Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Carmilla!” Lexa huffed, sounding almost exasperated. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. Composure was everything. “You really should try, Carmilla. This training could save your life, and the Reaping is tomorrow.”

Carmilla nonchalantly glanced over the top of her book, and, noticing Lexa’s firm stance, sighed exaggeratedly before rising to her feet. She lazily pulled three small knives out of her boot before chucking all of them effortlessly at a target, inactive behind Lexa, narrowly missing her head, and hitting the bulls-eye with all of the knives. “I think I’m good, princess,” Carmilla said, smirking and plopping back into her chair to read her book.

Lexa, fuming, resisted the urge to smack Carmilla for her blatant apathy and wondered (not for the first time) why Carmilla remained her best friend. Lexa returned to her training, more determined than ever. What she lacked in raw talent, she’d make up for in hard work. Not everyone was as gifted as Carmilla, though Lexa would never admit that.

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The Next Day

“Let’s move, Carmilla, we are going to be tardy simply because you insist on wearing those strange corsets everywhere,” Lexa commanded.

“Ya’ know, cutie, it’s much easier to take it off than it is to put on,” Carmilla said with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, continuing to lace up the red, silk corset while eyeing herself in the full-length mirror. She then sauntered over to Lexa, completely defining the word ‘saunter’, and kissed her on the cheek, leaving a blotch of red lipstick, which Lexa vehemently began to rub off.

“If you and I are selected, be well aware that you will be my first target,” Lexa seethed, to which Carmilla chuckled.

“Come on, Commander,” Carmilla insisted, throwing her arm haphazardly over Lexa’s shoulders, steering them both out the door and in the direction of Center Square, “we all know you love me too much for that.” Lexa tried shrugging Carmilla’s arm off, but it was no use; Lexa accepted the small defeat and resolved to make the rest of the journey—to the center of District 1—stuck under her best friend’s arm.

They arrived with several seconds to spare, and Lexa almost wished Carmilla had taken more time tying up her corset, so that they wouldn’t have to sit through President Jenny Schecter’s video, spitting some bullshit about how the Hunger Games were essential to the country, and how they were the peoples’ fault for revolting, and blah, blah, blah. Carmilla was almost asleep (Lexa had to discreetly shake her awake) when they finally heard the announcer saying she’d be reading the names.

A ridiculous looking woman dressed in many brightly, different colored pallets teetered on the stage in her large heels, trying to fish a name out of the bowl without toppling over. Finally she snagged one, squinting at it through her aquamarine eyelashes before booming over the microphone, “Carmilla Karnstein!”

Carmilla, seemingly entertained by this turn of events, strolled carelessly up to the stage, taking her sweet time. She looked over her shoulder at Lexa, as she mounted the stage steps their eyes locked, Carmilla’s pleading, don’t you dare.

“Okay, and now for our second tribute—” the announcer began before she was cut off by Lexa’s voice echoing across the square, “I volunteer!”

“What the frilly hell,” Carmilla exclaimed.

Chapter Text

Maddie’s fingers ghosted over Tracy’s cheek. Thin rays of sunlight were peeking through the blinds and onto Tracy’s shoulders and back, making her glow in the afternoon light. Maddie’s hand ran down the other girl’s side, caressing her gently, before landing on the beautiful blonde’s hip.

“You know, Tracy,” Maddie began, her tone suggestive and carefree, “we have time for another round before you have to be at work.”

Tracy laughed lightly, keeping her eyes closed and reveling in the way Maddie’s hand felt against the bare skin of her hip. Tracy leaned forward just slightly, making Maddie do all the work in bringing their lips together. Maddie smiled into the kiss, causing the other girl to smile also and Maddie to pull back. The brunette chuckled lightly at the cross between a groan and whimper that left Tracy’s mouth, “Why’d you pull away?” the blonde questioned, her brows furrowed.

“Cuz’, gorgeous, you smiled. And I love your smile.” Tracy ducked her head down to keep Maddie from seeing the blush filling her cheeks. Maddie continued to laugh and pulled Tracy back up to her lips. Tracy, realizing Maddie meant what she said earlier, pulled away from the brunette just before their lips could touch. Maddie let out a frustrated groan before rolling off the bed to get dressed.

“Hey, now, I didn’t say you had to get dressed.” Tracy said, smirking.

“We both know if I don’t you’re going to be very late.” Maddie replied confidently, shooting her lover a wink. Tracy giggled knowingly and began to put on her own clothes as well.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to work.” Maddie offered, extending her hand to the blonde once they were both dressed.

“Thanks.” Tracy replied, smiling gently.

“Are you sure you don’t want one more round?” Maddie began, her tone joking, “The Reaping’s tomorrow and we could both be dead in like two weeks.”

Tracy laughed loudly, and Maddie loved the sound of it.

The Next Day

“Can I pretty, pretty please have a piggyback ride to the square,” Tracy asked while batting her eyelashes and pouting her lips at Maddie. Maddie sighed like it was the most arduous task in the whole world,

“Fine,” she uttered and gave in to the blonde’s whims. Tracy gave a delighted squeal, before motioning for Maddie to turn around. Maddie sighed again and twisted, giving Tracy her back. The blonde launched herself onto the other girl, and Maddie let out an oof at the impact and adjusted to Tracy’s weight on her back. The two lovers continued their trek to the center square, Maddie pretending to drop Tracy multiple times along the way, and arrived a few moments early.

