Hi there ! After some procrastinating I decided to do my own SYOT ! I've been lurking on this side of FFN since around 2020 off and on and TBOSAS fully reactivated the brainrot, and since one of my fandoms has been going to shit it seems fitting to fully delve into the fantastic world of SYOT by doing one of my own ! (in some very vibes based way but shush, don't tell my research supervisor)

The submission form and rules will be below and in my bio, for now before you start delving into the story takes place in 165 ADD, so 90 years after the events of Mockingjay. Some... stuff happened to Panem, but the Games were reinstated after several "hiatus" for a while now. It is about to be the 125th Hunger Games and Fifth Quarter Quell so well... let's just say the Head Gamemaker had some stuff ready. I'll develop some lore a little bit more now to give you some infos on the form.

Herennia Keene, 18 years old

Honor student of Breeze Academy

They were twenty-four in this glorious amphitheater.

The twenty-four best students selected among the different Academies of the Capitol, seated, for this year,

in the Snow Academy, the oldest and most prestigious Academy of all. Because, after all, this was the year of the Fifth Quarter Quell. It only made sense that the mentors were reunited in one of the first amphitheaters built after the Dark Days for this dark anniversary.

Herennia Keene was feeling sick in her stomach, as if it was curling up on itself. Her honor roll status meant she was always going to experience this, that she had known ever since she entered the halls of the Breeze Academy as a freshman. But even so, she could not help but let her rage simmer at how low society stooped and at how ridiculous that whole affair was, though she might be the only person in the room to realize it.

There had been so many attempts to stop the Hunger Games, and so many attempts to overthrow the Capitol. There had been the Dark Days, the Mockinjay Rebellion, the Defiance of the Stones.

And yet, there she was, with twenty-three other young and supposedly smart students on their way to encounter the President and Head Gamemaker and be assigned a tribute to mentor.

That whole ordeal, if anyone was giving it a sliver of a thought, was absurd. They were barely older than the tributes they were supposed to teach and befriend before they were to become lab rats in a manufactured arena, destined to die. Heck, what were they even supposed to teach them? They had no skill in fighting, were all pampered by their parents so that the only works they had to do were essays and school exams, and had only experience with the Games listening to the passive-aggressive remarks of Augustina Flickerman and watching the insultingly detailed analysis on the Faustus Show after the fact. On principle, they were supposed to be spectators, laughing at the demise of teenagers who were not unlike them just a few years ago, not mentors, whatever that word meant now.

And yet. She was fully aware of the "job" of a mentor nowadays, as she heard it over and over again from the mouths of so many different teachers she wished to forget. It was less so about helping the cannon fodder that were the kids that reached the Capitol on Reaping Day, and more so about learning the politics of the Panem firsthand. Spending three weeks in their allocated District before Reaping, contacting stylists and fashion companies for the Parade, observing how their tribute was received by rich Capitolites who could afford to sponsor them, handling said sponsor gifts and basically becoming a PR agent for a teenager doomed to die for about a month. All of these were what was expected of them, and with at stake a one-way ticket to high-responsibility jobs in the Capitol, and across Panem.

If she was not forced to lie all the time, Herennia would admit she was dreading every part of it. But for now, all she had to do was to smile and clap with great and false enthusiasm while President Nerva Smyrne and Head Gamemaker Auspex Sparks entered the amphitheater, announced by Dean Trajan Lewis.

The Dean commanded silence to introduce them (even though anyone in Panem, let alone in the Capitol, would recognize President Smyrne and Head Gamemaker Sparks), and the students sheepishly obeyed. During this hollow presentation, President Smyrne was coldly observing each and everyone of them with her glassy eyes, while Ms. Sparks was seemingly focused on their notes. For any Capitol citizens, it became more and more common to see that duumvirate together. According to the mandated history books, ever since the Games were born from Crassus Snow and Casca Highbottom's minds, Panem's main power brokers were the "elected" President and their trusty Head Gamemaker. If anything, this traditional duo only gained in strength since the Defiance of the Stones. The Special Edition of the year 140 DD, where Nerva Smyrne got her rebellious political rival and his family to kill one another in a "one in a lifetime" edition of the Games, under the lenient hand of President Coppertide, was the zenith of that.

Now, Caleb Coppertide has passed, the now President Smyrne aged alongside her eyesight, and Auspex Sparks, her step-daughter ruled as a merciless Head Gamemaker over the Arenas she built. It was never going to be said upfront, of course, but it was a matter of time until President Smyre passed as well Auspex Sparks became herself President.

