I do not own any characters, Disney or Non-Disney, that I use in this fic, or anything from their films that I happen to mention. They all belong to their respective owners. I do not own The Hunger Games or anything related to it. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. In short form, I own nothing.

Cover image was made with Azalea Dolls' Heroine Creator. I've seen people use that game for cover images before, but if my cover image is in any way violating anyone's copyright, I'm sorry, it's not on purpose, please tell me and I will take it down.

Now, after those necessary disclaimers, time for my way-too-long Author's Note! (I know people usually skip Author's Notes, but I'm writing this anyway.) Soooo….I've been kind of obsessed with The Hunger Games recently, and while skim-reading the web one day, I found the Brant Steele Hunger Games Simulator. It's pretty hilarious if you put the right characters into it, and my Disney-nerd brain came up with the idea of a Disney-style Hunger Games (with some non-Disney characters, of course, since I'm an animation junkie). I ran the simulator multiple times, it was hilarious, but I kept wanting to control the thing instead of leaving the fates of everyone up to the random nonsense of a computer. So lo and behold, this was born.

And yes, I know that Disney/Hunger Games crossovers have been done one-million times before, but screw it, it's time I put in my pennies worth!

Also, for anyone following Return to the Smithsonian (my NatM story), as it says in the summery, I've put it on hiatus as I don't really know where I'm going with it and I've lost some my inspiration to continue with it. It's not over, I'll probably return to it someday, but until I get inspiration to write more on it, this is what I'm going to working on it. I know, I hate authors who leave stories hanging too, but I promise you, I will return to it.

Anyway, this beginning is way too long, so without further ado, Happy Hunger Games, Everyone!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Reaping: D1 – D6

District 1

(Jasmine P.O.V.)

The day has come. The day that everyone in Panem anticipates, whether out of fear or excitement.

It is decision day. It is judgement day.

It is the day of the reaping.

"Now Jasmine," my father says sternly, as he brushes out my hair. Everyone has to look their best for the reaping. "Promise me that you will not volunteer."

"But father…"

"I know it's tempting, Jasmine, but I just can't risk losing you."

I sigh as my father places my hairbrush back on my dresser and begins to pull my hair back into my signature thick tri-ponytail.

"You won't lose me, father. I'm ready for this. I know I am."

"You're not ready, Jasmine. Not until you're at least eighteen."

"Eighteen is my last year," I huff, reaching for my earring box. "What if, when I'm eighteen, I try to volunteer but some other girl gets their first? Then I'd never get a chance."

"Well, I do think that that would be for the best, Jasmine. You know what I want for you."

Yes. I do know what he wants for me. As soon as I turn sixteen, he wants to marry me off to some rich Victor so he can shower us with jewels and money - as if we don't already have enough of our own, as one of the richest families in the wealthy District 1. But that's not what I want. I want my own riches, my own glory, not someone else's. I want a chance to prove myself, to prove to all the girls my age that call me weak that I'm not who they think I am.

To prove to everyone that I'm more than just a prize to be won.

"Promise me, Jasmine." His hands are on my shoulders now, his voice and eyes begging. "Promise me, please, that you will not volunteer."

I sigh deeply.

"Fine. I promise."

My fingers aren't crossed behind my back exactly, but they are crossed underneath the ledge of my dresser, so it still counts. More or less.

Despite my confidence, however, I can't seem to keep my legs from shaking as I'm herded into the roped-off area that holds the children of District 1. It's separated by age, oldest at the front, youngest at the back, which places me in around about the middle of the pack. It's ridiculously claustrophobic, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that I'll only have to stick it out for a little while. After all, I'll be up on that stage soon; the huge, white stage that is currently occupied by one podium, two reaping balls and three seats.

One of the seats contains Charlotte LaBouff, our Capitol escort, looking as freakish as always, every inch of her sparkling with glitter that has been surgically implanted into her skin. Her pastel-pink dress is wider than my house, and her peroxide-blonde hair piled high enough to be used as a hiding place for smuggled diamonds. Her facial features are frighteningly doll-like - porcelain skin, miniscule nose, permanently pouting lips and eyes so exaggerated that they seem to popping out of her face, which isn't at all helped by the fact that her eyelashes are approximately as long as my little finger, and shimmering pink. She looks scary, though to be fair, she's not as bad as some of the other wealthy Capitolites that can be spotted on television during the Games' Opening Ceremonies. No wings surgically attached to her back, no unicorn horn poking out of her forehead. By comparison, her look is pretty tame. She might have even been considered attractive if her waist wasn't the same size as her neck.

