#ch: Cato

[cloverskentwells]

enobaria has an affinity for strategy, and has learned this lesson many times the hard way that the game will go in the direction that will most satisfy the capitol citizenry's interests and wants. regardless of who the best or most deserving tribute is.

she let hope creep into her heart for one stupid moment of weakness that she vows to never allow again when the rule change is announced. the district can have two victors, and that's actually a good outcome for everyone involved - that's relevant to her, anyways. another mentor, another example of a role model, and even if she's partial towards the little one with the knives and irritated by the boy's complete absence of self composure, she can honestly say they both deserve to win.

but she remembers. enobaria understands too well how these little twists work, how they reel in and entrap vulnerable, gullible tributes. she's seen how the public has taken a liking to those kids from twelve and their romantic melodrama, that her kids have no chance now. despite the persona she's carefully crafted over the years of cold and apathetic victor, she still gives in to pity when she watches her tributes rejoice. tragically, they truly and wholeheartedly believe the lie that they're being fed - and why shouldn't they? it's just another part of the lie that they've been forced to accept and cherish their entire lives.

what's worse is that she's not blind, or emotionless. she sees how her tributes soften towards one another. become more trusting, vulnerable, share the same space with a welcoming energy directed towards each other rather than regarding the other as a convenient but disposable ally.

it built up slowly, but still happened. how the little one smiles at the blond's idiocy, how he wipes the blood off her face with his fingers, quiet and unsmiling but still tender, gentle, softer than any two kid would ever dare to be. they're not too far gone to attempt a romance falsehood like twelve, and still respect the dignity of the games and their district, but she knows how this story will end. the same way all stories in panem that involve caring about someone you shouldn't end.

she remains cool, indifferent, because what the hell is she supposed to do at this point? just another pair of dead children walking, unaware of their fates. but enobaria isn't as soulless or uncaring as she would like to be, so she watches with silent but controlled and manageable regret when he defies all expectations of his character archetype and begs her to stay alive for him - on his knees for fuck's sake, even holding her - and when the littler one breaks the first rule of being a district two tribute by displaying weakness and screaming desperately for her partner's aid.

[levithestripper]

if there are zero cato lovers left in the world it means im dead

[clatoera]

hi i’ve been really into the hunger games recently and since ARWBFB is one of my favourite works i tried a quick headshot of how i imagine cato to look in the sequel (in my mind he looks the same as the movie version for most of ARWBFB but then i noticed that clove said his hair grew longer in D13 so i thought i’d give him slightly longer hair ) (and also for the love of god am i unable to draw full foreheads i’m sorry) + some scenes from the sequel + personal hc that he thinks that chocolate milk came from brown cows. i’d also imagine that maybe one time he asks glimmer if she should just give her babies strawberry milk instead of breastfeeding because “strawberry milk is pink and pink is like, your colour, glimmer” 💀

also he has eyebags because he and clove spent the entire night banging each other

YOU are SO FUNNY oh my GOD I recognize you from my notifications! Hi! Hello! You like my posts! Welcome nice to meet you and you're HILARIOUS you're ABSOLUTELY right he's kind of a moron and would in fact recommend strawberry milk because it's pink and he does it out of love. Like truly, he means it so literally like hey it's pink glimmer likes pink and Clove..she adores him. Not for his brains. But she adores him.

Noone tell cato about edible glitter he's going to send a crate to Glimmer's porch fr.

this is SO fun and cool thank you so much my friend I'm kicking my feet fr rn!!! Thank you omg!!

[illbringthechaosmagic]

“It always comes back to this with you, doesn’t it?” (from Romulus )

@acourtcfmuses

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Wanda replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't help that her thoughts were messy at times, that she needed some reassurance every now and again. She already thought of herself as a monster, she didn't want for him to think the same. And yet, she couldn't help but worry that perhaps she was making things worse. "I just don't want you to hate me Romulus."

[sgrspiced-a]

HE'S  NERVOUS. it  makes  her  eyebrows  pull  together  when  she  notices  it,  her  hand  resting  on  his  pulse  point. the  usual. but  his  heart  rate  is  speeding  up  while  they  watch  these  stupid  capitol  tv  shows  and  she's  confused,  because  he's  never  nervous.  it's  like  his  whole  thing.

  ❛  what's  wrong,  hm?  ❜  delicate  touch  moves  from  his  neck  to  his  hair,  combing  through  it  where  he  rests  in  her  lap.  she  doesn't  think  she's  ever  been  this  gentle  with  anyone,  but  with  @meathungrylamb,  it  comes  naturally, ❛  and  don't  give  me  'nothing'.  i  can tell,  you  know  that.  ❜  she  can  only  think  it's  because  he's  gone  in  two  days.  but  so  what?  he'll  come  right  back  out  after,  they  all  know  it. he's  going  to  win.

[likesunsetorange]

katniss “i don’t care about peeta mellark outside of trying to help us both survive, all of this is for the cameras” everdeen

“And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.” thg ch 22

“This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.” thg ch 22

“As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow, the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.” thg ch 22

“I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.” thg ch 24

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

"Gale says I never smile except in the woods." - Katniss, THG, Ch. 1.

I present to you: Instances of Katniss effortlessly smiling/laughing around/because of Peeta in the first book:

Peeta unexpectedly laughs. “He was drunk,” says Peeta. “He’s drunk every year.”  “Every day,” I add. I can’t help smirking a little. 

“Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?” says Peeta.  “With all that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame,” I say.  And suddenly we’re both laughing. I guess we’re both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we’re not acting sensibly. 

When we finally escape to bed on the second night, Peeta mumbles, “Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.”  I make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Then catch myself. It’s messing with my mind too much, trying to keep straight when we’re supposedly friends and when we’re not. 

“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably get,” says Peeta. “If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.”  I grin at him and realize that I’m starving. 

Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me.  The thought makes me smile. 

“Lean down a minute first,” he says. “Need to tell you something.” I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”  I jerk my head back but end up laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Katniss?” Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words.  “How about that kiss?”  I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can’t stand it. 

Peeta’s struggling to get up when I reach the cave. “I woke up and you were gone,” he says. “I was worried about you.”  I have to laugh as I ease him back down. “You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?” 

“So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent,” Peeta says.  “Oh, please,” I say, laughing. 

“What’s the problem?” I say with a grin.  “The problem is we’re both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing,” says Peeta. 

“Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games’ tales.”  “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. 

“Hey, Effie, watch this!” says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, “We miss you, Effie!”  I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” 

[lemon-russ]

So I've been writing a Cato x OC thing that was just a dumb thing I was having fun with, and decided to share with the class. I will note this is the result of listening to a lot of olde timey emo pop punk and wanting to make an OC that is not perfect. Or good. She's a train wreck. Also this is 40k. And prob not incredibly lore accurate in places but I got excited about hive cities and tried.

Anyway big ol warning on this that it is not supposed to be smut (but I can't control the winds if it works it works) and is 100% just me listening to angsty music and wanting to write someone in shitty situations. So going to be a bit more on serious and bleaker side. Also, Yes the OC is the same one from wolf mother but slightly altered, I am lazy and like this one. Idk why I feel I need to defend myself for pretty clean grimdark fanfic when I normally write tropey smut but here we are lol

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Letting People Down Is My Thing (Ch. 1)

|ch.1| Next> Ao3

Song: Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy (a lot of this is going to be heavy on old FOB I'm not sorry)

Cato x Fem OC

CW: Drugs, Alcohol, PTSD/ Trauma, General dourness (will have others as it goes please check CW every time!)

Summary: Ex-Imperial Guard captain Wren Vaille gets a summons to meet with Guilliman out of the blue.

Word count: 2,451

Wren trudged through the cluttered, cramped roads of the hive city. She lit up something- she wasn’t entirely sure what but it was in her pocket- and took a drag, shoving her hands in her pockets and shuffling around the rowdy denizens of the street.

Whatever it was, it took the edge off her anxious mind for a minute. She let out a long smokey breath and found her way to a tiny door in an alley, unable to fully open without hitting the building next to it. She squeezed in, pulling it closed hard behind her. It didnt fully close, but nothing in the hive city of the outer palace worked right anyways. She scootched around her neighbor, in her usual place sitting on the floor and blocking the tiny hall.

“Can I get a drag of that?” The old woman croaked as Wren stepped over her. She rolled her eyes, “Don't you have your own?” She grumbled, scooting to her door and entering the passcode on the datapad next to it.

“Still could use a drag.” The old woman mumbled, but pulled something out of her own pocket to smoke anyways. Wren sighed and hipchecked her door to get it open.

She kicked it closed and rearmed the locks, clicking on the light to her tiny, windowless home. Her bed was shoved to the wall, blocked in by her food cabinet. What once was a closet now served as a small bathroom, and took up the area at the foot of the bed, jutting out in a small square. The little free space outside of that had a small table and a rickety chair.

All things considered, a pretty nice place for living in the outer palace hive city. Benefits of a good military savings and some greased palms.

She ashed her mystery roll in a broken cup on the table, smothering it for later. She crawled on her bed and kicked back, grabbing a packet of soylen viridian and tearing it open with her teeth. She ate the goop, squeezing it out of the pouch, and dug her newest acquirement out of her ratty coat pocket- a paperback book on bionics repair. She settled back, kicking her bionic leg up on the counter while she started reading.

The light flickered, and she groaned. Power outages were common in this part of the city. Surely enough, her little lightbulb flickered off. She sighed and pulled a lighter out to light her way to the switch and turn it off- she'd get charged for the power connection even when it went out if she left the connection on.

She flicked her lighter closed, laying back on her bed and sighing, staring at the black ceiling. The only light came from the small glowing indicators on her whirring leg. The blinking green illuminated her little hovel dimly, just enough to make out the shapes of her garbage packed shelves.

In the hall, there was a noise from the old woman. “Watch where you're goin!” She grumbled at someone.

“Don't sit in the hall in the dark then-” the stranger’s voice snapped back before they knocked on Wren's door.

She frowned, freezing, hoping they would go away if she seemed like she wasn’t home.

“Wren Vaille?” They said, knocking more. “Message for Wren Vaille.”

She grimaced. On one hand, this was a pretty common scam, get someone to open their door and rob them. On the other hand, she was curious.

She sighed, scooting over the bed and feeling her way the couple steps to the door. “From who?” She called.

“It's got the Imperial seal- I'm not ‘sposed to open it. Gotta get your signature too.”

She groaned. “Fine. Don't try anything though.” She grumbled, fumbling her hand over a small shelf and taking the knife she had there. She held it in the non visible hand and opened her door.

The messenger looked tired and bored. He carried a small lamp for light, likely used to working in blackouts. He handed her a thick, wax sealed envelope. Her brow raised, and she took it and signed off on his paper.

“’Sposed to tell you you got a transport ticket in there for tomorrow. Someone wants to see you in the inner palace.” he adds, turning to leave.

She frowned and looked at the letter. She closed the door and flicked her lighter open again to read it. Sure enough, it had an imperial seal- specifically, and Ultramarines seal.

She grimaced and cracked the wax.

His lord Guilliman, Lord Reagent, requests your audience while his visits the inner imperial city. Enclosed are instructions and passage tickets for the meeting. Please pack for an extended stay away.

She reread it a few times, then inspected the tickets and passport papers. They seemed real. But why was the primarch of the Ultramarines reaching out to an Ex-Guard captain?

She let out a sigh, head falling back. She felt her way to the table and relit the mystery roll, the dim glow of the embers dancing in the dark of her powerless apartment.

She just got settled here, and now she was pretty sure whatever she was getting called for was going to mean her place would be considered abandoned and reassigned. She flopped back on her bed, what she was pretty sure now was an obscura laced lho-stick hanging from her mouth, and tossed the papers on the counter. Every time she started to settle in, something had to come rattle her cage again.

____________________________________

The next morning she wore her old Guard pack, stuffed full of what little she cared about that was also not illegal to own. The rest of her belongings, the things too illicit and cubersome, were packed away in her little hidey-hole safe she had in the back of an abandoned factory building. She'd found the small lockable room spelunking collapsed hive one day, and now used it as storage.

She waited at the station for the rail transport, taking a quick swig from her small flask to fight off the hangover of whatever she was smoking yesterday. She read over the papers again. Everything checked out. She was to take the rail to a landing pad, where a thunderhawk would fly her to wherever it was Guilliman wanted to meet her at.

What it didn’t include was why.

She assumed nothing good. Rather, nothing good for her. She wasn't in trouble, they'd have simply arrested her. But she was in trouble, as in, they were going to put her in the way of trouble, or they wouldn’t be going through all this.

The rail ride was crowded and bumpy, but she made it to the ship bay in one piece.

