A/N: While re-reading The Hunger Games (for the billionth time), I realised that it has many themes in common with Les Misérables, so of course I had to try writing a crossover/AU in which two of my favourite fandoms merged. I started off with my own style but decided to try and emulate the writing style of Suzanne Collins. I haven't done a multi-chapter in a while but I've got the whole story planned out, if the response is good I will definitely finish it! I hope you enjoy!

Title translates to (from Latin) bread and circuses, taken from Mockingjay.

Also, did you know Enjolras is extremely hard to write. Well now you do, that's my excuse for a relatively sucky chapter, sorry :1

Chapter 1

The moment I enter the square for the Reaping the wrenching feeling in my gut returns.

My mother had told me earlier not to worry, to not be silly by thinking my name might be selected because my family had no need for tesserae. I know this, and I resent this fact because there are so many young people in my District who have taken the tesserae and are sent to their deaths because of it. I should be thanking my stars for being born into the higher class (if you can even call it a high class) of District 12, for having parents who live in town and own a business and do not work in the mines or live in the Seam.

But instead of feeling grateful I just feel more resentment towards the Hunger Games. How vile the whole system is. Of course I can't go saying these things openly or I'd be executed by the Capitol (probably in some spectacular way, like my name would get reaped purposely and they'd have me step on a mine in the Games or attacked by man-eating squirrels). So I hold my tongue and only talk in front of the people I trust most, my friends, my Amis, in the place we call our own, the Musain. Fortunately because most of us are young and still in school nobody thinks we're doing any suspicious activities, or we'd all be arrested for having frequent meetings in the backroom.

My nineteenth birthday is in just six months, which makes today my last Reaping. Again, I should be grateful that I've survived the seven long years of escaping the Hunger Games but it just makes me angrier at how I'm going to have to watch all these children walk into their deaths until I die.

Truth be told, I think my mother only told me not to worry this morning because she needed to convince herself that I'm in no danger. Because I'm eighteen my name is in that pot seven times. Nowhere near as many times as the kids from the Seam, but still quite a lot since there are not so many children in District 12 (we don't win the Hunger Games much, and it's not uncommon for kids to die of hunger here – as Feuilly always says, 'District 12, where you can starve to death in safety'). My chances of being reaped have never been higher, and my mother wants to convince herself that her only child will live to see his nineteenth birthday. So I smiled and nodded and agreed with her, just to give her some comfort. But today I've had this gut feeling all day, and it just intensifies the moment I set foot in the square.

I see and walk towards my friends in our designated spot for the eighteen year olds. The adults around the side of the square look at us with hope. You are the survivors. You are the lucky ones.

I scan the crowd of adults and find Feuilly giving me a sheepish smile, as if ready to celebrate the end of our final Reaping tonight and welcome us into manhood. I smile back before returning my glance to the rest of my friends around me. Combeferre, Bahorel and Marius nod in greeting, looking calm on the surface but sweaty and nervous at second glance. Courfeyrac, Lesgles, Jehan and Joly are only a few months younger than us but unfortunately are placed with the seventeen year olds. They look far calmer than the eighteen year olds but still nervous. I'm surprised Joly isn't hyperventilating already – not only is he at a Reaping but he's in the middle of a crowd.

"I'm ready to celebrate tonight," whispers Marius. We cast him sidelong glances. "What? With you guys of course!"

I roll my eyes. "Marius, I'm surprised you're not trying to pretend to be seventeen in order to be next to Cosette right now."

My friends and I bite our lips to hide our smiles and laughter while Marius looks at us with a surly look. He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Mayor Madeleine, who has started to speak into the microphone.

He drones on, as he always does every year, about the history of Panem, the Dark Days and the story behind the Hunger Games. "It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks."

He reads the list of past District 12 victors, of which we have only two (and of which only one is still alive), and the man in question staggers onto the stage in his usual inebriated state. We give him our token applause, but Grantaire is confused and instead of sitting in his chair accidentally sits on the District escort Effie Trinket. She gasps and shoves him off onto the floor, which he decides is comfortable enough and does not move to his chair. The obviously distressed Mayor Madeleine attempts to divert attention by introducing Effie, who springs towards the microphone before he even finishes his sentence.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!" It's all I can do to not yell any profanities at her ridiculously bubbly mood. She's about to send children to their deaths and she's bouncing around as if it were Noël.

Instead, I glance around at the crowd. My friends have given up trying to look calm, instead opting to pretend being interested in Grantaire's latest onstage antics. Marius is staring at Cosette, who appears to have her fingers entwined tightly with Musichetta. Standing next to them, shoulders slumped, I spot Éponine, Marius' shadow.

It takes a few seconds (and the sound of Effie's voice) for me to realise that I'm staring at the back of Éponine's head. I quickly take my eyes away. If I want any girl in particular to survive today then it would be Éponine, and I feel like my stare might somehow cause her to be reaped. The poor girl has been through enough already.

"Ladies first!" Effie chirps.

Effie strolls up to the crystal bowl in which hundreds of girls' names are written (some of them the same name fifty times) and easily picks one from the side of the pile. Back at the microphone she smoothens out the paper and clears her throat.

"Azelma Thénardier!"

The crowd parts slightly as Azelma walks forward from out of her circle of friends. An air of disapproval floats through the both the children and the crowd of adults around the square, as it always does when a twelve year old is reaped.

I immediately frown. Azelma is not only twelve years old, but is also Éponine's little sister. This is probably the last thing Éponine needs right now, and I begin to worry she may do something eccentric.

As usual, I'm not wrong; she begins to push her way towards Azelma, screaming her sister's name. I'm about to run to her and pull her back, but Combeferre holds my arm and gives me a warning glance from the corner of his eyes. I try to struggle out of his grip but we both freeze when we hear Éponine's voice again.

"I volunteer!"