not really, sorry :( this blog is pretty much inactive at this point. if you still want to follow us rachel’s main is @nevilllelongbottom and emma’s is @iicarusis
there is more but i suck and can’t think right now. i read on my personal blog but they are some damn good writers and deserve recognition. as far as friends, i have a few but i also keep to myself cause well i don’t deal well with shitty people.
coming out; dan and matty decide to come out about their relationship in the most original way possible: social media.
pairing: dan smith x matty healy + george daniel, chris wood
warnings: cursing
a/n: this is the first of many dan x matty drabbles and i know they’re kind of an obscure pairing but i hope you enjoy! not my gifs.
trumanblack posted a photo
Dan takes a deep breath, the air catching in his lungs as he stares at his phone, at the notification that tells him Matty had just posted about him. About them. He scrolls mindlessly through his other notifications, distracting himself from the nerves building like a mountain in his chest. It blocks the air from his lungs and makes him feel like he won’t be able to breath again until he looks at the picture.
“Are you going to go through your hundreds of notifications first or are you going to look at what I posted?”
He starts at the sound of Matty’s voice, breaking him from his thoughts and tearing down the wall of nerves building around him. He feels a wave of calm wash over him at the sound of Matty’s voice, smooth and soft and comforting.
“I’m gonna look,” Dan mutters, unlocking his phone and letting his thumb hover over the notification, the mountain of nerves in his stomach growing until it seems to be taking up all of the space left, blocking any other emotions from breaking through. He reads Matty’s username over and over again, gathering what little courage he has to look at the photo.
Matty lets him take his time, his fingers skimming over the skin above his elbow as he rests a supportive kiss just above his collarbone. Dan leans into him and takes the encouragement that Matty gives him. He lets his thumb land on the notification, watching the screen as Instagram opens to the photo Matty posted just a few minutes earlier.
And just like that, the mountain crumbles and Dan can breathe again.
There’s a series of photos and the first one doesn’t look familiar, but he remembers the day it was taken. It’s a picture of him that Matty took in Dan’s dressing room before a concert. Matty had just surprised Dan minutes before he was meant to go on stage and he hadn’t given Dan much time to react to the visit before pulling his phone out and snapping a picture of Dan’s face, stuck in a grin as he stared at his boyfriend. Dan is sure that he can see the hearts in his own eyes, but he doesn’t stare at it for long. Matty nudges him and mutters, “look at the next one.”
He chuckles and does as he’s told, swiping to the second of three pictures that Matty posted and taking in the sight. He’s very familiar with it, it’s been his lock screen since the day after it was taken. It’s a picture from the first and one of the only vacations they’ve been on together. It was to Los Angeles, and the picture features the two of them sitting in the sand on one of the nicest and most private beaches in the state, Matty’s eyes on the camera and Dan’s eyes closed, his head resting on Matty’s chest. The waves can be seen in the background and the rays of the setting sun that are bleeding into the upper edge of the photo almost make both of them look ethereal.
The third was taken only a few weeks earlier by George, but Dan didn’t even know the photo existed until now. He and Matty are laying on Matty’s couch, Dan pressed against the back cushions with Matty practically laying on top of him, both of them wrapped around each other and asleep to the sound of Stranger Things playing in the background.
Matty looks at Dan when he’s finished studying the photos, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth that has Dan smiling and leaning closer to Matty’s warmth.
trumanblack 🖤
bastilledan posted a photo
Matty, unlike Dan, is ecstatic when he sees the notification pop up. It had been a day since he posted what could be known as his coming out post, since up until this point he’d kept his other relationships private and hadn’t addressed any of the speculation about his sexuality. He’d turned his Instagram notifications off immediately after he posted his pictures, telling Dan that he wouldn’t look at the reactions and possible backlash to the post until Dan had published his own photos.
Dan is sitting next to him and Matty can practically feel the nerves radiating off of him as Instagram pulls up the first of four photos. Matty’s smile grows when he sees the image, laying his head on Dan’s shoulder and taking his hand as he scans it. It’s of the two of them on the beach in Los Angeles, the same one that Matty had in his own post.
