iM lAtE-–

All these chapters will be late for a week sorry

❤️💜26k let's get to 35 Jdhzhsjsjxhsjsj💜❤️

Epic stared at the TV screen blankly, his non-existent blood boiling. Beside him, Chara constantly shot him nervous glances but was too hesitant to actually make a move and calm him.

The skeleton clenched his hands into tight fists, watching as his best friend - and secret crush - Cross, kissed that disgusting privileged boy. He hated seeing his hands grip onto Cross, gently caressing the side of his face. It was so fake, couldn't he see? Nightmare had obviously planned this from the beginning, knowing that the audience would love a bit of romance for once in the arena. He just had to choose Cross. Poor naive little Cross with a soul too kind to everyone. That good nature of his had already ended in the heartbreak of Blue dying, and soon it would be the betrayal of that boy that broke him next.

He hated seeing him manipulated like that. He hated it.

"Epic dear, you'll wear you eyes out..." Jakei muttered silently, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Just try not to pay attention to it."

The teen scowled, shrugging her hand off and keeping his eyes fixated on the screen as Cross and Nightmare finally pulled back from their kiss and giggled silently together. They seemed so happy. But it was fake. It had to be.

Staring suddenly at Chara, he grunted. "Do you think they're genuine?"

Chara blinked in surprise, spluttering quite a lot of nonsense as he tried to find his voice. Truth was, he'd always been rather intimidated by Epic, the teen not exactly being his favourite. "I-I--"

"You?" He raised a brow, pressing further.

The boy looked away quickly, pressing his small palms tightly together as he watched Nightmare flick Cross' forehead softly and making the smaller flinch and whine quietly. "I um, I-I'm not sure..."

"Not sure?" He snorted. "You have to have some sort of opinion on them. Do you think they're acting or not?"

Flinching, Chara stared at his brother's content and genuinely happy expression. It was as if he'd forgotten that he was still in the Hunger Games, thinking they were cuddled up in their home bedroom or something.

"No." He shook his head confidently and shifted ever-so-slightly away from the aggravated skeleton. "Cross isn't acting. 100%."

Epic growled, pushing himself up to his feet and storming away. "Of course he isn't."

——————

Papyrus tugged at his scarf nervously, watching as his older brother was battered mercilessly by the thunderstorm. He was crouched pathetically under a large tree, his hood pulled tightly over his skull and soaked right through. All his clothes were drenched, sticking wetly to his bones and sending chills throughout his whole body.

He'd attempted to build a fire for warmth, but it was quickly destroyed by the unforgiving wrath of the rain, stabbing down on the tiny flames like needles and extinguishing them.

The TV hadn't been showing much of his brother lately, focusing mainly on the last remaining duo of the games. The District Twelve two. If his own brother - Dust - hadn't also been in the arena, he'd be rooting for them all the way. But the knowledge that that dark boned skeleton and his brother were still alive terrified him. And that Reaper guy. As much as he hated to admit it, those three could all overpower his older brother easily. And with Reaper holding a grudge against him for killing his partner, he was really in danger. Big danger.

Dust weakly pressed himself further against the bark of the tree, his fingertips digging into it desperately. If this rain didn't stop soon, he'd die from hypothermia. He grit his teeth tightly, attempting to see anything through the rain to no avail. There was no way he'd be able to spot someone coming for him in this weather. But then again, hopefully that would work the other way round as well.

From the slightly chilly but definitely dry safety of the family home's downstairs living room, Papyrus wrung his wrists tightly staring anxiously at his brother curled up against the tree. "Come on brother... You've got this..."

——————

The people of District Two were tense, staring up at the giant screening in the town centre. Yes, they all had their own TV's at home, but lots loved watching the deaths on the big screen, like a cinema if you may.

Inside a large, darkly decorated house, a woman stood sipping a glass of gin. Her cold dark eyes stared dully at the crowds of people in the town centre, a slight smirk forming on her lips. Flicking her dark curled hair over her shoulders, she pulled the curtains shut, blocking out all the irritating loud people and flooding the room into almost complete darkness. The only light came from the TV in the corner of the room, the screen displaying the last remaining Tribute from District Two.

