okay, this was way longer than i thought it would be, but have fun? this intro was for sure a set of rollercoaster so hold on to your hats and glasses.

if you haven't submit your tribute yet, i would appreciate it if you can submit it sometime this week!

leave a review and let me know what you think of it!

Asher Jackson, 14

district 12 male

Camera flashes, and Asher shielded his eyes as two peacekeepers clad in uniform flanked his sides, hands placed on their guns. Reporters shoved their ways to the front, recorders held in front of face.

"Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson! What can you tell us about this year's Quarter Quell?"

"Mr. Jackson! Are the rumours true? Is Tansy with a child now?"

"Was District twelve becoming a career district part of your plan? Or did it just happen?"

Asher wove politely, his chin up as his bodyguards push him toward the black car waiting outside the government building. The reporters followed, but the two men stood protectively outside the door as Asher quickly climbed into the car. No sooner was the door closed and locked than the car sped off toward a penthouse a few blocks away from the Capitol building.

Tansy was waiting for him at home, and he smiled when she greeted him at the door, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "I've missed you, love."

"I've been drafting up the plan for the next arena, I think Headgamemaker would approve it this time," Tansy pressed a mug of steaming hot cocoa into his hands. He hummed in thanks before taking a small sip, his face relaxing as the smell of home hit his tongue. "I mean I think he would be a fool not to take it this time, he would not be finding anything better. All the good gamemakers had graduated, and I was the top of my class."

"I think he would take it," Asher took a seat on the couch, eyeing the scatter of paper on their coffee table. Designs decorated the white page, his wife's neat handwriting evidently on the margin. "If he doesn't, I'll just fire him."

"I don't think you can afford that, darling," Tansy pushed aside a few papers to make room for Asher's cocoa, running a hand through his brown hair, and Asher leaned into it. "Don't worry, I can make him accept my designs. I have spent too long pouring over it for him not to accept it. I will stay in that room until he takes it if that's what it takes."

Asher laughs, leaning back on the couch as he pulls Tansy into his arms. He closed his eyes-

"-ackson! ASHER JACKSON!" Mrs. Lorey's shrill voice cut through his dreams, and he blinked his eyes open, glancing disorientedly around the classroom, where maybe classmates hid behind their book and pretended he didn't fall asleep for the tenth time this week. Not that he doesn't get enough sleep at home, but there was something about reality that was just so… boring.

"Have you decided that you're smarter than me, Mr. Jackson?" Mrs. Lorey demanded, tapping her pointer on Asher's desk. "You know what happen to students who don't pay attention to history class, Mr. Jackson?"

Asher quickly shook his head, sitting on his hands in response and refusing to stare into the piercing blue eyes that always made him feel as if she was reading his mind.

Mrs. Lorey slammed her hands on the desk, and Asher flinched back. Her sharp eyes met his dark ones. "History repeats themselves when not learnt, Mr. Jackson. You do well to remember that."

She walked away, and his classmates followed her movement as Asher flipped his textbook to the right pages. "Now class, can anyone tell me why the Katniss Everdeen rebellion failed?"

Five eager hands went up, and Asher sighed as he leaned on his hands, staring out the window longingly. History just never quite caught his attention, none of the subjects ever did. Unless Tic Tac Toe became a class he can take at school, he doesn't think he would ever not fall asleep in class.

His mother said being imaginative is good for him, and she admired his ability to conjure up scenarios. His older sister, Wisty, claimed that if he kept escaping from reality, he would one day get lost in what was real and what was not. It wasn't as if Asher was taking hallucinogens, so really he doesn't see any problem with that. There was no need for reality when he had his mind.

"Did you pissed off Mrs. Lorey again?" Cole joined Asher after school as they walked back towards the seams together. Cole was a constant in Asher's reality that grounds him. Someone who was real, who never looked at Asher with judgements in his eyes, who listened to every story he told with interest. Unlike his mother who listened on with feign interest, or his sisters who always changed the topic before he could start one of his stories.

"I think she's just constantly in a mood," Asher sighed, pulling his bags toward his body. "I accidentally fell asleep in her class again. I didn't mean to! But you know nothing put me to sleep better than Mrs. Lorey's history class. I've been learning about the Everdean revolution since I was in first grade. I want to learn about something current, you know? Like President Celestia Snow. She's so mysterious."

Cole hummed in agreement as Asher continued on.

"Did you know she had been rumored to kill all of her enemies. Some sources claimed that she killed all those people herself, that there were no assassins involved. That she is the assassin," Asher bounced excitedly on his feet, and Cole looked around uncertainty.

"You know those sorts of talk could get you arrested, buddy," Cole gripped his handbag a little tighter. "You never know who could be listening."

"At least then reality would be interesting."