“You copied my picture,” Matty glances up at Dan, laughing when he swats at him.
“Shut up,” Dan grumbles, although the smile on his face and the easing of the tension in his shoulders tells Matty that he lightened the mood enough to make Dan feel better about the publicity. Comments are already flooding his inbox, but Matty ignores them in favor of sliding to the next photo. It’s of the two of them at Woody’s birthday party, a private event strictly reserved for friends and family, which means it was limited to the people who already knew about Dan and Matty’s relationship. The paps were strictly forbidden from the event and no one except those who were asked to be there got word of the party. The privacy was what led to such a lighthearted photo of them, Matty with a piece of cake sliding off his left cheek while Dan stood next to him, grinning like an idiot.
“I can’t believe you posted that one, you prick,” Matty shakes his head at the ridiculous look on his face, but smiles none-the-less when he looks back at Dan’s face, lit up in a bright smile that he thinks he could look at all day.
“It’s my favorite,” Dan shrugs, “besides, I have to embarrass you once in a while.”
The third photo is just Matty, his eyes squinted at the camera with Buckingham Palace barely visible in the background. It was taken back before they were together, even before Matty realized his feelings for Dan, although Dan told him later that he was already head over heels.
“That one’s alright.”
“I got nervous taking it,” Dan admits, “you were so close to me I thought I was gonna do something stupid like kiss you.”
“Mm,” Matty hums, “not stupid.”
The fourth photo is of the two of them standing side by side, although they’re not focused on the camera. Instead they’re facing each other, Matty with one hand on Dan’s waist and another in the middle of his then full head of hair. He’s almost turned away from the camera and the smile on his face tells him that it had been a memorable conversation. In fact, he’s sure it was taken by George right after they’d said their first I love you’s.
“I love them,” Matty says once he’s finished examining the last picture, looking at Dan with a smile on his face. “I love them. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Dan takes the phone back from Matty, turning it off and throwing it off to the side, ignoring the notifications streaming in from shocked fans. It’s good now, things are going to be better. No more sneaking around to avoid the fans or the paps or anyone else who may or may not approve of them. It’s going to feel free, like they’re flying instead of standing still.
Summary: You and Josh are chosen from the pool of remaining victors to go back and fight once more in the Hunger Games
Characters: Josh Dun x Reader, Tyler Joseph, Jenna Joseph
Warnings: canon violence, death, cursing, blood
a/n: I’m a sucker for Hunger Games aus and I just saw twenty one pilots on Halloween and I’ve been inspired so here you go. Enjoy!
30 days before the 75th Hunger Games
The announcement is brutal. It hits you like an oncoming train, forcing you to stumble away from your family, towards the front door and out of your home in the Victor’s Village of District 10. You haven’t felt like this since your name was called at your first reaping. And now you’ll have to face the games again. Well, you or the only other female tribute from your district.
Josh, however, doesn’t feel a thing when the announcement is made. He knows he should be surprised. He should be crying or running out of the house in a rampage, but he only stands and stares at the cold face of President Snow, arms crossed in indignation and face stoic as ever.
“On this the third Quarter Quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”
It takes another few minutes for him to move, the shock of the announcement sinking in. He ignores the surprised protests of his parents and siblings and swiftly grabs his coat. He walks out of his house in the Village, the one neighboring yours, and leaves the gated neighborhood to find you.
After mentoring you in your first games two years after his own and falling for you before you left, he is no stranger to losing you and he’ll be damned if it happens again. There will be two names in that bowl, and he’s going to be with you one way or another. If your name is called, he’ll volunteer to go with you. And if it isn’t, there are plenty of male tributes, he’s sure he’ll be safe. And on the off chance he’s chosen, he’ll make it back to you and to his family. He won’t let the President’s temper tantrums take him away from the people he loves.
