A/N: Uh, hi. I'm Megan, known on here as We're All Okay, but the people working on this story refer to me as Rue. Call me whatever you like. I'm so excited to be working on this collab, and I'm putting my heart and soul into my character and the story as a whole. I feel like I'm rambling, so let's jump in, shall we?

Trigger warning: abuse.

Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood, District 3 Male- CrissKenobie-the-Neumenorean

"Shut up! You never let me do what I want, you're always going out with your friends while I clean!"

"You want to know why? Because a man can only stay inside with his stupid wife and his faggot son for so long before he goes insane! And cleaning! You never clea-"

I roll over and stuff my head under my pillow with a groan. After so many years of fighting I've grown used to the noise of bottles breaking and people screaming. With a sigh I throw back my thin blanket and swing my feet off the edge of the bed. Placing both feet on the freezing floor of my room, I step out of bed and put on my glasses. I chuckle, it's a good thing I'll never be in the games because, without my glasses, I'd be dead within a hour. Finding clean clothing for the reaping today will be challenge enough! I thought as I glance around my room.

My room looks more like a closet than anything but I manage keep it clean enough. I look around, running a scarred hand over my blond head.

The closest thing I have to nice clothes, meaning clothes that aren't too covered in grease stains, seemed to be a pair of brown cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. Glancing in the mirror I ruffle my longish hair into some sort of order and sneak downstairs to find breakfast. I make it to the kitchen of our decrepit house without being seen by either of my parents or stepping on any shards of glass. The only thing left in the food drawer is stale bread so I quickly scarf down a piece before bolting out the door. I put on my only pair of boots as I go.

Once on the street, I head for my friend Miguel's house. In my life, friends are hard to come by, but he has always stuck with me. I have been friends with Miguel since I was 12.

Wandering down the smoggy streets of District 3 I ponder the terrible situation that brought us together.

I was at work, having dropped out of school to feed my little sister, Lillian, and get her an education despite my parent's habits, and it was a fairly cold day. It was my birthday and Lillian had just given me a bracelet woven out of wire threads when I looked up to see Miguel. He was walking past on his way to school. It was just a quick glance and I didn't remember it until I met him again. My attention was diverted quickly, anyways, by my sister as she kissed me on the cheek. I remember grinning at her as she skipped out of the room. I remember screaming as the room she entered blew up. She was only six.

Much of what happened next was lost to me in a haze of grief.

I later learned that the boiler warming that room had overheated. To my shock I also learned that I had attempted to dig Lillian out of the burning wreckage. Guess it was a reflex. This reflex left me in the hospital with bandages around my face and hands for weeks. It was around this time I was told I would need glasses... For life. It was devastating.

I shut down after that. The happy-go-luck Sam everyone loved turned into a cruel, sarcastic, jerk. It was a mask to protect myself.

Months later, after I had recovered, I met some other boys in the new factory I had been transferred to. Being older than me and terrible bullies, the started picking on me for the scarring, still pink and tender, which covered my hands, arms, and my left temple. They were shoving me around, hitting and smacking, when Miguel stepped in and told 'em all to buzz off.

It was that moment that made me trust him, a wiry kid with darker skin and expressive eyes. He had stuck with me trough my depression at the loss of my sister, my abuse at the hands of my dad, and even my struggle with being bisexual. He was a friend I knew I didn't deserve.

"Earth to Sam, Earth to Sam! Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood? Are you in there?" I jerked back to the present, realizing that Miguel was waving his hand in front of my face. "Hey mate! Good to see you returned from lala land,! Drop the "grump face!" Also, you know there's no need to wear that mask around me!"

Then he grins and slung his arm around my shoulder. I give him a half-hearted smile. "hey Mig... It's good see your ugly mug."

Miguel stood head and shoulders over me, with his buzzed black hair and his lanky frame, making him the perfect stereotype of the district 3 male. He was grinning like the goofus he was.

Behind us Miguel's parents and sisters waved goodbye. His sisters, thankfully, were too young to go to the reaping and for Miguel, being 18, it was his last year. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that without him, my life would have been and would be hell.

"Ugly? Ugly!" He scoffed before realizing that I wasn't paying attention.