Cole had nothing to say to that, and they walked side by side in silence for the rest of the walk back home.

Palila O'Donnell, 17

district 4 female

The atmosphere was tense after Palila's victory in the ring yesterday.

She knew not everyone was necessarily happy with the decision, she wasn't even eighteen yet. Kinsley had accused her of cheating, and Palila had hidden herself away in the shadows while they argued over the "real" winner, before Head Trainer Everest, had stepped in and gave Kinsley a stern talking to about the consequences of false accusations. If Palila felt any empathy, she would've felt bad for the girl. But alas she doesn't, so she watched on from the shadow as Mack and Plover started arguing too in hush whispers.

They didn't think she could hear them.

"She's too young to go into the arena," Plove argued, their voice calm but their words betraying them as Mack crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "What were you even thinking?"

Mack looked around widely before taking a step forward boldly. "She's almost eighteen, Rinfield. She can make her own choice. And she chose this."

Plover reached out and pushed Mack back, almost forcefully, the latter stumbled. "If you hadn't planted seeds of all these nonsensical ideas, she would've never gotten into the ring. You brainwashed her."

"OH? Keep your nonsense to yourself oldie! Maybe you're the one who needs to be checked into the mental hospital! Maybe you just realized your skills aren't good enough for the academy anymore and so you need her around to aid you!"

"Are you even hearing yourself?" Plover growled, and Mack rolled his eyes before glancing around at the semi-crowd that had started to pay attention to their argument. They huffed, before going their separate ways, and Palila watched on, before letting out a sigh.

It had always been like this between the two of them, and Palila hated it. She wanted her two favorite people in the academy to get along, but no matter what she does, they always end up at each other's throats. With Mack throwing offhanded comments while Plover stood stiffly and restored with equal viciousness.

And now two days later, neither Mack or Plover could stand being in the same room. With one leaving when the other came in, and Palila was sick of it.

"Plover is just so UGH!" Mack exclaimed the second the last of the younger kids left the training room, and Palila made her way to the front of the class with a sigh. "I hate their guts. They are just so- UGH!"

"You know Plover isn't that bad," Palila leaned against a stationary dummy, and Mack flopped down onto the training floor starfish style. "They're just overworked and exhausted. I mean I would be too if I was expected to run the whole infirmary by myself. Especially in a place like this. You know, you'll be surprised by the amount of kids that get hurt on a daily basis. I don't really mind though, I think it's good for me to get the experience on how to treat all kinds of wounds, especially now that I am going into the arena."

Palila sat down crossed legs, watching as Mack draped his sweater over their head but gestured with his hands for her to continue.

"Not that I wish for kids to get hurt, you know? But it's good practice. Have you seen the other volunteers yet?" Palila didn't wait for Mack's response as she rambled on. "I heard it's Trent. And I am absolutely not against him, he seems super nice. But I've seen him train, and I don't know…" Palila started to trace the star shape on their training floor as Mack took off his sweater and stared at Palila with a knowing look.

"You could do worse than Trent," Mack shrugged (or as best as he could given that he was on the ground). "For example, Plover."

Palila groaned. "I never get why you hated them. Plover is amazing! There's literally no other doctor better than Plover and here you are, mocking their skills. What if you get hurt one day and need their help? What would you do?"

"They're going to turn me away anyways," Mack rolled onto his stomach and Palila laughed. "I might as well just die alone."

"Don't be so dramatic, Plover would take you in. They're nice like that," Palila rolled Mack onto his back. He was like an older brother Palila never had, and if it wasn't for him, she would never have gotten the confidence to volunteer for the games. Which she guessed was where Plover's anger came from, but it wasn't like she was forced into it. She chose this fate, she wanted a chance at victory. If only so people like Kinsley would stop looking down at her. If they want strengths, she would show them strengths.

A knock on the classroom door pulled the two of them out of their conversation, and Palila looked up with a smile as one of the younger trainees walked in timidly, her blonde hair tied back into a braid. "Hey, Daisy! What's wrong?"

Mack sat up as Daisy walked toward them. "I got a little hurt during training. It's just a pick. But Everest wants you to walk me across the academy. It's okay if you're busy though…"

"Never too busy for you," Palila smiled and stood up, offering her hand to the ten years old, who took it. She turned back to Mack, who growled at the thought of Plover. "See you later, Mack."

"Bye Lila. give Plover a kiss for me!" His voice was mocking and Palila chose to ignore it as she led Daisy away from the training classroom and towards the infirmary.

The infirmary was as neat as it could be, and Plover was in the middle of dressing a wound when Palila walked in. Plover glanced up briefly, noticed Palila, and wove her towards a bed. "You could treat it. I'm trying to stitch this wound right now."