The other two seats are filled by District 1's Mayor, and Aladdin Ababwa, District 1's most recent Victor, who won the Hunger Games two years ago when he was sixteen. I have to admit, he's extremely eye-catching, his jet-black hair shining like silk in the morning sunshine, his dark eyes soft and warm and I could swear that just for a moment, I catch a hint of sadness in them, but I must be imagining it. After all, Aladdin is a Victor, the highest honour anyone in District 1 could achieve.

That seat is mine. I tell myself. Next year, that'll be me up there.

"Welcome, everyone!" Charlotte is standing up now and making her way towards the podium set up for her. A hush falls over the crowd as she begins her speech in her odd, piping Capitol accent, "It's that time again! The time of glory, the time of honour, the time to choose our tributes! As you all know, a name will be drawn and then we ask for volunteers – and I'm sure you're all itching to get yourselves up here!" She makes her way over to the bowl of girls' names. "Ladies first!"

She reaches her hand into the bowl. Stirs the slips around for an agonizingly long time. I can hear my heart thudding. My stomach flips. Am I really going to do this?

Yes. Yes I am. I have to.

Finally, Charlotte selects a slip, pulling it out of the bowl with a dramatic flourish. She unrolls it, reads a name…but I don't hear it. All I hear is my own voice ringing in my ears.

"I volunteer!"

Everyone is staring at me. Damn. Maybe I was louder than I thought. Charlotte grins at me with a terrifying Cheshire-cat smile.

"Well, this one's certainly eager!" She chirps, giving an extremely grating high-pitched giggle. "I wasn't even finished reading!"

She stretches her hand out, beckoning me with one long, perfectly-manicured finger.

"Come on up then, dear!"

I begin to make my way up to the stage. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and as I mount the steps and shake Charlotte's hand, I feel as though all of Panem have their eyes locked on me. Which, of course, they do.

"And what is your name?"

I swallow hard.

"Jasmine," I try to keep my voice strong and clear but it comes out rather shaky. Damn it, damn it, damn it. "Jasmine Badroulbadour."

Charlotte claps her hands in delight.

"Lovely! Well District 1, let's have a round of applause for Jasmine, our beautiful female tribute!"

There's the standard roar of applause. I catch a few blazing looks from other girls my age, but they don't matter now. I'm looking right over their heads, at my father standing in the crowd. His eyes hold sadness, fear, but most of all, betrayal.

I'm sorry, father. I mouth. I had to.

But he just shakes his head and looks away, and my heart breaks. Hopefully, I can make this right in the Justice Building, where the tributes have an hour of last goodbyes before we board the train the Capitol.

I'm so preoccupied with my father that I don't even hear Charlotte call the name of the male tribute. The traditional scuffle of volunteers is just background noise. I don't even notice that one of them has mounted the stage to stand next to me until he taps me on the shoulder. Then, I swing around, only to come nose-to-nose with a face I know way, way too well.

Kuzco Manco.

Are you kidding me?

Of all the boys in District 1, I am sharing my big moment with – and, more importantly, being thrown into a death match with – Kuzco Malina, the biggest diva this side of Panem and, quite possibly, the world.

Fabulous. Just fabulous. As Kuzco would say.

The bastard.

Once again, I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that I jump when Kuzco clears his throat. When I give him a blank look, he shakes his outstretched arm at me, but all I can do is stare at it dumbly.

"What?"

"The candyfloss lady wants us to shake hands." He hisses, and I guess that must jolt my mind back into working.

"Oh! Sorry!"

I'm flustered, quickly thrusting my arm out. He rolls his eyes and smirks, but shakes my hand. Damn, talk about limp-wristed.

Charlotte beams at us both, her smile stretched to fill up almost her entire face, the sunlight glinting off of her crazily white teeth.

"Congratulations!" When we drop each other's hands, she grabs both of them and pulls them into the air with hers. The crows applauds again. Kuzco is loving it, milking the attention for it's worth. Me, I'm not so great at crowd-pleasing. The most I can do is attempt a confident smile. Hopefully, the audience either don't notice or don't mind. They're more focused on Kuzco than me anyway.