As she approached, a few serfs in ultramarine clothes greeted her, checking her papers and ushering her onto the ship.

She settled into a seat in the cargo area, strapping herself in well. Last time she'd been in one of these had been a little too eventful, but she doubted ‘scared of flying’ would count as a reason to blow off a primarch.

She ran a hand through her short hair nervously, sneaking another sip from her flask. A nearby serf gave her a judging look and Wren returned it with a what are you looking at scowl, making the serf huff and turn away. Wren took another swig just to annoy the serf.

The turbulence of the thunderhawk taking off was thankfully dulled enough by her drink that she could focus on other things and not panic while they flew.

When they landed again, now in a part of the Imperial palace where the sky was visible and there was still gold on the walls, she walked quickly out of the ship on shaky legs, heading to a banister and leaning over it while taking deep breaths. She lit up a lho-stick and took a few deep pulls, letting her head fall back as she tried to relax the shaking.

The serfs gave her looks as they went about unpacking the thunderhawk. Wren didn't care. She hated flying.

“Wren?” A familiar voice broke her from her trance, and she whirled around.

She dropped her lho-stick, color draining from her face. “…Cato.” She rasped, swallowing with a suddenly dry throat. She stood a bit straighter, hands finding her pockets nervously. “It's been… a while.” She says, clearing her throat.

He looked at her in shock, eyeing her up and down with a look of mixed surprise and disgust.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked.

She frowned. “What do you mean? I had a bomb dropped on me.“ she retorted, bristling a bit.

He snapped his mouth closed, frowning in return. “You know I didn't mean that. I was there for that part. I mean-” he gestured up and down at her. “This. You look like you lost half your weight.” He grimaced. “And you reek of smoke and booze.”

She scowled back at him. “Gee, great to see you too.” She grumbled.

Cato rolled his eyes. “Please, don't pretend you don't know you look insane. What happened to your hair?”

She frowned, running her hand through her short hair. “Ok, now youre just being mean. I thought this was a good look.” She huffed, shaking out her hair as it fell over her eyes a bit.

He sighed. “Lets get you into clothes that don’t stink of… whatever you've been doing. And a shower, before we meet with Guilliman.”

_________________________

She was left to go change and shower in the communal showers for serfs, and is given a new uniform to wear. She would have asked why a retired captain is getting a uniform, but she understood what was happening here. Though the uniform did not have any of the patches or badges that would indicate a rank, so at least they didn't outright want to force her to be a captain again. It did seem however, she was being brought back to the Imperial Guard in at least some manner.

She toweled her hair, and dressed, then awkwardly met Cato back in the hall.

He eyed her over, grimacing. “I'd say better, but somehow you look worse in nice clothes. The contrast, I think.”

She scowled. “Can you lay off? I don't look that bad, you just haven't seen me in a few years.” She huffed.

He started leading her down the hall. “Okay, but a couple years doesn't account for looking like an obscura addled zombie.” He said.

Wren groaned. “Glad to see you're as pleasant as ever. What am I here for anyways? And why did the send you? Surely they know our, you know, history.” She grumbled.

Cato huffed. “Guilliman's been looking for someone good with strategy and diplomacy. There's a few planets we're in a stalemate with. We want their workforce to maintain the farms and mines, and they're being difficult, but not so bad that we want to just go in and raze it.” He explained.

She stopped, mouth twisting and brow scrunching in confusion. “Wait, what? Then what the hell am I doing here?”

He stopped and turned back to her with a tight frown. “You're here, because I reccomend you.”

Her brow shot to her hairline. “Why? I'm not a diplomat, and, well, I don't think we were on… get each other jobs terms?”

He kept his composure. “Because I know you're good at de-escalating fights like you were in the Guard, and I knew you probably had nothing else going on.” He said, turning to walk again.

She frowned and jogged a bit to keep up with his long strides. “You don't know that- I have a ton going on. You're actually really interrupting my routine-” she protests, and almost runs into his back as he stops dead.

He turns back to her, looking unamused. “Uh huh. You have a flourishing carreer in the lower cities then?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do, you don't know.”

He sighed, and reached his hand to her waist, slipping between the buttons of her jacket.

“H-hey-!” She startled, but he slipped his hand further under her jacket of her uniform and returned it with her flask dangling between his finger and thumb.

“I think I can guess what you do all day, Vaille.” He said tiredly, tossing the container in a waste chute.

“HEY-!” She squeaked, scrambling for the chute. It was too late, her amasec was already probably a half mile down the hivecity trash network.

Cato sighed. “Please, have a little dignity Wren. Scrambling after booze like a starved rat.” He chided, making her huff and blush, stomping back to him.

“You can't just throw out my shit!” She snapped. He rolled his eyes.

“And you're not supposed to have alcohol or drugs inside the palace proper.” He said dryly, looking at her with disappointment. “Seriously, what happened to you? Even after your recovery you weren't like… this.” He said bitterly.

Her scowl faltered and she had to look away from his face. “You're being an ass and over exaggerating, like you always do.” She mumbled. She tried to sound stern, but it was hard when she felt the heat climbing her cheeks.

Sure it'd been a rough year. And last year was rough too. But she had plans, she was getting back on her feet. She'd cut back already, and was out doing things in the day now. She was doing just fine- thriving for lower hivecity standards, even.

“Just- lets get this over with so Guilliman can ask if you've lost your mind and I can go home.” She mumbled, continuing down the hall.

Cato sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. I'm sure I'll have a lot to explain for after for wasting his time. Emperor forbid I assumed you could hold it together for 3 years…” he replied tiredly as he followed.

[spifflocated]

Just finished Ch 1 of Moby Dick and I’m already obsessed. I was familiar with “Call me Ishmael” but *nothing* could prepare me for the second half of the first chapter.

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

I mean… how am I meant to respond to that? He’s like a chronically depressed Bertie Wooster, only with knocking off hats rather than stealing policemen’s helmets. 10/10 no notes

[garland-on-thy-brow]

Cato, in his expedition against Cyprus, sold all the statues that he found there, with the exception of one of Zeno; in which case he was influenced, neither by the value of the metal nor by its excellence as a work of art, but by the fact that it was the statue of a philosopher. - Pliny NH 34 ch. 19

@catilinas another piece of Cato trivia that I learned today!

[gouachevalier]

St. Augustine describing the absolute state of Rome following its victories in the Punic Wars

“For certainly your desire for peace, and prosperity, and plenty is not prompted by any purpose of using these blessings honestly, that is to say, with moderation, sobriety, temperance, and piety; for your purpose rather is to run riot in an endless variety of sottish pleasures, and thus to generate from your prosperity a moral pestilence which will prove a thousandfold more disastrous than the fiercest enemies. It was such a calamity as this that Scipio [Nasica], your chief pontiff, your best man in the judgment of the whole senate, feared when he refused to agree to the destruction of Carthage, Rome's rival and opposed Cato, who advised its destruction. He feared security, that enemy of weak minds, and he perceived that a wholesome fear would be a fit guardian for the citizens. And he was not mistaken; the event proved how wisely he had spoken.

"For when Carthage was destroyed, and the Roman republic delivered from its great cause of anxiety, a crowd of disastrous evils immediately resulted from the prosperous condition of things. First concord was weakened, and destroyed by fierce and bloody seditions; then followed, by a concatenation of baleful causes, civil wars, which brought in their train such massacres, such bloodshed, such lawless and cruel proscription and plunder, that those Romans who, in the days of their virtue, had expected injury only at the hands of their enemies, now that their virtue was lost, suffered greater cruelties at the hands of their fellow citizens. The lust of rule, which with other vices existed among the Romans in more unmitigated intensity than among any other people, after it had taken possession of the more powerful few, subdued under its yoke the rest, worn and wearied.”

— St. Augustine of Hippo Regius, On the City of God Against the Pagans, Book I, ch. 30, AD 426

[thewritingcoroner]

Heads Up 7 Up

Thanks for the tag @nanashi23!!

I've written very little in the last couple of weeks, but I did get started on Ch 2. of Wolves at the Door so that is where this excerpt is from!

Anya tuned the growing argument out. Her hands were sticky with Bo’s blood, and she scrubbed at her fingers. Her breath quickened as she scoured her skin. The water turned pink and washed away downstream. Her hands were calloused and rough, peeling around her fingernails and there were so many nooks and crannies for dried blood to stick. Cato and Otto shouted at each other, Lucas between them struggling to hold them back from coming to blows. The world around her was too loud, too bright, and underneath it all she could hear Bo’s final breaths rattling in her chest.

Tagging with no pressure: @decodamalion @gloriafrimpong and @marigoldispeculiar! As always if you want to participate but you weren't tagged, feel free to say I tagged you!

[twobraincellkentwell]

Words and Other Weapons

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Two

Series Masterlist Part One. Part Three.

Summary: The day following the announcement is likely one of the rainiest days on record in District Two, and it just so happens to be the day of the usual tribute trials. The same three trials competed in every year by perspective tributes, yet this time it's slightly different.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. Mentioned death of children. Violence. Weaponry (Knives, Swords, Spears.) Older victors being assholes. Probably a power imbalance in there somewhere.

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: I think this is one of my favourite chapters I've written, and I want to see if any of you can tell me what you think my favourite line is! Lemme know what you think :)

The morning after the announcement, thick black clouds cover the sky, the mid-spring morning engulfed by thick darkness and cold icy winds, acting as a shrieking, keening omen of the carnage to follow. Any last hope of a peaceful, easy day was gone. Incessant rain pounds against the solid stone pathways of the capital of the district, streaks of water sheeting over the windows and puddling in the sparse patches of grass outside the houses. The streets are lifeless as no one dares to leave the security of their houses for the extreme weather outside, only a handful of peacekeepers stand frozen under the cover of the training centre as they await the arrival of eleven victors.

Door slamming behind them, two peacekeepers flank Clio and Cato as they escort them the short distance to the training centre and they can feel the curious gazes of several small children whose dorm rooms they pass on their way; the children scrambling over each other to get a good spot at the window to watch each victor leave their house. Large white umbrellas erected above their heads shield them from the elements, but a surprisingly cold drop of rain hits her shoulder due to the height of the cover.

Once they reach the white, cinder-block building one of the peacekeepers removes their helmet and leans towards the security system, placing their eyes level with the eyepiece and holding still for the beam to illuminate and scan their identity. The scanner flashes green as the magnet releases the heavy stone door, slowly swinging open and the other peacekeepers nudges the two young victors into the building. The building is deserted as they walk up the white-stone stairs, the usual clangs of weapons and chatter of children replaced by an eerie silence until they reach a small conference room above the main floor of the training centre where the other nine victors are sitting; the four older victors sit in red metal chairs while the other five stand at various points around the room as the pair enter.

All eyes turn to the door as it swings open, revealing the two to the group; and Lyme wastes no time before silencing the group and opening the floor to discussion around the yearly confirmation of tributes. The older members of the group were used to this, their age meaning they had more practice in identifying the children for the academy and selecting the tributes to represent the district each year. Clio is fully aware that as both the youngest and most recent victor, she is the bottom of the victor food chain - that is her opinion is the least respected - and she knows she'll have to try her hardest to convince the elders of her views. District Two has the most living victors, the most victors overall, and with eleven victors to choose from she knows that their chances of emerging victorious from this Quarter Quell are high but she also knows that the chances of her and Cato being put back into the arena are even higher. "I suggest that we proceed as usual but instead of our multi-day tournament, we conduct the trial today. I can have everyone here by early afternoon, and we are all skilled enough to skip the basic trials and focus purely on weapon performance."

"The best chance for the district to redeem itself after the last Quarter Quell is to send in our latest victors." An older man suggests, his arms crossed as he defiantly leans back in his seat.

Another older man nods his head in agreement, pointing at the couple standing by the door but refusing to directly address them, "We need not waste time with our usual procedure Lyme. We shall send the two of them in. They are the ones with the least to lose and they have graduated from our training school most recently after all."

"You have to be joking," Clio scoffs, the bite in her voice causing a few raised eyebrows.

"This is no joking matter, young lady." The older man sitting in the corner replies, leaning forward onto the table. "It should be an honour to represent our district for a second time. Just think one of you could be the first two time victor in Panem's history. It is a true honour to be selected as volunteers."

"Then why won't you do it?" Cato asks. The older man rises from his chair, stalking across the room to stand before the blonde. He raises his head to meet Cato's, seeing rage simmering in the younger man's eyes and swiftly deciding against his attempt at intimidation.

The room erupts in arguments, the older victors shouting vague threats at the younger individuals, reprimanding their attitude; deeming it unfitting of a career tribute. Various different voices remind them that they're not potential tributes anymore; that regardless of the power hierarchy within the room, the young victors had still earned their spot at the table.

