Hello active followers! And to my ghost followers, BOO! So don't ask how I got the idea for this chapter because I'm really not sure. But what I am sure of is that this story now has an awesome cover! My good friend Royal Crown designed it because she is amazing. You should check out her profile! Also, guys, I've been considering making a Tumblr page for myself as a writer. I already have one for my personal stuff, but I was thinking about getting an account where I'd post pictures and updates about my stories and I might have contests and stuff on there that I can't really do via Fanfic. So, if I did that, would you guys follow me and participate? Or would it just be a huge waste of time?

Oh, speaking of contests, whoever submits the 400th review will get to request something! Whether it be a chapter idea you have, or an actual character from the books to come into the story, or for one of your OCs to come into the story, or whatever! You get to request something, which I will promise I will do unless its inappropriate or extremely violent or something, but that's unlikely. So good luck guys! I'll be watching. *pulls out binoculars*

Rivera: The only thing she owns in this story is me.

Cato InsertCatoslastnamehere

I sit on the couch trying to understand the science of a Rubik's Cube while Finnick sits next to me, sorting through his fan mail. So as you can imagine, we've been sitting here for several hours, with Super Friends episodes playing in the background. It's quite soothing as I struggle to make this cube have sides that are all different colors, and only one color, and… it's just so weird. I don't understand it! Like, why can't I just paint the sides the colors I want them to be? Problem solved. What is the point of this, what is the goal here? I don't comprehend.

I hear Finnick make sudden gasping sounds and I look over at him. He seems to be completely paralyzed, an expression of utter shock plastered to his face.

"Finnick," I say, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him roughly. "Finnick! What's wrong with you?!"

"This…" He breathing, holding out the letter. "It… it isn't… for me."

I blink in confusion. "What? People only send letters to you. You must being going crazy."

"No, no, I'm not crazy," He says, staring at the wall. "This letter is for you."

"For me?" I blink in surprise, taking the letter out of his trembling fingers and reading it.

Dear Cato,

I used to be a Finnick fan, but you'll be happy to know that you've converted me! I kept seeing you next to Finnick on TV all the time, so I was curious as to whom you were. So I did a little research and it turns out that you're perfect! Well, perfect besides your anger management problems, but my dad is a therapist so that's easily fixed. Anyway, I love you forever and always, my baby doll angel Cato!


"Do you see?" Finnick sniffs, and then glares at me. "You're stealing away my fan base."

"I thought you hated your stalkers," I say, confused. I don't really mind. Actually, I think it's kind of cool to have a fan, especially since I did absolutely nothing to get one except standing next to Finnick.

"That wasn't a stalker! That was a fan!" He says. "And I love my fans no matter how much I take them for granted! So give Mackenzie back to me!"

"I can't just give her back,"

"Yes you can! You stole her!"

"She fell in love with me of her own free will!"

"See, you're already letting this go to your head," Finnick says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He points an accusing finger at me. "You aren't worthy of fans. You violate the law that says all people with fans must pretend that they are actually normal people! You must act just like the rest of them, like you are completely down to earth, but then you must go have a cow living on your roof or wear a meat dress everywhere! You must tell them that you're just like them, but then remind them that you're not! You must-"

He keeps talking but I ignore him. I mean, he's just ranting. I'm considering yelling, "you're babbling, Nabu!" and then walking away, but I don't think that would be a very successful way to handle the situation. Instead, I pick up the Rubik's Cube and throw it at him. He's mesmerized the second his hands touch the plastic.

"What is this trickery?" He mutters, fiddling with the children's toy. "How does it work? I don't understand… this is... this is so strange to me…"

A smirk plays across my face and I slip out of the room before he notices. That's right, Finnick. You aren't the only one with fans, anymore.