Then Charlotte finishes her speech:

"District 1, you're tributes: Jasmine Badroulbadour and Kuzco Manco!"

District 2

(Merida P.O.V.)

I did it.

I watch as Charlotte makes her way over to the bowl of boys names, and all I can think is, I finally did it.

I volunteered and now I'm here, a tribute, days away from the Hunger Games.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, honestly.

Charlotte dips her hand into the boys' bowl, taking her sweet time choosing one before she reads out a name, and while it's not really clear in her Capitol accent, it's certainly loud.

"Li Shang!"

A huge, brutish boy, muscles rippling, mounts the stage to stand next to me. I can't help but feel intimidated in his presence, but thankfully, I know it won't be him I'll be sharing the arena with. I think District 2 might be one of the only districts in Panem where being reaped means you're safe.

"And now, any volunteers?"

Of course there is.

There's always for fight to volunteer, especially amongst the boys. They're all shouting their names, yelling that they volunteer, dammit! But there's no real choosing. It all comes down to whoever shoves everyone else out of the way and gets up the steps first.

This time, it's a boy I don't recognize.

Shang steps down, and my new district partner takes his place beside me. He's a tall, slightly-built Chinese boy, his dark hair long but tied up. Charlotte shakes his hand warmly.

"And may we have your name, young man?"

"Fa Ping." The boy says gruffly. I don't recognize that name, either, but Charlotte either does or she isn't bothered because she grins wider than any human being should ever be able to grin.

"Fantastic!" She claps her hands delightedly, and the audience applauds too. Then she grabs our hands and raises them in the air and suddenly I'm stuck. Should I look pleased? Determined? Fierce? I settle with a strange kind of mix of the three, and I hope I don't look as awkward as I feel. "District 2, you're courageous tributes: Merida DunBroch and Fa Ping!"

District 3

(Jim Hawkins P.O.V)

"James Hawkins, I want to see you out of that bed and in your clothes in five seconds, or I will drag you down here myself!"

I groan and roll over, trying to ignore my mum demanding my presence. Perhaps if I go back to sleep I'll wake up and this day will all have been a dream.

"Jim!"

My duvet suddenly pulls a vanishing act. Okay, new plan. Maybe if I just ignore her, she'll go away.

"Jim!"

I don't answer, content with lying on my stomach with my face smushed into my pillow. It's not the most comfortable sleeping position, but it'll do for now.

"Jim, I have just about had it with you!" A pile of clothes land on top of me, my only warning before my mum grabs my shoulders and manually hauls me out of bed, and even though my eyes are still half-closed, I can clearly see the look in hers. Frustrated and tired and sad all at once.

Mostly sad, though.

"I know you don't want to go, I don't want to go either, I wish I could close my eyes and make this whole thing disappear, but I can't, no one can."

"The Capitol can."

My mum sighs.

"Well, we aren't the Capitol, Jim. And it's the law to attend the reaping, Jim. If we don't go we'll be imprisoned on sight, maybe even shot. Do you want that, Jim?"

"Does it matter? I'm as good as dead already, as far as the law's concerned."

I know I'm right there. I have such a string of misdemeanors behind me that the Capitol would applaud seeing my head severed on the battlefield. Trespassing, theft. Impounded vehicles. In the eyes of the law, I'm hopeless already, so why bother to please them when they've already given up?

My mum sits herself down on the chair beside my bed, sighing again.

"Jim, I'm relying on the Capitol's approval to keep the inn going. If the Capitol wanted to, they could tear it down with a snap of President Frollo's fingers, and where would that leave us? Starving on the streets? Please, Jim, if you won't do this for yourself, do it for me. Please."

Then it's my turn to sigh. Both of us are doing a lot of sighing today.

"Fine."

"Thank you, sweetheart," She kisses my forehead, then stands to leave. "Get ready quick, please."

Once she's gone, I groan and pull myself out of bed, picking up the black suit I accidently knocked onto the floor. I glare at it. Reaping clothes, though it looks like a funeral suit – and I suppose it is, in a way, even if the deceased is yet to be decided.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I watch with bated breath as our escort, Charlotte LaBouff, reaches into the girls' bowl, the spiked talons that she calls fingernails tossing the little slips like a salad before she finally selects one, and clears her throat dramatically.

"Ethel Leiko Tomago!"

