Dawson Fowler- Six of Hearts

I wake up that morning to Gaylen crying.

I stretch tiredly and walk to the baby's crib, yawning. Sadie's already there, her head resting on her elbows and a scowl on her face. "Don't cry baby!" she practically shouts. I rub my eyes.

"Sh," I say, picking up the baby, who grabs tightly onto my shirt and cries loudly.

"Go back to bed Sadie," I mumble sleepily. She shuffles out of the room, still scowling. I know that Sadie doesn't like Gaylen, and that she would much rather be the baby of the family, but I can't help that now.

I change the baby's diaper on the table, humming quietly to try and quiet him down. I definitely don't want Sadie to throw a fit this early in the morning.

Once he quiets, I kiss his forehead and put him back down in the cri with a sad smile. I shut off the lights again, feeling sorrier than ever that Mom is dead. As soon as I close the door, Gaylen starts to cry again. I sigh, going back in and picking him up once again. "I'm sorry Gaylen," I mumble, wanting to go back to bed.

Gaylen clutches my shirt and I look over at the clock to see that it's about 3 A.M. I yawn and shuffle back to bed, sitting down and immediately feeling sleep take me. I let Gaylen stretch out on my stomach, rubbing his back gently with three fingers. He closes his eyes, my shirt tightly in his fists.

Before Gaylen was born, I had trouble sleeping on my back or sitting up, but since then I've trained myself to sleep like this. I close my eyes and yawn, feeling his warmth and gentle breathing against my chest.

Sadie was a lot harder to take care of as a baby, and she often cried and, in her terrible twos, threw tantrums. I definitely didn't like having to take care of Sadie. Mom said that she'd grow out of it, but it's been two or three years and she hasn't yet.

Even during the funeral she got restless and made a scene because nobody was looking at her.

Gaylen is the exact opposite. He's a lot quieter, and usually all he needs to be happy is me. Like now. And, for that, I really don't mind. Since Mom died, I need the company.

I yawn one last time, my thoughts scattering and my eyes closing, rubbing his back gently and failing to think about the reapings that would happen later that morning.

~.~.

I wake up the second time to a rock hitting my window. I blink in confusion.

Another rock bangs against the window. Gaylen stirs a bit but doesn't wake up.

I hurriedly (but gently!) run to the window and open it. As soon as you step outside in District Five, you're hit with the ugly smell of smoke and smog, and today is no exception.

Soon, I see a short figure with bright, cornflower blue eyes, a wide smile, and a dirty scarlet hat backwards on his head.

"Dawson!" My best friend Wye waves and grins at me, "Get up and c'mon!"

I yawn. "Wye," I whine, "It's five in the morning…"

"I found an abandoned capsule. It's sick!! It's gotta be from the Dark Days! It's an abandoned bomb shelter, Dawson! C'mon!"

That sounds interesting… But… "Wye, I can't leave Sadie and Gaylen when they're sleeping."

"Please! I want you to check it out and we can design a mural together!"

I consider. This is an offer too good to refuse. "I'll go see if Joanne will come stay with them."

"Yay!" Wye says, beaming. I get dressed, Gaylen sleeping, and go around the back of the house to meet him, Gaylen clinging to my shirt.

"Morning," he says, ruffling my hair. I smile and together we walk to my cousin's house, Gaylen in tow. I throw a rock up at the window on the third floor where my 18-year-old cousin Joanne must be sleeping.

At the noise, Gaylen squeals and therefore pronounces himself awake. Wye looks over, an affectionate smile spreading across his lips. "Morning Gaylen."

The baby smiles tiredly at him, clutching my shirt and saying, "Wye," soon letting go to wave his baby arms at him. Wye takes him from me, smiling. He nuzzles my best friend's neck, giggling quietly.

Another couple rocks and my cousin's head sticks out the window, curly, raven-black hair everywhere and looking only slightly confused.

"Hm?"