"As much as you try to deny it, the two of them have earned their freedom." Enobaria snaps, "they have their entire lives ahead of them, just as I do."

A short blonde woman is the next to speak up, "We all have lives here, Enobaria."

Remote coldness comes into her eyes as she exhales noisily through pursed lips, "I have a family here."

"You aren't giving us time. Two years isn't enough time to build the things you have and you're going to rip the chance from us? Half of you only have about two years left." Clio interjects, angry at the lack of respect the older victors have for her. They still view us as children, she thinks as her eyes shoot daggers into the back of the blonde woman's head. "We trained our entire lives for this and now we don't even get to live in the luxury we were promised. Some fucking life that is."

"And we're sorry but this is just the way it has to be. One of you will return and get that chance." The older man's eyes show no sign of the remorse he claims to feel.

"We really aren't being given a choice are we?"

"The Hunger Games is an-"

"An honour I know, but I've already brought pride to the district three years ago. I deserve a life." Cato slams his fist on the door frame in anger, bringing the attention to him as the older man he was speaking to objects to his words once more.

"We have families, son," another woman reiterates, "Children who need us."

"Ahh because we're all so against killing children."

The room breaks into shouts, the older victors all standing from their seats in protest, but Cato continues to shout over them, pacing the room as he gestures wildly, "You cannot seriously be telling me that because you're all old I don't get the chance to have children. Has it occurred to you that I don't get that chance either way? If you put Clio and I in there together, no matter the outcome I'm never going to be afforded the same opportunity. Besides, I have a family too, you've all met my parents. My sister. Do they not fit into your skewed definition of family?"

"You're all just scared," Clio rolls her eyes, "None of you want to chance it against the bitch from Twelve who can get you at range when you've not touched a spear in at least twenty years. If you were really worried about bringing pride to the district you'd be jumping at the bit to go again."

An almost smile quirks at Brutus' lips as the older victors cower in their chairs, looking around the room as they wait in deafening silence for someone to defend themselves. "Very well, the usual trial it is. I shall gather the district officials and announce to the Academy's children that they are to learn from today's showing." Lyme, their unofficial leader leaves the room without a second thought, her eyes catching the fury burning in the two youngest victors as they follow after her; Enobaria and Brutus not far behind.

"We'll throw the trial. They won't send us in if we perform badly." Enobaria whispers to Brutus, loud enough for the pair walking in front of her to hear.

"Yes they will."

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The rain still pelts the stone flooring of the plaza in the middle of District Two's capital, harsh and unrelenting while the Academy's children are seated under two large makeshift canopies on either side of the square as they await the arrival of the eleven victors for this year's tribute trials. Applause sounds as the eleven victors emerge from the tribute centre and into the downpour on the square. Clothes become saturated in seconds, sticking to their skin and sneaking their way under their collars. Hair becomes heavy, ponytails crying from their shoulders as they stand in line and await their instructions. They've all done this before of course, they know what they're doing but still, they wait; backs straight, chins high and faces emotionless.

"Greetings!" District Two's mayor shouts over the sound of the rain, silencing the chatter of the children in the audience, "It is our honour to hold the seventy-fifth tribute trials. Today is an especially exciting occasion for we are assessing the performance of our beloved victors."

Cheers erupt as the mayor instructs the victors to stand behind a line marked on the stone floor; somehow not been washed away yet by the heavy rain that is drenching the prospective tributes. The oldest victor immediately goes to the front of the line and as Clio reluctantly takes her place she isn't sure if it's his arrogance or desire to get this trial over and done with that influences his decision; but this is quickly answered for her when the other older victors push her behind them as they file in after the grey haired man. Following suit, Enobaria gives her a sorry smile as she moves to stand ahead of Clio, pulling Cato in between herself and the short woman. They wait as several of the older Academy children place a selection of dummies around the square, and move the rack of swords in reach of the procession line; then when the preparation is complete the mayor speaks again, "Due to the experience and advanced skill of this year's tributes as well as the sudden circumstances, we will be bypassing the customary stamina and survival trials. We shall begin with sword prowess before moving to the lighter weapons."

"Ignoring the stamina trials is completely unfair, there's no way the old men can do them." Clio mutters under her breath, but her opinion changes when Cato quietly reminds her that if they included the stamina trials then the chances of the older victors being chosen would drastically decrease and they're all wishing for the complete opposite.

"For our first trial, potential tributes must choose a suitable sword from the rack and incapacitate each of the eight dummies within the square. Competitors can take any path around the course, but all targets must be completed and it is in their best interests to choose an efficient path given that this trial is ranked upon time. Tributes, it is also worth noting that you may not change your choice of weapon, and that the weight of the sword chosen will be accounted for. Finally, in a change from previous years; once a tribute has completed the course, their weapon cannot be utilised by another tribute."

Oh fucking brilliant I'll have to use the left overs, Clio thinks to herself as she realises the rack holds exactly eleven swords and given that she's last it's obvious to her that she'll be forced to use whichever one remains on the rack, and that the older victors will have the advantage in this trial; but then again is that a bad thing.

"Begin." On the mayor's instruction, the grey-haired man moves from the start line and rushes to choose a suitable sword from the weapon rack as he progresses along the course. Once the man's time is announced, the panel of District officials can be seen printing the result on a giant scoreboard, and the next tribute starts the course and the process repeats. Clio keeps her eyes trained on the line in front of her as the older tributes complete the course, not watching their performances until she realises that it's Enobaria's turn. She watches the later half of her mentor's display, watching the woman sprint the distance to the last dummy, slicing upwards into the chest and crossing the finish line to stop her time.

She then receives her time, and it becomes obvious that the woman is still proficient in her skill and this was not the skill she chose to throw, as her time rockets her up into first place - so far. The older girl glances between the scoreboard and the two young victors who are yet to go, giving the latter a semblance of a smile as she rejoins the back of the line. Clio watches the mayor beckon Cato to the starting line, following his line of sight to the weapon rack where he assesses the two remaining swords on the rack; a longer, heavier blade at the top of the rack and a shorter, curved blade on the middle rung.

She pays close attention as Cato presses the button to start the timer before swiftly plucking the smaller blade from the middle of the rack, leaving her with the heavy blade resting on top as he moves quickly around the course. Her eyes follow his movements, making a mental note of the order that he attacks each dummy for herself to follow on her turn and watching as he turns with ease to slice three dummies in quick succession in the top right corner of the route. Skirting quickly around the dummy, he steps towards the sixth target, slashing across the chest before bringing the sword downwards again as he moves closer to the seventh and runs towards the marked line on the floor; severing the head of the final dummy effortlessly as he passes. As his body crosses the line, his score flashes at the top of the electronic scoreboard, causing cheers from several of the children in the audience whilst one of the district officials rushes to replace the head back on the last dummy and Cato places the sword in the pile on the floor, lips quirking into a smile as he passes his girlfriend on his way to join the back of the line. "Do your worst."

Slamming her hand down on the button, Clio looks up at the weapon rack and extends her arms upwards to pull down the heavy long sword that remains on the top of the rack only to find that she has to jump slightly to grab the hilt; something that will undoubtedly slow down her time. As her feet return to the floor, her shoulder pulls backwards as the blade is yanked from the rungs and she adjusts her grip to hold the weapon in her left hand. Fuck this is heavy, she thinks as she momentarily assesses the weight of the sword and turns her body towards the first dummy. She swings upwards but the blade barely makes contact with the mannequin as it's weight is far more difficult to control than Clio expected. She swings again, slashing at the lower torso before pivoting her body to slice at the next dummy and replicate the path she watched Cato move along earlier. Running as quickly as possible, she reaches the top right corner of the square where three dummies await her actions. She swings to her left, hoping to catch two of the closer dummies with one strike, but having to adjust her stance once it only barely grazes the stomach of the nearest target. Losing balance slightly she presses her right foot firmly back onto the ground, bringing her right hand onto the hilt to stop her wrist from going limp as she swings for the first dummy again before stepping forward to slash at the other two nearby. Side-stepping around the target she moves towards the sixth dummy, slashing quickly with both hands as she keeps walking nearer to the seventh. As she reaches the seventh dummy she can feel the weight of the blade weighing her arms down; her biceps burn as she tries to hold the long, heavy weapon above hip height, and rather than slash at the target she decides to pull the weapon back with both arms and plunge the sharp edge into the torso.

This is so much quicker, she thinks as she tugs on the hilt to remove the blade from the torso and runs towards the last dummy. She cannot see her time as she runs but she is aware that it will be slow, the extra time taken up by her lack of control over such a heavy weapon - one that she would not have ordinarily chosen for herself - and her sheer disinterest in sword handling, something she knows is evident to the children in the audience and the District mayor. She also knows why Cato left her the heavier sword, this station was the easiest one for her to sabotage; if she did badly at throwing knives or spears it would be too obvious, but it doesn't mean that her arms don't ache from lugging the weight across the town square. As she runs, she uses all her co-ordination to lift the sword over her left shoulder, her left hand gripping the hilt of the sword while her right rests lightly on the edge of the blade, then thrusting the sword forwards with as much force as she could muster and watching as the weapon flies through the air and pierces the foam of the dummy while she takes a shorter path to the finish line.

The town square is quiet as she throws the sword atop the pile, the only sounds that can be heard are the quiet murmuring of the front rows of Academy children. If she strains she can make out whispers of her incompetence but as she spins around to find out her time, she is shocked to find herself in fifth place overall and slotted in third behind Lyme when the scores are split into gender. Fuck sake, throwing it hasn't even made a difference, she thinks.

Fifth position is about right for her abilities but much higher than she wished to be when the older victors are all further down the scoreboard. There are smug smiles on the faces of the old men at the front of the queue as she moves to the back of the line, and Brutus gives her a pitiful smile when she passes him.

"You were supposed to fuck it up!" Cato exclaims in a hushed whisper as Clio stands behind him.

"That was me fucking it up." She shrugs as she watches the older Academy children move the butchered dummies out of the square, replacing them with eleven new dummies in a random formation around a centre line. These dummies have two targets imprinted into the fabric, one at chest height and the other at the head.

"To test the reaction time and throwing accuracy of our potential tributes, this trial comprises time measured by the seconds it takes for a knife to make contact with the target once the desired figure has lit up, and a points system. Five points are given for contact with the bullseye, which reduces for each ring until one point is given for the outer ring. A tribute's points hold more weight than their time in this trial." The District mayor informs the younger children who have now been moved forward a few rows for a clearer view. As Clio looks to the children who must be no older than seven, she remembers the admiration in her eyes when she watched her first tribute trial twelve years earlier, and now she can pinpoint a few of the faces who witnessed the tribute trial for her games now sat a few rows back.

Once the district mayor resumes his position at the head of the judging panel - a place he must be thoroughly enjoying given he had never had such responsibility in all the time Clio could remember - the oldest man is once again instructed to take his place on the line.

The oldest man's performance is abysmal; fourteen points and an incredibly slow time and it's clear that knives were never his speciality in the Academy. His performance is followed by the two other grey haired men, and the oldest woman and all three score slightly higher than the last, the woman's time much faster than the men's making it clear to the children watching that she won her games at least in part due to her knife skills. Lyme is up next, her time a few seconds slower than the woman before her but she shoots up to the highest point on the board due to her better score. Brutus, the short blonde woman and the other middle aged man then give their performances, and when the short blonde woman beats Brutus there is gasps throughout the audience. The other man falls to the bottom of the pile after his turn, scoring a measly thirteen and the panel of district officials whisper amongst themselves once the score is totalled up. When Enobaria is called up she rushes through her turn, the high speed causing a few of the knives to enter the target off-centre and resulting in a collective gasp when her score sits below Lyme.

"What?" She poses the question to the district officials opposite her with a menacing smile, "I have no need for knives."

The officials nod rapidly, averting their eyes from her glares as they return to scribble on their sheets of paper in preparation for Cato's turn. Once his name is called, Cato grabs a knife from the rack and turns his head left and right in anticipation of the first target. Clio doesn't watch his technique, instead she locks on to the scoreboard as his points begin to accumulate and his time starts to run up. 2. 5. 7. 9. 10. 12. 15. 17. 20. 24. 28. His total of twenty-eight points shoots him into fourth place behind Lyme, Enobaria and the blonde woman, but the officials and older children whisper conspiratorially due to his score being lower than three years ago.