"Hey man, look at me." Miguel had stopped in the middle of the road and was watching me. "It's my last year, the chances of me being chosen are slim! Quit worrying!" Sometimes I think he can read my mind.

"Miguel, you know me, all I do is worry. But you are right, it is your last year... Guess I'm just nervous."

"Yah, I know, I get nervous every year... But after this year I'll only have to be nervous for you!" He tried to grin again, but it failed.

I tactfully forgot about his little sisters.

Rounding the corner we come up to the masses of children, all gathered for the reaping. The colors of the outfits, though most plain and dingy, conflicted, making the scene even more chaotic. Wading through the crowd, and following Miguel who towers over everyone else, I manage to bump into very few people as we make our way to the line.

Without watching were I place my two left feet, I ram into a little girl. She couldn't be more than 13, and I feel terrible as I knock her over. Thankfully, I catch her before she hits the ground. Her velvet dress twirls as I set her back on her feet.

"Sorry!" I apologize, forgetting my cruel "mask" in the face of instinct, but all she does was swat off my hand. She glances at me before mumbling something unintelligible and walking away. My eyebrows shoot up, but I don't push my luck, and turn back to Miguel.

Within moments we are registered, pricked, and filed into our respective ages. I wait with the others for our escort, Remus Grande. He has been district 3's escort for as long as I can remember and to the best of my knowledge, he had a different hairstyle every year.

There was no need to wait for the victors, we have none, so Remus starts his speech immediately.

"Hello, citizens! Welcome to the Reaping for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Before we start, I have a little presentation to show you! Please turn your eyes to the screen!"" He says in his chipper voice.

The, as Miguel had nicknamed it, "siesta video" begins to play, rambling on and on about rebellions, previous tributes, and the origins of the hunger games.

I had the thing memorized but watched it anyways, mouthing the words.

It comes to an end far too quickly for my nervous state and our attention is directed toward the stage again.

"Well then, wasn't that fun?" A pause in which no one answered followed, I almost laugh. "Alright, let's get this party started! Ladies first!" He grins and plunges his hand into the first bowl, searching around for the "perfect" piece of paper.

Drawing it out he opens it with a flourish and smiles. "Our lucky lady is Athena Spektor!" A deep sadness washes over me as I watch the little girl from earlier climb the steps. In the background two people, who I assume are her parents, stand weeping.

"And now for the gentlemen!" beams Remus, oblivious to the pain around him. I fiddle nervously with my glasses, hoping with all my might that everything will turn out fine. He fishes out a slip of paper and holding it up cries "Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood!"

My brain freezes in that moment and it takes the parting of the crowd for me to come back to myself, and I quickly mask my shock. With calculated steps I make my way to the stage. At the top I take my place at Remus's side and spare brief look at my fellow tribute. She looks about to cry.

It is a random gesture, instinctual, but I flash her a smile, trying to convey with my eyes that everything will be okay, then I turn back to the crowd.

"District Three... Your tributes for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Athena Spektor and... um... Samuel Allen Something Northwood! Shake hands, you two." I turn to Athena, again, and shake her hand. All an act, always an act. She smiles shyly back as we are escorted off stage.

Miguel is already waiting for me in the justice building and he fingers my wire bracelet, talking nonsense about how it'll all be okay. We both know it won't. To soon Miguel is escorted from the room.

I pace the floor, hoping that my parents don't arrive, but it is not to be so. The door bursts open as my obviously drunk father bursts in. The only thing I have time to do as his his fist collides with my face is wonder where my mom is; probably high. I lay on the floor, curled up, unmoving as he screams things like " how could you?" "Worthless Fairy!" and peacekeepers escort him fro the building and shut the door.

No one asks if I'm alright, and I don't ask for help. The Sam everyone despises is tough.

Soon enough I am escorted to the train, head down to hide my newest bruise. I watch as my partner grins and boards train after me, tears unshed in her eyes.

My... What a pair we make.

Athena Spektor, District 3 Female- We're All Okay

I'm growing tired of watching the world go by. Sure, it can be interesting enough, but seeing the same old people do the same old things gets hopelessly boring after a short period of time.

No, the past three years have not been fun at all.