They took their places in the Square and tried not to roll their eyes at President Schecter’s ridiculous video about obedience and sacrifice. Tracy couldn’t stop giggling, having to discreetly swat Maddie’s playful hands away, even though the blonde secretly loved the attention.

“And now, ladies and girls, what you’ve all been waiting for,” the announcer began, making the Reaping into a much bigger production than it needed to be, “this year’s first tribute is… Madeline Killian!”

Maddie was stunned to say the least. She looked to her girlfriend, who already had tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay, as long as I know you’ll be here, safe, waiting for me,” Maddie whispered with a sad smile. Tracy vigorously nodded her head, not trusting her words at the moment, and pulled Maddie in for a deep kiss. Maddie squeezed her hand one last time before making her way up to the stage to stand next to the rainbow announcer. She made eye contact with Tracy mouthing, “It could be worse, right?”

Tracy wiped her tears furiously, not wanting to break down in front of the entire district. The colorful presenter reached into the bowl once more, drawing out another name. She cleared her throat, readying her topaz lips to speak the second tribute’s name.

“Tracy Bingham.” She procured. A hush fell over the town as the colorful woman searched the crowd for the unlucky blonde.

All that could be heard was Maddie saying, “Well, fuck.”

Chapter Text

Spencer’s fingers twitched over the keyboard as she thought of how she should word her ‘Myspace’ post. “Last Reaping 2morro lol wish me luck.” Two of her only three ‘Myspace’ friends commented wishing her luck (the third hoped she’d be a tribute.) Spencer was a little hurt at the third comment, and decided she needed a break from all the anonymous hate that came with having such a popular social media page.

She bounded down the stairs to find her lame, older sister sitting on the couch enjoying a round of “COD.” “Hey,” Spencer stated with a big smile.

“You’re fugly,” her sister replied, not even looking up from her game.

“Oh,” Spencer answered and proceeded to enter the kitchen for an afternoon snack.

“You know, you probably don’t need those extra calories if you expect to survive the Hunger Games,” Spencer heard her sister say from the other room.

“That’s silly, there’s no way I’m going to get picked,” Spencer said trying to conceal her mild concern.

“Whatever you say.”

Meanwhile…

“Ce que I’enfer froufrous!” Delphine Cormier the young, beautiful, science prodigy who always retained her composure, all but screeched as a solvent exploded practically in her face, singeing the cuffs of her pristine lab coat. She sighed dishearteningly, as she had desperately wanted to conclude this experiment before the Reaping occurred. It was a time consuming lab, and she would not be able to give it the attention it required because of the ceremony. She cleaned her lab area, removing her safety apron and goggles last, glancing with a light smile at the poster hanging near the entrance to her lab that read: “Carol never wore her safety goggles. Now she doesn’t need them.”

She exited the building housing her lab, running a hand through her blonde waves. The French girl had been in Panem since she was very young, and although she wasn’t born here, it did not make her exempt from the Hunger Games.

She kicked a loose bit of gravel absentmindedly on her way home. She followed its path carefully with her eyes, trying to calculate its movements before they happened. Delphine liked doing things like this. Quick experiments and theoretic formulas. Things that made her think fast. She had a sharp mind, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“Où étiez-vous?” ‘Where have you been?’ Delphine’s mother asked when her daughter
finally strolled into the kitchen. Delphine had had her childhood in District 3 of Panem, but her mother was born and raised in the heart of France.

“Dans mon laboratoire.” ‘In my lab.’ Delphine replied easily, the French words rolling off her tongue as easily as English ones did.

“Forget not. Reaping tomorrow.” Her mother reminded, the fractured English a mostly successful attempt at communication.

“I won’t.” Delphine said, when in all honesty, she couldn’t care less about the Hunger Games. Her heart was in her experiments.

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The Next Day

Spencer ambled to the center square the next morning looking for someone that wouldn’t mind if she stood next to them for the proceedings. She went to stand next to someone in her lit. class, but when the girl glared daggers at her, she opted to stand slightly off to herself.

Delphine walked to Center Square, annoyed that she had to put her experiments on hold just for this. She strolled up to one of her former lab partners (former because the other girl did not have the intelligence and dedication that Delphine did), and stood next to her in comfortable silence. She pulled out the note pad and pens that she always had on her, and began rewriting the titration formula for the solvent that had quite literally blown up in her face yesterday.

Both girls’ internal conflicts were interrupted by a woman proclaiming over the loud speaker that she was going to begin picking names now.

“Spencer Carlan?” She said in a way that sounded more like a question, as if she were taking roll. A roaring laughter erupted from someone in the crowd and Spencer turned to glare at the girl only to discover it was her own sister. Spencer's sister high-fived the girl next to her, mouthing “I told you so” to her younger and soon to be dead sister.

