for this week's prompt, all of which are absolutely lovely.
AU: Temporary Battles Can Take up Half Your Life
Bluebells by ramenpanda. Rated T, 900 words.
Life Is a Battlefield by clovesessed. Rated T, 500 words.
Love Is All That I Fear, Chapter 8 by isabellefearman. Rated T, 1600 words.
A Thousand Sweet Things by jackqaid. Rated T, 1900 words.
AU: Temporary Battles Can Take Up Half Your Life
Cato/Clove, Rated T for Violence, 529 words.
Summary: Cato and Clove both won the Hunger Games, but they were never meant to win them together. And soon they must realise that there are worse battles to fight than the games.
She tasted blood in her mouth, not sure if it was her own or Cato’s.
With every move she tried to hurt him, stabbed him with her knife over and over until he flinched in pain.
He bit her shoulder, opening her skin.
Before they could both kill each other, their fight was interrupted by a panicked voice.
“Stop. Stop! Ladies and Gentleman I present you the victors of the 74th annual Hunger Games.”
They stopped, Clove’s knife never leaving Cato’s throat.
They were victors.
They were always supposed to be victors.
But not together.
X
Clove refused to share her glory with Cato.
He did the same.
During the Victory Tour both of them still tried to out best each other.
It was a never ending battle, a violent, ruthless battle for glory.
Sometimes Clove caught herself being tired of fighting.
But after all she was never meant to do something different.
X
In a never ending darkness, Clove crawled into Cato’s bed, not caring if she woke him or not.
“Are you scared of the darkness?” he said in this mocking tone she hated so much.
She didn’t answer him.
Even if she despised herself for it, she needed his touch, his warmth.
At least for a night.
And she knew that he wanted the same.
They were both too proud to admit it.
X
President Snow was not happy with them.
He disapproved of them winning as a pair, as much as they did.
He wanted them to have a story.
It was unbelievable and terribly silly.
Yet they had no other choice.
The realization hit them, quickly and unwelcomed.
They had other battles to win then the one they fought with each other.
X
They married soon, one or two weeks after.
None of them smiled.
He bruised her on their wedding night.
She left huge, ugly scars on his skin.
Maybe she enjoyed this combat.
Maybe they both did.
X
Cato was not a faithful husband, as Clove had expected.
Often enough he brought other women and it bothered her.
It bothered her more than she wanted it to.
X
It was night and Clove slipped into Cato’s room once more.
Before he could say something, or pull her into his arms she forced her lips onto his.
She kissed him hard and hungry, sucking his under lip, pulling him closer, without the intention of letting him go anytime soon.
He needed to catch her, tried to push her away.
But he stayed hard in her grip.
Not until he could take things further, she laughed and shoved his head into his bed.
She left him quietly, knowing that she won this night.
X
From that night on, Clove often woke with Cato’s arms wrapped around her.
X
Cato was his.
She was hers.
They didn’t need to say that out loud, because they were both aware of that.
Yet still, a satisfied smile formed around her lips when he told her.
AU: Temporary Battles Can Take Up Half Your Life
Cato doesn't want to be a Career any longer, but Clove has something different in mind.
Around 2050 Words, Slightly Fluffy, Rated T for some language and violence
(Clove)
Cato wants to be a mason. A mason. A mason?
Who wants that?
He’s a warrior, like me. We’ve been partners for three years now. We’re 15. Now is not the time for a midlife crisis. Besides, Careers have those at 9, anyway.
… or one of them does.
This is unfair. Unbelievably unfair. He’s backing out on me. I won’t take this. I can’t.
I see him after class. After he admitted to our teacher that he didn’t want to be a Career anymore. I grab his shirt as he exits the room. And shove him against a locker.
“Are you insane?!” I scream.
“Clove,” he starts in a tired voice.
“This is ridiculous. You’re leaving Academy to become a bricklayer? You’re wasting all your talent for nothing.”
“Clove, listen, please,” Cato is pleading now. Pathetic.
“No, Cato. You listen. I’ve worked too hard for this. I’m not letting you rescind your partnership. We had a deal. We’re in this together. Whether you like it or not.”