I often want to bang my head against the wall. Being constantly locked up in my bedroom gets really old really fast. I want to go outside. Sure, the smoggy air of District Three isn't ideal, but it's a hell of a lot better than my dull life.

The higher amount of pedestrians than usual tip me off; it's Reaping Day, the bane of any teenager's existence. The day in which one child of each gender is selected to go die.

Well, it isn't completely certain that they die, but considering the Careers, and the fact that Three tends to produce mostly weak tributes, it's all but set in stone.

I figure that I should get into my Reaping outfit, so I grab the first dress I can find—a velvety purple thing with a silver sash around the waist—and carefully put it on, trying not to crease it. I slide my feet into a pair of worn black flats, the nicest shoes I own. Even for someone as wealthy as me, fancy shoes are hard to come by if you're from anywhere but the Capitol or one of the Career Districts.

I take in my reflection in the mirror attached to my door. Dark brown hair frames my face, standing out against my pale skin. Cerulean eyes gaze back at me as I stare at myself, not quite sure who I'm looking at.

For the first time in a while, I feel pretty.

I leave my room, quietly closing the door behind me so I don't disturb my parents. They still don't like me leaving my room, even when it's an important day like the Reaping. As much as I hate being locked away like a prisoner, I don't want to disobey them. After all, they have their reasons, and they make sense... sort of.

My mother is already downstairs. She's a tall, thin woman with the same brown hair that I have. Upon seeing me, she purses her lips in discontent, but when she realizes I'm watching her, she beams. Her smile couldn't look more fake.

"Hello, Athena!" she chirps, feeding fake enthusiasm into her voice. "How did you sleep?"

"Well enough, I suppose," I respond, frowning. I did not, in fact, sleep well. I was woken by nightmares... again.

As I'm thinking about it, his face flashes through my memory, along with his cheerful voice. "I'll come home soon."

I push the memory away, to the back of my mind. I don't want to think of my brother right now.

"Athena, who hurt you? Does your father need to intervene? Sit down and tell mommy exactly what happened, dear."

Whenever she says stuff like that, I want to tell her that I am not some five-year-old who can't handle herself. It's not fair that ever since he died, I've been stuck living like a criminal in jail.

I smile and shake my head. "Mom, I'm fine. Promise."

The fake smile returns to her face. "Good," she chirps, "Very good."

Humming to myself, I grab a piece of fruit from the table and glance at the clock. There's still an hour to go until we have to leave for the Reaping. I wish I could go visit my friend Harriet and kill some time, but I know she won't allow me to leave the house.

Honestly, it's pure luck that I was allowed to leave my room.

I spend the next hour wandering the house, which is more like a mansion, if you ask me. I've lived in it for thirteen years and I still haven't seen all of it.

I don't get very far, because I'm stopped by my father. He's always towered above me, and he's pretty intimidating when he wants to be. His brown hair is neatly cropped as always, and his blue eyes glare down at me. "What are you doing out of your room?" His voice is soft, but it has a harsh edge that sends chills up my spine.

"O-Oh..." My voice shakes thanks to my nerves. "It's Reaping day, s-so I thought I could leave my room... I-I'm sorry..."

His frigid expression softens into something warmer; worry. "You know why we don't like you leaving your room, Athena."

I nod, about to respond, when the sound of the Reaping Bell cuts me off. Together, my family and I head into the square.

"Okay," my mother says, using the tone she's used since I was around five. "Go stand in line, and go into your section. We'll see you after the Reaping is done, alright?"

I smile and nod as I leave them behind for the first time in months. The smoggy air is surprisingly refreshing, and I take a deep breath, vowing to enjoy my few hours of freedom.

As I stand in line, the weight of my situation starts to sink in. So many people around me, all of them talking and laughing with each other as if they might not die. I can see through it, though; it's a mask. A facade to hide their terror, and it's working rather well.

I, on the other hand, have nothing to hide. My smile vanishes as I wait in the line, my thoughts beginning to wander. Large crowds have never suited me; I don't like talking very much. My lack of social experience makes me quite bad at it.

Someone crashes into me as I'm caught up in my train of thought. I stumble forward, my knees almost hitting the ground before he catches me. I glance up at the stranger, my face a bright shade of red.