"Clio." The district mayor calls out as she moves to the line in the centre of the square. Picking up two knives, her head swivels side to side to anticipate which target will light up first. Suddenly a target flashes at chest level on a dummy to her left and without a second thought Clio launches her first knife at speed directly into the centre of the target. Five points. Almost immediately another target nearby is illuminated and Clio pivots slightly, landing the knife directly in the dummy's head before slotting three more knives into a pocket in her training leggings. She hears the ding of another target, spinning as she reaches across her body to grab a knife and throw it into the chest before another two light up in quick succession. Knowing that this is a test of her anticipation and her recognition regarding the order the dummies were illuminated, Clio wastes no time in holding a knife in both hands, her left slightly higher to aim for the head of the dummy and her right steadied at chest level. Using a split second to steady her hold and line the knives up with their target, she flicks both of her wrists at the same time, the weapons leaving her fingers simultaneously and embedding themselves in the centre of their respective targets; reminiscent of the manner in which she took down the tributes from District One in her games. She doesn't register the cheers that ripple through the audience, instead focused on the task in front of her. Already on twenty points, she's already ahead of half of the older victors and with seven targets still remaining she's quickly working her way up the scoreboard. As she sheaths another three knives, a head height target lights up on her right side, almost imperceptibly due to its location in the peripheral vision; and so she draws another knife from her right pocket across her body with her left knife and launches it into the target. Immediately turning around she completes the same action twice more across her body. Thirty-five points. She plucks another knife from the rack, pocketing the final three as she spins slowly to predict the position of the next target. Hearing the ding behind her once more she spins on her right foot, and whips her left arm forward to plunge the knife into the chest of the dummy. Forty points. The final three targets light up in quick succession; as soon as Clio's knife pierces the foam, the next is quickly illuminated and knifed.

With a score of fifty-five points, Clio rockets to the top of the standings and when she looks at her time, she can see that as well as getting the highest points total, she also achieved the fastest time. The district officials whisper again, but this time the tone of conversation is different - they are impressed with her performance; a stark contrast from the disappointment at the various other victors. Although Clio has always been confident with throwing knives, she is surprised to see herself receiving the perfect score since in her game year she only received fifty-two points. As she begins the walk to the back of the line, she fears she has proven the older victors correct - both her performances have been leagues above the sub par demonstrations of the older people. Maybe the best chance for District Two to win this Quarter Quell truly lies with herself and Cato. The sly smirks on the faces of the older men at the front of the line unnerve her as she passes by, smiling briefly at Brutus before the district official begins to explain the next weapon station.

"Our penultimate trial will once again test the reaction times and throwing accuracy of the potential tributes. One by a one a randomly allocated dummy will rise, and each tribute has five seconds to throw their spear into the chosen target. Two points will be awarded if the tribute makes contact within the allotted five seconds; one point will be given if contact is made after this and no points will be awarded if the spear does not hit the desired target." The younger children in the audience look on in excitement as the course has now been set up; the older ones can be found conversing with each other about the officials decision for this to be the penultimate trial.

The rain continues to beat down on the town square as the oldest man steps up to the marking to begin his trial. Clio's hands fly up to tame the hairs that fall across her forehead as the rain intensifies. Running her hands along her hairline she can feel the water flow from her head as the grunts of the oldest victor fill her eardrums. She can hear the faint dings of the dummies as the older victors progress through their trials and she mindlessly takes a couple of steps forward every few minutes. Focusing on the small puddle of rainwater that has formed at the front of the plaza, Clio tries not to pay attention to her clothes sticking to her back as she hears the officials announcing the awful points totals of the older members of the tribute line. Once she hears Brutus, another man and Enobaria all receive under the perfect score of twenty points she realises that herself and Cato both need to perform badly in this trial to decrease their chances of being chosen, but throwing badly is a risky strategy on her part - projectile weapons were her specialty in the Academy and everyone is aware of this. She watches as Cato stalls for a few seconds on some of the dummies, causing him to receive one point instead of two on some of the targets and she can see out of the corner of her eye the perplexed expressions on the faces of some of the district officials.

As his score of sixteen points is announced, the older Academy children retrieve the spears from the chest of the dummies before resetting them into the floor as Clio is called to begin. Plucking one of the spears off the weapons rack, she adjusts her grip as she weighs up the item in her dominant hand. Soon after, one of the dummies on the far right rises from the floor and Clio angles her body to face that direction, using all her upper arm strength to throw the spear into the target. Two points. As she picks another spear from the rack, another target in the middle of the row rises and is pierced by the spear. One point this time. Clio then decides to remove a few of the spears from the rack at once - they're lighter than the heavy swords and far easier to control by her side. The dummies sequentially rise to standing position, each swiftly receiving a spear through the chest and awarding Clio a mixture of one and two points for each dummy. When she too receives a total score of sixteen points the panel of district officials whisper amongst themselves as her score shoots her up to top of the standings - somewhere she didn't expect to be given that many of the other victors were more proficient in spear handling.

"Fuck sake," she mutters under her breath as she rejoins her place at the back of the line and the district mayor speaks up again. "Our final trial is a new addition this year. Given the skill set of last year's victors, it was a unanimous decision to consider our potential tributes' skills with a bow. As this is a skill not commonly incorporated into our Academy training, a singular target will be placed at a suitable, predetermined distance where each tribute will be provided with three arrows and instructed to fire. A similar points system will be used to other projectiles, five points for a bullseye reducing per ring to zero for failure to make contact."

What the fuck, Clio thinks but she knows it makes sense to test everyone's ability with a bow considering that the girl from Twelve will undeniably be in the arena this year also. She watches the oldest man's hands shake as he takes the bow from the rack and attempts to draw back one of the arrows. He fires the bow and the arrow flies downwards immediately only inches from his feet. Laughs wave through the audience as his shoulders drop and he defeatedly takes another attempt. The arrow travels a little further this time but is still a large distance from the target. The line of victors snigger under their breath as his third attempt fails to make contact, again falling straight down but those at the back of the line can tell he's throwing the trial - looking useless with a bow is a sure way to not be selected. Although the weapon hasn't been part of the Academy's training so far, all the victors here have had access to bow training in their games so they at the very least understand how to shoot one.

She watches as the older victors at the front of the line all progress through the trial. The three oldest men miss all three of their shots, sending their arrows into the floor. Lyme and the other older woman again miss their shots but are much closer to catching the target than the men before them. Brutus manages to clip the right arm of the dummy with his third shot, causing the arm to be replaced by one of the Academy officials. The short blonde woman and other shorter man also miss the target with their shots, whereas Enobaria manages to embed her third arrow into the foot of the dummy on her second try and the lower leg on her third. Cato is up next and he grabs the bow, and shoots immediately without attempting to line up the arrow. Surprisingly, the arrow travels a fair distance but due to lack of accuracy it flies straight past the target. On his second attempt, he takes a moment to aim the arrow but this time the arrow pings upwards from the bow and into the sky - flying up for a few seconds before plummeting towards the ground. Reaching for the last arrow and steadying it against the bow, the arrow flies through the air and this time, he manages to hit just below the knee of the dummy. As Cato passes, he flashes Clio a small smirk and as if she can read his mind, she knows he is at least a bit satisfied that he manages to hit the dummy, even if it means his chances of being selected have increased.

Once Clio is called to the line, she holds the bow in her hand as she feels the weight of the arrows and thinks it would be so much more lethal if I could just treat the arrow as a smaller, lighter spear. Examining the arrowhead she tries to recall the things that she had overheard at the archery station in training for her games and what she had heard mentioned about bows since Katniss won last year. Choosing one of the arrows she attempts to line it up with the target as she pulls it back with her right hand. The arrow flies downwards and into the floor when she releases the slightest pressure. For her second attempt, Clio decides to adjust her positioning, holding the bow in her right hand this time so that it frees up her left for better control of the arrow. Drawing the string with her left, she unhooks her fingers and the arrow shoots at a fast speed past the left shoulder of the target. Learning from her previous attempts she carefully rests the arrow beside the string and draws the bow, holding her position before she releases it.

Clunk.

Clio's eyes remain locked on the target as the heads of the district officials snap up at the sound of contact with the dummy. An arrow sticks out from just above the left collarbone; the shot is likely not enough to kill but enough to cause some damage. Shit, she thinks, I'm the only one who's managed to hit anywhere near the target. Knowing that she picks up weapon techniques quickly she wonders if she should have deliberately missed the target to decrease her odds of being selected. Ignoring the stares of the other victors behind her, Clio dismisses herself which forces the others to join her side by side in a line in front of the officials to await their decision.

After what feels like hours being drenched in the heavy rain but it is really only a quarter of an hour, the district mayor stands from his position at the head of the panel and walks towards the line of potential tributes. "Now for our decision."

Clio subconsciously takes a breath in at the words of the district mayor, eagerly awaiting the news of whether she would have to uphold District Two's long standing tradition of having a volunteer for each games or whether the burden would fall on someone else. Peering to her left she can see Cato's chest puffed in an attempt to portray pride and confidence, and she can see glints coming from Enobaria's teeth that reflect in the minimal sunlight that is trying to peek through the dark clouds.

"The other district officials and I found ourselves incredibly underwhelmed by your performances in each trial. Your intentions became increasingly obvious the further the trial commenced and the trials were completed for the sole purpose of assessing mindset. Although I was largely impressed by our younger players in the final trial, it seems that only the younger individuals were playing to the true rules of the trial. However, it is incredibly unbecoming of such a large group of talented career victors to behave in such a deceptive, coordinated manner and as such we have come to an unanimous decision."

The mayor pauses for a moment, his eyes lingering on each individual in the long line opposite him. As he makes eye contact with each person, they meet his stern stare until he moves to the next person. When his eyes move to Clio she sees a slight smile on his lips as she stares him down - refusing to be the first to look away.

"Given that this quarter quell has given us a phenomenal opportunity to show the depth of talent in our district, it has been decided that this year there will be no volunteers." Gasps ripple through the audience. This is unheard of, Clio thinks, District Two has had volunteers since the games began; especially in Quarter Quells. The mayor silences the crowd of children with a raise of his hand, "since you all decided you wanted to sabotage your trials, we have chosen to leave your fates up to the odds. It would be in your best interests to return to the training facility immediately."

With that, peacekeepers escort the district officials from their place at the table, no doubt protecting them from the furious figures that stand before them, and the Academy children are ushered from their seats to return to the dormitories. One by one the line of victors begins to disperse, several of the older individuals deciding to head directly to the centre to brush up on their training while others including Brutus and Enobaria head to their homes in Victor's Village. Eventually, only Clio and Cato remain in the square. Clio tilts her head backwards to the sky, letting the rain fall on her face and drip down the sides of her neck before turning to face Cato who was already watching her. Silently, the man grabs her hand and pulls her along the stone flooring of the plaza to reach his house.

Pushing the door open, Cato walks inside the large hallway and engulfs his girlfriend in a tight embrace. Clio rests her head on his chest, hands wrapped around the large muscles of his back, not wishing to speak about the implications of the officials decision, "Happy fucking birthday to me." 

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Part Three. Series masterlist.

[clatoera]

Always Remember We’re Burned For Better Chapter 13(!!!): Don’t Blame Me (Love Made Me Crazy)

...well here we are! Happy SN TV day!! and the 13th Chapter!! I’m aligning spiritually with my god (t swift) rn. (this was posted today on purpose).

Alright so. We have entered the final book so to speak. We are in the war. Now the war is exactly what this fic was always going to be about. And as such the chapters are smaller (4500 rather than 7500) as the war is raging outside and each chapter is less events. Think of it more as a typical fic from here on out, where less happens per chapter, because this is quite literally what the meat of the fic is supposed to be. The war is not one chapter, the war will be many.  Cato is unhinged. Glimmer is going mad. The next like..brick of chapters is essentially all set to Don’t Blame Me because like... welcome to the war💜

Major major trigger warning as there is blatant self harming tendencies here.

AO3

Masterpost

Title from T swizzle of course 

As always this is for my bestie and my loves on this site, who literally never make me shut up and I owe my whole life @ohhowwehavefallen and @afterfawn (and we’ll add @clovecato this time because she will appreciate the SN TV release date for ch 13 and a couple other TS references in the text this time)

Things are going to be different. We have less shippy moments ahead for a few chapters. This portion is about desperation and the loss of love and the lengths one will go for someone they love and to protect them. 

“Kill him Cato.” One blonde ex-victor hisses to the other, the girl tightening the frighteningly deep grip of her nails on the neck of one of her fellow victors. With Finnick on the floor she’s got her hand on the throat of Beetee, watching with frantic eyes as Cato’s arm slips tighter around Plutarch Heavensbee’s neck.

And oh, Cato is close. Neither of them asked for whatever the fuck this is–wherever the fuck it is, actually– and neither of them would have done it had they had even the slightest choice.

Victors, losing their ability to make their own choices yet again, as if anyone is really shocked.