"Hey Cous," I say, tightening the bandana around my neck with a sweet smile.

"You're going to get arrested someday," she remarks, a small smirk playing across her lips.

"We're careful," I say, "Promise."

"Please!?" Wye implores.

Joanne smiles a bit. "Oh, alright. Lemme get dressed to be at least a little presentable." She disappears into her bedroom.

After a while of Wye bouncing Gaylen gently, Joanne sneaks out of the first floor window and comes over to us.

"Thanks," I say, smiling gratefully.

"Jo!" says Gaylen happily, waving his arms to her. Joanne takes him from Wye and I smile. "Really, I can't thank you enough."

"Any time you need it, Cous," she says.

Wye takes my hand. "C'mon, Dawson! I need to show you the site before it gets too close to reaping time!" I tighten the bandana around my neck and nod, going with him as he takes off running.

We run for a while, so long I finally have to slow down and move at a fast walk and the ruby sun appears in the sherbet sky. Soon, he slows down and finally stops, me following. It's huge and worn-down but still somehow attractive to the eye.

"It's gotta be from the Dark Days, don't you agree!?" Wye whispers. I nod, taken aback by the sheer awesomeness of the structure and the fact it survived for so long. It's so amazing I feel my eyes widen. Finally, I look over at Wye, who grins at me. "Your eyes are so pretty."

"Thanks…" I mumble, ears burning and turning an embarrassed red.

Since I am an artist, I find that I appreciate colors a lot more than others, and I appreciate my olive green eyes, swirled with spots of sage and what I would call a sweet walnut brown and, on good days, of a nice curry gold. I don't like the rest of my physical features quite as much. My face is too chubby and round, and my freckles are sparse enough that they look like blemishes. My arms are too scrawny and my legs are too boney. My hair is dull acorn brown and shaggy, and my smile: and teeth: are too crooked.

Wye takes a seat on the pill-shaped capsule and I soon sit next to him. We talk about designs and art until the sun rises and we have to go back.

When I get to the poor little shack that served as my home since Mom died and I ran away to avoid the orphanage, Joanne already has a reluctant Sadie and a happy Gaylen dressed up for the reaping.

"Thanks Jo," I say, taking Gaylen from her. His big, cognac brown, puppy pound-dog eyes smile at me, sparkling with happiness and joy.

"No problem."

Sadie hugs my legs, sniffling. "I don't want to wear my jumper, Dawson!" she cries.

"You have to."

"NO!" she screams. Gaylen buries his face in my neck, agitated.

"Sh, it's the reaping. Just for a little bit."

"No!"

"Yes."

"I have to go," Jo says, and I nod, calling one last thanks after her before trying to calm my siblings down.

~.~.

I stand in the 15's section for the reaping, noticing that Wye's over with the girls, his hat for once off his head and his short hair combed neat. Soon he's blocked from my view by a mess of ginger hair from the girl standing beside him.

Then, the escort, Lorelei, walks up on stage.

"Welcome, welcome!" Lorelei is a young girl that just got this job. Her hair is curly and neon yellow and her eyes are a synthetic electric lime color. She continues, "To the reaping for the 36th annual Hunger Games!" she squeals happily, and I actually puke a little bit in my mouth.

The fakeness of the Capitol and everything about it kills me. The artificial colors, the artificial, thin air of circus-like amusement that so easily overpowered by the palpable horror of everything about it.

My art is real. I try to illustrate corruption through spray-painting on various surfaces, most of them run-down. Probably why Joanne is so worried all the time.

A lot of people just shrug it off. Peacekeepers paint over it, and everyone just forgets they ever saw it.

Nobody knows who does them, though I'm sure they'd like to. To everyone out there, I'm just some stupid-ass dork with a dumb bandana around his neck (which I am, really), but they don't know that I paint walls by night, using that dumb bandana to cover my nose and mouth from some of those fumes. And I'll keep it that way for as long as I can.

