Fandom 𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐇 - 𝐜𝐬

[sollie]

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐇.

𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟
name:
nickname:
age:
gender:
sexuality:
race:
residence: (district # or capitol)
role: (victor/rebel/loyalist)
allegiance: (rebellion/capitol)

𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘
hair:
eyes:
height:
body mods:
distinguishing features:
face claim:

PERSONA (those marked with * are optional)
personality:
likes:
dislikes:
strengths:
weaknesses:
fears:
ambitions:

𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 (you may opt to answer one or all of the questions when listed. the more, the merrier.)
game won:
age:
weapons:
skills:
pre-game interview questions: (“what are your strengths?” ”why did you volunteer?” ”what do you think of the capitol?”)
what their game was like: (how did they win? what was their arena like? what was the most difficult moment in their games? are they proud of winning? do they regret anything in the arena? how was it received by the capitol? did they have sponsors? allies?)
mento? (Y/N)
reputation:
can we kill them off?
do you want them in the quarter quell?

HISTORY
childhood:
adolescence:
games:
post-games

---

a limit of 2 victors per writer will be chosen for the quell. other roles not limited. acceptance on a rolling basis,

 

[sollie]

willow adler - district 7

# 67th hunger games

# kelsey chow

♡coded by uxie♡

“I stood looking over my damaged home and tried to forget the sweetness of life on Earth.”

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  WILLOW ADLER

  
  

  
  

  "do you fear me?"
  "no."
  "you should."
  
  (trigger warning: violence, hunger games gore, death, trauma )​

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Willow Adler
    

    Age:

    25
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    cisfemale
    

    residence:

    district 7 | victor village
    

    pob:

    district 7
    

    sexuality:

    bisexual
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    the rebellion
    

    occupation:

    lead-climber, victor
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    you're on this train forever..

    
    
    

    victor file: alder, w

    
    game won: 67th hunger games
    age: 17
    weapons: axe, ice pick, make-shift bear trap
    skills: crafty, clever, quiet, climbing, endurance, temperature adjustment
    pre-game interview questions:
    "Now, Willow... a little birdie told me you're from a big family of boys, huh? How would you say it's been away from them?" The interview began as every other did, with Caesar pointing out weak spots in a tributes backstory to make them seem human; to make them darling to the spectators watching with bated breath to get a glimpse behind the curtain.
    
    "Less... smelly...?" Willow said quietly but despite her presentation, a rumbling laughter uproared from the audience. "A jokester we've got here, ladies and gentlemen! But I would imagine so. I'm sure you're thrilled to get a room to yourself!
    
    She nodded, playing with her hands which were folded in her lap. "It's quite lovely. The capitol is really just--" She looked around, suddenly realizing eyes were on her before drawing back. "Overwhelming wonderful..." Cue the awe's. She'd charmed her way into the audiences hearts for the night with her charming, soft spoken demeanor.
    
    "Willow Adler-- Strange saying that last name aloud again, wouldn't you say? Do you think of this as a sort of... redemption? Revenge? Maybe a chance to remember--" Caesar Flickerman's voice was oh-so familiar. Willow had watched with bated breath seven years ago as he interview with her brother, Finley, before he met his brutal end in the 60th hunger games. Willow did her best not to grimace at the implications of flickerman's words.
    
    "My brother--" willow faltered, her voice catching in the throat. the crowd went wild with sympathy, clutching their hearts, bracing on each other, tears filling their eyes. "My brother deserves to be honored." She nodded, looking up at Caesar with a soft smile and furrowed brows; pain filled her eyes. "And I plan on doing that. I want to avenge him. I want to honor finley by winning the games." The interviewer gave a wild smile as the crowd erupted in cheers for the girls determination. "And honor him you will, dear Willow! Willow Adler from District 7!"
    what their game was like:
    67th Hunger Games Arena Map. (created by sollie )
    
    Though the Capitol often discourages frigid environments in Arena's, the 67th Hunger Games dipped back into freezing climates. With a mountain range, tall trees, and a handful of creatures wanting to tear the tributes limb for limb, the tributes weren't the only threat to each other. With spiders that can paralyze, plants that will leave you breathless and lifeless, and rivers that will freeze your body in and instance, the battle against Mother Nature was almost as fierce as the battle against each other.
    
    Willow, a survivor at heart, had seen how her brother behaved in his games and how quickly he got killed. Her plan, at first, was to outlast. She was used to the cold, used to the mountains, and most of all, she was used to the trees. She could climb, protect herself, survive until the others killed themselves by stupidity. But forced into combat more than she wished, the girl soon turned into a killer.
    
    The most difficult moment in her games was the moment she had to turn on her district partner. A sweet boy who had played coy and innocent the whole time turned aggressive the minute he entered the arena. When he finally found Willow, he'd nearly killed her before she overtook him and pierced his eye with an ice pick. He was her first kill but certainly not the last. Tears mixed with bloods as her shaking, freezing hand clutched the ice pick, hovering over his unmoving body for far too long before desperately needing to find shelter.
    
    Willow had charmed her way into a plethora of sponsors for her games. She received matches, an emergency blanket, fresh water, an ice pick, all which aided in her in claiming victor. Though she had limited allies, a mutual respect between herself and a girl from District 12 formed and the girls steered clear of each other. Her Games, once she won, was a smashing success in the Capitol. It was gory, heartfelt, and most of all, thrilling for the Capitlolies to have such a darling victory. Though they felt nothing but pride for their victor, Willow felt only shame. She'd survived for her family but at what cost?
    reputation: A quiet and charming killer. To the Capitol, she's the quaint girl from District 7 who wanted to avenge her brother, but the other Victors perhaps have a different view on the woman. Cunning, hyper-intelligent, and driven to fully avenge her brother, Willow's knack for finding her way into secrets and information that could be dangerous someday makes her a powerful person to be allies with. And yet, the Capitol and its suspicions threaten to take everything she's worked so hard for. Is the quiet, meek girl from District 7 an act to deceive others or is there any hint of truth left over from her years prior to the game?
    mentor? (Y/N): Yes.
    can we kill them off?: Sure!
    do you want them in the quarter quell?: Yes!
    
    

    
    
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    water cannot wash away the blood that stains your skin.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    you can't keep running.

    
    

    I'm not running.

    
    

    one day you will have to pay what you owe. pay for your debt.

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    dark brown
    
    

    eyes:

    dark brown. her face doesn't tell what she's feeling but her eyes do-- and they're full of grief.
    
    

    height:

    5'5
    
    

    body mods:

    pierced ears.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    Strong legs and strong arms, built from years of climbing. Scars litter her body from climbing and from the games. None visible, however.
    
    

    face claim:

    Kelsey Chow
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    likes:

    Winter. Redwood trees. Fresh snow. Sun rise. Foraging for berries and fruits in the forest. Observing. Silence.
    
    

    dislikes:

    Open spaces. Loud noises. Interviews. Large bodies of water. Careers.
    
    
    

    Virtues:

    Optimistic. Determined. Attentive. Patient. Clever. Intelligent.
    
    
    

    Vices:

    Stubborn. Distant. Deceptive. Paranoid. Distrusting. Violent.
    
    
    

    Weaknesses:

    Water/Swimming. Hunting. Allies.
    
    

    ambitions:

    To avenge her brother. To protect her family. To fuck up the Capitol eventually?
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    one more hour by tame impala
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Born to the mountains, and raised by the trees, Willow Adler was cradled by the cold of her home. The only frigidness the child knew, however, came from the environment she was raised in. Though the youngest of the Adler children, the hearth of the family kept them warm in the long winters, made nights of hunger manageable, and cultivated a world that was bearable to live in, even despite the cruelties and the hardships most faced.
    
    
    At age seven, Willow began accompanying her mother to the forests. While her father and brothers worked in the forest, the work of a lumberjack was difficult, strenuous and dangerous, especially for a young child. While trained workers could manage the risk adequately and reduce the danger, an eager and excitable little kid frolicking about in the world of axes and falling trees sounded reasonably injudicious. Holly held a different occupation, away from the logging and felling of trees, deep in the woods, high above the forest floors, tending to the health of the trees. Her job was crucial to the success of the harvest, of course. Ensuring trees were healthy, non-diseased, and strong guaranteed a healthy and plentiful yield for years in the future.
    
    Willow clung to the memory of her first time looking over the treetops. She was impossibly high. So high she swore she could touch the clouds. That the sky was only inches from her fingertips, calling out to her to make contact. The forest was endless, miles and miles of redwoods, cedars, firs and a million other trees. She could see the mountains, in all their glory, covered in a white and painting the blue sky with magnificence. Willow knew humans couldn’t fly, but lingering in the tops of those endless tall trees felt as close as she could get to soaring above everything.
    
    It took only a few months for Willow to learn the ropes– literally. Little hands went to work practicing knots after dinner, until the setting light of dusk made it impossible to see. She worked in twilight, sightlessly memorizing the feel of a knot, dedicating it to her memory until her body begged her to rest. Climbing came naturally to the child, the thick ropes twisted around the trunk of the tree fitting into small hands as she ascended a few inches. Inches turned to feet, and before long, Willow began working alongside her mother, apprenticing and learning the craft as meticulously as she could. Before long, Willow began working full time in the forests, just as her father and brothers did.
    
    The forest was impossibly quiet, only filled with the soft noises of wildlife and the muted clamoring of climbers as they completed their daily tasks. Even in the cold, dead of winter, Willow reveled each day of work.
    
    Though things seemed peaceful for the Adler family, the boys were aging, and with age came the risk of becoming a tribute. Willow’s disconnect from the Games was slowly ceasing, as she crept closer and closer to reaping age. Still, her mind settled in the Forest. While there was also the dread that one of her brothers might be reaped, the Adler family avoided the tragedy of the Games for several years, as they continued to work. Willow’s father insisted that she begin practicing woodcutting, as perhaps one day she would rather join him, and Cedar, should she get bored of climbing trees all day. She doubted it would happen, but enjoyed the time spent with her father, learning to hone her skills on the unique tool. Though she did not possess the years of knowledge her brothers did, her intuitive nature aided her in becoming adequate with an axe. Though, Willow had never been a fan of desecrating trees for the Capitol.
    
    With each passing year, one Adler came closer to escaping the Hunger Games, while Willow crept closer.. All the Adler children were eligible for the Games that year, except her– all her brothers stood in anticipation, clustered with their peers and their neighbors, as they anxiously awaited the dreaded reading of names. Willow didn’t have much to worry about. Her brother hadn't been called in years prior… they didn’t take extra ration cards… there was no reason for an Adler to be called…
    
    “And the male tribute for District 7 will be…Finley Adler.”
    
    Finley Adler.
    
    Finley Adler.
    
    It wasn’t possible. Something must have been a mistake. Finley was only 15, his name was only supposed to be in four times. So how was it possible that, out of the hundreds of children that showed up for the reaping, he was called?
    
    That year, for the 60th Hunger Games, Finley Adler died just hours after the game began. Killed by careers. One of the first handful of kids slaughtered in the arena. He was a bright boy, kind and generous and always smiling. He would never be a killer, but to have his life taken… so easily… To swiftly… So cruelly?
    
    For weeks, Willow spent her days in the Forest, returning home only for food every couple of days. It wasn’t like she could eat anyways. Instead, she spent her nights in the top of an old Redwood, where she and Finley had managed to rig a hammock in the high branches. Willow wondered if running away could free her from the grief that came along with living in Panem. Escaping with her family to live in the tops of trees and to forage and sing and be happy… But it was only the fantasy of a hurt and grieving child.
    
    In the following year, Willow withdrew from many of those she called friends. She spent more time in the forest, working day in and day out. And each year reaping she prayed her brothers would escape the cruelties of the Games. Cedar was free, Ferric was next… Thankfully, the Adler children avoided being reaped for years. But their fate was not sealed, nor was it protected. Not until each child made it through their 18th birthday unscathed by the cruelties of the Hunger Games and the Capitol’s punishment.
    
    And then came the 67th Annual Hunger Games. The youngest Adler, Creek, was born in the hot summer months, days before Willow’s final reaping. Days before Willow was sent to the Capitol to fight. To survive.
    
    Willow wasn’t a fighter. Finley, at least, had been superb with axe’s. Willow was only a novice… Her chances of survival were slim, but her charm managed to woo the Capitol and acquire their favor. Kind and gentle and smiling… The sweet, innocent girl from District 7 who would likely be killed in the bloodbath.
    