“You’re going to take us back for them right fucking now.” Cato warns, dragging Plutarch by the throat, not even flinching for a second at the hands clawing at the bulk of his arm. “You’re going to turn this freak show the fuck around.”

“We can’t do that–” The man in Glimmer’s grasp gasps out, only resulting in her tightened grip on his flesh.

“Ohhhh we can do that.” Cato insists, a laugh that can only be described as unhinged slipping out from him. His other hand finds the top of Plutarch’s head, holding head cocked and ready to snap in an instant. “We’re going to do that.”

Glimmer flashes him a look, the look of a mad woman, not angry but mad in the way only a woman who has been ripped away from her loved ones, upended in a strange place far without her consent could be.  He knows, then, that if he makes the first move she will follow. If he flicks his wrist to decapitate someone internally she will dig her claw like nails into a neck and exsanguinate the man in her grasp.

They took them. They took them against any wish they might have had, and as a result left them looking guilty. They let them look like criminals themselves, like traitors, treasonous traitors.

It wasn’t even about the two of them now, though, no. They knew they wanted nothing to do with this.

It was for Clove, it was for Marvel, who would be seen as treasonous traitors, too. Suspected traitors who were left behind.

“You know the thing about us,” Glimmer purrs– no, not purrs, hisses like a snake in the grass, about to attack without more than a seconds notice– “Sure, you can keep knives or swords or spears away from us.. But we don’t need any of that.” She digs in and blood pools around the edges of her long nails, seeping out from the flesh of the other past victor. “Look at Cato. You think he needs a weapon to kill you? And God I know that i’ve been waiting years to tear a man’s throat open..”

“You do that and it’s a one way ticket to ensure you never see those other two again.” A new voice rings out, causing Cato and Glimmer both to snap their attention towards the shadowed doorway. Despite the intrusion Cato does not loosen his grip, Plutarch Heavensbee turning all shades of maroon and indigo in his chokehold.

“How did you make the cut?” Glimmer snarls, backing up so that her back was secure against a wall and she could not easily be snuck up on, those arena instincts still flooding through her circulatory system like a hunted animal (which, really, wasn’t she anyway). “Bribe them with a lifetime supply of scotch?”

Haymitch Abernathy comes into view, giving slow claps with his hands. “I knew you two would be trouble, believe me, I did not advocate for your rescue.”

“Oh, rescue, that’s what you call this?” Cato nearly growls, following Glimmer’s motion to protect his back from the unknown.

“Compared to the alternative, yes, this is a rescue. You’re welcome.” Haymitch glances between the two feral careers, who share pupils that are blown wide, dark and never ending as a product of their anxieties and adrenaline. “The smart thing to do here would be let them go..”

“The smart thing would have been taking all four of us-” Glimmer taunts, pressing in deeper with the tip of her french manicure, reveling in the choking sound coming from Beetee as a result.

“You especially should be thanking us Glitter-”

“That’s not my fucking name!”

“Whatever, Shimmer Sparkle Shine, the point stands that you should be thanking us. You don’t think your little commentary was going to have you on a hit list? If you had been left behind I can promise you’d be dead– or begging to be, soon.” Haymitch plays his luck, stepping closer to Glimmer than Cato, hands up in surrender and defense.

“So you left them, what, to punish us? So he can be killed in my place, for the crime of loving me after all they did?”

“There was no selection process, sweetheart. You two were simply closer to the one we wanted. We thought you’d be useful, and we brought you too.” Haymitch does not go to grab Glimmer– doing so would certainly be an act of war against what remained of this career alliance, and would without a doubt result in the death of the mastermind of the revolution at the hands of loose cannon Cato Hadley.

“The one you wanted, who’s–” Cato starts only to be interrupted again by the high pitch wails of a girl.

“You liar!” Katniss Everdeen screams, launching herself full force at her past mentor. While he catches her by the wrist the ensuing power struggle catches both Cato and Glimmer off guard.

For a minute it felt as if they were on the same team, and if she took out Haymitch Abernathy they could get the others. She has something in her hands, that she’s trying terribly hard to lodge into the neck of Haymitch, and he can’t help but think that if she had been one of them she’d have succeeded by now.  She could take Haymitch, Glimmer had Beetee, and Plutarch was as good as gone the minute he decided. They could do it.

She is screaming something absolutely incoherent, at least to Cato who feels like all of his senses are suddenly dull. This is not the instinct of a career in the arena, no. For a fleeting moment he wonders if this is how a prey animal feels, as every nerve in his body desperately screams for him to find Clove.

Clove.

Clove who is gone because of her.

“They left Peeta, too!” The blonde woman recognizes, piecing together phrases from the ensuing fight between Katniss and Haymitch, throwing back her head in an almost witch-like laugh, something more akin to a cackle than the high pitched sweetness she is so known for. “Of course they won’t go back for ours, they left Loverboy too! Come on Katniss, put on a good show for us, pretend you know how we feel!”

Katniss Everdeen and her stupid, unbelievable love story.  With her pins and her gifts and her outright disregard for all things Panem.

It was her fault, really.

Cato sees red. Red like the dress Clove wore when she won her first games, red like the wine the night before the quell, red like the shared favorite crimson hue of him and his wife, and above all else red like the blood he is going to choke out of the Girl on Fire’s eyes. Blinded by a sea of red behind his eyes, he tosses the game maker to the ground, ignoring the choking gasps he lets out. He can vaguely hear Glimmer frantically say ‘cato, no’ in the background, as she realizes he dropped the other major leverage they had.

His right hand wraps around the throat of Katniss Everdeen in an instant, lifting her light frame from the ground and slamming her skull against a metal beam directly behind Haymitch’s left shoulder.

“It’s all your fucking fault!” He absolutely snarls, dangling her a solid foot off the ground as he crushes his palm against her airway. “It’s all your fault, you couldn’t just fucking die. Or better, be a Victor and be grateful” Cato smacks her head off the wall again, feeling how her desperate claws at his hand are already getting weaker and weaker. “At the very fucking least, i’m not letting you slip away again, Fire girl.”

“Grateful? Kids are dying, people are dying! Open your eyes!” Haymitch defends, trying to wrench Cato off of her to no avail, waving someone over that Cato cannot identify from his peripheral vision. “Is this really the life you want?” Haymitch directs towards Glimmer this time, “I know you don’t want to continue on like you were, you know there’s nothing to be grateful for.”

The sudden grasp of a firm hand on his arm throws Cato off, and when he turns his upper body he is faced with the slightly smaller stature of some boy he’s never seen, who looks a little too much like Kantiss to not be related. She was the oldest sister that he knew, so a male cousin maybe?

“Get off of her,” The boy threatens, and he at least distracts Cato long enough that he loosens his grip so Katniss can fall and scamper off. She collapses to the floor, grasping at her neck and gasping for air. “Noone wanted you one and two psychopaths here anyway,”

“Gale that is enough,” Haymitch warns, stepping forward to evaluate Katniss as if she had not tried to claw his eyes out only moments prior. “You’re not helping by–”

“We’ve already got this capitol whore- everyone sees the way you show off.” He directed towards Glimmer with a half thought nod of his head. “I’m glad the little psycho bitch isn’t here too. She’d be a waste of valuable food and air, I hope they kill her for us–”

What happens next is a flurry of events, the order of which is lost on Cato and Glimmer both.

Cato’s fist makes contact with Gale Hawthorne’s nose with a satisfying crunch, and before he can get a retaliation shot in, a second fist comes in contact with Gale’s jawline. The blow takes him down, and when his head hits the concrete floor it makes a satisfying crack, the man entirely unconscious even as Cato goes in repeatedly with punches, over and over until even the sound of his breathing gurgles with blood. It vaguely reminds him of his win in his games, all those years ago, though the motivation is very different. While the last time he had wanted to go home to her– how he just wanted to punish everyone who left her behind.

Cato can vaguely hear Glimmer egging him on, cheering on him to kill the man, to make him pay, before the tone of her voice becomes a frantic, warning yell of “Cato watch OUT!”

Something pinches his arm and the world shifts into a blurry hue of bodies and metal. The last thing he sees is his favorite shade of blood– not of Katniss Everdeen, but of her kin nonetheless.

Cato’s world goes dark and when he hears a yelp from Glimmer he knows they’ve gotten her, too.

-

The first thing he notices is that he can’t move his hands. Well, not more than a few inches. The metal around both wrists secures him down, and when he tries to lift himself to a sitting position he realizes exactly how hard that is with his current restraints not only on his wrists but on his hips as well. His eyes fly open and he quickly absorbs the sterile white energy of the room, which is directly offset by the metal clanging on the bed. Somewhere between a hospital room and a jail cell, that's what this had to be.

The sound of scratching combined with the clanging metal tells him that, fuck, he isn’t alone. His senses must still be dulled if he didnt think to look for any other dangers in the room- clearly, whatever they gave them, worked its magic.

The scratching, though, is not the sound of a rodent working on a corpse or an animal scratching to escape, when he finally cranes his neck, he catches a familiar head with blonde pigtails.

Oh, it’s just Glimmer.

But it isn’t just Glimmer, happy, shining, golden girl Glimmer.

He’s a career, he’s seen plenty of horrific things in years of games reruns, he’s seen plenty of mutilation.

What Cato is not expecting is to see Glimmer cross legged in bed, hunched over with thick rivulets of blood streaming from open scratches along her forearms. What he is even more surprised to see, is the way she is repeatedly digging her nails into her own arms, over and over, heavy handed scratches adding to the gashes in her arm.

“What are you–” In horror, he starts, as for all he’s seen victors hurt each other, he’s never seen someone so blatantly hurt themselves.

“I can’t help it.” Glimmer half explains, scratching in her arms as if she has the most severe bug bite in the world, an itch so deep she has to carve it out from her very bones. “I can’t stop.”

Cato stares, eyes comically wide in horror at the absolute mutilation Glimmer works into her otherwise flawless skin.  “That has to hurt, Glimmer.”

“That’s the point.” She whispers, before grasping her bloodied wrist and using her own blood as enough lubrication to slip the offending metal ring over one wrist. “They usually get rid of the scars,” they being the Capitol and the source of her usual severe abuse and resulting anxieties. “I can’t help it..I can’t stop.”

Cato can’t tear his eyes away when she slips through the handcuffs, using her own blood as a mechanism to do so. “How are you–”

“You think this is the first time someone’s left me handcuffed in my own blood, Cato?” Glimmer reminds, before flinching and forcing the other one down over her wrist, immediately grasping at her dually freed wrists. “It hurts like hell, but it works.”

Glimmer hops off her bed, and Cato gets a good look at her for the first time since their ‘rescue’ from the Arena.

Her blonde hair is in the same half braid half ponytails as in the arena, but now frizzed and blood matted. The blood that runs from her arms is not confined to her hands, but instead covers the bed sheets and the skin of her face. She’s been changed into a gray cotton pajama-esk set that reminds Cato of something in a textbook about a psychiatric ward.  Even that is soaked through with deep maroon blood, making her look all the more like a walking corpse.  This is not the Glimmer the world knows, this desperate, bloodied girl. Of course, this may be the Glimmer plenty of capitolites have left behind.

Glimmer settles herself on the edge of the bed, and grabs him by the wrist, noting how her hand cannot even close all the way around. “Your hands are much bigger than mine, I'm not sure if it’ll work.” She warns, before she starts milking blood from her arm right onto his. “I know you aren’t afraid of a little blood on your hands.” She tells him before she braces his arm with one hand and the metal with the other. “I’m only trying once, you’re useless to us both if I break your wrist– actually, give me your non-dominant hand.” She braces the handcuff again and squints her eyes at him. “Don’t be a big baby–”

“Why would I be a- What the FUCK” Cato yells, trying to retract his hand so he can hold it to his chest. In a pleasant surprise, he realizes he can and that Glimmer successfully broke him out of the restraining item. “How did you–”

“LIke i said, not a stranger to handcuffs and blood.” She holds up her hands for him to give her the other, and with the same bracing strategy, she frees his other hand with less of a shock to his system.

Cato twists his freed hands, loosening the stiffened ligaments with loose circles of his wrist. “...what have they done to you, Glimmer?”

“Enough that I'd rather be dead than go back. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but.. I’m not sure they can do anything worse to me here.”

Cato’s chest tightens when the depth of that settles in. He gives a small nod but can’t stop the flurry in his mind. Clove is there. Clove is there. Clove is there.

“What the fuck’s happening?” He leans forward, loosening the leather around his ankles and realizing he is in the same psych ward uniform as Glimmer, now with matching blood stains. “Where are we?”

“District Thirteen is what I keep hearing.” She offers half heartedly, now finally wiping at the blood in her arms to try to make it stop now that she has no more use for it. “That can’t be right. But, I guess there's some big plan. Overthrow the government. My guess is firegirl is going to be their fearless leader. They were all in on it. Finnick..Jo..that's why they refused us, if I had to guess.”