By the time I snap out of my thoughts, the video is over and Lorelei is digging around for a name in the girl's bowl. She pauses, clearing her throat. "Joanne Eldridge!"

My eyes widen and my heart picks up. I wring my hands nervously, breath coming short as she makes her way to the stage. Suddenly, I hear a voice that snaps me out of my panic.

"I volunteer!"

Lorelei perks up. "Eh?"

The girl with crazy, flaming hair starts up to stage, and Joanne practically runs back to the 18's, her chocolate brown eyes pooling with tears and her crimson lips in a tight, panicked frown. I look up to the stage where the girl in my year joins Lorelei on the stage.

She's in a lot of my classes. She's smart, but usually on some kind of high and unwilling to apply herself. She also sees things sometimes, causing many people to believe she's mentally unsound. Wye's in all the smart classes, but I'm just dumb so I 'm in the dumb classes with this girl. Simple as that. All I know is that I should visit her to thank her for my cousin's life. Hopefully I should be able to sound at least slightly intelligible.

"Your name?" Lorelei looks absolutely thrilled.

"Tiffany Finley." She has no bounce in her voice, but looks determined. I wonder why she would volunteer so young.

She's offered me a smoke before, the only times we've talked, right after Mom died. I wasn't very impressed with marijuana, and realized I had two siblings to take care of because there's no way in hell we're going to an orphanage.

Lorelei skips over to the male side, and speaks with a new energy in her voice. "Our male tribute… Dawson Fowler!"

My heart skips a beat, and once again I forget to breathe. I nervously adjust the bandana that hides under my dress shirt and slowly start the walk to the stage.

Time slow down. Every second ticks by slower and slower. Every step gets louder and louder as more people hold their breath and feel the tension and I walk to the stage to join Lorelei and Tiffany. If only I was as lucky as Joanne.

I bit my lip to keep tears away, finding Wye in the crowd, face buried in his hands. I reach out and slowly shake Tiffany's hand.

"Everyone, your District Five tributes!" Some of the crowd claps for Tiffany and her courageous volunteering. Most just stand and watch us, silent, with sad eyes.

Wye finally looks up at us, makes eye-contact with me, and screams at the top of his lungs.

~.~.

Tuesday Imboden-

I wake up on my own for once, looking over at the clock to see it's eight o'clock, which means I have some time before the reaping starts at eleven sharp. I get up and get dressed in comfortable clothes for the three hours or so I have to kill before the 36th annual reapings in District 6.

It doesn't take long to comb my short hair because I'm having a male day today, which means he and him pronouns for me.

My name is Tuesday Imboden, and I am genderfluid. Though biologically a female, I often go back and forth between the two genders. I'm very flexible, but I take my pronouns very seriously. It's just a sign of respect, and it's not too hard to use a certain word to describe a person.

I walk out to my normal meeting place with my friends and notice that Bryce is already there.

"Hey you," he says with a smile, picking me up and spinning me around. I laugh a little bit and he kisses my forehead, "My little prince."

I put my hands on my hips. "I'm not much littler than you!"

"But you're still littler!" he says in a sing-songey voice. "With your cutesy little dimples and all!"

I sigh. I may pose as mighty a lot, but even so it is nice to be viewed as someone innocent and cute every once in a while. Keeps me in touch with who I am.

"Mom asked me to run to the market before the reaping," he says, holding a hand out to me, "Want to come with?"

"Sure." I take his hand and he walks to the market, swinging our hands back and forth gently as we walk. It took a lot of searching to find someone so perfect for me as Bryce, but it was worth the wait. He makes me really happy, and I can tell that I make him happy too. We walk into the market and Bryce picks out what he needs, putting it in a basket. I watch him, letting the content smile stay spread across my face. Ever since I found him, I've been so much happier. I'm in a much better place now than I have been in a while.

He picks up a chocolate bar and hands it to me. "Take it."