    But something inside Willow had ignited. When she promised Caesar Flickerman she would avenge her brother, it was not a simple tactic to woo the Capitol– it was a promise to fight her way out of the Hunger Games so she could tear down the very people that forced both her and her brother to fight against other children. Willow couldn’t leave her family to grieve another child– her fate would not be the same as her brother’s. She would ensure that by any means possible.
    
    Though Willow would never admit this, if the Arena she fought in had been any different, she wouldn’t have survived. But the tall trees, rough, snowy terrain… It was everything she was adapted for. Out surviving those that wasted energy on slaughtering others seemed to be as good a plan as any for the girl. In the heat of the moment, she’d scrambled out to grab any supplies. A tent. Blankets. Food. A rope. Anything to help her survive out in the cold. In her fervor to grab anything, Willow came face to face with death for the first time in her life.
    
    A blade slid across her skin, cutting the skin open. Tearing her eyes up from the bag, it was a career– A District 1 girl who’d had it out for Willow ever since they’d arrived in the Capitol. The fresh wound wept but adrenaline kept her going. Claiming her bag, of which she’d now shed blood over, Willow retreated into the mountainous terrain, deep into the sequoia forests. Only a mad man would try and climb the giants, which seemed impossibly huge, like they stretched forever into the sky. One could fall and plummet to their doom… It would be difficult to come down for someone that did not grow up like Willow had.
    
    Outlast. That was the goal. And outlast she did.
    
    Over days, with the few supplies Willow managed to gather before she began her climb up the giant with nothing more than a bloodied knife, a rope, and a small axe she retrieved from a body of a boy she couldn’t recognize because of how mutilated he was, Willow stayed atop the tree, cold, starving, but not dead. Canons sounded throughout the cold nights as she struggled to stay awake and alive. Thankfully, melted snow made for a great source of water.
    
    She would outlast. She would survive for Finley. For her family. She would keep her hands clean of blood and her conscience clear of murder.
    
    The tributes were dwindling, but not quickly enough. While the elements were abusing the tributes, sponsors provided matches and blankets to those in need Willow knew she couldn’t win by waiting for everyone else to die. A half of the tributes were left in the Games, weak from hunger, frozen half to death, and desperate for some sort of comfort, Willow began her descent down the grand Sequoia which sheltered her so well. Half frozen fingers cried out with each movement. Despite the gloves she’d been providing, the cold was biting. It chilled her to her bone. Ice collected on the ends of her hair, eyelashes covered with snow.
    
    She needed a fire. She needed actual water… A blanket… She would die from the elements if she didn’t figure something out soon. When her feet hit the snowy ground, Willow collapsed, face hitting the snow and vision going blurry. Her body hurt, her lungs burned, her body was desperate for some sort of relief. As Willow mustered the courage to roll on her back, the sight of the falling capsule kept her fighting. A gift. A sponsor wanted her to stay alive. Hot soup revived some of her energy, inspiring her to trek to the top of the mountain where the cornucopia was. Maybe she would find matches, a blanket, something to keep her alive.
    
    What she found instead was an ambush.
    
    Her fellow tribute, a sweet and innocent boy barely 13 years old, coming at her from behind with a small knife, slashing her coat open and barely missing her torso. “Gareth!” Willow cried as she fell to her back, eyes wide at the sudden attack. “What the hell?!” If anything, they’d given each other a silent oath to protect each other. But Gareth was thirsty for blood. “I’m going to win.” He growled out, slowly approaching the girl with a bloody knife in his hand. “So just die already!”
    
    With that, he pounced, jumping towards Willow only for the girl to roll away, breathless and horrified. “You don’t have to do this!” She exclaimed, looking for anything to protect herself. He’d knocked her axe out of her hand and she was left with nothing to defend herself. “Please, Gareth. Just.. Think about this!” But he was only thinking about killing her. Another swing. He’d knocked loose something from his pack. An ice pick. In her desperation for retrieving the small tool, Gareth had jumped on top of her as she wrapped her hand around the pick, pulling back and screaming in pain as he pierced her left hand with the knife with no mercy. “You know… I’m going to enjoy killing you. I want them to see. That I am the one that deserved their attention. Their applause. Not you!” He pulled the knife from her hand, the wound weeping bright red onto the pure snow. Well, she was down one hand…
    
    Without thinking, her instinct of survival overtook her empathy for the boy and without thinking, she drove the ice pick through his eye, driving it as far as she could until Gareth’s screams were silenced and his body went limp over her. She smeared the wet blood from her face, looking at the lifeless boy in horror. He was just a kid. A kid she’d murdered. Her hand hurt and she knew if she didn’t patch it up soon, she’d bleed out.
    
    Taking her time to collect Gareth’s supplies, she stole his jacket, his weapons, his matches and ripped off the fabric of his pant leg to make for a makeshift bandage.
    
    The end of her Games went by in a blurry haze. Willow remembered lots of blood. Her gloves were soaked in the blood of her fellow tributes as she used axe, knife, and ice pick to end their lives. She’d killed many, more than she wanted, sated the Capitol’s hunger for blood. Tainted her own innocence in a matter of days.
    
    Willow watched in anticipation from the edge of the Forest, the District 10 tribute approached, but it was too late… Violet had taken another victim. A knife through the chest. Blood spilled onto the white snow in the center of the arena. All that was left was Willow who’s kill count… she couldn’t remember how many lives she’d taken And Violet, a career from District 1, who had sliced her during the bloodbath.
    
    Approaching with silent footsteps that soon turned to running, she dashed towards Violet who was reeling for weapons. Throwing the axe as hard as she could, the thick blade met its target, now Deep in Violet’s abdomen. Still, despite the blood, Violet was still kicking. All that Willow had left was her knife and the desperation of survival. Stab after stab Willow went, plunging her blade into Violet until there was no motion left. Though Willow managed to escape the Hunger Games without many lives on her hand, the brutality she’d shown against Violet and the other tributes thrilled the Capitol. She was deadly. She was victorious. She was their precious Victor.
    
    The kind and innocent Willow Alder was a killer lying in wait.
    
    With a hand now scarred and scorned from the games and a girl reeling from becoming the murder, she was quick to become a fan favorite inside the Capitol. Parties upon parties, requests for private chats and dinners. All done with the threat of her family being killed if she refused. And so Willow continued on with a smile, exhibiting the traits of a liar, a deceiver, but gaining crucial information on hundreds of influential Capitolites. She was a woman wanted for her looks, but a deadly force fueled by secrets and distrust. Her necessity to protect her family was the only thing keeping her performing for the Capitol and her desperation for revenge against the Gamemakers and Capitol kept her fighting for change. For revolution.
    
    
    

    
    
    

    so I’ve been told I’m heavy to hold

    
    
    
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    personality type - infp-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    I will never be your lap dog.

    
    
    

    
    

    Persona

    
    

    Quiet, charming, and seemingly meek, Willow certainly appeals to the Capitol's need for gentle souls turned violent. Prior to her games, she appeared gentle, docile and apparently harmless but the others quickly learned how lethal she was. Clever and sharp as a knife, Willow's mind and her ability to quickly problem solve provided her many benefits in the arena. She is attentive and despite her silence, she is always paying attention to everything, soaking in every morsel of information spoken in quiet whispers or low chatters. Secrets fuel her. She is greatly patient and will see any plan out over extended period of times if it's what it takes. She is stubborn as hell, determined to enact her vengeance against the Capitol. To others, she can appear warm and friendly, but the truth is none known the true Willow. Perhaps some would call her two-faced, a liar, a deceiver, but it is simply survival to the victor. She will play coy and sweet until someone tries to cross her.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[a z u l a]

Danika Stoneman - District 2

# victor of the 66th games

# marie avgeropoulus

♡coded by uxie♡

"what kind of heartache turned me into stone?"

DANIKA STONEMAN

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  warning!

  
  

  Are you tormented by memories? Burdened by guilt?
  
  How is it that you go about defining good and evil?
  
  (tw: death, trauma, hunger games gore)

  
  
  

  
  

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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Danika Stoneman
    

    nickname:

    Dani
    

    Age:

    24
    

    gender:

    Female
    

    sexuality:

    Bisexual
    

    race:

    White
    

    residence:

    District 2
    

    role:

    Victor
    

    allegiance:

    Rebel
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    just because you carry it well doesn't mean it isn't heavy.

    
    
    

    post games evaluation: 7.25.2166

    
    "Do you blame yourself"
    "What?"
    "Well it's quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a kind of...guilt."
    "What situation?"
    "Winning the Games."
    "What do you mean I won?"
    ".....you don't remember?"
    "No-where's my brother?"
    "You killed him, to win the games."
    "What? I would-I would never hurt Markus."
    "It will be easier for me to show you."
    
    A monitor in the corner flickered to life, a strange sense of deja vu washing over Danika as she watched herself on the tv. three figures stood, blood flowing over sandy ruins until only two were left. a smile graced Danika's lips for the first time in days, relief washing over her as only the district 2 tributes were left on the field. unbeknownst to her, her brother's eyes flashed with disdain, his fists curling in determination before he turned on his little sister, shock blanching her features as she leapt away from the edge of his knife.
    
    bile rose in her throat as she watched, knowing what would happen next, still hoping it might turn out differently. but there he was, the older brother she had always looked up to viciously stabbing her like his life depended on it. because it did.
    
    her ears couldn't register the sounds coming through the screen, but her mind remembered. the begging, the pleading, the screaming as she had fought her brother off, unable to understand why he was attacking her. even now, in this weird out of body experience, she couldn't comprehend. markus would never hurt her, and she would never hurt him.
    
    but there was the image of her, fumbling for a brick from the ruins and knocking the sword out of his hands, clay meeting skull as she swung in a state of pure panic. brain matter sprayed across her face and danika puked in time with her visage on screen, in the same deep pit of distress she had been in that horrible moment.
    
    screaming ricocheted through the room, televised meeting real as danika's lungs ached for the breath she didn't deserve.
    
    "sedate her once more. we'll try again tomorrow." sudden sleep consumed her, blackness sweeping those awful images from her brain and into the safety net of the abyss where no thoughts, no memories, no feelings could haunt her.
    
    

    
    
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    fear is a prison, but this freedom tastes like ash.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    your presence has been requested at the capital.

    
    

    tell them to go to hell.

    
    

    you skipped the last one. president snow will not tolerate any more absences.

    
    

    ...I'll show up but I won't play nice.

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    chocolate brown, worn long and straight or tied back in several small braids for training.
    
    

    eyes:

    forest green.
    
    

    height:

    5'6
    
    

    body mods:

    earrings.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    scars across her abdomen.
    
    

    face claim:

    Marie Avgeropoulos.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    year won:

    the 66th games.
    
    

    age won:

    16.
    
    

    weapons:

    twin blades, throwing knives, bricks.
    
    

    skills:

    masonry, brute strength, knowledge of weaponry, intensive training.
    
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    "so danika, are you excited to compete?" "of course, it's an honor to represent district 2 in the 66th hunger games. i've been preparing for this moment my whole life." "and how do you feel about being here with your brother?" "i couldn't ask for a better partner. markus has my back and i have his." "well, we wish you the best of luck."
    
    

    what was their game like:

    danika's arena was modeled after Incan ruins, sweltering heat and a collapsed city for shelter. danika won the games by entering with her older brother and starting a strong alliance with him and district 1, the four of them easily taking on the other tributes and earning them many sponsors. in the end, it was only danika and markus left. markus turned on her, and in a moment of pure panic danika killed him in self-defense. she is ashamed of this and wishes she hadn't won, she regrets ever volunteering for the games. the capitol loves her for her viciousness, dubbing her "the girl who killed her own brother for victory".
    
    

    mentor:

    yes.
    
    

    reputation:

    before her games, danika won over the public by being an enthusiastic career tribute who entered with her older brother, a perfect story for how dedicated district 2 is to the games and the capital. after the games, danika was labeled "the girl who killed her own brother for victory" and was praised and applauded by the capital, but she wanted nothing to do with it and even went so far as having a semi-public meltdown. she hides from the capital as much as she can but they love to drag her to guest appearances and show her off like a prize pony.
    
    

    can we kill them off:

    maybe.
    