"Sorry!" he says, pulling me to my feet. I take him in within a matter of seconds. His hair is a dark shade of blonde, falling in front of nearly black eyes that are hidden behind odd-looking glasses. A scar crosses his temple, making me wonder if something happened to this boy.

I'll probably never see him again, though, so I pull his hands off my shoulders. "It's alright, thank you," I mutter under my breath before realizing that I've lost my place in line. Dusting myself off, I return to my spot, not looking back at him.

The process of waiting in line is slow and mundane. Once I finally reach the front, the Peacekeeper stares at me with the most blank expression I've ever seen.

"Name?" he asks, grabbing my hand and holding up a sharp-looking syringe.

"Athena Spektor," I say softly as he draws my blood. The needle stings, so I shake my hand as I walk away after the Peacekeeper finishes.

I find Harriet waiting for me in the 13-year-old section, smiling and grinning. "Heeeey! Haven't seen you in a while!"

I grin. "Not my fault."

"I know that, dummy. Made it just in time; it's about to start."

District Three's escort is a man by the name of Remus Grande. His hairstyle changes each year, and this year, it's an extremely bright shade of neon green, and it's gelled to stick up on top of his head in a sharp point. "Hello, citizens!" he cheers in his Capitol-affected accent. "Welcome to the Reaping for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Before we start, I have a little presentation to show you! Please turn your eyes to the screen!"

I don't want to look. I know what I'll see. Gory images of past Games, ones that have a tendency to sicken me to my stomach. I know that I'll be punished if I don't look, though, so I stare up at the screen, already feeling nauseous.

There he is. Apollo Spektor, Tribute in the 94th Annual Hunger Games. His hands shake as he stabs the back of another Tribute, draining the life from them. I can't watch anymore, I just can't. Seeing him again is too painful, especially that particular moment; the day my brother became a murderer. As much as I miss him, I knew that I'd lost him the minute he walked away from the body.

Before I know it, it's all over, and Remus is pulling a name from the girls' bowl. I cross my fingers tightly, praying to every deity I know of that I'll be okay.

"Athena Spektor!"

I can feel the blood draining from my face as my legs move on their own. I don't command them to move into the aisle and up onto the stage, but suddenly I'm there, fighting back tears.

I will not cry, I tell myself. I will not cry.

Remus ignores me and moves on to the boys' bowl, pulling a slip from the very bottom. "Samuel Allen Phillips Northwood!"

The crowd parts to reveal the boy from earlier. For a split second, a look of shock crosses his face, immediately masked with a cool facade. He reaches the stage, looks at me, and shoots me a small smile, as if to say that it'll be okay.

The smile vanishes before I can smile back.

Remus beams at him, then at me. "Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes for the 97th Annual Hunger Games! Athena Spektor and... um... Samuel Allen Something Northwood! Shake hands, you two."

He smirks at me as he holds out his hand. The expression seems so out of character for the glimpses of a kind boy I just saw. What's he planning?

I shake his hand, surprised at how rough his palm feels. The scars are long and angry, stretching across his hand and up parts of his arm. I smile shyly at him before letting go, and we're led into the Justice Building.

It doesn't take long after I sit down on the couches for my parents to come bursting through the doors, which hit the walls with a loud bang. My mother looks like she's having trouble breathing, and my father just looks crushed.

I let them wrap their arms around me and steal all the air from my lungs. My tears begin to fall, streaming down my face. I sob, holding them close and not wanting to let go.

As suffocating as they are, they're my parents. I don't want to leave them alone.

We sit there for a few minutes, just holding each other, not needing to say anything. "Try to come home, okay?" my father mumbles as he pulls away, prying my mother off of me, as well.

I nod, not wanting to speak. If I do, I surely won't be able to finish my sentence.

They leave. As they close the door behind them, I call, "I love you!" It's an act of desperation, but I didn't know what else to say. I don't use those words nearly enough in their presence.

I take a deep, shaky breath and brush my dress off. When I step outside, I'm going to grin and bear whatever the world throws at me. Even if I don't make it out—which, honestly, I don't know if I will—I'm going to keep a smile on my face no matter how many tears I shed.

It's the only way.