He scoffs, remembering the frightened, screaming girl he had left gasping on the floor. “Yeah, she’s a great leader of the new world alright.” Cato swallows the stuck feeling in his throat, and he can’t resist any longer. “...and they’re left behind?” Cato confirms what they already know, reiterating Glimmer’s meltdown not long ago.

“And since we’re here..we may as well be Finnick or Katniss or Johanna, in their eyes…” Glimmer nods, holding her arms closer to her body to put pressure on her shredded veins. In barely above a whisper, and without raising her eyes to look at him, she allows herself to ask her biggest fear. “...do you think they’re alive?”

“Stop. They have to be.” Cato snaps, before ripping at the bed sheet underneath him, turning it into a long white strip. “We can’t say anything different. They have to be alive. We’re loved in the Captiol, we’re adored…they won’t hurt them. ”

“What do you think they’re doing to them, Cato, I know what they’ve done to me, and they loved me too–”

“Stop, Glimmer. All we can do is hope they are alive or they let them go. I gave my entire life to being the perfect victor, and the perfect tribute. That has to be worth something.” He takes the long cotton strip and rips it again in two, before taking Glimmer by the elbow and beginning to wrap down her arm. The White sheet turns scarlet in an instant, but the blood does not seem to continue to leak out.

“They might be better off dead. I wouldn’t wish what’s been done to me on anyone..” Glimmer admits, letting him pressure-wrap her arms before letting both fall to her lap, as she now sits cross legged on his bed. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, you helped me, I help you.” He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand, before glancing around the room. “They can’t be dead. We can’t think like that, because then what do we have? We just..have to go get them back and then we get the hell out of here and go home and show that we don’t support this–”

“I’m not sure we really have a home to go back to.” Glimmer admits, rocking just a little now that her arms are no longer scratchable. “I can’t go back to one, not after what I said.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong–”

“You don’t speak against the hand that feeds you, Cato, even if it’s also the one that beats you.” She blinks back something that can only be tears, as she looks up to the ceiling. “And maybe..maybe I don’t want to support the Capitol.”

Glimmer hears the door creak open, and both of them react like the wounded animals they are. Cato cracks his neck, primed and ready for a fight with clenched fists, while she uncurls her own hands to give her full use of her jagged nails.

“I was told you two were going to be restrained.” Haymitch announces, strutting into the room with his hands up in defense. “I just want to talk.” He waves off someone coming in behind him– guards, maybe? “Just the three of us.”

“Oh great, just who I want to see.” Glimmer scoffs, jumping onto her feet to run if she needed to, to climb, to hide.

“They wanted to send in Finnick, but he’s still recovering from Glimmer’s little antics.” Haymitch explains, sitting on Glimmer’s empty, bloodied bed. “Did you maim yourself?”

“What’s it matter to you?” Cato snaps, and if Glimmer weren’t between them, he’d likely lunge at this man, too. “Why would you care if she did,”

“Because, if you play along, we can all be on the same team here.” He offers, leaning back on his hands. “You remember all that stuff, Victors working together for each other–”

“Yeah, thats long over when you left my–”

“We work together now.” Haymitch interrupts Cato before it can become a whole outburst. “You two, Finnick, and Katniss are here. The majority of the work falls to Katniss, she’s who we need to lead this thing.”

“You want us to show our support for Everdeen?” Glimmer rolls her eyes, and takes a step towards Haymitch. “Go out there and say that we love this silly little revolution and guarantee that Marvel and Clove end up dead before the broadcast cuts? Are you stupid? Do you think WE are stupid?”

“We’re NEVER going to agree to–”

“Let me finish. You four are here. Johanna, Peeta, Clove, and Marvel got left behind. It wasn’t the plan. But that's what happened. The Capitol went into Four and got Annie Cresta too. All of you,  here, have the exact same thing on the line.”  Haymitch holds up a hand to prevent them from interrupting. “Before you ask, no. We do not know where Enobaria and Brutus and Cashmere and Gloss are. Cato, I looked into your sister, too, and as far as we can tell she is safe in two. So no. I can’t say if everyone you love is safe or not. But there is an opportunity here. There is a life after this war that you can have. Glimmer. You can avoid the horrible things they’ve done to you. You can have anything you ever wanted that I know you and your siblings have given up. Cato..well, I’m not sure a life without games appeals to you, but it will at least be a life with her.”

Glimmer falls into the bed, immediate guilt flooding her when she realizes she has not yet asked about her siblings. Cato must feel the same, for any sun bronzed skin of his face goes ghostly pale at the mention of his baby sister. Noone considered that they, too, could be in danger. Noone considered that the people back home would be hunted down, though Annie Cresta proves that to be the case indeed.

There’s something about it, though, for Glimmer. The thought, the offer, the chance, at a life after the games where no one can get to her again. She would be lying to say otherwise.

“My advice? Lay low. Stop going kamikaze on everyone you see. You aren’t going to be a symbol, no. That’s on Katniss. You two just..lay low. Stop losing your minds. The president down here doesn’t really want you here, but frankly, we are your best shot at getting Clove and Marvel home to you both. Lay low. Stop making a scene. Stick to yourselves.” Haymitch suggests, looking at the two bloodied victors, with bruising wrists and the look of murder in the back of their eyes. “And please, leave Katniss alone. She lost Peeta today, too.”

“Oh yeah, sure, and where is the actress of the year? Getting ready to start her mourning performance? Does she have a death veil on?” Glimmer snarks, but does not make any move to actually go at the elder man again.

“Katniss is in District Twelve–”

“Oh so she got to go home?” Cato starts, but is immediately cut off.

“There IS no District Twelve! It’s ash! It’s rubble. She’s walking over the bodies of the people she grew up with. This isn’t a little game, you two. This is a war now!”

An announcement overhead leaves Haymitch staring at two dumbstruck faces, a look of fear in both of their features. He gives a heavy sigh and stands. “I have to go, strategy meeting and all. But please. Heed my advice. Just..keep your heads down.”

He slips out the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving two terrified, dumbfounded victors in his wake.

Glimmer chokes out a response first, body frozen as she processes it all. “...they took out a whole district?”

“A lower level district–” Cato offers as a comfort, though he knows it is moot. One could go as easily as twelve, though maybe two was protected by the sheer value of their product, weaponry. Though maybe they were making human weapons, too, in the form of twelve year old killers.

“......what are we going to do, Cato?” Glimmer turns to him, tears shining in the brink of her spring colored eyes, looking a little bit like a spring storm forming within her.

“Whatever we have to. To keep them alive. To get them home.” He offers, though with the way his shoulders fall, it is not an easy decision on him. “We just get them home.”

He’s staring off, letting the reality of this day set in. A war. He got dragged into a war with Clove left on the other side. He’s brought back by a soft sniffle from Glimmer, and when he looks to her, he sees the tears streaming down her face.

“I miss him, Cato.” She cries out, before burying her eyes into her hands, the burning sting of tears in her wounds making her cry even harder.

“I miss her, too, Glimmer.” He agrees, and he looks away from her as he feels that rage mounting in his chest at her abandonment. He wasn’t good at playing fair, at playing along with what others wanted when it was outside the context of the games and training. Noone told him how to behave, how to act.

“I don’t want to do this without them.” Glimmer admits, pulling her knees up closer to her chest.

As much as Cato wants to offer words of rebuttal, that they will never have to do this without them, that they will be back together soon, he can’t bring himself to lie to her. To lie to himself.

He offers no words of comfort as the war outside the walls bleeds directly into their hearts.

[444namesplus]

Aamerry Aardenley Aarlin Aarlovarry Aarragn Aarrikrair Abbandt Abbarighn Abbodd Abborgarl Abduardent Abdull Aber Aberickal Abero Aberre Abie Abiotter Ackert Adah Adahenze Adaly Adamón Adancer Adanie Adek Adenny Adeucerton Adles Adleyd Adlianto Adolaigh Adoly Adon Adonkin Adre Adregan Adrem Adrey Adrich Adrick Adricork Adrikayv Adritin Adrocer Adrophal Adroy Agricarry Agrichason Agricos Agrintly Agrippenner Agrius Ahacish Ahman Ahme Ahmo Ahmon Ahmotson Aidalentan Aidenn Aidlisher Aince Ajah Ajayes Ajayloyce Ajayson Alant Alaurd Alay Albelton Albermaro Alberton Alberwyessev Aldenses Aldex Aldrewt Aldriell Aldro Aldwiney Aleistiahiel Alen Aleodo Ales Aley Alfiq Alfonar Alfor Alford Alfraddeussa Alfre Alfreand Alfregin Alfren Alfrester Alfretron Alge Aliandon Aliftan Alimandrod Alin Alindon Aling Alio Alipper Alis Allaurt Alley Aloy Alph Alpherterius Altev Alth Altont Alver Alvian Alviden Alvider Alviel Alving Alvingtonson Alvintert Alvion Amdel Amdeus Amdo Amdock Amendrice Amesa Amet Amian Amier Aminnarton Amisight Ammaalex Amyathby Amyroy Anard Anatt Andan Andayne Anden Andieltonno Andridaigde Andris Andriston Andrium Androden Andronte Andt Ange Anger Angtor Ansle Anson Ansough Ansty Antard Ante Antin Antle Anto Antos Arciaspa Arcy Aredenerram Areerry Arenno Arey Argie Argio Argiorry Aricard Aricenne Arick Arin Arion Aris Arjuncen Arjuntebed Arjunton Armad Armadfor Armainon Arne Arnio Arthustin Artney Artonaton Aruck Aructontord Asain Asard Ashan Ashano Ashant Ashayne Ashet Ashmoudan Ashtheron Ashucarkus Audand Auday Audel Audis Audy Augh Aught Aura Auri Aurl Aurt Aury Auryson Authando Authaw Avane Avaull Avell Avelle Averchewel Axeld Axelley Aymmy Aymosius...

Bailburice Baim Bain Baing Bale Balline Balsdontan Band Bansei Bantoinsy Barano Barbion Bareedon Baretrance Bareusse Barey Barico Barincent Barl Barlannego Barleyd Barlian Barlince Baroltonrai Baroun Barowey Barquetth Barrick Barriggy Barseven Bartle Barton Bartord Barus Barvin Bason Beacus Beader Beamael Bean Bearlontlen Beartley Beas Beassa Beav Beazelvine Becer Becton Bectuar Belan Beldon Belince Bell Belliktonty Bellin Belork Benar Bendrifer Benley Benne Benner Bennier Benny Bennyson Bense Bent Bently Benvel Berc Beren Berlembra Bernes Bert Bertne Bertophor Bery Bilber Bill Binanue Bince Birrij Bisperton Bjon Bjorek Bjorneston Blan Bland Blandenzian Blanson Blant Blanteefton Blar Blard Blasendasheo Blash Blather Blatt Blayt Blayth Boberton Bohaphom Boharcet Bohn Bohna Bohni Bood Boodret Bookerre Bookerry Boosh Boscolosh Bosh Boshleslade Boshumps Bospie Bostarlo Boswoorgane Boydo Boylainen Boylenney Boyley Boysselasey Braberell Bradd Braden Brado Brageru Braggion Braggy Brah Braills Brainno Braisley Bramerigh Brams Bran Brance Brancel Brancerte Brandy Branley Branne Bras Brase Bravanier Bravitetus Bray Brayney Brecott Bred Brednegin Breen Breern Bregil Brek Brell Brelvi Brem Bren Brenjam Brenjaymo Brennostagna Brense Brentarley Brentian Brentop Breseelloyce Bress Bressey Bretthan Breubery Breveron Brew Brey Breyesidse Briah Bricar Brice Briermael Briker Brion Bris Brisse Bristar Brocker Brockethan Brodoldrego Brolar Brollever Bron Bronarlio Brothan Broverby Broyde Brundrid Brushay Brutheon Brylisey Brys Buderick Budis Buformant Bufornandris Burgan Burgus Burickay Burley Burm Burnocke Burris Burt Bury Buxl Buxle Buxley Byranle Byro Byrott Cabershus Cabloyce Cadolle