Unless Herennia and her Idealists friends could prevent that, though it seemed increasingly unlikely.

"Hello, dear Mentors of the 125th Hunger Games and Fifth Quarter Quell! I am glad to meet you all, and more so glad to know our tributes will be taken care of by you bright minds," the President said through the microphone. "Now, this mentor reunion is fittingly unique, but please be sure it is for very understandable - and exciting, reasons."

Her quick pause caused intrigued murmurs throughout the amphitheater, while Herennia still had her fist clenched from the President giddily saying "our tributes".

"I assume you all know every Quell is a special edition of the Hunger Games happening every twenty-five editions, with a twist for each of those special occasions. For the first time in Panem history, we are obligated to reveal the twist in advance to prepare them properly. See it as an opportunity to work on your roles, however, keep in mind this is for now top secret information."

Sparks gave her a small scarlet envelope, which the President opened swiftly to read as artificially as she could :

"On the one-hundred-and-twenty-fifth edition, as a reminder the districts will never be able to outwit the Capitol, each eligible tribute will take physical and academic examinations corresponding to their age and gender. The two tributes reaped will be those with the highest average results among all eligible tributes by gender."

Another excited murmur walked throughout the room, accompanied by some claps. But for Herennia, this announcement was irrelevant. Whether they were academically intelligent or not, these were kids sent to die anyway.

The "twists" of the Quells, either way, were just a part of the Capitol's fantasy.

One girl, however, timidly raised her hand out of her Flare Institute uniform, which prompted the president and her lackey to stop their pre-written speech to answer her :

"Well, uh… How is it actually going to work? In practice, I mean. It just sounds quite complicated."

"Not as complicated as you would imagine, Miss Clearwater, the President smiled. We already asked all teachers in the district to have a prepared examination on the 4th of May, for each class they have that is eligible for reaping. The physical education examination will take place a week before over three days and will consist of a race and a wrestling tournament. Once again, potential tributes will be separated between age and gender for these tests."

Herennia hated the President's artificial tone, but it seemed to content the Flare girl. Another hand raised, however, coming from one of her fellow classmates, Prometheus Springston, in the back of the amphitheater. Springston, just like most Capitolites, had that arrogant air she grew used to being around, doubled with a redoubtable intelligence. If any of the students present here happened to become President in the future, she would bet it would be him.

"President Smyrne, he started asking, isn't there the risk that the District's children would purposefully fail this examination to not get chosen ?"

She smiled even further: "It could always be a risk. But the examination will be watched over by two Peacekeepers in each class and for each examination, to make sure there's no cheating."

Another question flocked in, from another cocky-looking guy in the Snow white uniform: "What about the results potentially being rigged, especially in Career Districts ?"

This one however seemed to unsettle the President, as her wrinkled face tensed. It must be hard to ignore how powerful District One is growing, and especially how prone to riggings Reapings always were. For callous Mayors, it was ultimately a way to send the kids of their political opponents (or even random kids that happened to vex them) to the slaughter. But after a quick thought, that felt odd, she replied :

"We will make sure the administrators handling the tests are loyal. Do not worry about that."

The room felt colder after she said the word loyal. It felt more like a threat addressed to the students, to induce fear into throwing a wrench in the games.

It did not falter Herennia's desire to see it all burn down though.

The silence was broken by the Head Gamemaker as if the President's icy answer did not happen: "With that… if no one has any question, we can move on to the attribution of mentoring spots."

Head Gamemaker Sparks never felt like a "warm" woman, but she somehow dispelled the tension in the room. It might be that Sparks always had a more stable standing with the younger people than the now-elderly president. Or just that the room needed a break from the semantics of the Quell and just wanted to get on to know where they will live for a month. It ultimately was the most interesting part of this whole charade, getting to discover the reality in the Districts as a way to forge their future, both the Districts' and their own.

The Head Gamemaker started to pick the papers from the bowl, not unlike the Reaping, right after the other. When the name of one of the students was announced, they descended the amphitheater under the applause of the other students, especially if it was a Career District, to receive a file from the hands of the President, with guidelines and sheets they'll have to fill out before leaving for their District. Prometheus, one of Herennia's classmates, got picked as the mentor of the District One Boy, and he could not hide his pride and satisfaction. Luckily, Herennia's sneer was hidden by the rapturous applause.