Spencer stalked up to the stage, scowling at every person that seemed to be happy at her having been selected. They could’ve simply been relieved at not becoming a tribute themselves, but because Spencer was wildly narcissistic and self-absorbed, she took it as a personal attack (honestly, they were kind of happy to see Spencer go though, too).

The announcer wiped what was probably a bead of sweat from her forehead (the heat was stifling) smudging her emerald blush, before reaching into the bowl to retrieve another name, “Delphine Cormier?”

Delphine sighed from her place, rolling her eyes and approaching the stage. Quelle perte de temps Énorme, Delphine thought. ‘What a huge waste of time.’

Chapter Text

“Sophie, seriously fuck off. I don’t want to hear your bullshit. I am trying to work,” Sian said as she saw Sophie come up to her lane to buy some food.

“Sian, you’ve got to be kidding me. I need food to survive, and this is the only grocery store in the district, and your lane is the only one that’s open. Not everything revolves around you,” Sophie said with a bit of annoyance (secretly she did want to try and talk to Sian again though.)

“Whatever, just give me your shit, and get out,” Sian snarled. Sophie chuckled darkly, and slowly began to put her items on the conveyer belt. “You think you could hurry up a bit, or are you too busy snogging other girls,” Sian spat out.

“If you listened to me you’d know that’s not what happened,” a mischievous glint was in Sophie’s eyes now that Sian had really set her off, “and is that any way to talk to a paying customer, Sian Powers? Maybe I’ll just have to talk to your boss.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sian replied quietly.

“Yeah well, you said you wouldn’t ever leave me. Things change,” Sophie uttered. Sian finished ringing Sophie up, finally. She bagged everything for her, and, instead of handing it to her like she would most customers, she left them at the side of the register.

“Have fun at the Reaping tomorrow. Fingers crossed that you get picked,” Sian stated with a sickly sweet smile as Sophie collected her things and walked out of the grocery store.

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The Next Day

All the teens, ranging from 12 to 18 were gathered in the center of District 4, watching some bullshit video about sacrifice and remembrance from President Schecter. Sian was to the left and Sophie, probably to irk the blonde, was across the aisle to the right, barely four feet away. As the video drew to a close, a woman covered in head to toe by a color that could only be described as vomit took the stage.

The announcer tapped the microphone a few times, before giving another lengthy and unnecessary speech about sacrifice and remembrance. Finally, she reached into the clear, glass bowl next to her holding the fate of every adolescent in this town, and drew out the first name.

“Sophie Webster!” She announced with a smile and a tilt of her head. Sian’s heart sank before she remembered that she was supposed to hate this girl. That she did hate this girl.

“Serves the cheating bastard right.” She mumbled to one of her friends sitting next to her who put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

Sophie trekked up to the stage with a cauldron of mixed feelings. She had always wanted to get out of District 4, but not like this. This was not the future she envisioned for herself. She wanted to grow up and become an accountant. She wanted to be able to go home to Sian when they were old and gray, but that clearly was not a possibility anymore.

The puke colored announcer patted Sophie on the back when she finally reached the stage, telling Sophie what an honor it was. The presenter then reached back into the bowl, drawing out another name and saying loudly, “And our second tribute is…Sian Powers!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sian roared, louder than the announcer ever could, even with the microphone.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s an honor,” the announcer assured her.

“That’s not what I was talking about,” Sian growled back, eyeing Sophie’s amused smirk angrily.

Chapter Text

Reagan drifted her black, chrome motorcycle into the parking spot nearest the entrance of the school that had somehow become known as “Karma’s Spot”. Speaking of Karma Ashcroft, Reagan had quite rudely (and quite expertly, if she was being honest; it was a pretty tight turn, one that left tire marks on the asphalt) cut her off to get into the spot.

“What the fuck,” Karma screeched, honking the horn of her baby blue Volkswagen, one that she had paid no part in restoring or caring for as opposed to Reagan and her beautiful bike. Karma parked her car in the bus loop, and stormed her way over to Reagan. “You know that’s my spot. Everyone knows that’s my spot, why the fu—”

“I really don’t care,” Reagan cut her off coolly, pulling off her helmet, and letting her hair flow lusciously out.

“Just who the hell do you think you—” Karma began again, fuming, but Reagan simply held up a hand, halting her words. She kicked up the stand on her bike, rose, and began to walk towards the front entrance of the school. Karma, mouth agape as no one had ever dared to ignore her before, was seething and yelled after her, “Yeah, well, your motorcycle is stupid!”

Reagan simply held a thumbs up over her shoulder, not really listening as she pushed her headphones into her ears, already over the diva that was Karma Ashcroft.

Later that day…

“Alright, you butch bitch, you’re gonna fucking regret how you treated me this morning,” Karma exclaimed, and approached the table that Reagan was currently sat at for lunch, alone. Karma was flanked on each side by one of her friends (*cough* skanks *cough*). Reagan glanced up at Karma, seemingly bored, then returned to her much more interesting sandwich and continued eating,

“I’m not taking my headphones out, so you may as well go away.” Reagan brushed Karma off dryly.

Livid, Karma slammed her tray onto the table in a vain attempt to get Reagan’s attention. Reagan, not even looking up from her meal, casually swiped Karma’s tray onto the floor, spilling the food all over Karma’s brand new shoes.