Who? I recognize the surname, but…

I crane my neck to see the chosen female tribute climbing the steps to the stage, and I recognize her immediately. She's one of the eighteen year olds, a high-flying college student who everyone just calls Gogo. I always wondered what her first name was. I never would have guesses Ethel, though. She doesn't look like an Ethel, really. Her dark hair is cut short and choppy and there's a streak of purple running through the front of it. She snaps her bubble-gum loudly as she shakes Charlotte's hand.

"Such a shame," I hear someone in the crowd tut behind me. "She had such a promising career ahead of her."

I don't have time to ponder that, though, because then Charlotte's reaching into the boy's bowl and stirring the slips around and pulling out a name and reading it out and…

"James Hawkins!"

I hear my mum gasp, letting out a strangled sob, but nothing really registers until I feel a Peacekeeper shove me roughly forward.

"Go on then, kid, get up there!" He snarls.

Then it clicks.

My name. She called my name. I'm going into the Hunger Games.

The reaping is rigged, I swear.

District 4

(Eric P.O.V.)

"Eric, what if it's me?" Ariel whispers into my hair as we share our last hug before we're separated in the reaping. I press a reassuring kiss to her temple.

"It won't be."

"What if it's one of my sisters?" She pulls away from me and I see that her face is streaked with tears.

"It won't be! "I assure her, gently tucking her flaming, red locks behind her right ear. "None of you have ever taken out a tesserae…"

"Attina has."

"That was years ago, though. She's no longer eligible now, and neither are Alana or Adella. It's only you, Aquata, Arista and Andrina left and it's Aquata's last year. It's highly unlikely it'll be one of you."

"But what if it is?"

"Well, if it is, then I'm sure some other girl will volunteer."

"Mmm…" Ariel sounds thoughtful, but I'm telling the truth. District 4 may not be the wealthiest Career District, so we may not have as many volunteers as, say, District 1, but there's still always someone.

I wrap my arm around Ariel and begin to walk us to the square. She hangs onto my arm, almost for dear life, and I'd laugh if the Hunger Games weren't right around the corner. Ariel and her family are mer-folk, rare beings which only live in District 4. The only reason they're still eligible for the Games is because they can transform their tails into legs if given the right spell. They do this every year for the reaping, but I don't think they ever get used to it - you can always spot the mer-folk in the crowd because they're always unsteady on their feet, wobbling this way and that like they've had too much to drink. I kiss the top of Ariel's head as we reach the roped-off area. We have to split here, me at the front with the other eighteen-year-olds, her slightly further back with the sixteen-year-olds.

"You okay now?"

She sniffs and wiped her eyes, but nods.

"I think so." Then she presses her lips to mine in a quick, chaste kiss, before pulling away and turning to leave. "See you later!"

"Always."

Right?

That's our parting message every year. It's held up so far.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Arista Triton!"

Oh God.

There's gasps as Arista, Ariel's seventeen-year-old older sister, slowly makes her way up to the stage, her thick, blonde hair tied up in a ponytail that bounces as she walks, her blue eyes scared and filling up with tears. Charlotte smiles gently – or rather, with as much of an aura of gentleness that any Capitol citizen can muster – as she climbs up to the stage.

"Alright then, any volunteers?"

There's quite a few, Ariel's other sister Andrina included, but Ariel is the loudest. The most distinctive too, with that gorgeous, scarlet hair. Charlotte's eyes lock on her immediately.

"Come on up then, dear!" She beckons and Ariel follows. I see her visibly swallow hard as Charlotte smiles at her with that terrifying, toothy grin. "And your name is?"

"A-Ariel," Ariel stammers, and my heart breaks for her. "Ariel Triton."

Charlotte claps her hands like an exited five year old.

"Oh, I bet that was your sister wasn't it?"

Ariel nods.

"I knew it! Don't want her stealing the glory, do we?" She doesn't give Ariel a chance to answer. "Fantastic! Well, let's have a big round of applause for Ariel Triton, shall we ladies and gentleman?"

The crowd claps and cheers. I clap politely, but not a sound passes my lips. My blood is boiling. Ariel doesn't deserve this. She won't last a day in the arena – mer-folk never seem to do all that well, but Ariel's never picked up a weapon in her life – and yet the entire district is cheering for her demise. It makes me feel honestly sick.

"And now for the boys!" Charlotte trills, dipping her hand into the bowl of boy's names. "Nemo Anemone!"