So Palila pulled Daisy to a spare bed and ran to the back room to grab a few alcohol wipes, slaves, gauze pads and medical tape before going back out and kneeling in front of Daisy. She worked as she talked. "How did this happen?"

"I got taken down by Casio during training," Daisy pouted, kicking her legs as Palila gently wiped the blood on her forearm away. Daisy hissed when Palila swiped it with alcohol wipes, and she uttered a quiet apologies before she put some slaves on it. "I guess I should've seen it coming."

"How so?" Palila looked up as she took out a gauze pad, placing it gently on Daisy's forearm and taping it.

"Well, I kicked his butt this whole week, I guess he was just waiting for revenge," Daisy sighed. "I'm better than him though. Everyone knows it, and Everest told me that I took it like a champ. I do think he purposely chose a training sword that was slightly sharper than the rest."

Palila started to clean up, and Daisy hopped off the bed. "Thank you!"

"Of course!" Palila smiled and saw Plover gave her two thumbs up when Daisy ran out of the room. The other guy was now asleep, his arm helped pitifully on top of his chest. Palila made her way to Plover's desk before gesturing to the guy. "What happened to him?"

Plover frowned. "Got into a fight with the male volunteer. Trent, I think. Apparently he mocked his family, and Trent lashed out. You better watch out for that one, Palila."

Palila frowned and observed the guy on the bed. They stood in silence for a while, the tension almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. "I know you don't want me to volunteer."

Plover sighed, and took a seat at their desk. "I believe in you, Palila. I think you have all the skills necessary to survive in that arena. But I think you are worth so much more than becoming a capital's puppet. There are vicious people there, Palila, much worse than Kinsley or Trent, who would actually go for the kill. I don't want you to get lost there. Once you win, you will never truly be free."

"Mack wanted me to volunteer. He said he believes in me."

Plover smacked their lips, their face twisting into a scowl. "Mack is often wrong. He couldn't even muster up the courage to volunteer for his games. He's living in his own world of regret, Palila. I would advise you against volunteering but it seems like you've already won, I could only advise you on how to survive."

Palila leaned forward eagerly.

"Don't trust anyone, okay? In the arena, tributes are driven by the need to survive. You may think that those skilled are the ones you need to watch out for, but those outliers driven by primal need, willing to do anything to get home, might just be your downfall," Plover didn't blink as they spoke, their eyes staring into the distance. "And as the saying goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

Plover shoved her out of the infirmary after that, claiming that kids these days should enjoy their weekends in the sun, and Palila walked out of the academy alone, Plover's words echoing around in her mind.

I am worthy of being alive, and they're going to see that.

Bartholomew Limos, 18

district 2 male

Bartholomew killed his brother when he was fourteen.

It was a slow death, just the way he likes it. Gregoir had struggled at first, when Bartholomew sat upon his brother's abdominal and held his hair tightly in his fist and pressed his pillow tightly to his face. What was once a source of comfort became his source of death. Bartholomew had laughed as Gregoir fought fruitlessly against a determined younger brother willing to do anything to make his way to the top.

There were muffled pleads, but Bartholomew ignored it. Nothing Gregoir said could've saved his life. He was a liability to the Legion. All carelessness and no patience. All brawl and no brawn. It was Gregoir's mistake that forced the Legion underground, and Bartholomew would forever despite him for it. He had went to his father the night they retreated further underground.

"I want to become the scion, Father."

His father had stared Bartholomew down with a certain coldness in his gaze that had never fazed Bartholomew. For him it was a symbol of love, as the coldness was all he had known his whole life. Since birth his future had been made for him. Every waking moment is planned in order for him to become better, to one day take the Legion aboveground. To achieve their goal of anarchy and utter chaos.

"Dispose of those in your way."

His father's words were dismissive, but there was a glint in Judah's eyes that made Bartholomew giddy with excitement. So that night found him in his brother's room, disposing of those in his way.

"I hope you know this isn't personal," Bartholomew got off when Gregoir stopped struggling and his body fell limply onto the bed. Bartholomew rolled her brother over, watching with satisfaction as lifeless eyes stared back into his. He wasn't idiotic enough to disrespect the dead though, and he gently closed his eyes. "You had offered me some fond memories, brother. But you were just in my way."

Celeste didn't scream when she noticed her dead son in his bed in the morning, but Bartholomew grinned proudly and showed off his kill. His mother never quite looked at him the same after that, but Bartholomew never let it bother him. Because his father had looked at him with pride in his eyes, and had named him his successor. Which was all that mattered. That was his goal, and Bartholomew had achieved it with precision.

If murder was a skill to brag about (which to Bartholomew it was), Bartholomew would have mastered it. Which was also why he didn't feel an ounce of fear as he staked out outside the mayor's mansion, his accomplice, Paloma, at his side. She was tolerable at most and downright annoying at the least, to the point where Bartholomew considered silting her throat more often than not. But she has skills, and he was never one to overlook the benefit her skills could bring him.