She however had to wait for her name to be called on by Ms. Sparks. She continued to observe the Breeze cousins and others of her classmates get called, with applause accompanying them. To be honest, as much as she hated that ceremony, the wait still got to her. She would have loved participating in the disruption in the Career Districts, or even more rebellious Districts like Eight or Eleven. And yet, her name was still in the Bowl, and part of her unwilling body still felt stressed.

At last District Twelve came. Over the ashes left by Mockingjay, the Paylor administration built a brand new medical hub full of hospitals. It did not take long after the Renewal Act for the District to become in disarray again, hit by plagues and addictions the District had vowed to treat. More than that, Smyrne's predecessors extended its industry to biology in general, in appearance to "improve" the District but more so to create mutts, drugs, and serums of all kinds.

It was not the poorest District anymore, but still Herennia would have preferred another District, one that did not feel that intoxicated by the cruel hands of the Capitol. It was wishful thinking to consider that, she guessed.

Sparks' hands, as for them, seemed to want to play with Herennia's nerves. One Sulla Fargaze, a nervous kid in Snow's Academy uniform, whose name meant it could be the 101st Games winner's kin, descended the stairs to receive his "gift", the Twelve Girl. She sighed as she prepared to descend herself, as now she knew for certain she would leave for District Twelve in a few weeks to mentor the boy who would get the best results in the Capitol's examinations. When she reached the desk the President and Head Gamemaker shared and met their eyes as she received her file from Sparks' hand, she made a promise to herself.

She'll get her tribute out, whoever they may be.

Not necessarily by making a Victor of them, and she was not even sure yet how she would do it. She just knows she will, with the help of the Idealist cell.

Maybe it will be a new Mockingjay, or just a kid eager to survive. But they will survive. And that's what matters, ultimately.

Sulla Fargaze, 18

Honor student from Snow Academy

Mentor of the District Twelve Female

When he realized he would get a tribute from Twelve, Sulla's heart sank.

It was not really about Twelve, honestly. Despite the regular images of sickly kids, doctors with masks and frowned highbrows, he was fine with the reality of white rooms smelling like antiseptics and of plagued families cluttered in slums. It was rather knowing his chances of receiving the Snow Mentor prize plummeted. A kid from Twelve won the Games six years ago he remembered, but mostly due to sheer luck, he considered. It was a common joke amongst a lot of Hunger Games aficionados that the new Twelve inherited the bad luck from its infamous predecessor.

To be more frank than that, Sulla was heartbroken to know his one and only chance to be a mentor would be squandered.

Some of his friends at school, whether they liked to watch the Games or not, were squeamish at the idea of mentoring a tribute, knowing how hard of an assignment it was despite the opportunities it gave. But the concept was morbidly fascinating to him. In some way, it was like living throughout the Games without the risk of harm and death. But now, having to handle an unlucky kid from the unluckiest District did not feel as appealing as before.

As the ceremony fizzled out and some students started to meet with each other, he skimmed through the file he was handed. It contained, for the most part, facts and figures about the District they were going to, where they were going to sleep, who to contact if things went awry, and most of all indications and tips for their future "job". After going through it, he tried to lock eyes with his fellow Twelve's mentor. Herennia, as she seemed to be called, was herself packing her stuff from her Breeze Academy bag, seemingly in a hurry. He rushed to the other side of the amphitheater to make sure he at the very least talked with her. She finally raised her eyes on him when he ran through the stairs to see her.

"Uh… sorry about that. You're Herennia, right ?" he said, trying to make up for his awkwardness.

"Yeah."

"I'm Sulla."

"Nice to meet you."

She offered her hand for a handshake. He did not expect that for her, but offered his anyway. There was a tense silence, and then she moved on :

"Sorry, I'm in a hurry. I'll give you my phone number."

Sulla stayed quiet, still unsure of what to do. She scribbled her phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to him. "Just hit me up when you can. See ya." And then left without even looking at him.

Damn, I'm just terrible at social stuff, he thought as she reached the exit. He usually keeps to himself when he is at the Academy, painfully aware of how much of an outsider he is. Despite his mother's wealth, he still needed tuition to enter the painfully old-school Snow Academy, and it seemed like ever since he passed its heavy wooden doors, his classmates could see it. It might be the Fargaze surname as well, though. But that he did not mind nor care about. "A Victor's name is a branding", one of his elderly teachers said, but to him, it was rather an inherited trophy of sorts. After all, he knows full well after watching so much of the Hunger Games that not everyone could be a victor.