Cagel Cagn Cagwoord Cailbel Cain Caishaacquel Caland Calant Calber Calburic Cald Caldwel Caler Calerrook Caley Calin Calke Calkenzek Callake Cally Calo Caloyce Calstin Calton Caltonatt Caly Caman Came Camer Camert Cames Camianal Camon Camott Cancosmon Candington Caniashby Cankinwell Cansepho Carchim Card Cardie Care Carestonald Cariq Caris Carkliff Caroy Carriel Cart Cartis Carvince Carwyeubed Caryce Cason Casse Catchord Catevon Cath Cathy Cato Catt Cavin Cavis Caylarker Caymien Cediah Cedriq Cence Cenertin Cenley Cens Cephyris Ceser Cester Cesús Chaadorton Chab Chabrij Chadwico Chaes Chaestin Chaeucke Cham Chamirganon Chan Chanceodon Chancernent Chando Chandre Chandrike Chane Chanert Chanie Chanithiell Chanue Charch Chard Charle Charthau Charussai Chary Chas Chaspather Chawn Chax Chaxtert Chaylan Chean Cher Cherle Chidson Chilian Chin Chitenton Chiton Chrey Chri Chricansleio Chrice Chrick Chrico Chrie Chro Chroph Chucton Chum Churm Cicard Cick Cico Ciro Cirod Cisheef Cist Clad Clai Clakothel Clanan Clanance Clanson Clanue Clarc Clarodruth Clas Claudis Claur Clayesier Cleance Clen Clericer Clest Cleven Cley Cleywooke Cliah Clian Cliandrius Cliel Clijaxtonwel Clilyeubel Clin Cling Clio Clion Clitley Clix Cloy Coddiagel Codo Codon Colan Colancoth Colben Colbor Cold Colder Coldous Colen Colesliplan Colfredrel Coliff Coll Colley Colon Colphy Cona Conariammon Cooretenton Cordanon Corde Corgand Corm Corn Cornouir Corrius Cort Cortin Cosetsooke Cosmon Costai Coston Coughth Couinleord Courni Cove Cradellie Crikar Crimana Crio Crip Cris Crison Cristonrad Crius Criusty Cupenne Cuper Cuperdanick Curisey Curne Cuth Cuthanbern Cutharus Cuthy Cyley Cyro Cyroe Cyrove Dabbarford Dabbodel Dabin Dabio Dabod Dagana Daggel Dagger Dago Dakene Dakenzian Dakold Dald Dallaiggel Dalley Damannie Damed Dameo Dami Damiervin Damillan Damman Damo Dandenson

Dandon Dandt Daneyer Daniq Danth Daram Darc Dard Darice Dariovauntin Darislano Darklan Darley Darlick Darlish Darlo Darlyeus Darne Daron Daronwor Darrees Darret Darrott Dart Dartephane Dartlevin Daruss Darustuster Darwelobio Dary Daskott Davad Davan Davard Davertac Davertne Davi Davian Davik Davile Davish Dawrel Dawyndah Daxim Daxtonick Dayesain Dayso Deacy DeAnarlo Deandon DeAndres DeAnged DeAnson Deareywoos Deart Deatertle Deatward Dedres Deidanon Deighn Delas Deldo Delis Delivan Dell Delm Delmo Delnaadel Delover Demandy Dembris Demern Demewt Demiovad Demonsus Demuell Dend Dendon Dendrican Dene Denleorger Denny Dennys Densert Denze Denzo Derrevert Dert Desard Dese Desse Destinley Destlandrini Devad Deve Devel Deven Devi Deweison Dewel DeWil DeWill Dexandreedro Dich Dichade Dickaldo Dicus Dieff Dielaibson Dien Digh Dighnan Dijaywarrow Dilian Dill Dioniev Diontost Diott Doden Dodentley Dodie Domanis Domarber Dome Domeon Domer Domert Domerthap Domes Dommy Dona Donanny Donce Dontleo Dose Doth Dotso Dotsonne Dott Doude Doudiellix Dough Dourlio Doyce Doydor Doyson Drady Dram Drego Dren Dreymon Drovalmanty Droy Droydenji Druq Drus Durt Dustrichius Duwain Duwamirryton Duward Duwardy Duwarrabio Duwayd Dwam Dwarley Dway Dwico Dwinceo Dwines Dwistaint Dylex Dylip Eark Earlo Eart Eathomeway Eatt Edgan Edgandris Edgarldorner Edge Edgel Edord Edua Eduarlil Eduatrover Edul Eduleadenle Edulesús Edullix Edulx Edwei Edwiell Edwievie Edwigen Edwint Edwis Elber Elberick Elde Elder Eldrichumps Eldwel Elen Eleon Elin Elion Elivall Ellese Elley Ellin Elly Elmacaderb Elmael Elmanneldord Elmanson Elmarby Elmes Elro Elron Elroyley Elstin Eltert Elvan Elve Elvik Elvincholdon Elwoodiovin Elwory Emar Emarton Emed Emeehdie Emeo Emerl Emerne Emeucan Emieln Emilesse Emill Emin Emirb Emmadelil Emmardiah Emmer Emmesle Emmon Emmyrus Emon Emonneyer Enge Engen Engett Englane Ennice Ennocul Enny Enrad Enravis Enrin Enroston Enrycel Enzel Enzon Ephon Erin Erio Erne Ernel Ernoll Erolau Eroman Eroyce Errestich Errian Erricht Ervi Ervink Erwiennon Erzahiegio Erzarwigus Estin Estinton Eston Estona

Estorison Ethurispar Eugh Euston Evanley Ezeke Ezelarland Ezelie Ezer Ezrablon Ezragn Ezramaspen Ezran Ezras Ezrathum Fabardonang Fablore Fabott Farcis Fard Fardor Farlase Farloydel Farly Farquelm Fave Favike Favincencoll Fell Ferey Feri Fert Ferton Filad Filbord Filemeo Fitchaver Fitchucto Fitner Fitt Fitth Fitz Flan Fland Flin Flio Flipper Florry Floy Forgin Forl Forvie Foshetson Fosiusey Foxbury Fracoe Frad Frah Fraian Fraim Fralberne Fram Fran Frand Frandy Franiam Franketonsle Frannalm Fras Fratt Fravernan Fravino Fravinson Fravis Fraylanox Frees Fren Frenav Frettev Frick Frin Frisley Frocker Frowice Frue Frunk Gaban Gabban Gabborne Gaber Gabhden Gabhdent Gabott Gagellandre Gageloy Gagerry Galber Gale Galeil Galey Galis Galix Galtebio Garcis Garciusuard Gard Garded Gardons Gare Garl Garldoe Garlextenz Garlince Garlip Garlisleonas Garlix Garlort Garonne Garrad Garreedolon Garroyder Garry Garsonneio Gartly Gatheo Gatliorgino Gatrayce Gattholdor Gaymothael Gayne Gaynegin Gehdent Gehle Gehlenson Genjay Gennock Gent Genthyrun Genzo Geodel Geon Geophrews Gerd Gerl Gerne Gerrielinon Gerrod Gerrome Gert Gertince Gilas Gilber Gilem Gilevorey Giley Gilf Giliff Gill Gillain Gilo Ginthillivan Gion Giont Gius Glentonar Gley Gorey Gorgin Gornon Gorton Gory Grabinocton Grac Graco Grad Gradlesto Gradwic Gragor Graidel Grairt Gralen Gramesigell Gramio Gran Granavil Grancorgin Granueanser Granuen Graynerlovan Graywan Greck Gred Grediellieln Gredin Grednet Greem Greld Grem Gremon Gren Grenjaxton Grenue Grené Greus Grew Grewieterth Greymai Grice Grio Gris Grison Grocka Grosht Groysi Hadd Hadenzo Hadonnah Hadwellaidse Hady Haiden Hakerri Hakett Hakine Hako Haldo Haliner Halo Halowelley Halvin Halysi Hamendovaul Hamessan Hamilbed Hamilbur Hammon Handerriel Hane

Hanen Harco Hard Hardd Hare Harich Harif Harisonard Hark Harl Harlarickett Harldenson Harliel Haromer Hars Harson Hary Haryce Hasel Haspa Hawfiert Hawkervange Hawn Hawrey Hawson Hayle Hayley Haymandy Haymman Haynahius Hayne Haynelmad Haynerte Haynett Hayvando Headge Headwen Hean Heatray Heavill Hece Heck Hecothamilf Helvis Hend Henettoperen Henjaymon Hens Hentin Henzon Hercy Heren Herewt Herichett Hermantho Herrey Herry Hert Hertin Hertle Hobian Holas Holaug Hold Holl Holock Holomer Holon Horgankery Horreashl Horyce Hosby Hoste Hostiam Houghth Hounon Howar Howarris Howay Howe Howel Howense Howey Howick Huden Hudorn Huell Huen Huenson Hues Hugelante Hugley Hugus Hund Huno Hunth Hurl Hurlip Hurteon Huryson Huxl Huxton Huxtonny Huxtoreefer Hylayton Hyle Hylemise Hylo Hylord Icard Ichil Ilhando Iman Imario Imman Immer Iowel Iraco Iradd Iramouston Iran Iresan Irvaney Irvis Irware Irweior Irwelleert Irwigby Isaad Isai Isan Isando Isar Isarv Isas Isawn Ishumon Ivadel Ivaniel Izian Iziaska Jabarliah Jabbard Jaber Jabery Jabielly Jabio Jabne Jabnern Jabort Jabris Jacanis Jacaran Jacarson Jaceodiney Jachea Jachen Jacher Jachoin Jaco Jacullon Jacus Jacy Jadley Jafaell Jafaes Jagant Jaggett Jaign Jail Jailfreus Jailoni Jain Jaker Jako Jalch Jaley Jaliah Jaliffor Jalix Jall Jallean Jalmas Jalmeus Jalton Jamaill Jamdek Jamden Jamder Jame Jamer Jamiliftarv Jamilin Jamilsdo Jamine Jamion Jamiro Jamirott Jamman Jammanis Jamon Jamord Jams Jamus Jamón Janard Jandrick Jandsons Janerylor Japolanueld Jard Jardolys Jark Jarlyes Jarod Jarony Jarran Jarre Jarronetth Jarryason Jarton Jartorner Jarust Jasepheet Jasey Jashaley Jasko Jasonardanne Javid Javidganson

Javienson Javis Jaximance Jaxonav Jaxoncodo Jaxwel Jaxwelinell Jayce Jayder Jayl Jaylarry Jayley Jaylierlion Jaymariel Jayndrimroyd Jayt Jayv Jaywoose Jazah Jazard Jeamet Jeaud Jebarryss Jebart Jebe Jeber Jedrieres Jedy Jefaes Jefer Jeffonnert Jemal Jemyrod Jemyroy Jendt Jenlaroe Jerby Jerian Jeritchel Jerne Jerno Jero Jesont Jest Jeterio Jethoru Jetro Jimansesty Jimoll Joac Joah Joaheett Joaquel Joareg Joarldocky Joarrel Joazed Jobe Jober Jobie Jody Johad Johadon Johall Johan Johdently Johnard Joman Jomertah Jomiah Joniel Jord Jordd Jorne Jorric Jorriswook Jory Joscoe Josey Joseywaylan Joshadiss Joshucianiel Josmon Josmoryce Jossanson Jossarish Jostacoel Joswoodfor Juaharvitus Juaren Judam Judden Juder Juderippo Judex Judian Judien Judifferijay Judistan Judolart Judson Julif Jull Julon Jusa Kadel Kadias Kaibsty Kaig Kails Kain Kaina Kaing Kairk Kairquel Kais Kalad Kaldwey Kale Kalentholm Kalip Kame Kamie Kamisell Kandrisi Kanis Kanstanock Kard Karet Kaset Kasses Kasteo Kederadene Kedri Keehriquell Keeman Keen Keeten Kehrel Keige Keiguston Keissaincy Kelain Kelaude Kelij Kell Kelo Kenart Kence Kencerton Kene Kenjah Kenn Kenne Kennet Kenno Keno Kenolober Kenzert Kené Kevelnater Kevenal Kever Kevon Khaldo Khard Kidde Kidson Kiel Kierick Kiert Kilbereanet Kilberly Kiliensle Kill Kiloyd Kils Kimilf Kimme Kimmon Kimon Kimus Kipen Kipliassaroe Kippe Kipper Kipperroy Kiren Kirett Kirge Kirnel Kirosi Kirry Kirter Kithert Kitne Knon Knove Knoverel Kolas Kold Kone Kric Krice Krio Krisharrian Krius Kure Kury Kwarrik Kwayson Kweidlerio Kylard Kyramon Kyrod Kyromal Kyruelly Lain Lairk Lamad Lamdene Lamiefarlin Lamilis Lamman Lamouartnel Land Landen Lanethert Lanton Lapoldel Lapoldol Lardo Larelchanton Larenn Larey Larlan LaRobarus Latchord Latth Latwarcuse Lawn Lawrethan Laymphy Layn Lazareyerney Leadisht LeBain LeBalianchom LeBard LeBarom LeBarq Leeron Leesi Legand Lege Lego Leonarle Leone Leoniah Lerin Lerton Lesholy Lesius Leste Lestine Leston Lestont Lever Leverreac Levinon Levislin Levon Lewenaspe Lewigby Lianitince Liant Lianuelvan Linas Lithan Litt Llon Logo Londrett Loniq Lonyx Lord Lordas Lordon Lorego Lorel Lorkla Lorn Lortoin Loryson Louathae Loud Lougen Lough Louq Lous Loustin Lousus Lovanise Lovank Lovaren

