The End of the World: 32nd Hunger Games SYOT
Chapter 1 - District 1 Reaping
Edit: Important author's Note: I can't believe I forgot this, but there are some themes of gender identity, alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse, psychopathy, violent urges to kill as well as the usual action/gore you would expect from a Hunger Games fanfiction, just as a trigger warning in case these are sensitive topics for anyone. If they are it's perfectly alright to click away, I fully understand :) And for those who remain, I hope you enjoy the story and all that's explored :D
District One
Lazuli Scorpia
I woke up early in the morning with the sun's rays slipping in through the blinds of my room, illuminating the covers and the sparse decorations. It was a maroon series of walls, a mix between pink and purple that my parents allowed, with some uniquely quaint items like a life-sized wire mannequin one could manually adjust to one's body shape and drape clothes on to see how it would look in real life, pink fluffy pillows with even lighter pink frills around the edges, and a full jewellery holder that was an odd shade of pink with branches of almost every inch of the about two feet long centre pole for jewellery to hang. A series of items my parents said were to help 'a girl look her best', help 'enrich a female to bring out their true beauty', that I said wasn't the most necessary purchase for every teenager out there (aka, something only pretentious people purchased) and that it didn't look nice with my room (aka, made my room look ugly). But looks like I won the fight and lost the war, so while I didn't have the deluxe sized version of a spinning ballerina jewellery box my parents wanted commissioned for me (my district does luxury goods, and my parents are quite well of, unfortunately for me, so they were able to do so), I did have a series of ill-fitting objects in what I tried to make a mostly black and purple room.
Maroon. The poor man's purple.
Suddenly, a series of bangs thudded at the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang. "Lazuli! Come out now!" That was my father, loud, bold and proud (and looking bald as well as bold by the day, I thought to myself) as his knocks shook up the room. He had a bit of a temper, though he usually held it under lock and key for the reaping, and I hoped he would hold it for a little while more longer.
"Coming daddy!" I called, then cringed. Daddy? Well, it was something he made me say.
"Lazuuuuuuuuli! I want you to examine my outfit! Oh, let mummy in and see what you're wearing!" thrilled my mother.
You wouldn't ordinarily expect a dstrict 1 upper middle class woman to be drunk. You wouldn't expect a lot of things, but here they were.
The door burst open as a somewhat short woman with an elaborate hair do and a pink and white striped dress waltzed in. In her hand she carried a glass and a magarita that was already half drunk. "Mummy, what are you doing?" I said, wincing at the glass. Horrible memories of glass smashing against the walls, high wailing voices and me running, escaping, wanting to get away came back, taking a knife with me as a comfort item. It was too early in the morning, I swore.
"A little always helps! It's the good woman's breakfast!" she said, tilting the glass up slightly more. I felt my blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Your dress is lovely by the way! Just like how a decent woman would adorn herself!" she cooned, looking at the pink and red dress that was tighter at the top with festive balloon sleeves, a bow or two around the edge, and a poofy red party dress style at the bottom that I was going to wear.
"Yeah, thanks," I muttered, even though it was SHE who picked it out, and it was SHE who got it commissioned.
I lived in the richer side of district 1. It was a luxury district geographically close to the capital, and we all knew how much the capital loved (become a sucker for) luxury items. With the short distance ease of transportation we were well looked after by the capital and had a roaring business, so most people in district 1 were well of. Not the...my mind flashed to the features of poor, grimy people in the outer districts, wearing smocks or holding grubby tools in their hands as they grovelled for scraps in the background of the reapings I saw. Not very glamorous, but all the same. Something in me darkened at the thought of having to compete against those savages. Those savages with a natural inborn advantage because they lived among the sewers and gutters all their lives. As grimy and unruly as they were, they would be competition for a hunger games.
Most of district 1 was fairly well of, but we were among some of the upper class. A couple of good business deals by my family and everything, and we had a nice house on a nice street, and plenty of money for my parents to blow on stupid, useless things.
"I love that mannequin! Have you been using it? It looks worn?" she said.
"It's fine, you should leave. I want privacy while I get dressed," I said softly, getting out of bed in my pajamas and heading towards the dress which was laid out on a chair by my desk.
"Of course honey, a good girl remembers her modesty!"
The moment the brown-haired bob and high heel clicks left the room I grabbed a knife from the drawer and threw it through the gap in between the wire.
It hit the mirror's edge. A small crack appeared. (Glass was strong in district 1, it was, heavily used in luxury items which was district 1's specialty afterall) An even uglier frown appeared across my lips and face.