“Y/N?” he calls into the market, turning some heads and deflating when they shake their heads at him to tell him they hadn’t seen you. He continues on, walking through the market and towards the forest, finally coming to a stop in front of the house you’d lived in before the games right on the edge of the tree-line. It’s run down and practically falling apart, but he knows how much it means to you. To you, it’s still your home. The village is temporary shelter. He knows you spend more time at your old house then you do there because normally, he spends it there with you.
“Y/N?” he calls into the house, pushing the door open and entering carefully, he spots you sitting next to the fireplace with your head cradled in your hands, your body trembling and convulsing as you rock back and forth for some form of consolation that you can’t seem to hold onto.
You look up at the call of your name and Josh is almost shocked by your state. He knows how hard your games had been for you, how much killing the two tributes who posed a threat to you affected your mental state and how much he had helped you to get through it, but going back into the arena will just undo everything you had done to get to a better place. He won’t see that happen to you from a tv screen. If you have to go through hell again he’ll walk through the flames with you.
“Hey,” he kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his and pressing a kiss to the back of your left one, cold from the harsh winter that’s seeping through the cracks of your home. He holds both of your hands between his, rubbing back and forth to warm them up.
“Josh,” you whisper, a broken word that he barely hears. He looks up and finds you staring at his hands holding yours, your eyes filled with unshed tears, “I don’t know if I can do this again.”
“I know. But if you’re chosen I’ll be right there with you.”
“No, Josh. You can’t do that. You have people who need you here. Jordan and Ashley and your parents, they need you here.”
“What about you? You’re the one who would be fighting for your life out there, not them,” he sighs, reaching his hand to your cheek and running his thumb along a tear track, “I love them. I love them so much, but they’ll be fine without me. I can’t...I won't leave you to fend for yourself out there. Last time I was helpless, there was nothing I could do but wait and watch but it’s different this time. I can go with you and we can get through it together.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Jesus, Y/N- I know that. I know I don’t, it’s not about having to do something. And if we’re not chosen I’ll gladly live my life here with you. But if you are chosen there’s nothing that’s gonna stop me from going back. It doesn't matter whether I want to or not, of course I don’t. No one does. But if you’re in this, I’m in this too.”
12 days before the 75th Hunger Games
“Y/N Y/L/N!”
You should’ve seen it coming. Of course you’re going back, not even a year after your first games. You hear a sigh of relief to your right and glance at Jenna, feeling a slight pang of anger at her reaction. Maybe if it had been you you would have done the same, but you can’t help but resent it.
You take a shaky breath and make your way to Effie, trying to hold yourself together for the sake of your district and for Josh, but it’s proving to be difficult. You’re walking on unsteady feet and you don’t have much confidence in your ability to speak at the moment. It’s good that Effie does all the talking because you’re not prepared to do anything except stand next to her, looking out at the crowd and waiting to go back to the Capital. Back to the games.
You avoid eye contact with Josh as you approach the middle of the stage. You can’t let him know how afraid you are of this, of going back. If he knows how afraid you are then he’ll be even more determined to go back with you, but you know how important he is to his family. You can’t let that happen to them. Not again.
“And now for the boys.”
You’re holding your breath as she makes her way to the bowl on your right side and you can’t help but turn your head to watch the display. She’s slow to reach in and even slower to pull a slip of paper back out. You almost want to go over to her and open it yourself, just get it out of the way, but you stay in place until she’s completed her show and has the open slip of paper in her hand, her lips touching the mic.
“The male tribute for District 10 is...Tyler Joseph!”
The name makes your heart jump, your head whipping over to the male tributes to see a very shaky Tyler beginning to make his way to Effie’s outstretched arm. After a few seconds of silence you think you’ll be okay. You think Josh will take what you told him to heart and just stay on the sidelines, but your relief is short lived.
“I volunteer as tribute.”
