Chapter Text
The day of the reaping was somehow always one of the worst. It didn’t matter if you woke up and forgot it was the day of the reaping, or if you woke up and decided you simply didn’t care. By eighteen, with their ninth ballad in the reaping bowls, Y/N found that the day of the reaping was simply always objectively terrible.
It got worse through time, though. After the failure of the Second Rebellion, the gap between those eligible to be tributes and those not somehow managed to grow larger. Nine year olds would go to the reaping, any of them at risk of being put into the games. All to honor the capitol, somehow.
Y/N pushed themself off the bed, grabbing their pants and shirt, changing out of their pajamas and pulling the pants over their legs. The clothes were just the same rendition of the ones they’d been wearing for almost a decade. Black pants. White long sleeved shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows. They wet their hair, pat it dry, tried not to grab a knife crafted from Grisha steel as they did every other day, out of simple habit.
Eventually, they found Inej, sitting on the outskirts of the victors village, sharpening one of her knives by slicing the side against the concrete.
She stood upon noticing Y/N, and the pair began to walk to the town square, where a stage had been set up, where Genya Safin, Alina Starkov, and Nikolai Lantsov waited to greet the town, two of which would be volunteered to the slaughter in the name of remembrance, in the name of remembering the Capitols triumph after two failed rebellions against their people.
They were silent as they walked, neither of them really knowing what to say. Neither of them could ever figure out what to say during the reaping, though. Not the night before, the day of, or the day after. The right words just never graced either of their lips.
It was different that time, though. Up until your eighteenth birthday. only one ballad was put into the bowls for each year of eligibility. As you turned eighteen, two of them would go in. There were eleven chances for Y/Ns name to be picked. It was a startling kind of reality, and as they reached the town square and got in line, the reality seemed to sink in.
Y/N made their way to the back of the crowd, where the eighteen-through-twenties were meant to stand. They caught sight of Kaz, someone they’d traded goods with at the Hob, and merely nodded in acknowledgement. He nodded back, mouthing a ‘good luck,’ which Y/N returned.
Genya Safin was the one that everyone always saw. She was always the announcer sent to twelve, plucking names from a bowl and ruining the lives of two people in a mere few breaths. Alina was the one who was never seen, and since he’d claimed his title as Victor, Nikolai seemed privy to staying out of sight as well.
She ran through the whole thing. The ‘may the odds be ever in your favor!’, the ten minute mini-documentary to remind the people in the square why the games happened at all, and the fake, cheery smile. Every year, Y/N was further convinced that someday they’d grow sick of it, finding it a bit astonishing that they hadn’t grown sick of it already.
“And now, we pick the tributes for this years Hunger Games,” she said. She stepped toward the first reaping bowl, and Y/N took a deep breath in, just as they did every year. In the interest of keeping tradition, they closed their eyes as the name was announced.
“Our first tribute from twelve is...” Genya stopped as she read the name. “Y/N L/N.”
They swallowed, eyes opening as everyone began to separate, allowing more of a path to be created. They walked between four Peacemakers, pausing when they reached the steps leading to the stage.
They couldn’t explain why, but the moment that they realized that it was better to just accept it, to acknowledge the fact that the only exemplars of winners from District 12 were Nikolai Lantsov and Alina Starkov, who’d both become sort of reclusive since their victories, it became a lot easier to move. They walked up the steps and moved to stand to Genyas left.
Y/N fixed their gaze to a spot straight ahead, one of the few buildings around the square, as Genya said the next name.
“And, our second tribute is...” she paused again, for dramatic effect. “Kaz Brekker!” Y/Ns gaze immediately went to him, watching as he walked, cane hitting the ground with every single step he took.
He finally met their gaze as he strode up the stairs, moving to stand to Genyas right.
“Happy Hunger Games!” Genya said, tone of excitement in her voice.
Y/N swallowed as they were brought into the building behind them, Kaz at their side, Genya, Alina, and Nikolai walking steadily behind them.
In their life, there was now only room for one thought.
Stay alive.