That was my mother. That was my father. Typical, ordinary, law-abiding citizens of district 1 for the most part, who had the some old outdated gender norms wore was the best for everybody and draped over me, even if I didn't want it.
I sighed as I threw the knife back in the drawer, got on my reaping dress and stared at myself in disgust at the mirror.
My name was Lazuli Scorpia. Lazuli because it sounded like a jewel, but my mother didn't want to be 'improper and name a child after an inanimate object' and because it sounded pretty.
I didn't say it to my parents outright (they could be unpredictable at times. The horrid memories of shouting and banging doors and running away from home for a few moments with tears in my eyes, a knife in my hand and blood running through my veins and the lust for escape came rushing back. All too soon, all too well, I knew that feeling) but I preferred Laz thank you very much. Just Laz. Nothing more thanks. And I didn't want to be a girl.
I was never the 'Good Girl' they wanted me to be. I would never be the tall, beautiful, curvaceous amazon women with the nice hair, and good makeup, and sweeping dresses that would later marry a man and settle down into a lifetime of sewing, cooking and cleaning like a good girl should.
I tried being a 'Good Girl' once. I tried meeting those expectations, tried baking cupcakes every second week and adorning myself in them, but it had never clicked. But to be honest - sometimes, I didn't even feel like a girl at all. I didn't feel female. I didn't feel 'she', with the loud giggles and the thrilling voice, or 'her', with the long luscious hair I so desperately wanted to cut and the feminine silhouette. Staring back from the abyss of the person I was meant to be, was just blank nothingness and empty space. I just felt me, unequivocally me. They/them. The pronouns I wanted to go by. And you know what? It was alright to feel this way. It was absolutely fine to feel this way, and judgmental people who had nothing better to do with their time needed to be more understanding or never come back.
I stared at myself in the mirror again. I was very very short, not developed much. I was 14. I pulled a sweet smile on my face again and beamed at the reflection, sickly sweet. I could be sweet and bubbly (puke puke puke) and nice at times because it was what I was meant to be, but inwardly, I hated it. I hated it. I was just a sarcastic and snarky teen who hated being told I should be this or that, and just wanted to drop the pretentious formalities for all my life and be allowed a childhood. I could act younger than my age if I wanted to, but I was slightly more mature in some ways. I was very short, around 4'7, and somewhat frail looking. I had brown eyes, pale doll-like skin that was so pale it was almost transparent, and long, glossy, chestnut brown hair up to my waist I wanted to cut more than I wanted to breathe, but I wasn't able to. My skin was so pale it gave the unfortunate side effect that I was blushing all the time, but I supposed I could use it to my advantage in some cunning innocent girl act for the games.
With one last look I slipped on the dress and headed downstairs. Breakfast was a rushed affair.
The Reaping was taking place today. It was a huge thing in District 1. There were training centres all over the place. Training was one of the norms of the district, and every year, people were squabbling and rushing to volunteer. Usually the ones who trained well and thought they would win.
I had been going to a training centre ever since I was young. Unlike what some people believed about us (you wouldn't believe the things they said speculated in the capital), I actually liked the training centre.
It was a place where I found solace and solitude. It gave me something to do with my time that wasn't gendered. Here in district one, both girls and guys threw knives and shot arrows and broke wood. And sometimes, just sometimes, we might just let you live if you said 'girls can't throw', but not without teaching you a lesson. I was specifically good with knives.
The block of cool metal in my hand, an archer's eye at the target, zoning in on the tender spots. The sweet spot at the side of the neck where the jugular was, the place where the femoral artery was located on the upper thigh, the space in between one's ribs just underneath the sternum, where a soft sinking of the blade could end their life.
There was just something so exciting and exhilarating about shedding blood, perhaps the pent up rage from my childhood and being unable to express my true self came up. Something about dropping knives like bombs and slicing of flesh like apple skin. Something about the world flipping upside down, almost like a rollercoaster of emotions whenever I was 'in the zone', and the severe violent urges that manifested themselves. Boy was I ready for the games.
My father drove me to the district carpark, where he had a premium spot, being upper middle class and well-off. We got out, and headed to the great hall were the reaping took place.
I wasn't supposed to be reaped. I wasn't supposed to volunteer. Well, I was. Everyone in district 1 was. But not so soon. I was meant to grow taller, gain more muscles, gain more experience and a bigger and better chance before I volunteered. Most people who volunteered in the career districts weren't exceptionally young like I was.