    

    quarter quell?:

    yes.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    scissorhands by maggie lindemann
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Participating in the Hunger Games was a lifelong dream of Danika's, something her parents had talked about her doing since she was old enough to run. They spoke of what a privilege the games were, that the Capital was forgiving enough to let one lucky winner become a Capital citizen and bathe in all the riches and glory their heart could desire. The indoctrination was so strong in District 2 that parents would lead their children like lambs to slaughter.
    
    Dreams of wealth and fame drove her parents to put both of their children into the District 2 Academy for tributes, hoping for better chances of raising a victor. Markus and Danika were dedicated students, desperate to earn their parents' praises and bring pride to the Stoneman family name. The games were wrapped up in a pretty bow and called an opportunity, not a death sentence.
    
    The Stoneman siblings clawed their way to the top of their class, excelling in all of their studies and trials with iron wills. It was no surprise when Markus volunteered for the 66th Hunger Games, as it was his last year to win at 17.
    
    What did come as a surprise was Danika volunteering for the same year instead of waiting until the next one, not wanting to be seperated from her older brother, not fully understanding the consequences of her actions. For she had been taught that the games were noble, an honorable cause to dedicate oneself to, and what better chance was there for the Stoneman family to claim a victor than sending both of their children in together?
    
    During their goodbyes, their mother told Danika to help her brother win no matter the cost, and in turn told Markus to win no matter what it took. Danika didn't find the difference in her mother's message strange until reflecting after the games. A wide-eyed girl entered the Capital, in awe of the glitz and glamour, unaware of the horrors that awaited her.
    
    The Stoneman's won the hearts of the citizens, the story of two siblings so dedicated to their Capital and the tradition of the games that they volunteered together. As most games went, District 1 and 2 made an alliance before the games began, deadly sharks in a pool of helpless minnows. Even with these assurances, Danika became nervous the closer the day came, aware that it would be almost impossible for both of them to make it to the very end.
    
    The four career tributes rushed for the Cornucopia, and Danika tainted her hands red with innocent blood for the first time in her life. Eight tributes died at the Cornucopia, all killed by the skilled hands of District 1 and 2. It was harder than Danika thought it would be, but Markus praised her for a job well done and the tightness in her chest began to ease.
    
    With their skills from the academy, the masonry they'd picked up in their district, their alliance with district 1, and their many sponsors, the Stoneman's found the games easy to navigate. Markus and Danika would make it to the very end as long as they had each other, because what was thicker than blood?
    
    Despite the harshness that the games threw at them, a brave attempt from district 4 that left Markus limping and a mutt chase that took out the female from district 1, Danika found strength in her brother's bravery and determination to win. Even as she cried herself to sleep at night, wondering why the districts had to prove their loyalty in this endless bloodshed, the mere presence of her brother's warm body next to hers reminded her that they were here for a reason.
    
    At the very end, it was them versus the District 1 boy they had allied themselves with. Knots tangled Danika's stomach as they fought him, someone who had helped them make it this far, but it was a dog eat dog world in the arena after all. The pain and suffering and blood, so much blood that had lead them here had been worth it as only the District 2 tributes stood atop that hill.
    
    In all her adolescent hope, Danika believed that they would let both of them walk out of there alive. Markus knew better, had prepared himself since the reaping for a moment he hoped wouldn't come. The briefest glimmer of hope was crushed from Danika's eyes as her brother swung his sword towards her, missing her neck by mere inches as she scrambled away from him, unable to process what was happening.
    
    Stop, please, no! None of those desperate pleas were enough to stop the onslaught of her brother's attacks, slicing through her abdomen as she screamed, tears drenching her bloodied face as she ran in a pitiful attempt to save herself. Years of training kicked in as blade tore her skin again, fingers grasping until they found hardened clay, striking the sword out of her brother's hands, brick meeting skin as she swung wildly into his skull.
    
    The gamemakers let her scream herself into exhaustion, only pulling her from the arena when she'd passed out from shock. Even after her physical wounds had healed, the medics kept her sedated for days at a time, unable to control her fits of violent PTSD. Eventually, Danika was able to stay awake, though she begged for them to sedate her, to let her sleep the memories away.
    
    Her mentor had to coach her out of the hospital room, reminding her that she owed her life to the sponsors that helped her survive and the least she could do was show her face in the Capital as a victor. Danika refused, until President Snow called her into his office and threatened to kill her remaining family unless she performed her obligatory show pony duties.
    
    The champagne that had been sweet before the game now tasted like blood, the rose-colored glasses that had been held over her eyes her whole life were violently ripped away, leaving her reeling in a sea of despair so endless she wanted to drown. One day of festivities turned into a week, and by the end Danika had collapsed into a panic attack that left her threatening sponsors with the broken shards of a champagne flute.
    
    Danika was allowed to return to her district as long as she promised to behave, forced to dedicate the rest of her life to teaching at the District 2 Academy as a mentor for future tributes. children who were blinded by their love for panem, children who would be thrown into the worst events of their life with the promise of glory dangled over their heads, children just like her.
    
    the threat snow touted over her head kept her in line, made her run like a well-trained dog when she was asked for in the capital. beckoned for show, flaunted like a tamed tiger for the entertainment of those who enjoyed the torture of young children. the people who had turned her brother against her, who had put that brick in her hand and drove it through her own blood's skull.
    
    danika hated them. she imagined all the ways she could kill them, made the boring parties pass faster by assessing how many she could run her blade through before the peacekeepers managed to kill her. rage lit her veins as each year she sent two of her academy students to the gallows, sometimes grateful when one managed to return, but never both. there was never a year that july didn't grab her by the throat and drag her down into the worst parts of herself.
    
    the rebellion gave her something to do with all of that hatred, an outlet for the fury that ravaged her mind and soul. a kind of hope that not even the capital could kill. until they killed danika, the rebellion would always live within her, as long as the memories of that horrible day seared her brain she would work to burn the capital to the ground.
    
    

    
    
    

    the girl who killed her own brother for our entertainment

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - isfj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    introverted
    

    
    observant
    

    
    feeling
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    judging
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    isn't all that rage so ugly? and good god, isn't it mine, still?

    
    
    

    
    

    personality

    
    

    Sharp eyes and a blade for a tongue, you wouldn't imagine the wolf before you was once a sheep. As a girl she was a people pleaser, pushing herself to greatness because it was expected of her. Now, a broken shell of a woman too haunted to care much about what others think. Blunt and brash, many see her as a ticking time bomb, dancing on the edge of what President Snow will allow from a victor. Though not out right rebellious, her disdain for the capital is clear, even dressed in precious metals and groomed into a beautiful doll, she never lets them forget the monsters they made her into.
    
    fangs and claws are how she protects herself, unwilling to let anyone even remotely close to her, because not even blood can be trusted in panem. still, softness remains in a hardened heart, in the way she protects her students to the best of her ability and the gentleness she uses when molding clay for her projects outside of the academy.
    
    perhaps in another life she could've been soft, but the games have turned her into a hollow shell of the hopeful girl she used to be.
    
    

    likes:

    the sun on her face, solitude, boxing, her students, molding clay.
    
    

    dislikes:

    the games, loud noises, crowds, the capital, restrictive clothing, being told what to do.
    
    

    strengths:

    driven, passionate, thoughtful, determined, strong willed.
    
    

    weaknesses:

    stubborn, unstable, reckless, emotional.
    
    

    fears:

    She is afraid of most animals, as most of the ones she encountered where deadly inside of the arena. she is afraid of never making a difference to better the world, as she sees it as the only way to make up for taking her brother's life.
    
    

    ambitions:

    to end the hunger games. to tear down the capital and the institutions it built. to save her students.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[a z u l a]

Levi Bell - District 8

# victor of the 55th games

# sebastian stan

♡coded by uxie♡

"if you can't beat them, join 'em."

LEVI BELL

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  "Do you miss it?"
  "Miss what?"
  "Your soul."
  "No. I've forgotten I ever had one in the first place."
  
  (tw: death, trauma, hunger games gore)

  
  
  

  
  

  continue

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Levi Bell
    

    nickname:

    the weaver.
    

    Age:

    36
    

    gender:

    Male
    

    sexuality:

    Pansexual
    

    race:

    White
    

    residence:

    District 8
    

    role:

    Victor
    

    allegiance:

    Loyalist
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    a golden cage is still just a cage.

    
    
    

    post games evaluation: 7.31.2156

    
    “How do you feel Levi?”
    “I feel fine. Good, even. These Capitol medicines are like magic.”
    “I’m glad to hear that. Unfortunately, the amputation and robotic replacement is permanent.”
    A shrug, lighter than the burden he had to carry.
    “A minor cost of winning.”
    “You’ll start physical therapy tomorrow. The mechanics of your arm should be rather simple to learn, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly.”
    "I look forward to starting. Thank you for all your help."
    "And how do you feel? I mean, really feel?"
    "Like I said, I'm good. I survived didn't I?"
    "Yes, you did. And you did a very good job of it."
    "Winning was the only option. I did what it took to become a victor."
    "You don't feel any...complicated feelings about what it takes to win?"
    "No. All that matters is that I won, and now I get to enjoy the privilege of being a Capitol citizen."
    "Well, I'm glad to hear that. You're going to fit right in here."
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    don’t bite the hand that feeds you.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    are you ever going to come back home?

    
    

    no.

    
    

    we miss you here. you've changed since you won.

    
    

    i didn't change. i became who i was always supposed to be. district 8 only ever held me back.

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    a light chestnut brown, always slicked back perfectly but sometimes grown out longer than others
    
    

    eyes:

    cyan blue.
    
    

    height:

    5’11
    
    

    body mods:

    a mechanical arm to replace the amputation.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    his replacement arm.
    
    

    face claim:

    Sebastian Stan.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    year won:

    the 56th games.
    
    

    age won:

    17.
    
    

    weapons:

    traps, knives.
    
    

    skills:

    nimble fingers from sewing, strategy, cunning, manipulation.
    
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    "it must be jarring coming from working in a factory to the lights and buzz of the capital. how do you like the capital so far, levi?” “i love it. it’s a beautiful city, even better than i had imagined.” “well, we’re glad to have you. it’s nice to see someone so eager to be here.” “i’ve always dreamed of visiting the capital, it’s the reason why i volunteered.” “is that so? it’s rare to get a volunteer from district 8, tell us more about your decision.” “i wanted to compete in this long standing tradition, if only for a chance to live in this lovely city.” “well, there you have it folks! a true rags to riches story this could be. we hope to see you strolling the streets of the capitol when this is all over.”
    
    

    what was their game like:

    the 56th games were an urban industrial maze of abandoned warehouses, meaning plenty of shelter and places to hide, but very little food and water save for the near constant rain in the arena. the warehouses were crawling with mutated bats and rats that came out to feast upon the tributes at night while they were sleeping. levi won based on strategy and size, building traps and tricking the other tributes into alliances and then backstabbing them. he is extremely proud of winning and is glad he volunteered for the games.
    
    

    mentor:

    only when he’s forced to.
    
    

    reputation:

    before the games began, levi was an underdog. no one expected much from him, and so when he surprised the capital with his wits and quick thinking, his good looks only added to their praise. his willingness to be a pliable victor, moving to the whims and wants of the capital, easily made him their golden boy. he was labeled the weaver because of his ability to weave traps and lies in his game.
    
    

    can we kill them off:

    yes.
    
    

    quarter quell?:

    yes.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    golden boy by bryce fox
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    The Hunger Games hadn’t always been appealing to Levi. In fact, he vividly remembers being terrified of them as a child. His twelfth birthday looking over his head like a bounty, watching all the older children line up like cattle to the slaughterhouse.
    
    But childhood was cruel, and so was the rest of the world. The son of a factory worker and a nurse, they teetered on the edge of poor in a district ridden with poverty, even with young levi going to work at the factory as soon as he was old enough. Levi dreamt of becoming a stylist in the capitol, every year when the escort came to pick the children for the Reaping he gazed upon their fashion in awe, wondering why it was that he was dressed in rags and they were decked from head to toe in designer clothing.
    
    the mayor's son was that one who finally educated levi on the reason. they were simply better than him. the workers of district 8 were nowhere near comparable to the richer families of their district, let alone to the capitol citizens. levi took this bullying to heart, a rather sensitive little boy who desperately wanted to fit in.
    
    his home life was no better, a father who was never home and when he was, levi wished he wasn't. Cassius Bell resented his son for ever being born, another mouth to feed in a family that had been doing fine before his birth. There was only so much his mother could do to protect him when she was working overtime to put food on the table, but she always tended to his wounds with a softness that almost made up for the pain. Almost.
    