I shake my head. Chocolate is somewhat rare around here, though not as rare as in other Districts.

"C'mon. I want you to have it." The one thing about having a boyfriend that's not as poor as you are is that they give you so much and you're not sure what to give them in return.

"We've had this conversation before. I can't take something like this, I can't give you anything in return."

"But you do," he says. "You give me smiles and laughter and memories that make me happy just thinking about them. And for that, well, I'll never be able to repay you."

He checks out, paying for everything, including the chocolate, and puts it in my hands.

"You stupid rich boy," I tease, playfully shoving him to the side (though gently enough that I don't break the eggs in his bag). He just smiles triumphantly and walks to his house, still holding my hand. When we enter the house, his Mom looks up.

"Oh, good, you got the groceries," she says, and Bryce lets go of my hand to help his mom put the groceries away. I want to offer to help, but together they put everything in its place before I can speak up.

"Good morning Tuesday," she says. I like Bryce's mom: I think she's respectful as well as tender and caring. She knew my mother and worked with her. She experienced the accident in the factory that killed my Mom. In fact, it was me being under her wing that led me to meet Bryce, who is three years older than I am. His father isn't quite as pleasant, however. Much more secretive and quiet, though full of impossible expectations for Bryce.

"So, Tuesday," she says, "How are your uncle and aunt?"

"They're fine," I say with a polite smile.

"And your cousins?"

"They're both scared. Mostly Abner, though."

After my Mom died, my Dad ended up dead soon after. I moved in with my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins. Halsey is ten and an extremely energetic girl with strawberry blonde hair, Abner is calmer and definitely quieter with slick black hair and dull eyes.

"Oh, of course they would be, those sweet little dears. Give them my best."

I nod, smiling. "Thanks, I'll be sure to."

"C'mon," says Bryce, "Let's go catch Evalina and the group."

"Sure." I smile.

"Have fun!" Bryce's Mom says, going back to her cleaning as we walk out the front door.

We walk back to our meeting spot to see Evalina with her feet propped up on a dumpster, talking to the others in our friend group while smoking a cigarette. She gives us a salute. "Hey, you two. 'Bout time you showed up." Everyone else agrees and we take a seat in our normal spot, me on top of his lap on top of an old metal canister.

"So, what are we going to do before the reaping?" asks Evalina. The others shrug and I snuggle back into Bryce.

"How about a game of Speedball?" Alexis holds up a tennis ball and everyone nods in agreement, quickly standing up. Speedball is like extreme catch. Snake-eyes are allowed, as are whipsies. No throwing it beside you until the final 4. Failure to catch or bad throws get will get you automatically out. Good game to pass time and to laugh a lot.

I'm really good at it, Bryce is not so much. He gets hit by more whipsies than he catches and often crumbles to the ground in pain. But that's okay, I love him no matter how much he sucks at speedball.

It doesn't take long for everyone to get really into it and whip it at each other's guts. It soon becomes so intense Evalina drops her cigarette and neglects to pick up or light another one. As each game ends and a new one begins, everyone is more and more determined to win, and therefore the game becomes more fun. I, for one, am very competitive, and sometimes it gets the best of me. Speedball is a good game, though, because you can never be too competitive at Speedball.

I win a couple games before everyone else becomes determined to beat me. Bryce always fumbles and drops it the first time someone throws it at him, which just makes us laugh.

After a while of Speedball, we quickly realize that we need to get home and change before the reapings, and say quick goodbyes. Bryce and I start walking back together.

"Talk to you after?"

"For sure."

He kisses me gently. "Good luck. You'll be just fine." He pats my shoulder. I nod a little bit.

"I can't wait until I'm your age and it's not a worry anymore."

"I can't wait, either." He sighs a little bit, kissing me goodbye before I walk back to my house.