But to be honest...the memories came rushing back. The fights, the yelling, the same dull sickening thud inside my chest, screaming, wanting to get away, away from it all. The safety of a knife in my hand, a bow and arrow, a mace expertly wielded, wanting to welcome the wash of blood and the drop in adrenaline that ebbed and flowed with violent urges. Just wanting to get away. Sometimes it scared me, how much violent urges one had. I used to think it was because my parents wanted me to be a 'Good Girl' all this time and it was what drove me over the edge, I used to think that was what pushed me to become like this, but sometimes, I wonder if I would always have had those urges even if they didn't throw these gender expectations on me. You try to excuse the darkness within for as long as you could, but sometimes, I just wondered if that was another part of me beneath the gender issues, and I was afraid it would only grow and become worse even after I started expressing myself as the true gender. Life was like that. You tried to excuse the darkness within, blaming it on this or that, blaming it on something else, but at the heart of it, you always wondered a little, if it was just the monsters within that was you - that was, regardless of anything else. But I put that out of mind, out of sight for the most part. Not today's problem.
I remembered the moments, at home with reality crashing down on me, wanting to get away from this place, wanting to avoid my parents and the reality they imposed on me, leaning my head against the cool kitchen tiles and releasing a held breath like I had the weight of the world's problems sitting on my chest. Hours, of watching tv, and the televised games, and thinking, just thinking to myself, that I probably stood a good chance with my skills and my urge to kill, and that it was an escape. A moment of freedom. A way out. I would volunteer, it was like an opportunity on a wishbone, presented on a shooting star. I could volunteer, risk my life, awaken the urges inside and maybe win the games, then getting the heck away from my parents with the newfound fame and money and getting a new life.
In district 1 it seemed being a victor bought you some kind of status. People treated you differently. People had respect for you that they didn't for anyone else. No one questioned you, not even your own parents to some extent. Win the games and I could get away. And if I don't...possibly dying in the games was better than staying under my parents thumb for another four years.
"Jacinta Bloom!" it was the escort's voice again. Darlene Raveloli, the tall, elegantly dressed, curvaceous figure that was district 1's escort. She had started escorting the games a few years ago and was a crowd favourite among the capital. Her catchphrase was, said sickening as she posed along the giant statue of a pearl in the middle of a clam in the district's centre, "I'm as pretty as the jewels of this district." "This district represents me as much as I represent them", and a whole heap of giggles. She was highly irritating.
"I volunteer!" I cried, putting my hands up.
A thousand cameras turned to me. The entirety of the district's eyes were on me, the blinking bulbs and orbs of the cameras bringing the footage straight to the capital's television screens focused on me. In the distance, I could see the quiet twitch of Darlene's neck as she swallowed slowly, and as the silence fell away and the rumours broke out, I graced the stage. There must've been something about me. Usually extremely young tributes from the career districts had certain powers or skills that no one knew about. It was always a crowd favourite among the capital when an unusual tribute from one of the powerful career districts volunteered, sometimes even more so after they found out what it was. I wasn't exceptionally trained, I wasn't the best at the academy, I was just a jaded 14 year old girl, fugitive from the identity I didn't want to be, and with a lust for zeal and penchant for killing throbbing beneath the surface. Oh, poor luck for whoever happened to run into me this year? Tough.
Usually, even if people wanted to volunteer, they always hesitated a little before doing so. We were career districts, not stupid. We knew the risks and had calculated the pros and cons before doing so. We knew what we were getting into, we know how much of a big and momentous event it was. Even if someone was younger, there was always a slight hesitation before they volunteered. Some years more than others. So it was odd that I volunteered so, so, quickly.
But, I thought, as I took the stage. I had inner demons swirling around that others didn't. I wanted to volunteer or die. And it was that lack of hesitation which allowed me to gain first place without anyone beating me.
A part of me was worried for the games. I thought I was adequately prepared but a part of me was worried I was overconfident even, but, I thought, I had trained in the training centre since I was young. I was strong and powerful in some ways, even though I wasn't the most prepared volunteer, and I was good with knives. I stood a chance. Even if I was going to die, and die with a bang I hopefully did, I thought as I finished walking across the stage. The capital cameras stared greedily at me and got their last shot. I beamed a sickening innocent sweet smile back. The escort collected her senses and bloomed into claps and laughter, the entire audience clapped. The orchestra started up again and my parents looked on me with pride from the audience. Volunteering was always a good thing in this district. Even though they wanted me to be feminine, they would still be happy I volunteered.