    As he neared the age of reaping, Levi grew more and more curious about the games. So curious in fact that he approached the victors in their little village, barely lived in and sparse of inhabitants. District 8 was not well known for survivors, but Levi was going to change that.
    
    eleven year old Levi begged the former victors to train him, in case he was ever reaped in the coming years. it was an odd request, not one they had ever been asked before. they weren't a career district, most children hoped and prayed not to be picked and were as good as dead when they were.
    
    one of the former victors, harrington, begrudgingly agreed to train levi in his spare time. levi was a perfect student, always early to lessons and prepared to soak up the information like a sponge. harrington explained that because they were not a career district they could sneak under the radar, but being a male of decent size would put levi on the career's list of threats to exterminate. what they lacked in combat skills they had to make up for in strength of mind, and so levi began to study one of his mother's books on the human body.
    
    his first reaping passed uneventfully, and levi breathed a sigh of relief. still, he trained with harrington when he could, something he looked forward to once a week. on his thirteenth year, the reaping came and went, and levi was happy to continue his training with harrington, watching the games intently for future reference, taking note of what worked well for tributes and what cost lives. levi wasn't picked in his fourteenth year, and he found himself...disappointed.
    
    levi envied the victors, he saw the houses that harrington and the others lived in, how they were different from the rest of the district. regarded as heroes, all of them were better than someone as poor as levi could ever be. unless, of course, he volunteered for the games and won. levi could escape this desolate little nowhere and live a life of luxury in the capitol, could escape his father's beatings for a city full of people who praised him for his strength.
    
    the training sessions with harrington became more of a preparation than a back-up plan, for levi no longer feared being reaped and instead welcomed it. still, he knew it was better to wait until he was older, until he had properly trained enough with harrington to ensure his victory. he studied the human body not to heal, but to learn its weaknesses.
    
    during his final reaping, levi was not picked, but instead volunteered. they boy whose place he'd taken was relieved, but levi hadn't done it for him. his mother was horrified, but levi was certain he saw a burden lift from his father's shoulders that day.
    
    the capitol was everything levi had dreamt of and more, the mere taste of the life he could be living if he won his game set his determination to win into overdrive. levi would rather die in that arena than go back to his miserable life back home, which meant winning was his only option. he wouldn't let this opportunity slip out of his fingers.
    
    Levi's game began the moment he entered the capitol, earning a medium score to not appear as too much of a threat, but not low enough to deter sponsors. he tried his best to wow potential sponsors every chance he got, his interview earning him some favor as he had intended. he approached the careers to strike a deal, he would lead them to his district partner once she ran as long as they offered him protection afterwards. they agreed, and levi knew that they would turn on him the second they killed his partner.
    
    the arena was not too much unlike district 8, though instead of the noise and crowds of full throttle working factories, there was only silence. levi grabbed what he could from the cornucopia in a few seconds, killing the younger boy from 6 with the first thing he could grab (a small knife) to make his escape.
    
    with the small backpack of supplies he'd grabbed, levi found his district partner rather quickly and offered her some of the supplies from his bag as a peace offering to earn her trust. unbeknownst to her, he left a trail of metaphorical bread crumbs in the form of loose thread from his backpack for the careers to follow.
    
    they set up shelter in one of the farther warehouses, hiding up on the second floor where they had a good vantage point of anyone entering. levi set to work building a trap with the machines downstairs while his partner amelia set up their base. just as the sun began to set, levi finished his makeshift contraption and headed back up to the rafters, making sure to barricade the second exit as he did.
    
    several things happened all at once. amelia heard the careers approaching rather loudly as levi noticed something moving above them in the rafters. he'd been unsure of his plan already, but the addition of the mutts only made it that much more unpredictable. Levi and Amelia hid as quietly as they could, unable to see the careers as they entered the warehouse and began searching for them.
    
    the sound of someone climbing the ladder closest to them alerted them of the approaching threat, but two screams rang out before levi could do anything. amelia screamed as a mutated rat bit down on her leg, just as a hoard of bats swooped down on the district 1 tribute as they reached the top of the ladder, sending him falling to his death on the concrete floor below.
    
    levi and amelia jumped out of their hiding spot to evade the rats, the three careers left fighting off the creatures that seemed to come out of nowhere. there was no safe way for the careers to climb up, but the district 8 tributes couldn't stay up there with the rats either. reaching for the chain he'd rigged earlier, levi's trap went into motion. the abandoned factory equipment sputtered and started, the chain reaction only helped by the air flow the bats had triggered, the meat hooks levi had weaved together swinging as he pulled the chain, piercing anything that got to close to them.
    
    the district 1 girl was skewered in the initial stages, unable to see as she covered her face from the bats. in her panic, the district two girl's hair was caught by a hook, and though she managed to escape the hook it knocked her onto the moving conveyor belt, the moving parts of the machine sending her to a gruesome death. this only left the district 2 boy and amelia, who was fending off the rats alongside levi, though her movements were slowed by the first bite she'd received.
    
    taking the chance to escape, levi carefully climbed down the ladder, gripping it tightly to avoid being knocked off by the bats. the district 2 boy ran for him, careful to avoid the trap he'd set into motion, but levi had planned this exact exit route. he sprinted for the door, district 2 right on his heels and throwing knives into his back as he ran, using every bit of breath he had to make it out in time.
    
    with only a few feet to spare, levi shut the factory door behind him, barricading it with his body weight and struggling to hold it closed as the district 2 barreled against it. he held the door for what felt like eternity, listening to the screams of both trapped tributes accompanied by the shrieks of the mutts within. he realized, as he waited for the screaming to stop, that his plan would have failed spectacularly without the mutts.
    
    amelia's screaming ended long before the district 2's, and levi held the door shut long after there was no noise left inside. shaking, he pulled the weapons lodged into his back out and stumbled his way into the next warehouse, thankful to find it empty and climbing into the nearest hiding spot to collapse from exhaustion. levi slept on and off until late into the afternoon, his supplies long forgotten in the rafters of the warehouse he'd escaped. with no source of food, crept out the back exit of his current hiding place to lap up the rain pouring from the sky. it wasn't near enough to keep him alive, but it was better than nothing.
    
    thankfully, he didn't need to worry about food much longer. a sponsor package arrived with food and healing ointment, his bold trap having impressed many sponsors skyrocketing his popularity. with renewed strength from fresh supplies, levi used the last remaining hours of sunlight to come up with a plan.
    
    it seemed that the mutts only came out at night, meaning anyone inside the abandoned buildings would be vulnerable. the only options for cover at night were the fields, and having slept most of the day levi was prepared for a long night. screams began just after night fall, meaning some tributes had been stupid enough to think the mutts were contained to just one building. levi watched silently from the grass, as two tributes ran out of one of the buildings to escape the mutts, only to run right into the pair from district 4.
    
    levi made no moves that night, watching the patterns of the other tributes and trying to calculate who was still alive. less than half remained, the cornucopia and the mutts having taken out a large portion of tributes. his biggest competition now was district 4, the rest would be easy. the sun came up and levi retreated to his shelter, sleeping within one of the machines to stay hidden.
    
    the next week passed much the same, levi staying hidden and watching the remaining few until only 6 remained. levi knew that the district 4 tributes would be hunting him, so he hid in the factory they'd claimed as their base while they were out searching for the others, hiding among the machinery and listening as canons sounded.
    
    district 4 returned completely unaware that levi was waiting for them, knives in hand and ready to strike. what he lacked in strength the element of surprise made up for, years of studying human anatomy coming in handy as he plunged his first knife into the artery of the male tribute. with the male tribute down for the count, levi turned his attention to the female tribute as she swung her sword at him. her long range attacks were a threat to his close range weapons, slicing him with ease, though not anywhere immediately dangerous.
    
    all he needed was one good shot, one flick of the wrist and he could win. levi knew his chances were slim, and so he made a sacrifice most others wouldn't have considered. levi extended his left arm, letting the district 4 girl's blade swing right through it, using the opening to launch his knife into her face, his own anguished cries almost drowning out the final canon.
    
    he smiled, even as he passed out from blood loss. he had won, at the mere cost of his arm.
    
    levi's arm was replaced with a new one, and he emerged from the games much more sound of mind than most. it almost concerned the capitol how happy he was to emerge victorious, not a career but a poor boy who had left the games like nothing had even happened. not even the loss of his arm effected him, too enamoured with the capitol and throwing himself into celebrations to care.
    
    the capitol kept their eye on him, waiting for his inevitable break down. but it never came. levi enjoyed living in panem, even spoke highly of how the games had changed his life for the better. he was their golden boy, their perfect propaganda. as long as he was one of them he was theirs for the taking.
    
    

    
    
    

    golden child, lion boy; tell me what it's like to conquer.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - estp-a

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    observant
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    the devil is and always will be a gentleman

    
    
    

    
    

    personality

    
    

    above all things, levi is selfish. self-preservation is his strongest instinct, willing to backstab or sweet talk whoever can get him what he needs. there is no price too great for his own safety and comfort, nothing he won't do to ensure his own posterity.
    
    a man of many masks and many talents, levi is a pro at catching flies with honey. he knows exactly what to say to the capitol to get what he wants, witty enough to be interesting but never stupid enough to show his true intellect. no one truly knows levi bell, not even himself.
    
    he is a wild animal backed into a corner, willing to destroy anything that threatens his survival.
    
    

    likes:

    fashion, money, fine wine, good food, parties, social settings, gambling.
    
    

    dislikes:

    rain, his past, the districts, those that complain about the games, bad taste in clothing, being restricted.
    
    

    strengths:

    cunning, a good actor, strategic, independent, resourceful.
    
    

    weaknesses:

    untrusting, backstabbing, selfish, gluttonous.
    
    

    fears:

    He fears losing the victory he's earned, the soft, indulgent life he's been given since winning the games. he would rather die than go back to his life of poverty in district 8.
    
    

    ambitions:

    to stay alive and stay rich. to keep the capitol alive and well to support him. to stay on the capitol's good side.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[mi casa]

lorelei barlowe-district 11

# 74th hunger games

# madison bailey

♡coded by uxie♡

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm just a kid.

LORELEI BARLOWE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  ”Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.”
  
  “Do you truly believe that?”
  
  “I do.”

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    lorelei barlowe
    

    age:

    fifteen turning sixteen in the game
    

    dob:

    july 10th
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    female
    

    sexuality:

    bisexual
    

    residence:

    district 11
    

    race:

    mixed race (half black, half colombian)
    

    allegiance:

    rebel
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    There is no winning with the games. Even if you do everything right you still lose in the end.

    
    
    

    victor file: barlowe, l

    
    game won: 74th hunger games
    age: 14 years old
    weapons: a long double sided spear as well as anything else she can get her hands on that can be of use.
    skills: extremely talented at finding hiding places and staying hidden, very light and quick on her feet; she may not be the strongest but she can out run almost anyone, an absolute climbing monster, imitating bird noises and whistles.
    pre-game interview questions:
    what their game was like: a massive rainforest
    reputation: lorelei came into her game as one of the youngest tributes there, fresh faced, doe eyed, and clearly holding the short end of the stick compared to some of the others there. her cute face and timid, but sweet personality won over the capital and before anyone knew it she was all almost anyone could seem to talk about. the capital citizens adored her, though lorelei couldn’t explain why. she never saw herself as someone special but apparently that didn’t matter to them.
    mentor?: no. she would have been had she not been reaped for the 75th games.
    can we kill them off?: no.
    do you want them in the quarter quell?: absolutely yes!
    
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    how can I go on living when every day feels like I’m one wrong mistake from being killed

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    You’re presence has been requested again in the capital.

    
    

    Really so soon? It feels like I’m there more than I’m home.

    
    

    Well capital citizens adore you.

    
    

    I don’t know why, I’ve done nothing special to make them feel that way about me.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5’3
    
    

    physique:

    Lorelei has a small, skinny frame with hardly any muscles like most children in her district due to being the second poorest district in panem. After winning her game she’s gained more weight but not much due to the negative feelings she has towards the food and money provided by the capital.
    
    

    eyes:

    Dark brown like that of an oak tree.
    
    

    hair:

    Long chocolate brown, wavy hair that she normally wears down or in a ponytail when she trains.
    