“You bitch,” Karma shrieked, immediately skittering away. “That’s it! I’m done being nice to you,” Karma swung at Reagan’s face ferociously. Reagan easily moved her head to the side, and Karma’s momentum brought her back into the spilled food, which caused her to lose her balance, and fall backwards right into a pile of her low-fat yogurt.

“OH MY GOD. I AM GOING TO KILL YOU,” Karma squawked as the whole lunchroom laughed at her, Reagan included. Reagan smirked down at Karma before rising to throw away her trash, the entire lunchroom applauding her. She gave a quick salute before making her way to her next class, leaving the ever-amusing Karma Ashcroft in her own sticky mess.

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The Next Day…

Karma stalked to the center square visibly still fuming over yesterday’s events. She wished she could have shown that stupid Reagan girl some manners. No one had ever treated her like that, and she couldn’t stand it. If Karma could, she would beat the snot out of that girl.

Reagan revved her motorcycle, causing the people in her path to jump out of her way hurriedly. She sped past them, drawing closer to Center Square. When she arrived and because Reagan lived by her own rules and no one else’s, instead of parking her bike and dismounting, she drove it right into one of the aisles, parking it sideways and leaning against it as she waited for the proceedings to begin. She felt a pair of angry eyes on her and turned, catching the fuming gaze of Karma Ashcroft. She smirked at the redhead and gave her a little wave, which seemed to drive the other girl over the edge, before facing front once more.

Every person in District 5 watched President Schecter’s crappy video that may as well have been an infomercial. When at last the woman deemed to be the announcer—who was practically bathed in pink—took the stage, everyone was tired and wanted to go home. She grabbed the microphone enthusiastically, and introduced herself before she swiped a name out of the bowl, “And our first tribute is…the lovely Karma Ashcroft!”

Reagan jumped up eagerly before anyone could react, “I volunteer!”

“In Ms. Ashcroft’s place?” The presenter asked, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“No,” Reagan chuckled darkly, “I volunteer as the second tribute.”

Chapter Text

District 6:

Naomi sighed deeply, as she stared at her love across the room. She didn’t know how she went from the top of the world, to this. Well except, she kind of did. It was completely her fault, actually. She sighed again.

Everything about her was perfect. From the dimples that appeared on her cheeks as she laughed at a joke Naomi hadn’t told her, and smiled at someone who wasn’t Naomi, to the mismatched shoes on her feet, one of the converse a royal blue and the other a sunshine yellow. She sighed for the third time.

Naomi couldn’t keep pining over her like this. She did this. It didn’t matter that she had loved Emily since she was 12. She. Did. This. Naomi had to think of a way to fix it, otherwise her love may actually end up killing her. She got up, threw her lunch away, and decided to skip the rest of her classes for the day. She walked the short path home, and tried to think of any ideas of how to rectify her situation with Emily.

She kept her head down, and didn’t realize until the last second that she was walking straight into someone, and even worse that someone was Emily.

“Uh, I—I’m so—sorry ,” Naomi squeaked out. Emily looked at with tired eyes, and gave her a sad smile, not at all like the gorgeous one she had admired from afar earlier. This one looked wrong on her mouth, the corners of her lips tugging up almost painfully.

“It’s fine, Naomi,” she whispered. Their eyes stayed together, and Naomi’s world fell away. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch Emily, to feel the other girl under her fingers, in any way she could. Even something as simple as a pat on the shoulder, the brushing of their hands together, hell even a fucking thumb war would sooth the constant ache she endured every single day when she couldn’t feel Emily’s skin (lmao get it).

Naomi was a loss for words, and at the same time had so many declarations of love. She couldn’t decide and for some reason this is what came out.

“So, are you going to the Reaping tomorrow,” Naomi grimaced. That was the best she could say with every romantic poem and metaphor she had ever heard rolling through her mind, she chose those words? No wonder Emily didn’t want her.

“Good luck tomorrow then,” Emily breathed out. Someone down the street called her name, and Emily looked over her shoulder at who it was, and turned back to Naomi to give her a cheerless smile, and abruptly turned around and walked away.

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The Next Day…

Naomi sulked silently to the town square several paces behind Emily and her friends. She watched Emily’s red hair reflect the sunlight, and it looked to be as if it were on fire. That’s what Emily was, a huge flame. This burning, beautiful inferno, and Naomi was just a little match. A match that thought it had a chance with blaze, but sadly she ruined that chance.

Naomi missed most of the opening speech, and all the televised recordings that came along with it for her lack of focus on anything other than Emily. It seemed lately that the only thing she could focus on was Emily. Her grades were dropping, her other friendships were deteriorating, and she couldn’t even be bothered to remember to eat on somedays.

It was only Emily’s name that pulled her out of that trance. She was confused, who would be calling Emily’s name. Then she realized it. Emily had been called for the games. Immediately, Naomi’s thoughts raced. No way was she going to allow her love to fall in the games, she would do anything to stop it, and maybe finally prove her love. One of her classmates, a girl she didn’t know very well was called, and in an instant Naomi was calling out her name for a volunteer.