Tyler looks back at his friend with wide eyes, then at the only other female tribute with a barely contained smile. Jenna looks ecstatic, as if she’s ready to run over to him and pounce on him at any moment, but she stays where she is and Tyler walks back to the other tributes as calmly as he can, giving Josh a quick hug before stepping into his spot.
“Wonderful,” Effie says with a bright smile, although forced, and takes your hand in one of hers and Josh’s in the other, lifting them up for the district to see, “your tributes for the 75th Hunger Games. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.”
The first day of the 74th Hunger Games
“Josh, I can’t...I can’t do this. How am I gonna beat these people? They’re assassins. The careers...if whatever the gamemakers put out there doesn’t kill me the careers will-”
“Hey, look at me.” Josh takes your wrists, forcing you to calm down and look into his eyes. “Just remember what we talked about. Stay above ground, wait it out. There will be opportunities for you to take them out, you just have to wait for them. Trust me, they’ll have shit set up that not even the careers will see coming. You’re smart and you’ll be able to figure those things out before they do. Use that to your advantage.”
You nod and pause to look around the room before your eyes land on the makeshift elevator that will take you into the arena, then nod again. Josh smiles, an attempt to reassure you, but you can see how nervous he is. You hope you’ll have a chance to see that smile again.
“Ok.” You take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
He nods, resting a hand on your back and guiding you to the entrance, both of you looking up at the speaker when it announces that you have ten seconds left to enter.
“Hey.” Josh rests a hand on your cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you to come back, okay? You can do this.”
He leans forward and presses a short, soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before letting you go, watching walk back into the tube on unsteady legs.
You take a deep breath as he disappears from sight and the arena comes into view, a vast forest that seems to go on for miles. You look around, spotting the Cornucopia and scanning it’s weapons.
Don’t go for the weapons in the Cornucopia, Josh had told you, wait it out. You’ll come across something that someone will leave behind. The Cornucopia is a bloodbath and no amount of supplies is worth it. If you’re not a career you’re chances of surviving it are slim. Grab something a good distance from it and run.
It’s tempting, and you’re sure it’s supposed to be. The weapons are displayed perfectly, looking terribly appealing in the distance. But as you look around, you see the same look on everyone else’s faces. They all want something in that pile of weapons and most of them are going to go for it. And most of them are going to die trying.
You’ve watched the games before, ever since you were old enough to understand what they are. Almost half of the tributes die in the Cornucopia every year, but every year everyone makes the same mistake. As if they had learned nothing from seeing others make the same mistakes in past games.
“Ten, nine, eight...”
You scan the field surrounding the cornucopia, spotting a neon orange bag just near the tree line. That’s your target.
“...seven, six, five, four...”
You scan the other tributes for the boy from your district, someone you didn’t know before you were both chosen and someone you never really bothered to get to know. You knew from the start that he would stab you in the back and Josh seemed to as well. He suggested going through the games alone, hinting at Mark’s expected disloyalty.
“...three, two, one. Let the 74th Hunger Games begin.”
There’s an explosion a few people to your left that attracts the attention of a few of the tributes, a warning to those who are tempted to step off the platform too early. It’s only a small distraction just before the canon goes off to signal to start of the games.
You’re running before you process what’s going on, your eyes set on the bag and your feet carrying you faster than they ever had. A knife flies past you, hitting a boy running in front of you and you brace for one to hit you, but nothing comes. You assume that the worst happened to them and continue running, grabbing the bag and disappearing into the woods. Canons sound, eleven consecutively, and you don’t stop running until you can’t hear anything but the sound of birds singing and the pounding of your heart. You take a deep breath, then another, then another. You stand against the tree for what feels like a lifetime, counting each exhale. One, two, three. One, two, three.
10 days before the 75th Hunger Games
“Alright, the tributes that we’re gonna be up against aren’t going to show any mercy. This isn’t going to be like last year. They’re all experienced killers, they know exactly what they’re doing and they’ve seen you in action. They know what to look for and what to expect from you.”
“What does that mean I have to do?”