Only I wouldn't be feminine for the games. No, I was cutting my hair first thing in the capital if I could. And they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Already, I could feel the chains coming of, freedom uplifting. The world seemed to spin as the escort asked me my name, and I yelled "Laz Scorpia" in a loud voice and the audience screamed and chanted it back. The first public recognition of my name.
In the distance a vein throbbed in my parents forehead. But I didn't care. They couldn't touch me now. Things had changed. Freedom was here.
District One
Hercules Shine
Brown hair, piercing green eyes that held the slightest bit of fear like a rabbit seeing a wolf for the first time, the pathetic 115lb boy I was pounding stared at me as I grabbed my fist and stuffed it in his sides, blood raging through my veins. His eyes popped out, I shoved a foot underneath his leg. He swung his over leg around and attempted to hook my left leg into giving up. I leaned to the right and threw my body over as the world flipped among the sweat-laden musk, my sparring partner groaned under the weight of my body and gasped as I grabbed him around his left side from the back once I was done and flipped him to the ground.
Panting, we drew apart.
"Good one mate?" I said. My heart rate slowed, the blood stopped roaring in my ears. I got up and dusted myself of, flexing my biceps with glee and staring at them in satisfaction as I did so, whilst James Runner, best friend and the pretty much the pathetic career I've ever met, but still, best friend, got up with a wince.
"Yeah dude," he said, clutching at his side and still wheezing slightly.
"Not a smidgeon of my game huh?" I said back, beginning to grab my stuff before heading out.
"Yeah, not a millisecond off," he said, before grabbing his stuff and following, "You really do live up to your name don't you?"
"You wanna bet?" I asked, staring him down.
"I saw what happened to the other boys," James said, "But. Just remember, everyone has limits," he said truthfully.
"I wouldn't forget. It's one of the first things they tell us. I know this game and I know I stand a pretty good chance," I say as we leave the training centre and to our houses, where we would prepare for the reaping that was tomorrow.
"Mmm," he looks uncomfortable, but truthful, "You know. I don't like lying to you, and there's going to be plenty of people who tell you you're just brawn and no brains, as if you haven't been at the training centre and learnt all the philosophy and analysis for the games your whole life. There's going to be plenty of people who lie and say you're just a brawn machine to put you in a stereotypical box so they're happy. But I don't like lying and I reckon you actually have a pretty good chance at this mate," he says.
I beamed, "Just a month or so from my life as if training in intense mode. And then back to the district," I said.
"Yeah. It's just a month of what you can already do, and then I see you again after you volunteer tomorrow," his green eyes sought mine, wavering and flickering with a silent emotion I hadn't seen before as he stared at me, then momentarily and unnaturally hugged me for a few seconds, "I'll see you again right?" something in his eyes flickered. Then he punched me in the gut, it felt like it was on fire, I breathed out, unexpected and in shock momentarily, before the pain ebbed away. "Got you when you weren't looking," he said, back to normal now.
"Catch this," I said, giving him an undercut beneath the chin as we fought some more and tried to land unexpected punches whilst the other wasn't looking. We laughed and talked some more about this or that, before leaving and getting ready for tomorrow's reaping. Just like old times, but a part of me couldn't help feeling like a moment had passed where there was communication like nothing else but...
And that was yesterday. Today, an early morning, a hearty breakfast later, I stood surveying myself in the mirror. I was tall, at 6ft and counting, with a broad handsome, if not somewhat rough looking face, with curly blonde hair that was cut shortly and had some stray curls slightly curling around my forehead. I was pretty heavily built. Not only did the world look up to me, but people were sized like rag-dolls to me. I had lots of muscle and dark blue eyes.
I was into training, fighting and playing sports ever since I was young. The kick of a fresh brown football as I aimed it the goalpost, the inward calculations and rush of green grass beneath my feet as I ran to the next spot it was before I kicked it, the booting of a soccer ball from my toes as I played on the field. I loved, loved, sports and physical activity when I was young.
Which worked for me as my parents were among one of the rich rich, upper elite of the district. Not only did I start training early, and absolutely loved it there, but we were able to afford more sporting goods and even had our own private soccer field, though it was rather small and we were pressured to share it with neighbours and family friends from time to time, which meant I could enjoy my hobbies more.