I hear someone – it's a male voice, so Nemo's father, I guess? – gasp as a small twelve-year-old limps up to the stage. He looks as though he has an injured leg and my heart goes out to him, but I try to keep myself focused on Ariel. She's scanning the crowd, her eyes wide with fear, even though I think she's trying to look unfazed.

"Any volunteers?"

And suddenly, it's as if my logical brain has been switched off. Tunnel vision seems to set in. My only thought is that I need to protect Ariel.

"Me!" My voice sounds hollow and booming, but I'm sure it's just me. I shout louder, scared I won't be heard over the other tussling male volunteers. "Me! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

"No, Eric…" I hear Ariel whisper.

But it's too late now. I was definitely heard. Charlotte is staring right at me.

"Ladies and gentleman, we have our male tribute! Come on up then, dear!"

As I climb the stairs, I see Ariel give me a sort of sideways glance. Her eyes are disbelieving, and it's only then that I realize what I've done. I've made a horrible mistake. I can't protect her, especially now that I'm in the Games too. Twenty-four go in, only one comes out. One.

I've done something I can't take back, and I know it.

But if this is the end of us, then I'll just have to make sure it's her that gets out alive.

"Shake hands, then dears!"

I turn and meet Ariel's eyes. I can tell we're both thinking the same thing: shake hands? And have that be our last act of love in our hometown? Not likely.

I dart forwards and swiftly press my lips to hers. I feel her hand snake up to the back of my head and tangle in my hair, and I wrap my arms around her slender waist, deepening the kiss.

Charlotte squeals and the crowd claps and cheers, but to me, it's just white noise. Which is good. I don't want to be distracted by anything right now.

We need to make this special.

We need to make our last kiss special.

District 5

(Elsa P.O.V.)

As we near the square, I stop in my tracks and gently cup Anna's chin with my hand. She shivers.

"Elsa, your hands are cold!"

"Sorry." I take my hand away and open my arms instead. "Warm hug?"

She grins and launches herself into my arms. It's not really a warm hug, since every inch of me cold (a side effect of ice powers) but if Anna minds, she doesn't show it. And the warm fabric of my blue dress and rich-purple cape softens the icy chill that my skin gives off a little.

"Love you, Anna." I murmur, planting a kiss on top of her head.

"Love you too, Elsa."

We pull away then and I give her strawberry-blonde hair a quick ruffle.

"Now remember: don't get reaped!" I say, mock sternly. She giggles and bats my hand away. She knows I'm joking. I say that every year.

"See you later, then!" She calls as she skips away to join the other eighteen-year-olds at the front of the square.

"See you later." I reply softly.

But as I walk away to join parents and other siblings too old for the Games in the crowd, I can't help wondering if Anna really does mind. Does she mind my ice powers? Is she ever jealous? Does she wish I was an ordinary like her? Or does she know I wish I was ordinary, too?

See, District 5 is called the Power District for a reason, and that reason is that most everyone here has a super power of some sort. God-like strength, the ability to shape-shift. Invisibility. The girl that won the Hunger Games last year has healing hair. It's all pretty amazing, really.

But then you have your ordinaries. Which, in short, are people without super powers, but still live in District 5 because they're relatives do.

There are very few ordinaries in 5, to the point where it's considered a genetic disorder. It's usually hereditary, too – if your parents were ordinaries, you probably will be, too. But that isn't a good thing, because ordinaries are looked down upon, treated almost as second-class citizens. Which is why there was uproar when me and Anna's sorcerer father and ordinary mother were wed and brought us into the world – one sister with powers, one without. It used to be as good as unheard of.

So me and Anna, we're basically mythical.

Of course, I always treat my sister as an equal. Because she is, really. Who cares if she has powers, or not? She's my sister and I love her.

But sometimes, even though it's kind of selfish, I sometimes wish are roles had been switched.

Because uncontrollable ice powers are nothing to be proud of.

"Alright, let's start with the girls, shall we?"

I'm jolted out of my thoughts by Charlotte LaBouff annoyingly high voice as she reaches into the bowl of girl's names and pulls out one slip.

My heart goes in my mouth, my stomach tightens.

It won't be Anna, I try to assure myself in head, but it doesn't really work. If it wasn't for the gloves, the ground around me would be covered in ice. It's okay. It won't be her. It won't be her…

"Anna Mauricedottir!"