“It means you have to make alliances. We have to find people we can trust. Not the careers, that’s an alliance in and of itself, but anyone else is fair game. That’s what training today is going to be about. Get a feel of who we’re up against and we’ll talk more tonight.”
You nod, pulling the sleeve of your suit down with a deep breath.
“And put on a show. Find knives or a bow. Something to show them what you can do.”
“Right. As if I can impress these people. And besides, they’re all going to be Capital favorites, I can’t compete with them for sponsors. Not with the popularity they all have.”
“We’re not going to worry about sponsors or popularity or anything like that right now. Just our competition. Tomorrow we’ll talk about interviews and trying to put on a show for the Capital. Tonight, we need to put on a show for the tributes. Make them look at you, demand their attention.”
You nod, glancing down at the the Capital traffic below you on the main square of the city, everyone in such a rush to get to their destination. It’s almost sad, the thought of living in the Capital despite their luxury of not having to compete in the games.
“Hey,” Josh takes your hand, gaining your attention, “you can do this. It’s going to be different this year. I’m sticking with you, no matter what. We’re getting through this together.”
He smooths out the fabric on your hips and leans into you, pressing your foreheads together with closed eyes. “I’m not losing you.”
You lean forward and press your lips to his, your hands moving up his back and into his hair.
“Hey, we have to go,” Tyler says from the door of your room, looking away when he realizes what he interrupted. You sigh, breaking away from Josh and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“I can stay with you in there. If you want.”
“No, go and make allies. I’ll be fine,” you smile, following Tyler out of your room and towards the elevator that will take you down to twenty one people who will be dead in less than three weeks.
“Make friends,” Josh whispers to you as the elevator door opens, revealing most of the other tributes already training, the careers having found the biggest weapons at their disposal, seeming to have already established an alliance.
Josh makes his way to the district seven tributes, picking up a few knives and positioning himself at the target next to theirs, striking up a conversation with them as they train.
You turn the opposite way, walking through the different stations to find one that looks good enough for you to be able to impress these victors.
You won your games through what you believe to be pure luck, despite Josh’s best efforts to convince you otherwise. It had been one lucky alliance that got you through the longest few days of your life and one lucky shot of a bow and arrow that got you to the finale of the games where mutts were waiting for you and the other tribute from district 2.
Josh said it was the tensest moment of the games. He had been watching from the capital surrounded by the other mentors and the sponsors he’d made deals with.
But looking around now you know that luck won’t be enough this year. Your knack for being in the right place at the right time won’t get you through 22 trained assassins who have all killed before and who know exactly what to expect from an amateur like you.
It’s not until you reach the bow and arrow that you pause, eyeing the weapon almost suspiciously. It’s metal, similar to the one you’d found in the games, and the arrows aren’t traditional wood and feather arrows. They’re metal from tip to fletching.
You pick the bow up cautiously, testing it’s weight as you walk into the enclosed area specified for bow and arrow training. The new facility designed for these games is more advanced than the one from the previous year. It’s training area is digitized, simulations of real situations making for better use of training time.
Pulling the bow back for the first time since the last games is an unfamiliar feeling and a shiver runs down your spine as memories of death and pain come rushing back. You didn't think you’d have to relive this. They told you that you wouldn’t have to do this again. They told you that you’d be safe.
But pulling the bowstring back so that your hand meets your cheek, you feel that safety wash away, the games bringing back a familiar feeling of fear and danger.
But as the arrow flies from the bow, hitting the holographic target in the chest and making it crumble at your feet, you feel like you can breathe. Maybe for the first time since the last games.
Maybe this is what you’d been missing. This feeling of being alive and experiencing something real. The games had at least awakened something within you that you didn’t know existed. That’s what it gave to you. It gave you twenty three dead children hanging over you and an emptiness that can evidently only be fulfilled with violence.
Violence and Josh.
The next arrow to leave the bow hits the target in the head and the buzzing from the hologram forming disappears. Then, seconds later, the sounds reappears behind and next to you. One arrow flies to your left, another at the hologram hovering above you, it’s weapon pointed at your heart before it disintegrates.