Chapter Text

     “Raudenfeld!” screamed her coach from the field, “get your ass back over here and focus! Your little girlfriend can wait!”

     “Woah, woah, coach! Let’s not jump the gun. Not really a one person person, ya know?” Amy remarked, winking at a uniform-clad cheerleader named Dagny who giggled, as she jogged back over to her team huddled around their glaring coach, Tamsin.

     “Okay team,” their coach began as Amy finally reached them, “get out there and run a strong-side off-tackle.” Everybody moved to get into position, Amy sliding her helmet onto her head confidently and taking a step towards her QB spot, when she’s dragged back by her coach’s grip on her facemask, “And Raudenfeld? Keep your paw off my daughter.”

     Amy responded with her trademark half-cocked smirk and a mock salute, before joining her formation. She called the play loudly, as is her job, before tapping her right foot twice, the signal for her blockers that she’d be changing the play and running with the ball herself in a classic QB sneak that had gotten them more touchdowns in their last season than their coach would care to admit, given her open dislike for the flashy move.

     She started the play and caught the crisp snap that was sent straight into her hands. Her and her center, Sabrina, had put in hours of extra practice getting those snaps just right because when she first started playing, the brunette could hardly ever get the ball anywhere near Amy, let alone in her hands. But Amy had a soft spot for the rookie and had realized her potential when, on a fluke during Amy’s sophomore and second year on varsity, her regular center had gotten injured with seven seconds remaining in a rival game and they had had no choice but to put in a freshman Sabrina, as they were already down in numbers because the night before their opponents thought it would be funny to give most of her team food poisoning. Sabrina had only had to snap the ball for one play, as that’s all they had time for, and the one that she had delivered had been a god-send and better than any snap her starting center had given her during the entire season. So she took the girl under her wing, putting in extra time before and after practices, a few snaps in between classes, and forcing her to get up early on a Saturday and work, and now here they were. Amy was a perfect quarterback, so why should she accept anything less than perfect snaps?

      Amy tucked the ball under her arm and sprinted through a rapidly closing hole in the massive converging of her offensive linebackers and the defensive tackles, ends, and middlebackers. With most of the players and the hardest part of the drive now behind her, all she had to worry about was being able to trip up her first safety, a tall, smart girl named Samara, and then outrunning the other safety, a small, but agile and athletic girl named Mary Jo. Speak of the devil, the first of her obstacles was rapidly approaching her and, with another defensive end coming at her from her right taking away the juke option, she was left with no choice and decided her best course of action would be to simply go straight through Samara. She lowered her shoulder and in a beat collided with the blonde, lifting at the last second and sending her toppling over into the ground in what Amy thought to be (if she said so herself (and she did)) a pretty impressive truck. She hurdled the girl at the last second and landed just as quickly, moving into a dead sprint towards the end zone, hoping to simply out run Mary Jo who would have to chase her down from way off to her left on the other side of the field.

     Tiny bits of rubber kicked up behind her and into the air as Amy took ground, running as fast as she could, lungs burning. Mary Jo was closing in on her, and was probably about fifteen yards away as she entered the twenty and then the ten herself. She took one last step just inside the five yard tick mark and then launched herself into the air, arms outstretched in a desperate gamble for the last five yards. Mary Jo, who had had a similar idea, sailed right underneath her, superman style, and Amy landed in the end zone with a safe somersault, popping to her feet immediately and slamming the football into the ground as she celebrated.

     She tried to dance, giving the ‘dougie’ her best shot, but was laughed at by Mary Jo, who still lay on the ground just outside the end zone, and was then tackled by Sabrina and the rest of her offense, who whooped loudly at Amy’s execution of such a long drive to score. She took the congratulation heartily as well as all the slaps on her back from the defense (except for Samara, who punched her shoulder complaining good-naturedly about making her look bad in front of her girlfriend Dani who was watching from the stands) and nodded along cheerily to all the praise.

     “Alright, ladies!” Their coach called to them for her position at the fifty yard line where the play had started. “We’ll end on that! Hit the showers!”

     Meanwhile, the team practicing over on the sidelines was receiving a very different message.

     “Girls! Are you being serious! How disappointed do you think Lord Tubbington will be when he sees this routine? It’s so bad he might even start smoking again! And you know how hard I’ve been trying to get him to quit.”

     “But, Brittany,” one of the girls spoke up from among the ranks of confused cheerleaders, chewing on her thumbnail nervously and addressing their genius but admittedly odd cheer captain, the one and only Brittany S. Pierce, “you choreographed this routine.”

     “And it’s awful! How could you let me do this, Costia? Do you not care about me at all?” The blonde replied, every bit serious in her accusation, only confusing her team more.

     “No, Brit, we love you. You know that.” Dagny, a confident junior, answered in place of the small, puzzled freshman who had initially spoken up.

     “How do I know that? How do I know you’re not all talking toys trying to kidnap me and send me to prison daycare like in Finding Nemo?” Their captain was on the verge of tears now, and most of her team was very puzzled. As per usual, Dagny took the comment more in stride than the rest of them.

     “Well, toys aren’t flexible enough to do cheerleading. And that happened in the movie Toy Story, honey, not Finding Nemo.”