Oh my God.

I see Anna detach herself from the others, make her way up those white steps…

No.

No, no, no.

Please no.

"No!"

The loudness of my voice stuns even me. Everyone is staring at me. Panic rises in my throat, making feel as though it's closing up. All of a sudden, it's as if my voice box doesn't work anymore.

"I-I volunteer as tribute…" I manage to get out

Charlotte looks taken aback.

"Oh my! Umm…"

I catch an indignant look from one of the younger boys.

"She can't volunteer, she's too old!"

That statement hits me like a block of ice.

He's right.

I can't volunteer.

I can't save my sister.

"Oh, Elsa…."

"I-sorry, dear…" Charlotte has clearly been thrown off. She's giving me what I think must be an attempt at a sympathetic look, but instead, it looks infuriatingly mocking. "I…peacekeepers…?"

"Right here." Says a gruff voice behind me. I don't even have time to turn around before someone grabs my shoulders and is steering me out of the square. I try to struggle, but the peacekeeper has a grip like a vice.

"Please…my sister…" But the words die in my throat.

"Nothing you can do, I'm afraid."

And the last thing I hear before I'm being shoved through the streets back in the direction of my house is Anna franticly shouting for me, and Miss LaBouff calling the name "Hercules Olympus."

District 6

(Tiana P.O.V.)

"And our female tribute is…"

Then Charlotte stops. Her eyes go wide.

I know why.

It's me.

Believe it or not, I used to be close friends with Charlotte, when we were about five. Her mother was an escort and she used to bring Charlotte along to reapings. We formed a friendship, considered ourselves "best friends", but then, when she turned sixteen, Charlotte started training to become an escort herself. We saw each other less and less until eventually, she disappeared altogether.

But it's only really been two years. I kind of miss her.

Maybe she misses me, too, because she seems to be struggling to get her words out.

"The female tribute…i-is…"

Her eyes are filling with tears. I should probably put her out of her misery.

"It's okay," The loudness of my voice in the silent square takes me by surprise somewhat. "I know it's me."

The crowd begins to chatter nervously at this turn of events, but Charlotte just beckons me up to the stage. I mount the stairs and shake her outstretched hand. She's sweating.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, but I just shake my head.

"It's okay, Lottie."

She smiles a little at her old nickname.

"Good luck, Tia."

Then she drops my hand and makes her way over to the boy's bowl, reaching inside it and stirring the slips around a bit before selecting one.

"William Smee!"

Oh, no. Not him.

I know Smee. He's eighteen, the same age as me. I see him around school, and he's one of the kindest boys I think I've ever met. And probably ever will meet, I think.

Not him. Please. Someone volunteer for him, please. Someone. Anyone.

"No!"

It seems like I've got my wish, as another eighteen-year-old boy with long, black hair in a ponytail and wearing a red frock coat suddenly darts forward and shoves Smee behind him.

"I volunteer!"

Oh, damn it…

Okay, anyone but you.

I know this boy. I know him too well. As he mounts the stage, I see the sharp, silver hook that replaces his left hand glint dangerously in the sunlight. He's a close friend of Smee's, I know, though God only knows why they have anything to do with each other. This boy is the epitome of an evil bastard.

"Name please?"

"Jas. Hook." The boy says gruffly. Charlotte narrows her eyes.

"Real name, please?"

The boy snarls.

"James Hookbridge."

Charlotte claps her hands together.

"Lovely!" She glances at me. Surely she won't make us shake hands? James would probably kill me right now, get it over with. He's got both the means and the motive. And the mind-set, too.

Charlotte's walking up to the edge of the stage. No, she's not going to make us.

"So, District 6, I give you your tributes," She glances back at me only for a split second, but in that second, I swear the sadness in her eyes is palpable. "Tiana Grenouille and James Hookbridge!"

I am so dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My grammar is awful. I should really consider getting a Beta reader…

Hope you enjoyed this all the same, though! The next chapter will be more reapings, but then it's on the train rides and opening ceremonies and training and eventually…the Games!

Also, the idea of Hook's last name actually being Hookbridge is not an idea I came up with, it was in the book Alias Hook by Lisa Jensen. Awesome book; if you like redemption for villains you should definitely read it. But yeah, I don't own that idea.

It is a fanfiction crime to read but not review!