Lovel Loverto Loward Lucaddason Lucah Luce Luciuseeck Luckeelasen Lucton Lucturrev Ludi Ludiftannet Luinchael Luink Luint Luintan Luisleat Luistice Luker Luket Lundonan Lylomes Lylon Lyme Lymervil Lymiellan Lymmandel Lymmanger Lymon Lymotson Lymph Lympheedri Lymps Lyne Machean Mack Mahaly Malex Malio Malpholey Maltorman Mance Mand Mandald Mandale Mando Mandrikrana Mane Mank Manne Manney Mannox Manseyeubert Manson Mantes Mantley Marby March Marcy Mard Mardan Mardanfrey Mardi Mardiannyx Mardory Mare Marenus Marfor Marike Maris Marish Marl Marleon Marley Marlip Maro Marott Marowiellan Marrenarus Marro Marryate Mart Marter Marto Marton Marus Marwyn Marytord Mash Mashet Mashew Mashnsey Mass Mast Matchmady Matebel Matendon Mater Materi Math Mathby Mathclie Mathell Mathiell Mathon Mathonwayl Mathor Matley Matth Matthabboran Matthizert Matwairk Matwarco Maughton Maulix Mauloby Maund Maxim Maximmaadley Maxon Maxsonne Maxterth Maxto Maxtor Maxweidd Maxwel Maymme Maymord Mayne McScolphoins McScotson Mean Meand Meanetson Mechitte Mehdenueln Mehle Meignandani Mein Meintlen Meis Melby Meldoldo Melintormas Mell Mellan Melnardony Merel Merfie Merlaullince Merm Mermason Mero Merrikoth Merry Mershn Mert Mertley Meston Mice Mick Mico Migby Migge Mighton Mikard Miko Mikob Mikober Mikothamdor Mila Milbenison Miley Mill Milson Mily Mitchicus Mith Mitt Mitupikoll Mized Mizek Mizel Mizer Mohaley Mohder Monce Monie Monniq Mooden Mooksone Moopo Mord Mordalson Mordy Morman Morne Mury Myriaherode Myrous Nahus Namadel Namen Namiah Namón Naphaymiezer Napmando Napo Naredeuck Narleo Narreden Narrenal Narthen Nassair Nassephar Natairrioth Nater Nathanson Nathean Natheon Nathn Nathop Natines Naton Natt Nederven Neider Neigh Neilbott Neio Neste Nestin Neve Neven Nevon Newarus Newelian Nicand Nice Nicer Nichand Nichmon Nicson Nicus Nielan Nielch Niend Nigh Nikaynel Nike Nikennis Nikethes Nikol Nikolin Nikott Nimand Ninco Ninnielbedy Noardiancock Noarin Noaz Nobi Nobin Noby Noey Nood Noostain Nord Nordin Nordine Nordo Norgio Nork Norklance Normaadon Norner Nornitby Nort Norvie Nory Numon Odence Odennon Odiell Odiffremis Oliah Olielash Olin Omader Omald Omanan Omank Omed Omes Omestah Omnielont Omnish Ontan Onton Oogandeus Oogert Ooginbrid Oogo Oris Orley Orliplanley Orlore Orsoudse Orwyne Oscade

Othar Othawkerrey Otheuctuatle Othitz Othousephris Owelamando O’Mer O’Merocraven O’Mes Pabiovanco Paiamiethett Paim Painglaid Pais Palm Parcustiah Pard Pardo Pareckee Paremes Parione Parlippe Parly Paro Parradiell Parren Parrenson Parriscord Parry Part Patai Patchon Pate Patergin Patheemuet Pathie Pathon Pathri Patinson Patle Paton Patt Patthn Paur Paus Paxterro Paxtony Paymanley Paywoornough Peandley Peaurus Pertor Pethicoe Petroyceo Pett Phie Phiell Philboth Philey Phitchard Phitne Phitnert Pice Pielilford Pielly Pieze Polais Polanus Polayd Poley Polfreyson Polo Poly Pordy Porel Prabne Pradenni Pramus Prasen Pravi Pravitordi Preck Predy Preemyronnel Prel Pren Prether Prett Prick Prikarthrey Pris Prishile Prislanth Prisley Prock Pron Quey Quin Quine Quingen Quingley Quinley Quinsty Quir Quison Quissige Rafae Rafar Rafaroe Rafart Raff Raffer Rafiete Rahmon Rajeehles Rajeelvinson Rajeen Rajeend Rajees Raldon Ralippe Ralm Ralmott Ramdolls Rame Ramew Rami Ramiah Ramishua Ramistondo Rando Ranki Ranley Rant Rapo Rapold Rasell Raser Rasey Rash Raspa Raudovenzo Rauger Raun Raurus Ravie Ravinnelle Rayce Rayes Raylan Raylayv Rayn Rayson Raysondo Rayt Rayton Rayv Rayvan Rayvistonny Rean Reanse Redius Redrin Redrus Redy Reeck Reedne Reedri Reego Reel Reelber Reeman Reemen Reendler Reer Reet Reeve Reged Reggel Reggy Regillyeum Rego Reif Reigh Reincius Relandente Remer Remus Rence Rendt Rennio Renth Renven Reuber Reuberm Reubermarlin Reucker Rezek Rezekethett Rezo Rher Ricah Ricard Ricarl Richon Ricka Ricke Rickformach Ricol Ridam Ridnelin Ridnes Rigby Rigge Righ Rilberrenon Rill Ritby Ritch Roadd Roade Roah Roaquaruel Roarechad Robarlionn Roberforne Roberram Robi Robiel Roby Roceth Rockhaudon Rocras Rocton Rodell Roderrothan Rodforth

Rodne Roelaro Roey Roeyder Rogel Rogo Rolan Rolandt Rolarforgiel Rolas Role Roler Roll Rolon Rolph Rolt Romaelie Romeonriand Rommack Rommon Rona Ronanto Ronrai Rontley Roodo Roorged Rord Rorus Rorvie Rosmon Rospee Royd Royden Rubelstone Ruberitz Rudaibott Rudalton Rudiseshl Rudson Rulaimiah Rulo Russe Rusto Rusur Ruthy Ryalton Ryandriah Rylancius Ryle Ryleisco Ryley Sagel Sagerryton Sago Salberahamón Sale Saley Salinger Sallyeus Salmeon Salomin Sals Saltos Salvi Saly Samdent Samder Samerisco Sames Samill Sammack Sancy Sand Sande Sang Saterson Sath Satt Saudd Sauley Saunk Saurt Sawke Sawker Sawrel Saws Scock Scoldris Seafaelton Sebaseilipe Seberip Seberl Sefand Sefane Sero Setriel Sett Seydne Shab Shabney Shac Shacobievi Shadem Shaden Shadené Shadon Shadorm Sham Shamet Shan Shance Shandsonniq Shaniell Shard Shardd Shari Sharley Sharriont Shas Shash Shastiah Shauliffrey Shavington Shaxtortord Sheafando Sheembranio Shellstince Shen Shennick Shenzonry Sheo Sheoni Sher Sheroge Shet Shethrennyx Shetson Shewt Shie Shil Shilbelis Shitchan Shituric Sidnetrayce Silandoln Silber Sillem Sillio Simange Slader Sladge Slady Slairott Slameson Slan Slard Slaul Smacus Smad Sman Smando Sock Solmeo Spees Spen Sper Sperius Spero Sperriorniel Sperry Spert Spick Spicky Spidleis Spie Stace Stachius Stack Stacus Staelan Staelchius Stah Stahj Stainger Stancoldold Stancy Stand Standon Stanfrennan Stanis Stanoce Starley Starliegario Start Stebenzedy Steemacque Sten Stend Stens Steo Steord Steph Stephas Steppolan Steppoley Ster Sterbin Sterlip Stero Sterry Stert Sterton Sterty Stery Stev Stevon Stewa Stewan Ston Stuan Stusterm Stustoin Sulai Sulo Sulx Svel Svelmon Svels Svennelin Swigus Swin Swis Syde Symailee Symm Symon Symourt Taben Tabort Talardo Tald Tall Tally Taltho Talto Talton Tanan Tanderey Tandroy Tarishl Tatlat Taud Taun Taurd Tawke Tawkeed Tayce Tayde Tedrican Teldrembris Tell Tence Tencennatt Tennan Tenno Tennosperne Teno Tent Teon Teringe Teron Tert Texan Texfon Texton Textope Thadek Than Thandon Tharo Thas Theennerv Thenthark Tholnason Thomairqua Thomer Thommeon Thon Thua Thuandromon Thuarroyson Thucent Thus Tiley Timaes Timanse Timews Timian Timirk Timon Timor Timus Tinkie Tirganett Tirk Tirneig Tirnelberlio Tirt Tirtan Toban Tobastin Tober Tobiel Todo Tomer Tomewton Tomin Tommant Topo Tordis Torklan Tortri Trad Tradwicoe Trago Trahethricah Train Trainarcobio Trald Trammeo Tramy Tran Trannel Trannis Trannock Trant Trantael Trave Traynelan Tred Tredness Tregier Trel Trelaspik Tren Trence Trenze Tres Tresa Trett Trevon Treyson Trich Trick Tricka

Trickerton Triquey Trison Trius Tron Tronce Trooke Tryson Tucah Tucerope Tucton Tuctuant Tuctus Tularro Tullyson Tulosiustew Tureagh Turemer Turicky Turico Turly Tury Tyleigh Tylen Tyrain Tyran Tyranuel Tyrias Tyro Tyron Tyrona Tyrowelin Tyroyson Tyrunton Tysiel Tysimand Tysougen Unue Unuelle Uptondy Utai Utarlan Vald Valdrentin Vale Valif Vanavinio Vand Vando Vannis Venne Venthie Verbio Verel Verovan Verth Verwel Very Vibsouq Vich Vick Vicke Vicol Vicolianceo Vicoln Viker Vikott Viktoid Vileig Vill Villey Vilro Ving Vingtonce Vinleon Vinsuatchmon Viradouritus Virkus Virowayson Virqueyer Virreelson Vitby Vitne Waden Wady Walaspeef Walbed Waldolph Waley Walleyson Waloyd Warfor Waron Warry Waydelaiagn Wayles Waynel Waysien Wayson Weber Welas Welaspater Wennion Wentio Wesairedriah Weshnie Wesi Wesius Wesleve Weson Westick Westince Westliah Westy Wesús Whid Whidald Whie Whier Whitchayt Whitchua Wilan Wilanicheon Wilbedy Wilbel Wilber Wilby Wile Wilfgarrinne Wilhon Wilitley Willaigh Wille Willey Willimede Willin Willo Willoce Wilo Wingley Winses Winson Winton Witz Woleck Wolethclie Woleywoodon Wookence Wookson Wooreder Word Wyalton Wyato Wylal Wylarly Wylet Wyley Xaviah Xavin Xavis Yald Yalitt Yelanick Yelmacul Yoff Yonar Yonarro Yordon Zacin Zacken Zaco Zacoe Zacy Zanan Zeck Zeco Zecton Zectonarwels Zedo Zedy Zeken Zellielly Zeph Zephad Zephawker Zephenatlane Zepheucer Zephomeron Zephon Zeppolomes Zithitus Zitin Zitlark Zurel Zurice Zurle Zurm Zurrio

[skyfullomuses]

|| Closed Starter for || @phantasmagcrical​ || For Cato

   Time was nothing short of a fleeting sensation when she was going to be living forever. That much was apparent but either way, she liked the idea of finding a period that suited her best. So far, she hadn't cared for many passing trends so far, though, corsets were rather annoying and she'd choose to rather never go back to those again, if she has the chance. Anna shakes her head a little at th thought. It hadn't been very long since they had started to become a thing of the past, either way. She was thankful. Maybe she'd be able to breathe normally now without feeling like her air supply was going to be choked off. Poor humans and their inability to survive without breathing.

   Hand raises, knuckles rapping over the wooden door and Anna waits patiently for Achilles to answer. This was the address he had given her and she had decided that maybe his offer wasn't too terrible to accept. She needed a change in her life. Needed something to bring excitement to it, give it the fire that it had once had. "Well, you're not who I was expecting." She starts, seeing the person who answered the door was not the man she was expecting to greet her. "Is Achilles here or did I get the address wrong?"