    

    body modifications:

    Normal ear piercings.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    A large ugly scar on her left leg.
    
    

    face claim:

    Madison Bailey.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    year won:

    The 74th games.
    
    

    age won:

    14 years old.
    
    

    weapons:

    a long double sided spear as well as anything else she can get her hands on that can be of use.
    
    

    skills:

    extremely talented at finding hiding places and staying hidden, very light and quick on her feet; she may not be the strongest but she can out run almost anyone, climbing, imitating bird noises and whistles.
    
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    “Isn’t she just adorable folks?! Now Lorelei, what are your strengths?” ”I’m..I’m really good at hiding, climbing trees, and finding food.” “Ah so it sounds like you’ll be taking the more pacifist route for the games. So tell me, you’re awfully young, do you think that you have what it takes to win the games this year?”
    ”Well, I might not be the strongest but I am really fast and if they can’t find and catch me than they can’t kill me.”
    ”That‘s a solid plan you got there, and it might just work out. That’s all from district 11 tonight folks! Lorelei we all wish you the best of luck.”
    
    

    what was their game like:

    a massive rainforest,
    
    

    mentor:

    No. She would have been had she not been reaped again for the quarter quell.
    
    

    reputation:

    lorelei came into her game as one of the youngest tributes there, fresh faced, doe eyed, and clearly holding the short end of the stick compared to some of the others there. her cute face and timid, but sweet personality won over the capital and before anyone knew it she was all almost anyone could seem to talk about. the capital citizens adored her, though lorelei couldn’t explain why. she never saw herself as someone special but apparently that didn’t matter to them.
    
    

    can we kill them off:

    No.
    
    

    quarter quell?:

    Yes.
    
    
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    heavy by peach prc
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    
    

    
    
    

    so I’ve been told I’m heavy to hold

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - entp-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Don't wanna love me 'cause it feels too risky.

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[mi casa]

place holder for possible other victor

 

[arthur morgan.]

A KING WITH A BROKEN CROWN

The Slaughterhouse

of the 50th hunger games

♡coded by uxie♡

𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟
name: winnipeg rosebloom
nickname: rose, rosebloom, winnie.
age: 40 years old
gender: dmab, genderfluid for the most part. doesn’t really get his own feelings about it, but is just here for the most part.
sexuality: bisexual
race: white (Italian)
residence: lived in the victors village of district 6, but hated being there so he moved to the capitol permanently.
role: victor of the 58th hunger games
aliases: the king of beasts, the slaughterhouse, the devil of district 6, the drug mule.
allegiance: capitol, but recent events have torn holes into it.

𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘
hair: dark brown
eyes: hazel green
height: 6’4
body mods: the only tattoo he has is a large back piece of a three headed horse, one that looks sad, one that is angry and one that is indifferent. completely colored in red and gold accents, the background could be described as a dystopian with a sliver of hope.
distinguishing features: exclusively wears gold jewelry, also seems to have four gold crowns on his canine teeth which have been sharpened to give a more menacing appearance. rosebloom has sunken eyes and slight sharp cheekbones, but it’s mostly from how sunken in those dead eyes are.
face claim: matteo martari

PERSONA
personality:
likes: dogs, lemon poppyseed muffins, wine, pain killers,
dislikes: lavender, smelling salts,
strengths:
weaknesses:
fears: dying before he can make amends with his family, being burned alive
ambitions: at this point in his life, rosebloom doesn’t have any ambitions. he doesn’t care enough to have any, often thinking he’s gonna die sooner then later anyway so what would be the point— but in all actuality, rosebloom has a burning fire at helping other victors and tributes in aiding them in life, to maybe keep them from ending up like him in a way… but he’d never admit to any of that.

𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘
game won: 50th
age: 15
weapons: ax, scalpel chain, drowning, train tracks, bare hands and with sheer desperation his teeth
skills: determination, water filtration, hand to hand combat, survival 101 things (building shelter, fire starting, etc.), charisma,
what their game was like: dark and humid, the 50th games were placed deep within a sewer like system— a had been underground train station that got washed out. it was the first of its kind, stuffed to the brim with traps and mutations. in order for the sewers to hold 48 tributes, the system was made to be huge— think of a new york train station, but only bigger. it was like some sort of maze, as if there was never an end, but you had to be careful. if you made a wrong turn you would find yourself taking a hard fall down into a bed of spikes or even a pool of train fuel.

for this game they created two cornucopia’s, one where the bloodbath began and another that you had to find— only 6 tributes were able to find it, rosebloom being one of them. if you were lucky enough to find it you would be blessed to find food and clean water, something that was extremely hard to find as find (a flaw that the game makers had made, how it went unnoticed was never clear.) so many tributes were starved throughout the game, but only two ever died of dehydration and or starvation.

most of the time the sewers would be dead silent, as it was often hard to find other tributes with how many different paths one could take— but if you were to make a loud sound, those near would for sure find you and pick you off easily. the sewer system was always covered in about an inch or two of water, some having more depending on where you ended up so it was important for tributes to find somewhere dry— trench foot is an awful thing. if you were lucky you’d find an abounded train to reside in, an advantage if your able to defend it well enough as the trains were another rare find. they didn’t run, but they were still sturdy.

the creatures that lurked deep within the sewers were monstrous, but most of them were blind which acted as a disadvantage. there were mutated sewer rats, about as tall as an ostrich and as powerful as a water buffalo. their tails were strong enough to grab you and throw you around like a rag doll, crushing your skull against the brick walls.
how did they win? trust no one, it’s what kept him from feeling anything when he killed the other tributes. faking alliances with strong competitors, learning their weaknesses and one by one ending their life. as sick as it might have been, making himself desirable to sponsors in order to obtain gifts and advantage— its a tv show to them, the more they favor you the more likely you are to get something in return. sheer determination, a lack of that would have killed him long ago— being able to do the unthinkable was the fine line of ice and death.
regret: killing his best friend, one of his biggest regrets. he loved her, but not enough to sacrifice himself— a result that ended lifelong bonds he had at home, outcasting him from everyone he knew. a promise he broke, keeping her safe but how could they expect him to keep such a promise? was he to end his life just for the safety of another, who was there to protect him huh? there is no winners in this world and rosebloom knew that far to well— but they didn’t and so they closed their heart to him and left him with nothing but his own broken mind and soon pill addiction.
are they proud of winning: at the time, yes and a few years after that. but as the years went on and the heavy abuse form the capital, the duller his existence became.
did they have sponsors: not at first, but the more kills he got and more it seemed like he would win they began to filter through.
mento? At one point in their life they did, rosebloom taught a handful of tributes throughout his years as a victor and because of him there have been more victors in district 6 then there has ever been. but he’s forced himself into retirement
reputation: a blinding fire, a heat that would not go out. a tumbling boulder that showed no signs of slowing down, rosebloom is someone you don’t want to face head on. those within his game felt a strike of fear when they saw his bloody hammer, the arrogant smirk that plastered his face when he struck the final blow. he was the beast of the 50th hunger games, he had too. the quarter quell was a eat or be eaten world and rosebloom was determined to make it out alive, at any cost— which made him even more deadly. a blood soaked hound who was given his crown— his name still invokes a certain type of fear in peoples hearts.
even after the games, rosebloom is still a formidable foe, someone you should pray is on your side. but a light within himself was blown out, after the years of abuse by the hands of the capitol it’s made him even more numb and hateful.
can we kill them off? perhaps,,, but i wouldn’t have em to be the first person to be killed off. i want em to have a dramatic, angst, heart wrenching death if it comes down to it. make it really hurt you know.
do you want them in the quarter quell? yes

HISTORY
childhood:
the youngest child of four children, winnipeg
adolescence:
games:
post-games:
crowned king of the games, the young child was seen as a miracle— no one thought he would win, posing as some meek kid from a poor district. they thought he would be slaughtered at the blood bath, but as he excelled more and more through the quarter quell the more they realized he was actually the beast they should fear for. by the time he was brought back from the hells of his game, rosebloom had a hard time

 

[BELIAL.]

warden pruitt - district two

57th hunger games

charlie cox

♡coded by uxie♡

𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟
name: warden pruitt
nickname: ward, pruitt, 'stonefist'
age: thirty-six
gender: male
sexuality: heterosexual
race: white
residence: spent a few years back and forth between district two and the capitol, now resides permanently at capitol
role: victor
allegiance: passive capitol allegiance, due to it being all that he's really had

𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗚𝗘
hair: dark brown
eyes: dark brown
height: six foot one
body mods: n/a
distinguishing features: sunglasses most of the time due to full blindness in one eye (with noticeable light sensitivty in both eyes, as well as farsightedness), scars that can never seem to heal despite medical intervention (this being that they're semi-consistently fresh, healed over from layers and layers of scar tissue), a noticeable gait/limp in his left leg and hip
face claim: charlie cox

PERSONA
personality: With the painted hand of a masochist spent years decorating his own grief and guilt into more palatable tastes, of blood and sweat and pretty smiles, Ward fancies himself a man of two identities. There is not much pride left in someone once so victorious, and without that there are the mere shades of faded glory and stubborn survival. Pain is what keeps him alive, and while medicine may smear the scars over and hide them from the public eye, he likes the way his knuckles sting after a boxing round, or the way that his body aches after a fight. There is something more alive about the senses and nerves burning and tingling than waking up every day, Ward knowing that all that he could have amounted to has passed over a decade now; reaping both the lives lost and his own, really. He is melancholic at times, usually at the behest of a long repressed drink, and thus isn't inclined to do many things that waver his sense of control.

The facade he's moulded to the public eye is one of someone slightly arrogant but not too self-important; at the very least enough to stand his ground in a sea of other judging faces. Charming and ever the bachelor, the Ward that most see has as much depth as his eyes do (that being not much at all). His mentoring he takes seriously, probably the most thing that he would take seriously in front of anyone, and does not hold back from giving it his all.

In private he is keen to keep a tight lip, quieter and more reserved. In a fight he is quite similar to this, not one to gob off or waste time. The quiet and more upkept Warden is less preferable to his enticing exterior, meant to function much like a flashy animal in the wild. He finds tears in his eyes in private, more out of sheer exhaustion of both mental and physical facilities than anything else; but is quick to wipe them away in favour of something more penalizing to the body than the mind.
likes: physical activity, strict regiments, the infrequent and rewarding taste of alcoholic indulgence, early mornings
dislikes: guilt, silence (his tinnitus feels most abundant in these situations), feeling too comfortable, repetitive reminders, smug victors
strengths: resolute, intuitive, charming, introspective
weaknesses: deceitful, aloof, self-sabotaging, melancholic
fears: life without purpose and meaning; to be showcased and front some indomitable persona forever
ambitions: pursing peak body condition, leading tributes he mentors to victory

𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘
game won: fifty-seventh
age: eighteen
weapons: fists, debris (rocks), improvised heavy-handed tools, mace
skills: close combat, brute strength, improvisation
pre-game interview questions:"Careers are often tightly wounded with one another in some form or another. Are you two close?" Shared looks with wrinkled eyes pieced into bright smiles, the two exchange the briefest touch between fingertips. "Something of the sort," Ward would say, clearing his throat when the familiar sharp gaze of his partner turned from pretty to acidic on his mouth. "We've been friends since we were children and when we realized that it wasn't just friendship... I guess you could say it brought us closer than most." He's having a hard time keeping the smile in his eyes. He defers to her to continue... until the questions return to him. "We want to know about you, Warden. You're this quiet tough guy, that can't be all can it? Come on, let us in a little. What do YOU bring to the table?" It felt like asking him to cleave a stone in two in one swoop. "Well, I... I’ve fought all my life to get to where I am. Tooth…Tooth and nail. Whatever comes at me I won’t get knocked down. I don’t get knocked down." He could remember the biting words back at the Academy from the others, not holding back on demeaning him in whatever shape or form they could. Speaking for himself, however, left Warden even more unsure than he’d believed he was. Still, it was every time he said it that the words seemed to reaffirm… something.
what their game was like: Nicknamed "The Labyrinth", it was a dense configuration of stone walls that changed their orientation, length and direction based on foot traffic and behaviour of the tributes (monitored of course by the Gamemakers), giving creed to the idea that sacrifice was some of the only way to survive, and that both choice and freedom was well and truly out of the tributes hands (a reinforcement of the Capitol's hold). Most of the options for survival were in fact working together, though these tended not to last long in the face of an open path and a quickly closing exit route. Ward's first kill was his partner, leaving her in said section of a closed off path for other tributes to pick her off in her quickly declining state after he'd clubbed her in the back of the head. Banding with the other Careers he managed to last quite a while before it became clear that they were going to turn and target him (ideally, before he targeted them). By sheer will and ability, Ward outlasted most of the Careers until it was him and a District One tribute. In a bareknuckle fight to the death, all it took was Ward reaching the pinnacle of his mental state's decline, and bashing in the other tribute's head with his mace. A particularly gory Games, most remember it as far bloodier than the vids would really capture entirely.
mentor? Yes
reputation: Prior to the games, Ward was about as typical as most Career tributes with little else to distinguish, thus painting the colours of a tribute that would be knocked off later by someone faster or stronger than him. Brute strength and sheer determination kept him alive during the games, during which attention was drawn; he had a callous way of disposing of the other tributes. His first kill was the tribute girl from his district, the theatrics of which earned him a few sponsors. After the games, and by succeeding by his own raw might of mind and body— despite the damages to the latter, he spent some time healing and cultivating public sentiments. He maintains a fabricated topside persona, one of a charming and effortless bachelor, attending parties and social events. Notably, Ward has become rather distanced from his home district after his brief return after winning, and in general keeps his ties rather casual and superficial among other victors; a handsome guy with nothing else to say.
can we kill them off? maybee. i would like him to go out with a boom not a whimper (with discretion, I don't want to lose my character right off!)
do you want them in the quarter quell? absolutely