I get changed and soon walk with my cousin to the reaping. I wear a nice shirt, tie and pants, but I have to stand with the girls because genderfluidity isn't respected for reapings. Too confusing, the woman at the booth said. So I'm already in a sour mood.

Our escort Cadence steps on the stage, her pastel green hair styled in an outrageous, hot-mess kind of hairdo. She shows us the video and then steps over to the girl side. I cross my arms and scowl. People give me weird looks because of my outfit, and Evalina flips them off so I don't have to. She's a real friend.

Cadence takes no delay in picking the name, right from the top of the glass.

"Tuesday Imboden!" My eyes widen. Evalina jumps and stares at me with wide eyes. I quickly snap out of the shock and put a determined smirk on my face, walking up to the stage with as much of an arrogant smirk as possible. I know that's what the Capitol is going to want to see.

She smiles and pats my shoulder, "Yes, what a determined young woman!" I'm not a woman. Not today. Then she walks over to pick the boy's name.

"Garrison Eberhart!" There's a slight pause before a tall and very strong boy comes walking up to the stage from the 18 section. The sleeves of his shirt appear to be too short, though smartly rolled up his arms to hide it, though revealing scars up his forearms. I've never seen him before, but I have a feeling I'm going to get to know him over the course of these next couple weeks. He shows no signs of weakness and I try to keep my determined face on as I shake his hand. Nobody claps.

I walk back to the Justice Building, holding on to my composure until I can sit on a couch and cry.

~.~.

Tristabelle Baer-

I wake up to another bright, crisp, beautiful, sunny District 9 day.

Piss off. There are certain days that I just don't want to be fucked with, and today's one of those days.

When I walk to the kitchen, it's dead-silent. I take some bread and sit, figuring that silent is better than the alternative. I eat and look between my parents, who sit on opposite ends of the table and look itching to say something.

They argue a lot and scream at each other, but stay together because We owe it to you, and It'll get better someday soon!

Bullshit. I watch them and almost want to laugh, it's so pathetic.

Wright comes downstairs, a merry fucking smile on his stupid fucking face. I wanna punch him.

"Good morning!" he says. And so the silence is broken.

"Wright, can you please roll your shirtsleeves down?"

"He looks just fine."

"He looks too casual!" And in ten seconds they're standing and screaming at each other, and any peace we might've pretended we had before is shattered.

I get up and shove my chair back in, glaring at my brother on my way back up to my room. "Good going, fucktard."

"Tristabelle!" he soon runs back upstairs and I know he's going to come into my room uninvited and make some stupid speech about how I need to lighten up. If only Mom and Dad let me put a lock on my door ("She needs her privacy sometimes!" "If we lock her door she'll stay locked up there forever!") when I asked for one.

I shut the door and quickly find a chair to jam it with when he starts to come in. I run to the door and push on it, trying to get it closed.

"Let me in!"

"No!"

"Let me talk to you!"

"Go away!"

"Tristabelle, stop being no fun!" He pushes the door open and invites himself into my room.

I sit on my bed and cross my arms.

"C'mon, what's wrong?"

"You don't care."

"C'mon! I'm making an effort to care here!"

I scowl. "Unwanted company."

He rolls his eyes, "This is still about that one night two years ago, isn't it? Sis, you need to let that go."

"You need to let that go," I mock him bitterly. "It's not that easy, Fucktard."

"Can't you just try to be nice?!" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Can't you just try to understand?!"

"I don't get the big deal! He thought you were sexy, it's a compliment!"

"He raped me!"

"Yeah, it means that you're attractive!"

"It means I didn't want to be touched and he touched me anyways!"

"It means you have appeal. That you have suitors that you don't even know about. And if you would just, y'know, put yourself out on the market a little more, then you could have anyone you wanted!"

I scowl and ball up my fists, ready to punch him right in the fucking nose.

"I was violated that night! I didn't want to lose my virginity!"

"Oh, c'mon little sister, sex is fun!"

"Sex hurts! I bled, Wright!"