     “I didn’t ask for a history lesson, Dagny.” The blonde replied, snarky as ever, to which Dagny just sort of shrugged at her antics.

     “But since you’re so smart, I’ll only make the team stay an extra three hours instead of three days while we design a new routine. The big game’s next week and I’ll be damned if the Eagles look better than us. I won’t lose to a bunch of flightless birds.” Her team laughed at this, because even though most of what she said made no sense, they loved their captain and the message was (almost) always understood.

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Two Days Later…

     Amy Raudenfeld slouched even further into her seat, donned in dark sunglasses, a rolled sleeve t-shirt with a stack of donuts on the front, loose and cuffed ripped jeans, and her customary brown boots. She ran a hand through her unruly hair, pausing to admire the football team’s captain arm band that she kept rolled and wore like a bracelet when she wasn’t playing, just to remind herself how cool she was. She yawned and didn’t bother trying to conceal it seeing as how everybody at this thing was bored out of their mind anyway. Sure, President Schechter was kind of cute, but other than that this whole ‘Reaping’ thing was, in Amy’s opinion, a way bigger production than it needed to be. (Amy had very popular opinions)

     Most of her team was sat next to her or in the row behind her, because hours of practice each and every day does in fact best friends make, so the whole team tended to constantly stick together and look out for each other. And speaking of looking out for each other, Samara, who was easily the most caring out of all of them and was currently sitting kitty corner behind Amy, tapped her on the shoulder, smiling and passing her a chocolate-frosted donut wrapped in brown paper with a knowing look, a gesture that Amy returned with a wide smile of her own.

     Across the aisle, as per usual, the cheerleading team was the exact opposite. Although they were all sitting together, they bickered endlessly, talking loudly over Jenny Schechter’s video on the history and importance of the Hunger Games (not that anyone really minded all that much). And the current topic of debate was Brittany’s dismay over the fact that their local grocery store didn’t sell organic, grass-fed chicken. Most of the team was desperately trying to explain to her that chickens didn’t eat grass, while Dagny, also per usual, took her captain’s side in the debate, despite how unfounded her whole argument was. So she and Brittany countered all of the team with whatever ludicrous comment popped into the blonde’s head, and although the whole antic was absurd, that didn’t stop everyone from enjoying themselves. That is, until names began to be called.

     The woman on stage, cloaked head to toe in leopard print (seriously though, where does somebody even buy leopard print foundation?) fished into the large glass bowl of names and retracted her hand, holding the fate of every person in the square in it. She cleared her throat before announcing, in a surprisingly low voice, “Amy Raudenfeld!”

     Amy, who had admittedly until that point not been paying any attention, almost choked on her third bite of the sweet delicious donut. She looked around for a few seconds, as if oh yeah, the woman on stage was referring to a different Amy Raudenfeld. You know, the one that knew how to brandish weapons and murder her peers and stuff that like.

     But sadly, the only Amy Raudenfeld present was the donut-loving, lady-killing, football-playing kind, so she was sort of out of luck. She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders before jutting out her chin and approaching the stage in her usual confident and easy saunter. The lower lip she was chewing on anxiously gave away her nerves only to those who knew her well. She glanced at the team out of the corner of her eye and all their faces had fallen. Sabrina looked sad, Mary Jo looked pissed, and Samara looked sympathetic, most of the rest of her players falling into one of those three categories. She gave them her half-cocked smirk, hoping to put at least some of them at ease.

     The announcer then drew the next name, licking her lips before reading, “Dagny Morte!” who froze the moment her name passed the woman’s lips. She was dumbfounded, and one of her teammates placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she remained stock still, that is, until Brittany stood up in a flurry.

     “Hold the freaking phone!” She shouted across the square at the bamboozled woman on stage who didn’t really understand what was happening, “I know you’re not having party without me! I’m the life of the party! I planned a dinosaur-themed prom! Do you know how many people have done that?” She paused then, for what everyone assumed was dramatic effect, because most people didn’t know that when she asked a question (no matter how rhetoric it seemed) she usually wanted an answer.

     “Um.” Came the eloquent reply from the woman on stage.

     “Exactly!” the cheer captain replied, “I don’t know either! Nobody seems to know for some reason!” She shook her head. “Either way, this thing—whatever it is—is not going down without me! I volunteer for whatever it is. Count me in. I am always DTF.”

     “Britt, do you know what that means?” One of the girls on her squad asked her, not really seeing how the acronym applied to their current situation.

     “Yeah, obviously it means down to Feier, the German word for party. I’m not an idiot, Costia.”

     “Well then,” the leopard-print clad woman on stage said decisively, although still very confused, “I guess our second contestant is the young, outspoken woman.”

     Before Brittany could leave and take her place on stage, Dagny caught her wrist and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

     “Thanks, Britt,” she whispered into the blonde’s hair, tears in her eyes, “I’ll take care of Lord Tubbington and the squad until you come home.”

     “You’re thanking me?” the captain asked incredulously when she had pulled away, “I’m the real winner here. Let’s get this party started!”