HISTORY (TW: pain/pleasure self-harm ideation-- but he just fights a lot)
childhood: Born in District two meant that there were little outcomes for Warden that weren't predetermined for him. Though his family came from meagre livings, quarry workers for several generations, none had risen very far above said position. He grew up with mineral dust on his palms, feeling the backbreaking work of a young boy put to use as soon as he could. He saw some of the children he'd known be whisked off to the Career Academy, part of him envious as much as nearly glad that he wasn't in that position.

Hard labour was all that Warden knew, with dreams at the very least of being a Peacekeeper if he wasn't ever misfortunate enough to be reaped a year when the Careers for his district weren't at their peak. He idealised the notion of judgement and justice, of being the guiding hand of the nation and the Capitol, and all the satisfaction that came with it.

As a young teen he often sparred and fought with his friends, pummeling each other into dirt and stone like it was any other way of playing. There was joy in this for Warden. He had only a few siblings, most of which were his little sisters, that he cared for deeply. Community among the kids was strong, knowing that as long as there were Careers, they'd be no doubt exempt from the Reaping.
adolescence: By miracle of both circumstance and financial situation, it came upon the Pruitt's that they were able to send one of their children to the Career Academy. With a chance for greatness, and victory, it took little second thought for Warden to volunteer himself above his sisters; both for sake of saving them at least one year in the future, and to avoid the burden of staying forever in the quarries. Perhaps he did want something more than humble, meagre livings of a Peacekeeper; perhaps it was enough to let him turn a selfish eye from his family and plead altruism. Nevertheless, at fifteen he was sent off.

A 'late bloomer' of sorts among the other Careers who had been training their entire lives for this, Ward had much to amount to. He worked twice as hard, fought harder and did what he could to be prominent despite his situation. The other Careers had their opinions on him, most negative and others not paying him much of a second glance. The Career who would end up being his partner was a particularly nasty one, someone that Ward had never met before and held no sentimental attachment to.

Yet, when it came to the Reaping and they both ended up being summoned to volunteer, their misgivings were tossed in favour of a public facing personality.

It would be the first taste of true deceit, as well as protecting his private self, as both he and his partner masqueraded themselves as longtime friends turned lovers bound by duty to compete.

Ward's interviews were full of trying to poke holes in his story, to find out who he really was, but he left most of the talking to his female partner; as she had a far more interesting story to tell, and seemed most captivated by the cameras and interviews. Most of his memories during this time have been obscured by time and trauma, where holes pocket his own recollection of his partner as well as all the camera time. Somehow, just about blacking out through the entirety of it, Ward let himself autopilot all the way to the games. He garnered no extra support for this, much to his mentor's chagrin, but at the very least his partner did her best to keep them relevant.
games: As soon as the tributes were off, Ward figured himself good as dead. He wasn't sure whether he'd last longer than his partner, or if she'd get the edge on him and convince the others to take him out, but by some miracle he found himself in a better position than her. They played on opposite sides, unintentionally furthering the 'burden of lovers' that they'd cultivated prior to the games.

As soon as he had the chance, however, Ward took her out quickly— a heartless act of her own pleading and begging as he dragged her by her bloodied hair to a corner of the maze, a corner that in due time managed to block itself off as Ward went back to the Careers. For some time after he wondered whether he should have killed her outright, rather than letting her die. It had taken a day for the cannons to sound and her image to blast in the sky, telling him all that he needed.

The emotions he felt were very real in that moment, but it seemed compelling enough to garner some support and sponsors.

It only furthered Ward's own disconnect with himself.

The rest of the games passed in a blur, Ward testing his own ability to survive with others as well as his own instincts. The blood that streaked the Labyrinth's corridors became some sort of beacon of reality for him. By the time the numbers dwindled, fight after fight and passing evenings to early morning hunts, it came to the last few.

Ward had gotten along with a District One Career he'd been working with, and when it was just the two of them left, they'd promised to fight it out as fair as possible to the other. Maybe Ward had gotten too tired, or he'd seen a glint in his fellow tribute's eyes that seemed to paint the picture of deceit, but once they'd gone and left each other bloodied and broken, Ward grabbed his mace and finished the job. Unfair, perhaps, but he wouldn't risk getting shanked in his last minutes.
post-games: Treated for his head injury that brought about a lack of sight in one of his eyes and a plethora of other longstanding problems, Ward only wished to go home after he'd won.

The homecoming had been less spectacular than he'd imagined.

They said he'd changed, that he wasn't the same as he was before. Considering it had been three years and then some since he'd seen his family, perhaps he'd hoped for the warm embrace of familiarity. It all felt unreal to him, especially after the stakes that had compelled his survival in the Games. It became too stagnant, too comfortable, and Ward found no respite from his inner demons.

He returned to the Capitol shortly after, spending less than a year home. There they worked endlessly to restore his grace in the public eye, since he'd gone under since going home. Still, many were quick to redirect their attention to him as a Victor, and Ward preferred the business of Capitol life than anything at home could offer. It became an addiction in itself, the attention. Though, not unlike his inability to stay home, sometime after maintaining his public persona of a man with the life of the party, he grew restless of it too. Ward trained once again, finding that working out provided some relief to the mental stagnancy. After that he started mentoring, finally, working his social niceties as well as his physical skills.

At twenty-six he found himself entangled in an emotional affair with another Victor, and with it came a piece of clarity that he didn't know he wanted or needed. It was a fresh change, though quickly it became clear to him that vulnerabilities were not meant for someone like him.

Around this time as well came a forbidden offer, mentioned under hushed whispers: that there was a group who fancied themselves gamblers, of the sort, spending time between Games fueling their own bloodlust by pitting against each other. A fight club of sorts, made out of honour and the brutal addiction to being beaten and seeing red. Warden had, at first, not known what to think of it. Quickly, however, he did see the thrill of it, and it became a compulsion as much as a hobby.

Kept utterly hush and full of bruises cuts and blood to make up for any substance in his real life, Ward returned to the double life that he'd lived before the games. In a strange, cathartic rhythm it became more familiar to him than anything had. His inability to keep a persistent sense of self sent his relationship down to the gutter, and with it he lost the woman he didn't know he needed.

Further and further Ward sunk himself into physical ability, boxing and whatever pain he could do to stay alive. It wasn't until the Quarter Quell that he realized why he'd wanted to die so much; some sort of karmic revenge from the girl he'd left to die back in the Labyrinth all those years ago. A ghost, maybe, that haunted his mind. He would entertain those sensations, those desires, and submit himself for another fight for his life.

 

[Ha_lfLife]

titania vance (dist. 4)

60th hunger games

{Minka Kelly}

♡coded by uxie♡

Victor of the 60th Hunger Games

Titania Vance

District Four

001

002

003

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 001
  basics

  agility

  brawn

  cunning

  empathy

  passion

  Nickname(s)

  n/a

  age

  thirty-two

  gender

  female, sexuality ambiguous

  allegiance

  passivise loyalist

  ethnicity

  caucasian

  residence

  District 4, Victors' Village

  appearance

  faceclaim

  minka kelly

  Hair: a cool-toned platinum, dyed as such at the insistence of her escort prior to the 60th Games, to ensure she stood apart in a year where almost all other female contenders were brunettes, as she is naturally. She has since kept the color, seeing as how it has become a staple of her appearance since her initial victory.
  
  Eyes: Brown
  
  Height: 5'9"
  
  Body Mods & Distinguishing Features: a birthmark behind her left ear; a reconstructive rhinoplasty following the Games, though any scarring from the procedure is no longer noticeable.

  personality

  Likes: swimming, the water, close friends, animals, trees, nature, painting
  
  Dislikes: close spaces, the color red, forced conversation
  
  Strengths: strategy, agility, swimming, fishing
  
  Weaknesses: brute force, socializing, networking, empathy
  
  Fears: enclosed spaces, suffocating
  
  Ambitions: to lead a quiet life

  
  
  
• 002
  victor profile

  Game Won: 60th
  
  Age: 17
  
  Weapons: Rope, Crossbow
  
  Skills: weaving, trapping, swimming
  
  Pregame Interview:
  Caesar Flickerman: "Now District Four has become a powerhouse for career victors over the past ten years; even just this year, there was a pool of volunteer tributes seeking their place in the sixtieth games. How do you feel, Titania, to be chosen out of all your compatriots?"
  Titania Vance: "I've trained for as long as I can remember. To be nominated is such an honor. A chance to compete - it's all I've ever wanted. I aim to make my community proud."
  Caesar Flickerman: "Now, Titania, all of Panem is watching tonight ... why don't you tell them, all those sponsors out there sitting at home, why should they bet on you?"
  Titania Vance: "Because I am going to win."
  *Applause from audience*
  Caesar Flickerman: *Laughing* "You seem mighty confident in yourself"
  Titania Vance: "Yes. I am going to win."
  Caesar Flickerman: *tsks* "Well, you've seen the other competitors, dear Titania. Some of them are quite formidable. Take Mr. Brightborn from District 2, he's a *beast.* How do you anticipate defeating opponents like that? He's surely much stronger than you."
  Titania Vance: "I'm faster."
  *Crowd erupts in applause*
  
  The Sixtieth Games:
  Humidity. It's what Titania remembers most distinctly when thinking back to the Games. Air so hot and damp that it clung to her skin like a wetted rag, making every breath a heavy chore. The rush of air from the entry portal to the arena of the Sixtieth Games halted abruptly, and Titania remembers distinctly hearing the overwhelming and deafening call of cicadas at dusk, the ebbs and flows of their songs drowning out her thrumming heartbeat as she took in her surroundings before the starting cannon.
  
  The arena later became known as what the commentators affectionately labeled "The Swamp" - a miserable environment ravaged by beasts and bogged down with cloudy, undrinkable water. Every step brought water into the insoles of boots and the iron vise of thick mud, threatening to snap a contender's ankle at too quick a withdrawal. Hybridized beasts lurked, among them alligators with razor-sharp ridges along their length and mosquitos whose swarms would drain one of their entire blood supply within minutes.
  
  Titania had not invested in allies, not thinking such a strategy would benefit her enough in the long run to justify the risk of befriending a stranger. There was, of course, the other victor from Four, a boy named Octavian Whiteflower, a classmate from the academy who she'd known loosely for years. She'd made no deluded promises to him of companionship during the games, as co-contenders from home districts were often wont to do, but at least resolved for the basest of courtesies - that she would not aim to kill Octavian herself, lest he became the only competitor left between her and victory. That favor was done to her, thankfully, by the female victor from One who, on the fourth day, slit Octavian's neck with a scythe.
  
  Titania chanced the stockpile at the center of the arena from the start, confident in her ability to outrun anyone else who she'd encounter while trying for the scarce supplies scattered around the bayou's center. She grabbed at what she could, hoping for food, water, or a fishing spear, but only fleeing with a crossbow and a single arrow, a weapon she had no prior experience with. From the cover of high reeds in a bordering marsh, Titania spent the first night trying in vain to draw back the crossbow's arrow, but found she had not near enough strength to accomplish the task.
  