And with that I slam my fist against the locker besides his head. The lockers for the day school kids. The wimps. Real Careers stay in the dorms, which is where I head next, hand throbbing and heart pounding, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
---------------------------------------------
(Cato)
The next morning, I go to Clove, walking straight up to her, knowing how defensive she gets when startled. She looks me straight in the eye and I swear, if you could kill someone with gazes, she’d be doing it.
Instead I see her hand twitch, ever so slightly, towards her belt where her knives are kept, but it's so subtle I doubt she knows she did it. But I saw. I always see. When it comes to her.
“Clove I’ve been thinking and,”
“And you’re crawling right back to me. Be glad I didn’t switch my partner last night, dumbass, because you’d be nothing without me and you know it.”
I look at her, confused, but she just says,
“I could see you were going to ask me to forgive you. You don’t need to say it. I already know.” She says it all cocky, confident, like she has no care in the world but I see the shadow of doubt in her eyes as I go to speak again.
But I just say, “You’re right Clove. I really wouldn’t be much without you.”
She looks at me, squinting, puzzled for a moment, but then righting herself mentally she simply shoves me to the ground, steps on me, and says,
“Come on asshole, it’s time to get training.”
And so we do.
------------------------------------
(Clove)
“Don’t be a moron Cato, we have to volunteer together, that’s the entire point of our training together.”
“I know the point of training together, Clove, but it seems wasteful for one of us to die,” Cato replies.
“Wasteful,” I spit, “Listen to you. Have you gone soft these past few years? It’s volunteering year, Cato. We don’t have time for this.”
“Fine,” says Cato, and he drops it, but I can tell this argument isn’t over, and I think I may know why.
-------------------------------------------
(Cato)
We’re sitting in her room, on her bed, and I’m holding her hand as we watch some stupid Capitol film, an old Games or something, I can’t tell, all I know is her hand is in mine and I feel like singing, but I don’t. That’d be stupid. And she’d punch me, probably. I glance at her. No, definitely. Definitely punch me.
Her head’s on my shoulder and she looks up at me and says something, only I realize I have no idea what it was because I was staring at her. Shit. This won’t end well.
“Do you ever listen to me?” she yells, punching me in the arm (was I right or was I right?)
“I, um, uh,” (Smooth Cato, that’ll earn you another smack).
She hits me again (damn it), and says, “I asked, what are you going to do about this year’s reaping?”
She’s staring at me, intent and I know what she wants me to say. She wants me to parrot back her answer, the one we agreed on. Well, the one she insisted on before we started this whatever-this-is.
“I don’t want to do this, Clove,”
She smacks me again, harder this time, in the same arm (I am going to get a bruise from her. Great.)
“You agreed,” she seethes, taking her hand out of mine and turning to face me on the bed, eyes narrowed, arms crossed.
“Clove, honey, I know but can we just talk about this again? Why do we both have to volunteer if that means one of us is going to die?”
I want her to see reason. To see the senselessness of this. I could volunteer alone and come home to her. Or she to me. It doesn’t have to be this way.
“Don’t honey me, jackass, you promised and that’s that. We need to act how they think we’ll act. If one of us doesn’t volunteer, it will mean shame on us and our families.”
“Clove I don’t think it has to be like that. They would understand.”
“No, they wouldn’t Cato. They’d expect us to be the warriors. Like we were raised to be. I’m volunteering and the decision is final. Now are you going to volunteer with me?”
She glares at me, her gaze intense, and I say,
“Clove, of course I will, I’d never leave you alone,” my voice is hinging on desperation now (God I am so pathetic).
“You’d better,” says Clove, voice low and dangerous. “And I’m volunteering or this,” she gestures wildly between me and her, “Is over and I’m still going into the Games. Got it?”
I nod, knowing that she’s serious. It kills me, but it is the best way I can keep her safe. I sigh. She picks my hand back up and interlocks her fingers with mine. She puts her head on my shoulder and says,
“Now, where were we,” and keeps watching whatever nothing TV show is on. I still don’t notice it, all I can think about is what we're going to do.
------------------
(Clove)
It worked. I can’t believe it worked but it did. I could scream, cry, jump, but of course I do none of that. I’m a Career. We’re born with a mean right hook and a stiff upper lip. I raise my hand, intertwined with Cato’s, and we relish our victory. Claudius Templesmith’s voice is booming over the Arena’s sound system. I don’t hear it. I’m looking at Cato.