"It only hurts when you're no fun about it!"

I get up off my bed and exit my room, slamming the door. My parents scream at each other over who-the-hell-knows-what and I finally go out the front door, slamming it on my way. I hope my brother gets raped someday so he knows how it hurts! I try not to think those things, and immediately retract the wish. I don't really want that to happen to him. I don't hate him that much. I don't hate anyone that much.

I wish that he'd stop being so ignorant about it, though. And I wish I could punch him in the face without any consequences. Nobody understands, and even if they did I will never open up. I like to keep a stone-hard exterior, it's what you have to do. If I'm even a little friendly to someone they try to make me feel entitled to have sex with them. Probably because of my "huge rack," in the words of some guy on the street.

I pull my pigtails tighter, remembering the first time I had worn my long hair up like this and my parents had an argument about it ("She looks like a slut! No, but she looks five, nobody will like her like that!"). Such happy memories.

"Hit me up." I say, holding a scowl.

"Sure you want to for reapings?" He leans back against a wall, his messy red hair sticking out everywhere.

"I don't have a lot of money and I only need a light buzz. Hit me up," I hiss. He plucks money out of my hands. "Alright, alright." There's a short silence as I roll up a joint and light it. "What's your name?"

"None of your business."

"Alright, if you say." I don't like how polite he is so I don't say anything else after that. Soon, though, that becomes slightly less important as I start to feel spacey. Soon I find that just a light buzz isn't enough, and go for some more money.

"I need more," I tell him, but he shakes his head. "The reapings are going to start soon," he says. I cross my arms but I know he's right. Soon he and the others who were lingering around there disperse, and I walk to the reapings in my high heels and dress, not wanting to look at anyone. I constantly feel eyes on me and keep a middle finger up at all times.

They keep nagging me about putting myself on the market. Well, this item is not for sale.

We all stand together as the escort for our District, Cordelia, steps up on the stage and greets us all warmly. I cross my arms over my boobs to get people to stop looking at them as the video plays. A lot of people say I'm being paranoid, and people like Wright say it's a compliment, but I don't care. I like being in isolation.

The video ends and the girl is picked first, as always.

"Tristabelle Baer!" It takes a second through my buzz to recognize the name, but I feel oddly unalarmed at the prospect of just being reaped.

Fuck my life. I keep on a straight face as I walk to stage, arms crossed tight to hide cleavage. Someone wolf-whistles at me on my way up, causing me to scowl and cross my arms tighter. Walking in heels takes a while, and Cordelia is so impatient she starts picking the boy's name as I'm walking up the steps.

"Lynden Cory!" she announces. I keep the scowl on as he walks out from the 18's. I realize through my buzz that he's the one that sold me the damn joint to begin with. That's a surprise. He walks up the stage and tries a smile through the crushing irony. I shake my head a bit to signal that there's no way in hell I'm going to be friendly in the slightest towards him.

"Everyone, your District Nine tributes!"

I swallow hard as I uncross one of my arms reluctantly to shake his hand, and the bastard's (pretty) green eyes never leave my face.

A/N: Wow, that was a long one. Like, REALLY long. Probably the longest update I've ever done, or close to it. Anyways, Thanks to everyone that submitted tributes! And thanks to Wetstar for the quick boy from Nine, because I've been anxious to post this chapter! As of right now, I have one tribute left, the boy from District 7, and have opened it up to two tributes per person (though one will be a bloodbath). I try to keep the A/N's updated, but my profile is probably more-so. Also, I would love for the D7 boy to be young (like 12 or 13 kind of young) and definitely not a volunteer (seriously, I have so many volunteers.). Anyways, thanks, first to submit will get the tribute.

Chapter Question (I'll make it simple since it's been so long between chapters): Who was the most interesting District partner [Dream, January, Juli, Tiffany, Garrison, Lynden] in general (not counting your own, if you submitted)?