Another six targets later and you reach back to find you’re out of arrows, but before you can sidestep another target to grab one the lights come back on and the speaker in the corner of the room informs you that the simulation is over.
You’re satisfied as you take a look around the room, all of the arrows you shot stuck in the walls of the room and your score appearing in front of you. You ignore the numbers, instead turning your attention to the glass door separating you from the rest of the tributes. They’re all there, gathered around to watch, some in awe of the show and others with a deep frown on their faces.
It’s not until your eyes fall on Josh that you grin, the smirk on his face as he looks at the reactions of the other tributes making that feeling in your chest grow and grow.
“That,” Josh says in the elevator on the way back to you room, “was amazing. At least half of the tributes will want to be your ally.”
“I’m glad I put on a good show for them.”
“Hey.” Josh catches your arm before you can turn the corner to your room, forcing you to turn towards him. “What is it? That was great, everything went just like we wanted.”
You shake your head, trying to pull out of his grip but he remains stoic, his face contorting from one of worry to one of slight frustration. He reaches up to brush a hair that got loose from your ponytail behind your ear. “If this is going to work, you have to talk to me. I know it’s different in ten, that it feels like everyone is watching here, but you can still talk to me. Nothing has changed between us.”
“It’s not...it’s not you, Josh. And it’s not the other tributes, I’m happy with what happened and that...we have better chances now.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s...a feeling. When I was training, I just...I picked up that bow and I felt...good.”
Josh looks a little perplexed at your answer and his grip on you loosens. You take the opportunity and pull your wrist away, turning the corner to go to your room.
“Is that bad? I mean...isn’t that a good thing? You’re comfortable with your weapons, you’ll be able to use them.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. I’m comfortable with them because I have used them. I killed people. I’m a murderer. And I should be... I shouldn’t even be able to look at a bow or a knife because of what I did. Instead I...I felt alive when I was shooting.”
“Y/N, we’ve talked about this. You know you didn’t have a choice, it was them or you.”
“Well why did it have to be me? I have no one that needs me, they all had family. People who needed them and people who...who probably died with them. I took their children and friends and siblings away from them. I did. And now it’s like I’m...I’m eager to go back and start killing again. That’s what this feeling is,” you pull at your hair, falling back on your bed with your eyes squeezed shut.
It’s not until you feel Josh kneel in front of you and take your hands away from your head that you open your eyes, trying to decipher all of the emotions in his as he stares at you.
He rests both hands on your cheeks, resting his forehead against yours to get as close to you as he can, his thumbs stroking your cheeks and his lips brushing yours.
“You are,” he begins, smiling so wide that his eyes crinkle in the corners. It’s the first time you’ve seen that smile in days and it makes your heart jump, “the kindest person I know. And the fact that you feel so much for those families is enough to tell me that you care more than most tributes ever could. You feel their pain. You take their burden and make it yours and I know that if you could take their pain away you would. They may not understand you and how much you feel for them, but I do. And I know that, whatever happens out there, you’re not going to change. The games can take everything away from us. Our family and friends, our safety, our lives...but they can’t take away who we are. No one in the goddamn Capital can take that away.”
“But they can take...they can take other things.”
He looks at you, his eyes inches from yours and his lips less then that. You feel him and ground yourself, letting him hold you and bring you back to him.
“Like what?”
“My humanity,” you whisper, closing your eyes for only a moment, flashes of the first games, of your first kills making a shiver run down your spine, “you. They can take you away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“I know that,” he takes a deep breath, tightening his grip on your cheeks and pressing himself against you further, trying to be closer to you, “I also know that they can’t take away my love for you. They can never take that away.”
The sixth day of the 74th Hunger Games
The male tribute from the fifth district’s screams would have been heard for miles if there was anyone else left. But it’s only you and district 2 now, the other tribute left alive having become a meal for the Capital mutts.