He’s beaming at me as we both step onto the ladder and are hoisted through the air and into the hovercraft. We’re separated, briefly, so that our wounds are attended to. I don’t break character, not even for a second because even though we’ve won, the Game really starts now. I allow them to heal me, fix me up for the crowds to see, but that’s not why I’m smiling. No. That’s not why I’m smiling at all.
We don’t see each other again until right before the interview with Caesar. I’m dressed in something red, daring, alluring; Cato in a suit of black, all bravado and broad shoulders.
We have only a moment in between when we’re released by our prep teams and when Caesar calls us in but it’s enough. He takes my hand, ever so briefly, and kisses it once, softly. We made out in the Arena (what better way to prove we were ‘Star-Crossed Lovers’?) but this means more to me. Now that it's just us.
He looks into my eyes and nods once but like always I know what he’s thinking, and he what I’m thinking, because best friends know how to read each other, no matter what horrors they’ve endured.
He’s reassuring me, even now, that this is all the Game. The act. For survival. We know who the other is. He squeezes my hand one last time before we ascend the stage, hands together raised victoriously as the Victors of District Two. Cato hoots once and I curtsy mockingly, arrogant, a Career until the end.
We sit down and Caesar asks us questions, almost all of which Cato answers, and lewdly. Every single thing, somehow, he turns into a sick joke.
“When did you first know you loved Clove?” Caesar asks.
“When I saw her turn around for the first time,” says Cato with a smile.
“How did you feel when she kissed you?”
“I felt better when the cameras left,” he replies with a wink.
Every. Single. Answer is sexualized, to the point where I'm starting to grasp why the Capitol let us live. It's for entertainment purposes. The Capitol does love their intrigue, after all.
Somehow, some way I keep a smile on my face throughout the whole thing, even adding a few size-related comments that seem to draw laughter from the crowd, although they weren’t funny. After about ten minutes we are allowed to leave, with many comments about 'safety' as we walk off.
Backstage, Cato never lets go of my hand as we walk back towards our rooms on the second floor, the only tenants in what now feels like a graveyard. Everyone else is dead.
He opens my door and lets go of me for the first time since we first saw one another after our remake. He goes leave, thinking I need my privacy but instead I grab him and pull him back towards me, into the room.
I throw my arms around him and hug him so tightly that I know he can barely breathe, but yet he stands there, holding me just as tightly back.
We break apart by only a few inches and I whisper, “We did it,” and I can feel the emotion welling up in my voice.
But he just looks at me, with his genuine blue eyes and breathes back, “I know.”
And for a while we just stand there, holding each other in place, the anchors that have kept each other steady, for our whole lives.
----------------------
(Cato)
“Clove!” I yell outside, eyes scouring around for her.
“Yeah?” I hear from around the corner, too far to yell to have a conversation at this distance. I sigh and run to where I hear her calling.
I round the corner and nearly run into her, “Clove!” I shout, even though she’s right in front of me,
“I’m right here,” says Clove, calmly.
“Come here!” I scream, and she does, following me obligingly.
We walk inside and I point with distinct pride, “Look what she’s doing!”
And Clove does. A small smile appears on her face, growing into a wider one, then the widest I’ve ever seen, as she sees our daughter standing in her playpen, balancing herself on her chubby little legs as she takes one step forward, then another, before tumbling into a sitting position.
I can see tears welling in her eyes as she rushes forward to pick up our baby girl, holding her tightly and telling her what a smart, capable girl she is.
And I stand back, watching my girls, watching the future I never thought I’d see unfold before me. I’d always hoped for this, hoped that my wife one day be the girl that I grew up with, the only girl that could have convinced me to take this path, the only path that would have taken me here.
It’s been an uphill battle but we’ve made it, and though these temporary battles against each other, against this system have taken up half our lives, we’re here now. Good and safe.
Safe from the Capitol, since we’re a novelty now, and an amusing one at that. One crass interview with Caesar per year and it’s our ticket to each other, just each other, every night, our bodies our own. And our daughter, my precious baby, safe from the Games because we agreed to mentor every year until she’s 18. It was a trade off, clearly, but with luck we can get some of those kids home.
Our lives aren’t perfect, but this is more than I’d hoped for. My battle’s been hard fought, sorely won. We’re here now. We’re safe. We’re home.