He himself left the amphitheater, as his heartbreak healed a little. As he got out of the Academy, he thought of the 50th Games and his intelligent Twelve boy, that District duo who outsmarted the Careers into an explosion, and the twelve-year-old girl who snatched the win from his violent and unstable partner. There was comfort in knowing the Games could sometimes award the underdogs. And life seemed to give him this title as well.

While he joined the avenue he took every day to get back to his mom's apartment, he noticed none other than Head Gamemaker Sparks following him. He stopped, unsure of what to do.

This was the Head Gamemaker.

And she was right behind him.

"Mr. Fargaze, right ?" she chimed in joyfully. "I assume you are Cybelle Fargaze's son, right ?"

"U-uh, yeah."

He was overcome with fear, it felt like. I shouldn't be scared, he thought, she's not gonna hurt me. But still, it felt wrong to see her from this close, and in there.

But she did not realize his nervousness seemingly: "Your mother is possibly one of the best Victors Panem has ever seen. And I'm not just pandering to you, she probably saved Panem."

She was right, at least to most people. Cybelle Fargaze was reaped for the 101st Hunger Games, after the debacle that was the Defiance of the Stones, a period without Hunger Games, where the Districts could elect their mayor, where people could move out of their District. This farce (as everyone knew the Stones were hypocrites, more alike a cartel than sincere rebels) was ended by the White Dynasty, the descendant of Coriolanus Snow and their allies. However, when President Coppertide died, it was Nerva Smyrne, his confidant and friend, who took over.

To avoid rebellions in the District, Ahenobarbus Coppertide installed a unique reform: whoever wins the Hunger Games will receive a Capitol citizenship, in addition to lodgings in the Capitol and enough money for a lifetime. Eighteen-year-old Cybelle Fargaze saw the opportunity to quit the rebellious and miserable District she lived in and volunteered. Just with that, she caught the eye of anyone in the Capitol, and doubled down by talking in length in her interview about how the President saved her life by catching and killing her parents, with poise and calm the other tributes could not rival. And finally, in the smoky ruins of the Stone Manor that was the arena, she took the remnants of the missiles and bombs dropped by the White administration, reshaped them into grenades of their own, and used them to tear her rivals (and her few allies) to shreds. When she got out, after impaling the girl from Two with her own dagger, she pledged once again her loyalty to those who truly "saved" her.

Cybelle Fargaze did not tell any of that to his son, though. In fact, ever since he was born, she rarely mentioned the Games nor the Defiance, and would always skillfully change subjects when Sulla asked him. All that he learned from the DVD they had from the 101st Games, which he watched over and over again ever since his mother allowed him to. But every time he watched it (and at some point in his life, it was quite often), she would never sit down with him.

For those reasons, Sulla only replied to the Head Gamemaker with a meek "I suppose so".

Sparks caught up to him as she was talking about Sulla's mother, but stopped at his response. Was she… surprised? annoyed at his demure attitude? It was hard to read her, truth be told. But she moved on in the discussion :

"Anyways, I'm not here to compliment your mother by proxy. I've followed you to ask for your service."

Sulla was too shocked to answer but nodded intensely.

"You see, luck gave you to mentor the District Twelve Female but, with the job I have had for several years, I don't believe in luck anymore, but in people."

"Uh ?"

He was so damn stupid, he thought. Poor Sparks must see him as a complete idiot. But she continued :

"Whoever will get the best results for the examination in Twelve will need to die. Whoever they might be, I trust you to make sure that their dreams, their hopes, get squashed in the arena. And that goes for Miss Keene's tribute. Understand ?"

"Uh.. yeah, of course. Is it to avoid rebellions ?"

She held a freakish smile: "More or less so. You see, Twelve is President's Smyrne pet project. As servants of the President, we have to make sure it stays that way. What the District has been providing since the Renewal Act is invaluable, hence why we need to keep them in check. After their win in the 119th Games especially, we need the people in Twelve to remember they're subservient to us."

Despite Sparks' firm tone, none of this was new to Sulla. Nonetheless, he had to agree: "Of course, I understand."

"You are not the first to be given that task from me. It might be my nervous self, but every year I contact one of Twelve's mentors to make sure the Games go smoothly."

"May I ask why you contacted me first ?" He ought to ask, against his instincts. "I'm honored of course… but Ms. Keene would be as honored as me to receive that task."

The Head Gamemaker somehow looked more lighthearted after he asked: "Because you seem notably able to do it, to put it bluntly. Your reports indicate your infallible knowledge of the Games, and I also know that the Victor's prize is not infinite. You are eager, eager to succeed, eager to do well, and people like you are especially talented when it comes to following commands."