It was lucky that volunteering and winning the games came so easily to me, and it seemed so fitting, because the path seemed clear cut and defined. I wanted to be a victor of the Hunger Games ever since I was young, and possibly open up my own training centre afterward, with perhaps a focus on sports, and physical activity for fun as well as just to win. Letting children play games of football or soccer in between and teaching them to enjoy sports for sports, and not just to kill and be brutal. Though that couldn't be missed either.
Here in district 1, recreational sports weren't looked down upon, especially if your parents were of the upper elite and wealthy sector like me, but they weren't looked up to either, and definitely weren't given even remotely the same emphasis as training for the games.
It was all so easy. Go to the games, size up the tributes, work out a strategy, put all 11 years of training to use, win, and then come back to my friends, girlfriend and group of loving friends and family and open up my own training centre. It was what I was meant to do, and the world that opened up afterward never seemed more clearer, nor calling now.
I had been training since I was 7, and this year I was 18, which I thought was the perfect time to volunteer. I would probably win the games judging from the statistics. I was physically well built, strong, trained, and more complex than just the stereotype of being a 'brawn but not a single brain cell' career tribute. I wanted to laugh before I bashed their faces in. Brawn over brain, as if we didn't also learn hunger games philosophies and strategies in the training centre. I'll show them.
As I arrived at the reaping I was surrounded by my friends. I was very popular at the academy and had been since I was younger. Lots of friends sent me to invites at their parties, my best friend James Runner and I talked about opening our own training centre afterward. James wasn't half bad a contender, he was pretty tough and strong himself, he just looked weak next to me. And my girlfriend Topaz Shimmer, was possibly the best and sweetest girl I'd ever met. I was lucky to have her, and I hoped to bring her pride and win the games for her after I volunteered. I wanted to come back to this distract. Wanted to see the same familiar district 1, the pearl in the clam statue in the middle, the training centre, everything and nothing. I wanted to breathe the fresh air on a football field with the title of 'victor' upon my name, I wanted to come back bringing pride and glory to the district, as it should be, fulfilling my dream since I was 7, I wanted to kiss and hug my girlfriend and tell her stories of the arena, I wanted to meet and talk to my friends again, I wanted to inspire young kids into doing sports for fun as well as training.
I wanted to win as much as I had a meaning to live for.
"Guess who's here?" came the voice of a tall, skinny boy with scraggly black hair, and a pale, handsome face. He was just as tall as me, just as trained, just as brutal, and would almost volunteer for the games if he could put on muscle more easily. He was one of my closest friends and one of the better people to practice and spar with, though I suspected there was always a bit of jealousy between us. We were just too similar, both being tall and well, he was pretty well built too, even if I could crush him to like an ant, and he had the same handsome, well-chiseled face as I was. Just a little too similar. I suspected he was jealous since he liked to use unusual putdowns on me and the like. It was unnecessary and often irritated me. My mood could shoot up from zero to ten in a seconds if he bothered me. Sometimes my friends would have to pull me of him if he went too far. But there he was, one of my uppermost friends in my inner circle and the one I sparred with a lot, and also someone whom I wondered 'whats his problem' sometimes, especially if he seemed too jealous, and made me blow up zero to ten real quick.
"You contesting me?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Hercules, not today..." muttered James, putting an arm around my middle. I could feel his limb slowly squeezing as he took several steps back and attempted to pull me away.
"Don't worry, it's not today. I still have the wounds from last week to show," Thomas said, pulling a mocking crying face and motioning to the place where the bruises were that I gave him a week before. We were always getting into little spars and the like - he had given me his fair share of bruises as well. It was just our friendship.
I relaxed somewhat. "Keep your cool while I'm in the games okay, you dumb rabbity shrew," I said back, eyeing him as he dropped his hands from his mocking crying face and put them back by his lanky sides. "Don't get too excited when I make a kill, I represent the district but not you."
He chortled along, just like old times. The escort was hushing the audience and getting ready for the drawing of the names. Everything was coming along nicely. Thomas' chortles died down. Good, today was a good day. I would banter with my friend and rival Thomas as usual, volunteer, get the usual ring of admirers and fangirls swooping over me, I had lots of friends in the training academy and at school because I was quite popular, and then go the capital and win the games like I was supposed to and come back.
When suddenly, Thomas said the next thing, "And just remember when I'm kissing your girlfriend behind your back, it's not you," he joked.
Silence. My heart dropped to my stomach, my fist itched and my anger level rose, the world seemed to shake and thunder in rising red before it blinked back a touch. James horrified face staring back at me. A stab of fear jostled at my heart.