  Thankfully, Titania was not without favors, for on the first night she received a flour sack sent from her mentor, filled with a spool of heavy fishing rope. On the second night, she received a packet of sardines, luminescent and tempting through their clear vacuum-sealed packaging. Despite her distracting hunger, Titania neglected to yet open the package.
  
  The brutal environment claimed many victims on its own. In the first and second days alone, considering the expected initial slaughter at the stockpile, run-ins with the creatures inhabiting the Swamp, only half of the victors remained alive by the third morning. Titania, remembering the advice of her mentor, meditated often on the virtue of patience, and mostly kept to the reeds and dense marshes, observing the habits of others until she knew enough to strike. Her greatest adversary quickly became the Career pack, consisting of the two contenders from One and the two from Two, as well as the intelligent but meek male from Three, all of whom continued to slaughter other living contestants until - by Day 6 - only the Careers and the outlier, Titania, remained alive. Titania had since taken to spending the miserable humid days weaving the rope sent from her sponsors into a strong net, granted through the knowledge she'd gained from a life in a fishing community; since childhood, she'd practiced tying knots capable of holding thrice her body weight. Often times Titania abandoned the project, when hearing impending approaches by beast or competitors alike, and only returned when safe to continue the laborious task. By the ninth day, the net was finished, large enough to span a small segment of the marsh, but enough to ensnare the surviving adversaries. Either by coincidence or divine intervention, it was also on the ninth day that Titania had garnered enough strength in her arm to finally draw back the arrow in her crossbow.
  
  In the days in which she'd laid in wait, Titania silently observed her surroundings from the reeds and - most notably - came to understand that the razorbacked alligators communed each day by the water at exact dawn and dusk, and until five minutes afterward would remain, before promptly disappearing into oblivion.
  
  An hour before dawn on the ninth morning, Titania hauled her handwoven net out to a shallow part of the main swamp and laid it down against its sandy bottom. She then placed the packet of sardines at the base of a tupelo tree, as of yet remarkably still sealed despite several nights of long starvation and temptation in the face of prolonged gratification, along with the discarding of her jacket and a single boot for the sake of the charade. With mere minutes remaining until the sun rose, Titania retreated to the reeds, laying flush against the mud below, and with all the award-winning theatrics that the Capitol would've surely adored, shrieked a deadly lamentation along the lines of "NO NO, PLEASE GOD NO," heard from miles round. Seeking to draw the careers nearer at the possibility of their greatest outlying opponent being maimed, she put her soul into the performance, and once she heard their squelching footsteps plodding nearer, ceased the calls.
  
  As she'd hoped, the careers were distracted by the glint of prepackaged sardines headed towards the glinting prize, announcing their luck that the misfortunate outlier had to lose her own sustenance in her flight from whatever threat pursued her. As they waded out to the tupelo tree, Titania raised her crossbow, arrow finally and painstakingly drawn, aimed it to a trigger on a nearby tree. At the shaky count of three, the five of the remaining contestants were ensnared in the homemade net, at the exact moment in which the sun's vibrant orange dawn beams flickered across the horizon.
  
  As if precisely on schedule, the alligators descended into the marsh's waters. They violently attacked the ensnared victors, tearing limb from terrible limb, saturating the cloudy waters with blood. Only one survived the initial attack, the sixteen year old boy from District Two, the very Brutus Brightburn mentioned by Caesar Flickerman days earlier, who'd so very nearly escaped death through a hole in the net chewed through by the swarm of alligators.
  
  In the heat of the moment, Brutus caught sight of Titania in the treeline and pursued her, limping, bleeding, to where the alligators wouldn't follow before their clockwork disappearance. Only the two remained and, though Brutus greatly outweighed her, a gnarly injury to his right arm, namely the dismemberment of the entire limb past his forearm, evened out the odds. The two grappled in the water of the marsh, eventually toppling over into waters as deep as fifteen feet. Realizing, despite the advantage granted to her from Brutus's injury, that she wouldn't defeat Brutus in a wrestling match, Titania latched herself to her opponent in a bearhug, pulling the large boy underneath the water's surface. In the ensuing struggle, Brutus had savagely managed to latch onto and bite off her nose, so that only a bleeding cavity remained in the center of her face. Two hundred and ten seconds. That was how long it took for him to stop thrashing. Titania had counted every second that she'd held her breath. Titania resurfaced to the sounds of a final cannon, smiling and smeared in mud like warriors of old.
  
  The problem of her horribly mangled nose was seen to before the victory tour, and she emerged with a newly crafted appendage courtesy of the Capitol's finest surgeons within days of her exiting the arena.
  
  Mentor?: Yes, for a few following her victory; recently retired.
  
  Reputation: Respectable, Intuitive
  
  Can we kill them off?: Yes
  
  In the Quarter Quell?: yes, please!
• 003
  background

  Although two-hundred and ten seconds was how long it took Titania to hold her breath during the final match of the Games from which she emerged victorious, her personal record lasted over four minutes. It was a time she'd set at the age of fourteen, when challenging friends in the gulf after classes; a fond pasttime, the kids of the community often stripped down to near nothing and practiced diving deep below the surface, ears popping as they searched for dropped treasures and pearlescent shells.
  
  Titania's childhood was, at best, inconsequential. The daughter of a wealthy fishing boat captain - a masthead position in a fishing community centered in District 4 - and the sibling of a gaggle of charismatic, energetic sisters, Titania was raised from her cradle to crave the reverence of her peers.
  
  None of the cornerstones of her developing years were marked with tragedy or angry retribution like so many youths of other districts. Titania grew from a young age to accept the ways of the world as they were, to welcome challenges as an alluring provocation, and to seek glory like the ancient heroes. She had everything in her earliest years, wanting for nothing except a chance at being exceptional, and consequentially entered into training for the games at the ripe age of seven. Titania learned from her infancy that the only way of truly establishing value, of seeking and executing individual glory, was to bring pride to her home district through the Hunger Games.
  
  She trained for years to become a powerful swimmer and cunning competitor, one well respected by her peers and cheered on by her family. Her volunteering for the sixtieth games was well-respected by her home district and heavily sponsored by wealthy merchants of District 4. Following her success with the games, Titania would spend a handful of years mentoring future participants in the games, though her disenchantment with the concept was swift and disabling.
  
  Several years spent in the Capitol, indulging in all the material pleasures it had to offer, Titania soon became cynical about the rewards of the Games' victory. Despite many years at the side of someone she cherished dearly, Titania eventually opted to withdrawal from the Capitol and return to her home district in the pursuit of a quiet and contented life. The arrival of the Quarter Quell finds her freshly married to a local fishing merchant, invested in the arts of meditation and finger painting, and with a plethora of thinly veiled traumas and memories.
  
• 004
  extra

  Likes

  Item one, Item two, Item three, Item four, Etc

  Dislikes

  Item one, Item two, Item three, Item four, Etc

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code by @Nano

 

[orpheus.]

scroll

scroll

❝

So I'm cuttin' that branch off the cherry tree, singin' "this will be my victory!"
Then I see them comin' after me.

THRICE

killer of friends

VICTOR 63.

full name

Nero M. Everend

nicknames

Ender

age

28

residence

District 11

gender

Cisgender Male

sexuality

Homosexual

role

VICTOR

allegiance

The Rebellion

Black Honey

Thrice

01.

visage

height

5"8.5

weight

answer

hair c.

answer

eye c.

answer

faceclaim

answer

02.

psyche

Like a wraith filled with loss and regret, he tears through life ruefully, having a certain grit in his demeanor. He's neither charming nor caring. He's resentful and shrewd, carefully measured in his disdain for being near anyone or making any new connections. And, it's for good reason. He is regretful of his decisions during his turn at the Games, though they gave him the chance to breathe another day's air. He's not cruel, but that's mercurial at best. His past defines him very boldly and he wears his heart on his sleeve about it. A walking ghost of a person, he poisons the air around himself to give others a chance to get away before he commits the same sins all over again.

𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘 (you may opt to answer one or all of the questions when listed. the more, the merrier.)
game won: sixty-third
age: 16
weapons: throwing tomahawks, makeshift stake, Molotov cocktails
skills: Natural Herb Knowledge, Water Distilling, Light hand-to-hand combat, melee marksmanship
pre-game interview questions:
"Mr. Nero Everend...are you nervous? You look like you don't want to be here."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ceasar-"

"No, no. We're friends, sport! Call me Ceasar."

"Well...Ceasar... as much as I love the hospitality that has been shown to me these last few days, I can't help but feel somewhat sad. My birthday was yesterday."

Ceasar flinched slightly, with the crowd reeling from this kind of announcement. It would surely get the boy a few sponsors from the start, having a birthday that falls around the time of the Games. Unable to voice his sympathy for the kid, Ceasar pressed on through the interview.

"Yesterday was your-? Happy Birthday, Nero, from all of us in the Capitol. Now, if you could have one wish on your day, what would it be?"

Nero shuffles his feet a little, thinking of something that could Impress the people of the Capitol, as his mentor coached him to do.

"Well, I've spent most of my birthdays with Calli. That's all I would want, honestly...for things to be the same as they were before."

"Ms. Calliope Rose? You two are friends? So, now the Reaping makes more sense...you two must be inseparable. Thick as thieves!
what their game was like: (how did they win? what was their arena like? what was the most difficult moment in their games? are they proud of winning? do they regret anything in the arena? how was it received by the capitol? did they have sponsors? allies?)
mento? Yes
reputation:
can we kill them off? He'd never forgive himself if he didn't murder Snow himself
do you want them in the quarter quell? Regretfully, yes

likes

answer

dislikes

answer

fears

answer

03.

history

Nero was the son of the Mayor and his wife, who was a Potts--one of the daughters of the Apothecary. He had the same sharp features as both of them and where one taught him to cure the other taught him how to fight early on. In the world they lived in, he had to learn. His mother was well known for their medicinal concoctions, having a stash of which she kept within their home. People would come daily to get draughts for exhaustion and cures for allergies, both of which were the results of the people working day in and day out during the harvest season. Nero was separate from this cause because of his father's status, so he only worked on the crops and orchards in his own time. Most of his concentration went to schooling and learning his father's trade. It was likely he'd become Mayor in his father's stead, a patriarchal duty within his family. Nero was liked well enough and it was something that was already decided before he was born. In another life, maybe that was his fate. But not this one.

Calliope was his favorite person in the world. They grew up together, with her being the daughter of the Head Peacekeeper. They would spend their time reading old books from before the war of the Old Country. Their favorite pastime was rereading newspaper comic strips: specifically Calvin and Hobbes. The papers were older than the advent of Internet technology, so it was scarce. But, there were enough of the delightful little anecdotes for the amusement of two childhoods at the cost of one. But, it gave two people the opportunity to connect on a very special level. Calli was a sickly girl. Nero's mother said she had anemia, which didn't make sense to him at the time. However, as they grew up, it became clearer what her limitations were. She was often winded by exertion or exposure. And, she was often dehydrated. To remedy that, Nero's mother made him carry a canteen of honey and water, which helped her tremendously since they were always together.

The two eluded the Reaping five times in a row. Five times they watched as an unfortunate duo walked up the steps to meet Ellis Harpenter, the mentor to District Eleven's tributes due to the fact that they hadn't had a victor in 40 years who hadn't...succumbed to the haunting nature of their experience. All their luck seemed to be absent on that blistering summer day. Nero wore his father's old linen suit and had his hair braided back, all but a tendril of hair that curled upward softly. Calli wore her mother's wedding dress. They were both sixteen, within five months and a few days of each other. She was called to the stage first. The crowd was silent enough for an outsider to hear the rustling of the Capitol flags on a spare breeze. It sounded like fabric brushing against bone. The second name called was Habbner Tress, the tailor's son. He took no more than seven steps in the parting of the crowd before Nero said it. A stammer at first, low and guttural before he yelled out against the silence. "I volunteer as the male tribute of District 11!" There was immediate mumbling; whispers & murmurs as he stepped out and past Habbner to step up on the stage. Ellis Harpenter was a sport about it, cheerfully asking for the name of the volunteer tribute that "just couldn't wait to steal away the moment to rise for his country". There was no doubt that this would be his tagline for the media buzz to follow such a valiant act. They could think it was for himself, for all he cared. It was for her, not anyone else. He dared not look in his family's direction. He stood there with a stoic face, prepared to let them remember him as the boy who stared down the flames he stood in.