"The guards are changing shifts," Paloma muttered to Bartholomew's left, a binocular held tightly in her hand. The two of them were staking out on top of a tall tree just outside the gate of the mayor's mansion. "This is our chance to take out the outermost two before the rest have enough time to switch shifts. We'll sneak it from the back. The mayor resides on the second floor, but there is a tree just large enough to allow us to climb up. Let's go!"

Before she could gain Bartholomew's approval, she had made an excitable descend down the tree and Bartholomew was forced to follow. He hid in the shadow as Paloma made herself known to the guard, twirling her hair in her hands and giggling as she stumbled around.

"Oh, officer," she giggled, stumbling a little. "I was just getting home from the bar, but I seem to have lost my way. Could you point me in the right direction, handsome?"

The two guards started to leave their post, and Bartholomew sneaked in behind them at a moment of distraction. He made eye contact with Paloma, made a nod, before the closest guard holding her upright was suddenly struck in the stomach by her dagger. She giggled in delight as she twisted the knife and the guard fell over on top of her body. She pushed his body away and it fell limply to the ground. Bartholomew buried his hatchet in the other's guard head before he had the time to scream for help. He grinned with satisfaction before pulling the hatchet out, watching the crimson gushed around the back wound with a sense of accomplishment. "This red symbolizes the start of our victory, Paloma."

"You're so weird," Palmona scowled, but she didn't wait for his vicious response before rushing into the mansion ground. The two of them hide patiently in the shadow before an opening allows the two of them to bolt across the open field and toward the mayor's window, which was left open. "Idiot."

Paloma made her way up the tree first, and leapt gratefully into the room. Bartholomew quickly followed, and Paloma stood guard by the door as Bartholomew strapped his hatchet onto his belt and pulled a knife that was strapped out of view on his thighs. He climbed upon the bed and straddled the mayor's waist. He held the blade against the mayor's neck, and blew warm air into the mayor's ears. "Wakey wakey."

The mayor let out a gasp, and another one when the cold blade pressed itself into his throat. Not enough to kill, but enough to draw blood and Bartholomew's eyes followed the trail of blood. "If you're here to kill me, just kill me."

The mayor's voice was raspy with sleep, cold fear coloring his pretty green eyes. Bartholomew shook his head, his grip on the blade tightening. "Oh no, I'm not here to kill you. I need you to let me volunteer for the games tomorrow."

"Kasem Klaus is this year's district two volunteer," the Mayor gasped out, and Bartholomew pressed the blade deeper into the Mayor's throat. His voice grew hard, all traces of playfulness gone.

"Let me be clear, Mayor. This is not a request, it is a demand. If you want to live to see the reaping tomorrow, you will do well to follow as I say," Bartholomew growled into the Mayor's ears, pressing his whole body against the Mayor.

"And if I don't?"

Bartholomew pulled back, a strike of madness dashed across his face. "Then I burn this whole place down."

The mayor gasped, and muttered a quick agreement before Bartholomew pulled out his knife, wiping the blood off his blade with a rag in his back pocket before strapping the knife back into his thigh. The mayor watched on fearfully, his hands rubbing around his throat and wincing everytime the wound was provoked.

"I will see you on stage, Mr. Mayor," Bartholomew saluted, before leaping out of the window silt and grabbing onto the branch. The retreat out of the mansion was a quick one, and Paloma followed tightly on his trial.

"That was so badass," she had exclaimed in awed the second they were within their own territory. A construction site just at the outskirts of district two. "You are going to make an amazing victor, Bartholomew. And anarchy will reign among us."

"Anarchy will reign," Bartholomew agreed, shaking off Paloma's hand on his shoulder. "Now if you will excuse me, I have places to go and a reaping to prepare for."

"Of course, of course," Paloma grinned cheekily before she waved goodbye, disappearing into one of the houses on the construction. Bartholomew watched her peppy steps, a sigh on the tip of his lips. Another day where he hadn't killed Paloma, which he counted as a win. That one more point for his self control, which he would surely need in the games.

There would be no second chances, and the career's eyes would be on him. He would be the anomaly within that pack, and his disdain toward others would not be his downfall. Not when he was so close to the victory line. Not when he could see victory in his near future.

In less than a month, Panem would be his. And those courageous enough to stand in his way? Well, Bartholomew would take them down. Panem would soon know his name, and with his victory the Legion would become a force of nature no one could prevent.

oh gosh-

i hope you enjoy reading these tributes cause i am for sure getting attached-

anyways, I'll either update on Monday or next Friday, so keep a look out for that!

~ kathy