She sighed softly and walked over to the sofa, her bare feet sinking into the fluffy carpet and dragging behind her, the long dark dress adorning her body brushing over it and picking up any minuscule specks of dust and cat hairs.

"It's so sad, isn't it, sweetheart?" Sitting down on the sofa, she reached a hand out, letting it brush under the cat's chin. It purred deeply, pressing its face into her hand and rubbing over the silver shining rings that circled her fingers.

"People cheering for their deaths." Her voice was a mumble, grey eyes sliding over the dark silhouettes of the living room furniture before it rested on the TV screen.

It was displaying him once more, crouched down in a ditch and trying to hide himself from the thundering rain. He was still keeping hold of that ridiculous scythe, despite how it constantly dragged him back.

"It's pointless, right sweetheart?" She stared sadly at the cat, her long black nails dragging through its fur. "He's not going to win."

Glancing back at the screen once more she sighed, taking another sip of her drink.

"I honestly thought you'd do better, my son."

——————

"Honey Dream is on the screen again..." Joku muttered softly, reaching out a hand to brush over her husband's arm.

He jerked it out of the way in response, grunting and glancing at the screen distastefully. "Is he not dead yet? I'm surprised."

"Oh never mind then." She hissed, pushing him away and staring at the screen. "At least he has one parent who still cares."

"Still cares?" He barked a laugh, pointing a finger at her accusingly. "We have two sons you hag, you may pretend he is, but Dream isn't your only bloody child. We have two sons, two!"

Joku flinched, looking away quickly and biting her lip. She had been paying attention to the footage it showed of Nightmare, just not as much as Dream. "I haven't forgotten his existence!"

"Well you're acting like you have!" He yelled, slapping her sharply in the face.

The woman let out a yelp of pain, her hand flashing up to clutch her cheek and her hair falling over her eyes. Tears shone from them, but he didn't notice and got to his feet, marching up the stairs. "Useless woman."

Joku sniffed back a whimper of pain, curled up on the sofa. Everyone assumed that just because they were District One, they had no problems. They're all wrong. They were plagued with problems left and right 24/7, but people just assumed they'd deal with it. The whole family was plagued with problems, the same as all the others. And to top it off, both children had somehow managed to weasel their way into the Hunger Games.

She stared at the screen they displayed her son, Dream. He wasn't suffering as badly as some of the other Tributes from the storm, having found an intent in a rocky structure that went back around a metre. He was sat there with his knees pulled up against his chest, back pressed against the wall. His eyes were dull and broken, staring emotionlessly at the small crackling fire in front of him. He wasn't on guard or vigilant, not caring about his surroundings whatsoever. His clothes were wet, but not drenched like the ones from District Eleven and Two. He wasn't in any danger of dying from the cold or rain. But he looked so broken...

She'd never really trusted Killer from the beginning. That boy had been too smart. Way too smart for her likings. When he'd teamed up with Dream her anxiety scales had been sent off through the roof and she couldn't sit still for more than five seconds, much to her husbands absolute annoyance. That had lead to yet more arguments.

Honestly she'd assumed that Dream was pretending to be his teammate, gaining his trust before killing him in cold blood at the end. But when she'd seen how genuinely broken he'd been at the boy's death, she'd realised that her son had somehow managed to form feelings for him in the middle of a death match. But then again, her other son had done the same.

Nightmare and that boy, Cross? Yes, that was his name. They were now the Capitalist favourites, Dream and Reaper being close behind. The odds weren't looking good for any of them really, and with Dream in this broken state, she didn't have much hope for him after all.

At least she'd still have one son to come home to her.

Even if he was the very child that she called the devil's spawn and the downfall of their family.

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I can't remember if I said Joku was dead earlier but she isn't now I guess sidudusixudue

uwuwuwuwu I wanted some scenes of the remaining Tribute's parents and family are thinking about their kid's situations etc

Enjoyed writing this, ngl

Hope you enjoyed too

-Jess-