Chapter Text

     Imogen strutted up to the reaping with her classic “ I don’t care, but I also wish someone would show some sort of interest in me” look. She glanced around thinking everyone was looking at her dank clothing when in reality no one actually cared about her at all (including us). She sat in silence through Schechter’s video waiting to hear the outcome of the reaping.

     Carmen also was walking up at this same time when suddenly she tripped and fell into the no-go zone of her district and heard a ticking underneath her. KABOOM! A landmine ripped the district apart killing everyone and saving the readers from whatever stupid and useless plot line we’d have to come up with for them. :-)

Chapter Text

Ashley stumbled into the bar, already buzzed from the shots she swiped from her parent’s liquor cabinet with her arm thrown over the shoulder of her on-again off-again girlfriend Aiden, “ugh, my mom is the worst.”

Aiden sighed, knowing Ashley was in one of those drunk moods where all she did was complain about how hard her life was. (Aiden wished this was a mood Ashley only had when she was drunk.)

“How about we have fun tonight, babe?” Aiden asked, exasperated. She sighed and looked around for Cosima, the town pot dealer and a frequent patron of this fine establishment that tended to overlook obviously fake ID’s, because she knew the best way to make Ashley chill out would be to get some weed in her system.

“I bet she would be happy if I got reaped tomorrow! She doesn’t even love me! I hope she—Aiden! Are you even listening to me? My life sucks so bad, my own girlfriend won’t even listen to me!” Ashley whined to her (soon to be off-again if she kept this up) girlfriend.

“I’m trying to find Cosima, babe,” Aiden gritted out, at the end of her patience and desperately trying to find some drugs. Suddenly she spotted the angel, dreads thrown up into a ponytail wearing a long, maroon, kind-of-sweater, drapey thing over a brightly patterned dress. Aiden waved her over quickly sending a quick prayer of thanks up to the god she didn’t believe in.

“What’s up, clones? Whatchya need?” Cosima asked after she had reached them, bracelets jingling as she moved her arm up onto the bar to lean against it casually. Aiden wasn’t really sure what the whole ‘clone’ thing meant (Cosima had always been kind of eccentric, but her pot was top-notch, grown herself, which made her popular in almost every circle regardless of her many idiosyncrasies) and Ashley was not paying attention at all, as she had taken to burying her face into the no doubt unsanitary bar counter.

“Cosima, please, please, please, tell me you have some product with you.” Aiden pleaded, eyes flicking quickly towards her dramatic hoe of a girlfriend who had yet to move from her face-down spot on the bar top and was now groaning quite melodramatically. Cosima gave her a sympathetic look.

“Tell you what, because you’ve got that sack of festering middle school angst for a girlfriend, it’s on the house.” Cosima decided, slapping a dime bag on the counter and sliding it toward Aiden who looked close to tearing her hair out when she noticed Ashley’s behavior.

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

Cosima merely nodded, giving a two fingered salute as she grabbed her recently ordered drink and moved back over to whatever girl she had set her sights on tonight. Aiden nudged Ashley with the little baggie, who lifted her head slowly, but then immediately perked up upon noticing the drug.

“Aiden, you’re the best!” Ashley squealed pulling out her paper for a blunt. Aiden couldn’t have been happier knowing Ashley would finally shut up for the night.

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 The Next Day…

 Cosima jerked awake at the sudden and sharp elbow to her side. She didn’t know the girl sitting next to her, but sent a thankful smile her way regardless because yes okay, she may have been dozing off just a little during the Reaping but I mean, come on, this thing was super boring anyway and she may have also been just a teensy, tiny bit high. Or a lot. (Like literally she was in the fucking clouds right now.) But it wasn’t her fault! If President Schechter wanted people to actually pay attention during this thing then she should’ve looked into spicing up her droning history lesson at the beginning. Seriously, it was one of the most boring things she’d ever seen. And she was a soon-to-be genetic scientist. She had literally sat around for hours and watched plants grow.

Meanwhile, two rows behind and four seats to the left of her:

“This whole ‘Reaping’ thing is so stupid. Like why can’t they just tell us when we’re at home, in bed, asleep? Ugh, I hate this country.” Ashley droned on and Aiden seriously could not handle it anymore. Thankfully, she had run into Cosima a second time last night and had bought a few edibles from her.

“Ashley eat this brownie, it’s got pot in it.” Ashley smiled at her girlfriend and ate the whole thing practically in a single bite. Aiden thanked whatever gods were out there that Ashley finally shut the fuck up after that.

“Aiden Dennison,” the lady at the front announced.

“At least it’ll get me away from this dramatic hoe,” Aiden mumbled, but quickly came up with a devious plan. She leaned over to her to her high girlfriend and whispered, “Ashley, who do you care about most in this world?”

“Me, motherfucker.” Ashley shouted while raising her hands obnoxiously.

“You volunteer?” the lady on the stage asked.

“Yeah, whatever, fuck it.” Ashley yelled while giggling.

“Well, alright we have our first volunteer.” The announcer responded, eyebrows drawn together at the decrement but accepting it nonetheless. She reached into the bowl for a second name.

“Cosima Niehaus!”