You aim an arrow at the mutt, shooting it in the heart and grunting when one of the only few left pounces on you. You take your knife from it’s sheath and stab it in the eye, then in the heart. When you stand, looking around for any other mutts left alive, the only one in your sight is the one on top of the only other victor left, it’s fangs inches away from his throat.
You hold an arrow in your bow, the bowstring brought back to your cheek like it had been so many times that day. You just have to let go and it will all be over. You’ll win the games and you’ll go home. Just like you’ve been dreaming of doing since the first canon sounded and this nightmare began.
But you hesitate. It’s a moment that could’ve cost you your life had there been any other mutts, but they’re not needed anymore. Either the mutt will kill him or you will. Your win is sealed if you just let go of the arrow.
The boy has the upper hand over the mutt now and after a brutal struggle that leaves him with gashes in his shoulder and leg that are so deep he is barely able to stand. And now your win is blown away. Now it’s anyone’s game.
You hold the arrow tighter, regretting your hesitance when your opponent stands with a fire in his eyes and a look that tells you he’s hungry for blood.
You don’t know what brought you to say anything to him. One of you will be dead in the next minute.
“We don’t have to do this.”
Confusion flickers across his face, but it’s only seconds before his bloodthirsty look is back and he’s inching closer to you, his knife held tightly in his hand.
“The hell are you talking about?”
“I’ll put this down,” you say, although the bow stays raised, your hesitance to do as you’re saying obvious, “if you put yours down. We can end this. We can...we can both get out, we can figure something out.”
“No,” he shakes his head, “no, there’s only one victor. There can only be one victor.”
“But what if there are two?” you say, desperate for him to understand. This is the last thing the Capital will want. This defiance you’re showing is probably causing an uproar of the president’s people as you speak, but you continue on. Consequences be damned, you won't kill two people. The President may be the most powerful man in the country, but he cannot force you to kill for him.
But you already have, you remind yourself grimly.
Lowering your weapon proves to be more difficult then you’d imagined, but you force yourself to lower your hands and take the precaution of keeping your fingers clenched around the bowstring, ready for a sudden attack if one were to come. You take a deep breath when his expression changes and the deathly grip he has on the knife loosens.
“We can both go home.”
It’s obvious on his face that he’s fighting against his survival instinct to take your words into consideration and hope springs up in your chest when you meet his eyes again. They’re not as cold as they were when you first faced him three days ago, the first time he tried to kill you. They’re not as cold as they had been seconds ago when it looked like nothing could stop him from spilling your blood.
“Please,” your voice breaks and you take a deep breath and let go of the bowstring completely. Your first mistake, one that Josh would never let you forget.
“No,” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying to rid any thoughts of this ending without one of you dying out of his mind.
“Don’t you get it?” he spits, eyes wide and crazed, every sign of a change of heart gone from his expression. This is what the games does, even to the trained minds of the careers. “This is where it ends. They won’t let us out. They won’t let us leave.”
You take a breath, your grip on the bow tightening as your fingers inch back towards the string.
“One of us is getting out of here.”
“Just listen,” you plead, but he doesn’t even seem to hear you, nor does he seem to care. Your words may have worked had circumstances been different. Maybe if the boy from five hadn’t gotten mauled by mutts and come to kill two, you’d be in a different situation. Maybe you could’v gotten through to five.
But loyalty to the Capital runs deep in District 2.
Your hope is gone when a knife digs into the flesh of your shoulder and you cry out, dropping your bow and gripping the handle of the knife with gritted teeth. You pull it out just as you’re tackled to the ground, his hands around your throat, pushing you into the grass as he cuts your air off.
The knife in your hands raises and then lowers as you begin to black out, but you finally find the strength to lift it and dig it into his arm. He cries out and lets go of your throat, groaning in pain when you rip the knife out of his arm, then going silent when you plunge it into his chest.
The announcement is made seconds after he takes his last breath. You are the winner of the 74th Hunger Games.
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