"Hercules!" he gaped, his horrified expression never having left my face.
Thomas crouched on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth like a waterfall and pooling slowly on the ground as he clutched at his mouth from his hands.
"We said keep it under control!" said another one of my mates, shoving some tissues into Thomas' hands and telling him to put pressure on it, whilst helping him up off the ground so he would look dignified in the background should the cameras show me in the audience before I stepped up to get reaped. Luckily my punch had been silent so not many people knew.
"Sorry! Sorry! I hadn't meant to! Temper got the best of me!" I said, feeling that horror stab me again.
"It's okay. You're alright mate. Reaping makes everyone's spirits go up. You'll be fine. Just build a bridge, put it in the past, get over it," said James, thumping me on the back and turning me away from Thomas, who was behind me, and back to the stage.
I frowned in momentary confusion as a small, short girl with chestnut brown hair and a bubbly red dress stalked up on stage, looking a little too purposeful for someone that to have volunteered without a dark secret. No, this tribute was probably one to watch out for. I didn't catch her name though.
"Don't think about it. Think about the future. Move on, it doesn't matter anymore. Think about tomorrow mate, only things from now on matter," said my other friended.
I nodded as the escort drew the boy's name, "Damion Wilkes."
"I VOLUNTEER!" I bellowed.
The lights drew on, cameras flashed at me. A thousand oval faces turned to look at me from the sea of the audience. The music from the orchestra started again and grew to a merry cresendo, as everyone clapped and the escort beamed her best smile to welcome me to the stage.
"Wow, tall, well-built, you've the very tribute that stands a high chance of winning by our statistics!" she thrilled, beaming at me as I stepped on the stage.
"Yep," I said, staring her down.
"Well, you look like you were born for the Hunger Games! Tough competition everyone! What's your name?" she said.
"Hercules Shine," I told her.
"HERCULES SHINE!" she said jovially and the lights flashed as the cameras panned. A series of balloons were released from their side of the stage and doves from the side. The entire audience rose to give a standing ovation as the last of the lights cast their poignant spotlight on them.
I felt a feeling of rightfulness, like two puzzle pieces clicking as I saw the last of the districts' claps and the cheers of the audience in my vision. This was totally my thing and I was going to win.
Author's Note: Yes, it is so exciting to get the first chapter out! I hope I did a good job portraying all the tributes and that they lived up to their forms *sweats*. Some things to note:
1 - I'll write about the sponsoring system throughout the next couple of author's notes so it's not overwhelming, but just to be clear, participation for the reaping chapters won't matter in terms of sponsorship so you can relax there, but highly encourage you to review as I would still love to hear your thoughts!
2 - You're free to resubmit your tributes from this syot to others.
3 - I won't publish the names of the creators because I don't think there's a need for it, though I do have a list somewhere. I'll just say the tributes names and districts in their introduction chapter for the reaping.
4 - I can be busy sometimes so I may not always update. But I'm not taking this story down and I will finish it - eventually. Also, I didn't realise it but you're not allowed tributes via reviews. (I allowed guest reviews because if someone likes the hunger games fandom and has adequate knowledge to create a fun and interesting tribute and is excited and keen to submit to a syot, I can't see why not although I can understand if authors don't allow guest submissions because it is hard to verify one's identity which can make sorting out issues hard but anyways, I didn't realise it was not allowed (next syot PM only lol :P) so if this story gets taken down, know that it's most likely because of that. But I don't think ffnet really cares about stuff like this, so it should be fine!
5 - For chapters from the end of the reaping to the start of the hunger games I'll try to include even POVs of every single character, though I may feature the ones more prominent to the plot more. I'd try to give all tributes good coverage but the ones from the bloodbath onwards would be more focussed.
6 - Please please do remember that these are tributes others have worked hard on and put a lot of effort towards! Bashing or unkind things are not tolerated! If you don't like a tribute simply don't vote for it as one of your favourites when I open polls later on, but anything more I ask you keep to yourself. If I catch someone being mean I will disqualify them from sponsoring.
7 - Please no flames over the decisions or if you're tribute dies. I'm writing this for fun. If there's too much flames or drama I'll just stop the story.
Alright, now that that's been said, thank you for reading and hope you all enjoyed! If you have any questions or whatever let me know via review or PM and I'll try my best to get back to you! :) I'll post answers to questions in an author's note if I think other readers may want to know too!
Over and out,
WhymsicalBell