Cosima’s head shot up from where her chin had been resting on her chest, once again almost asleep. She was probably a lot less upset than she should’ve been over being reaped, but the drugs were kind of helping out in that department. Whatever, she’d processe later. Suddenly, her marijuana-muddled brain came up with a wicked idea. She threw her bag over her shoulder and strode on stage wearing a devilish smirk.

“Would you ladies like to say anything to your district?” The woman asked sweetly.

“Free weed for everyone!” Cosima shouted, ripping open her drug-filled bag and grabbing handfuls of product, showering the crowd in different assortments of pot. Everyone cheered and a peacemaker raced on stage to drag her off.

“Stay safe, kids! Allison, take care of my farm! Deuces!” And she was gone, last words ringing out over the cheering audience.

Chapter Text

Santana looked up at the heart rate monitor presiding over her bed. She had been hospitalized for two weeks now, infected with a devastating virus called Dannysabitch. She was on the recovery side of it, which unfortunately for her meant that she would be in good enough shape for the annual reaping (not that the Capitol really cared if she was well enough to murder other teenagers, it’d probably just make for better reality tv). ‘Stress for another day’, Santana thought, before going back to sleep.

Santana had finally woken up after what had seemed like ages to see Danny, the bitch herself, hovering over her.

“Hey, I was really worried about you, see I even wore my non-colorful pants since this was such a big deal.”

“Danny, I honestly don’t give two shits about what color pants you’re wearing,” Santana replied, sleepily.

Danny giggled, “but do you at least give one shit?”

“Ugh,” Santana rolled over and pretended to be asleep. Hoping that her personal friend/stalker would leave. It was a little endearing that Danny had been the only one to visit her these past few weeks even if it was only to talk about her non-colorful pants, but that did not give her an excuse to be so annoying. Or to talk about said pants’ colors.

“I know you’re awake.”

“How?”

“You’re talking.”

“I wasn’t until you said something,” Santana huffed.

“Are you worried about the reaping tomorrow,” Danny asked.

Santana turned back over to look at Danny, “There’s like 500 kids in this district; I really don’t think we’ll be picked. Even if we are, though, I definitely will die, since a tall ass, non-colorful pants wearing, loud redhead is keeping me awake.”

“Oh okay you’re right I’ll let you rest. I’ll see you at the reaping tomorrow, though,” Danny exclaimed.

“Ya bitch, you’ll see everyone you’re tall as shit.” But Danny didn’t hear her, as her disproportionately long, behemoth legs carried her out the door in a meager two steps. As her once again, giant fucking legs took her away from the hospital and her friend Santana, her head was full of blissful thoughts of her yellow pants that had, according to her watch, just finished their time in the dryer. Who knew they made yellow pants in size giraffe?

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The Next Day

Danny arrived earlier than most at the center square for two reasons: her legs being ridiculously long and because she believed it would bring her good karma. Danny had some rough goings lately since she accidentally started the spread of a new disease in her district. One they affectionately named after her, Dannysabitch, which hadn’t made her the most popular giraffe in the animal kingdom. Not to mention she was literally the tallest person in District 10, so it’s not like she had anywhere to hide. ‘Only good karma, today’ she thought. She figured she’d have lots of luck points saved up, with how many bad things had been happening to her lately (for those of you who don’t understand luck points it’s basically this idea that anytime you’re unlucky you get some luck points to be spent at a later date. all mine are spent on not having to wait for an open washing machine in my dorm laundry room. back to danny lawrence.)

Santana, on the other hand, was running late. The ink on her discharge papers was still drying when she had sped out the doors to the center square. Lucky for her the hospital was only a short walk from the site of the District 10 reaping ceremony, because any teens who were caught not showing up were executed on live television (in order to please the other district viewers, according to our president, Miss Bootyhole Schecter).

Santana strolled over and joined the back row of people waiting to hear this year’s tributes. The presidential video had already passed, and the crazy haired lady upfront clad only in seran wrap was about to start pulling names.

Danny Lawrence was the first name called, and Santana couldn’t be happier. Finally she wouldn’t have to deal with that tall ass annoying bitch anymore. She looked over to see Danny’s expression, and holy shit it was raining! Wait never mind, the tall gremlin was just crying. Weeping actually. Probably sad she wore her yellow pants, instead of her blue ones lmao.

It took seven bodyguards to pull her long legs up to the podium before the announcer reached in to pull another name out of the box.

“Santana Lopez.”

‘Wait me Santana Lopez,’ she thought to herself. Yes it was indeed her, and the guards started making their way over to her. She was livid; not because of the hunger games, but because of who’d be joint at her hip until she died a terrible, painful death. At least Santana would have an umbrella, or some shade if the arena was terribly sunny. Basically the bitch was tall, in case we haven’t hammered that point home yet. The security guards had reached her and started to pull her towards the stage.

“I can walk on my own,” and she did. Once she reached the stage she noticed Danny had perked up.

“At least we’re together,” Danny whispered to her on stage.

Santana let out a sigh so long she didn’t even think it was possible.

‘Fucking trouty mouth ass bitch.’ She thought.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Somewhere in her chambers awaiting transport to the Capitol, Carmilla felt a cold premonition that she would soon be forced to interact with someone she would utterly loathe and despise on account of, but not limited to, their massive and genetically improbable height.