A chill fell down his spine. It made sense she would know that much about him, but it still felt wrong to hear it for someone appearing almost weekly on television.

"On that subject… If you succeed I'll make sure you are properly rewarded. You are a bright mind, Sulla, and it would be a shame to let you slip away."

"O-okay." He managed to reply. He truly, truly wished he was not as uncomfortable as he was now. But Head Gamemaker Sparks, just like her reputation promised, was like a Medusa ready to petrify him at any wrongdoings. "Thank you very much."

"That was all I had to say to you for now. I'll contact you after you arrive in Twelve." An exhalation maybe, just maybe, could reveal her nervousness, though it might be an overinterpretation on Sulla's part. "And with that, I wish you a very good afternoon, and good luck with your assignment."

"I will, thank you", he replied, but Auspex Sparks was already leaving.

As Sulla walked on the avenue, Sparks' cold eyes could not leave his mind, almost as if they followed him.

Lore and things to know about the verse I'm working on before submitting (some of this is pretty clear in the Prologue though) :

District One is nowadays considered a "Little Capitol", almost as rich as most Capitol citizens if not more. Its focus drifted more towards entertainement, while still working of most of Panem's luxury goods.

District Twelve's industry is now biological sciences. Paylor's leadership after the Mockingjay Rebellion rebuilt the District entirely after being bombed, making its main industry medecine, but the Renewal Act (which led to a new dictatorship and the return of the Hunger Games), the District got increasingly poorer, and the different Presidents focused the scientists works on creating mutts, experimenting on prisoners, and mixing drugs and serums for Capitol and District citizens right now. Several plagues touching the population directly did not help as well. Nowadays, though as not poor as it was before the Mockingjay Rebellion, there's a clear class divide between the Capitol-born doctors (and their potential students), basically the ruling class of the District, and the huge majority of the population, living in slums. A third part of the population are the prisoners who went sent there from the Districts and Capitols, being used for human experiments.

To clarify the Quell's rule, each tribute will have to pass mandated exams by the Capitol, with notably two PE tests, and a "scholar" test over knowledge of Panem's history, mathematics, reading comprehension, etc. Some of the questions can also be angled towards the District's industry. While the complexity of the tests will depend of the tributes' age and gender, the two tributes selected will be those who gets the best overall result among their gender and regardless of their age. While I'm fine with tributes purposefully failing and/or the results being rigged, it isn't really interesting to me to have a full cast of tributes whose results ultimately did not matter.

Other than that, I'm pretty open to anything ! Feel free to bring up some lore elements that I did not indicate (as long as it doesn't contradict what I mentioned), and feel free to bring some diverse and fun characters of course ! As I said besides that I don't really have a clear plan as to where this story will go, so go wild !

Submission rules :

You may submit up to 2 tributes maximum, I may rise it to 3 if I don't have enough submissions

You can reserve a spot, however if you don't send a tribute within a month, I'll reopen the slot. If you don't send a tribute within the submission window, I'll just replace it with a tribute of my own

You can submit tributes for a certain spot even if said spot already has submissions. However, I reserve for myself the right to lock a spot if I get a tribute I'm satisfied to work with. I'll close all submissions the 10 of July 2024. If a spot has not received any submissions, I'm willing to fill in with my own tributes that will be a filler.

It is not possible to submit tributes that are volunteers, as they are not possible in this Quell. I'll follow that hard line when I choose the tributes (plus what I mentioned earlier), and will pay attention to if it follows what I have in mind for my verse. Otherwise the sky's the limit when it comes to creativity !

Name :

District (with backup) :

Age :

Gender :

Pronouns :

Faceclaim and/or appearance (depending on what you're most comfortable with) :

Personality :

Strengths (four traits) :

Weaknesses (four traits) :

Backstory :

People of significance (family and friends) :

Reaction after reaping :

Sexuality and likelihood of pursuing romance in the games :

Likelihood of making allies, and if so, what kind of allies they want :

Training strategy :

What they show during their private session :

Interview strategy :

Games strategy, short-term (bloodbath) and long-term :

Facultative :

Token :

Who comes to see them to say goodbye :

Chariot outfit :

Predicted training score :

Interview outfit :

Predicted placement :

Winning outfit, if they survive :

When would you rather have them being introduced ? (The intro chapters will be set in these 3 possible timelines : either two month before the Reaping, two week before the reaping, two days before the reaping. I'll try to respect what you want, but feel free to not reply to this as well.)

Anything else ? :