---

He'd done all he could for her. The result was a nasty gash that tore through the nape of his neck to the back of his ear, from a grazing shot of a thrown knife. It was sheer luck, the lo0ss of footing against the dune he was racing down with Calli behind him. He heard the other two knives hit, but it didn't register. Nero rolled into a crouch, tomahawk flying from his hand just as he'd practiced in the Training Complex. It landed square in the forehead of the District 1 Boy. In His last moments of confusion, the boy swung out with his bladed hand, slicing the throat of his fellow Tribute. They both eventually went down, cannons firing in the distance as blood soaked the sand. Nero sat there for a moment, bewildered and perked around the edges from the battle. He almost didn't hear her call out his name with a whimper.

He cared for her for a day and a half before he did it. She'd gotten a deep wound from one of the knives the Career threw their way--two inches from her heart. They'd gotten a salve to heal the wound, but that didn't help the major blood loss and dehydration she faced as the days went on. They had water from the oasis they'd found, but it was only a little at that time and the oasis was a day's journey. She wouldn't have lasted. Nero didn't even notice the abundance of cannons during the time. He was focused on her: at first, her survival, but then he began to prepare to do it. He used Skrab* stinger poison and what was left of the water, flavoring it with some of the honey he'd gotten at the Cornucopia to hide the taste. Calli drank the sugared poison slowly and smiled, with her breathing becoming more and more ragged before shuddering to a rattling halt altogether. Nero listened to the last cannon go off, tears welling in his eyes as his hands tightened around the hem of his shorts as he knelt next to her. The next sentence from the Gamemakers was a blur. he could only hear the number "63rd" being said before he was approached by the attendees and led away from the Body of his best friend. The procession was swift, being remade to look even more glamorous than he did for either the Opening Ceremony or the Interview. He was silent the whole time, not saying a word from the Victor's Interview to the train ride back to District 11, to his new home in the Victor's Village. It was only when he was alone in his house--away from the cameras and his Prep team and his parents and her parents-- that he closed the door behind himself and let out the cry of a soul bent beyond recognition. He was never going to be the same person he was when he left. This was new territory, and he was new as well. He wanted nothing else but to kill everyone who was the cause of this new pain, everyone who dined on his reluctant malice and wore it like kings and queens. He wanted the rich to heat their own entrails while he stood on their neck.

He wanted to take it all back, even if it meant he'd take her place.

---
Twelve Years Later
Interview leading up to the 3rd Quarter Quell Games Announcement

"So, you escaped the Games, by giving Calliope a dose of poison. A mercy kill... Tell us, what was going on in your head when you found her, wounded behind you during that last attack from Jossep Troy and Mikenna Deevs of District District One? It was a risky move throwing the axe that saved your life. How did it feel not to have to use it on your teammate?"

"I'd have rathered used it on myself. You know, you glamorize the fact that we were all going to die on that game field, one way or another. In a way...I died too. I didn't want...*cough*...I didn't want to win like that."

"True, true. Okay, enough about the Games. Tell us what you've been doing with yourself as of late. You're always so quiet at Capitol events. What's moving you? What's keeping you going after all that loss?"

"I've been...training. The constant exercise with my trainer, Pike, has kept me from thinking about the 'loss' and misery I go through on the daily basis. And, as for my art? No matter how many times it gets stolen from me, it's mine...not for anyone to use to make me look like some weakling who can't keep it together. That's why I choose to lament in silence. Does that answer make you happy, Cesar?"

"We're only concerned for you, Nero. No one can understand what you're going through-"

"You're wrong. Seventy-four other people, living and dead, know what it's like to be me. All seventy-four of us can tell all of you in the Capitol to eat dog shit. And, if I had my way with Snow and his minstrel show of dressed up pigs, no one would ever have to know ever again. Fuck this." *rips microphone out of his suit and storms off*

"Ahem, well...there you have it, folks. No, don't 'boo' him, he's gone through a lot. So much anger, so much ferocity. That's what makes a Champion, whether he likes it or not. The road to victory will be paved once more for the next contenders of the Hunger Games. The Quarter Quell, no less! You've been waiting for it! It's time for the Official Announcement from our beloved President Snow. Stay tuned afterwards to see what the rest of the Victors have to say about this years Quarter Quell Ruling. I'm Ceasar Flickerman, people!

*cheers of adoration and sheep-like devotion fill the room as Nero finds his way out of it*

04.

gallery

05.

connections

character name

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character name

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character name

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character name

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06.

miscellaneous

whatever

hello

whatever

hello

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Stardust Galaxy]

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

• aaaa1
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  Maybe in the end we are just pieces of chess in this game called life, but while you are a miserable pawn I'll always remain the queen of the game.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  I don't know who to betray

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  requisite

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  How Villains Are Made

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  madalen duke

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  zhang chao-xing

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  twenty-eight

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

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  whatever keeps her alive

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  5'5"

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  101 lbs

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  hair style

  
  
  
  

  Straight black hair, usually she wears it untied unless the occasion calls it, she would use it on a ponytail

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  build

  
  
  
  

  Chao-Xing keeps a slim but athletic figure keeping a healthy weight.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  body mods

  
  
  
  

  earrings

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  distinguishing features

  
  
  
  

  scars on her arms

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  faceclaim

  
  
  
  

  Fu Jing

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  No one ever starts that way. But this is how villains are made

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
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  traits

  
  

  
  
  
  

  strong willed

  Chao-Xing embodies that integrity in her actions too, working hard and staying focused on their goals. Patient and determined, she is the type of person that meets her obligations, period.
  
  

  responsible

  Chao-Xing word is a promise, and a promise means everything. Loyalty is a strong sentiment for her, and she fulfilled her duties to the people and organizations she has committed herself to.
  
  

  practical

  None of her promises would mean much if Chao-Xing lost her temper and broke down at every sign of hardship – she keeps her feet on the ground and makes clear, rational decisions. People’s preferences are a factor to consider in this process, and she works to make the best use of individual qualities, but these decisions are made with effectiveness in mind more so than empathy. The same applies to criticisms, of others and herself.
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

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  likes & dislikes

  
  
  
  

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  cats, sweet fragrances, spicy food, windy days, espressos
  
  

  dislikes

  her family, losing, winter, bees
  

  
  
  
  
  

  strengths & weaknesses

  
  
  
  

  strengths

  keeping calm in stressful situations, resourceful, manipulating people, independent
  
  

  weaknesses

  lone wolf, caring about others, being polite, sarcasm is her language
  

  
  
  
  

  fears & ambitions

  
  
  
  

  fears

  losing who she is, dying, being forgotten.
  
  

  ambitions

  accomplishing her goals, take revenge on her family
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  traits

  
  

  
  
  
  

  stubborn

  The facts are the facts, and Chao-Xing tends to resist any new idea that isn’t supported by her. This factual decision-making process also makes it difficult for her to accept that she was wrong about something – but anyone can miss a detail, even her.
  
  

  insensitive

  While not intentionally harsh, Chao-Xing often hurt more sensitive types’ feelings by the simple mantra that honesty is the best policy. She may take emotions into consideration, but really only so far as to determine the most effective way to say what needs to be said.
  
  

  judgemental

  Opinions are opinions and facts are facts, and Chao-Xing unlikely to respect people who disagree with those facts, or especially those who remain willfully ignorant of them.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Time to put my medal on. Whose blood to spill? I don't know. Whose side I'm on?
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
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  • aa
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  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    1997

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    childhood & adolescence

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    some amazing title about their life here

    
    
    
    

    Being born into one of the most affluent families in district one Chao-Xing name was one that people knew even before she even spoke her first word. Her father a well-known craftsman of the finest jewelry that you could find in all of Panem, made his goal to have both of his daughters become the pride of district 1 once the annual hunger games arrived.
    
    Even if it was against the rules, and not both Chao-Xing nor her older sister were at the age to join the academy. Her father took all the measurements necessary and bribed those who needed to be bribed in order for their daughters to be prepared for the hunger games. Because in a world like that who couldn't say no to the finest piece of jewelry made out of the most extravagant jewels you could find in Panem.
    
    And by the age of twelve, Chao-Xing was more than skilled in different weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Without bragging she was sure she could easily defeat older peers in the academy. But while Chao-Xing excelled in this, well her older sister was a different story, sure she wasn't bad but it was pretty obvious that the difference in abilities between the sisters could be shown easily.
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
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    2011

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    games

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    some other amazing title about their life here

    
    
    
    

    But everything changed when the 63rd Hunger Games came around, by some kind of miracle or maybe because her father was still blindsided that he could make both of his daughters winners of the Hunger Games, her older sister was selected as the volunteer even if there were more skilled peers in her year. But when the tributes were announced Chao-Xing's name was called in the reaping and even though she knew her sister was supposed to take her place she didn't raise up to volunteer in her place making Chao-Xing he tribute of district 1.
    
    The few moments she remembered before embarking on the capitol was the fight between her sister and father calling her a failure and how she was just making a fool of the family. Little did 14-year-old Chao-Xing know that would be the last time she would see her sister.
    
    Her games were more about the gossip about how there wasn't a volunteer for the female tribute, but while everyone was looking down on her, the fire inside Chao-Xing was burning higher, because no one was allowed to look down on her and if that ever happened, well their days were counted if she was being honest.
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    2020

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    post games

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    some new amazing title about their life here

    
    
    
    

    After she returned back from the games Chao-Xing was never the same, sure she felt proud of returning victorious and being able to show off what she just accomplished at such a young age, but even if she didn't want to admit it there was some kind of emptiness in her inside. After all, it was quite a traumatic experience even if she saw it as the biggest thing she would be able to do in her life.
    
    But once back home things were never the same, her sister was long gone and without any explanation, her father said that she was just too weak and decided to leave because she couldn't face them, didn't sit right with Chao-Xing, and even though she had a dreamed life in district 1 she moved to the capitol. Where she has resided ever since without looking back to the place that saw her grow.
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  One tells the truth, the other lying. And they're both calling my name

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  game won

  
  
  
  

  63rd hunger games

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  age

  
  
  
  

  14

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  weapons

  
  
  
  

  bow and arrow, scalpel chain, throwing knife

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  what their game was like?

  
  
  
  

  The 63rd H
  unger Games were set in an arena based on the four seasons. At first, it didn't sound that but trying to survive in the constant change of environment without knowing if you would be hit by the temperature that would freeze the last source of water that you had or would make you drink the last sip that you had made the survival even more difficult, besides trying to find tributes and killing them. But in the end, Chao-Xing came victorious when she use her scalpel chain and put it around the neck of the last tribute and, well there's no need to explain what happened to the head of that boy from district 4.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  reputation

  
  
  
  

  Chao-Xing reputation initially started based on the gossip about how there wasn't a volunteer for her when teh reaping happpened, but she shut up those mindless rumors by showing off her skills in the training session. Making her the one with the highest calcification out of all the tributes from that year and well making herself look as the charming girl from district 1 in the interview. If they wanted a show well Chao-Xing was the right one to give them what they wanted.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  mento

  
  
  
  

  yes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  can we kill them off

  
  
  
  

  right now the answer is no, but I am not opposed to changing my mind as the rp progresses, but I would definitely want to have a word on the decision on how she dies. if that ever happens

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  do you want them in the quarter quell

  
  
  
  

  yes

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  misc

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur et posuere felis, eget elementum diam. In luctus auctor libero eu ultricies. Suspendisse vehicula vehicula massa vitae viverra. Etiam venenatis libero non mattis tincidunt. Quisque tempor, libero dapibus porttitor cursus, dolor dui maximus lorem, vel gravida sem velit a ipsum. Phasellus convallis purus eget egestas rutrum. Nullam tortor eros, egestas sit amet vehicula luctus, elementum quis nunc. Nam semper nisl at lacus consequat tempor. Suspendisse massa quam, ornare a fringilla ut, lacinia non augue. Aliquam in sagittis libero, nec pharetra quam.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur et posuere felis, eget elementum diam. In luctus auctor libero eu ultricies. Suspendisse vehicula vehicula massa vitae viverra. Etiam venenatis libero non mattis tincidunt. Quisque tempor, libero dapibus porttitor cursus, dolor dui maximus lorem, vel gravida sem velit a ipsum. Phasellus convallis purus eget egestas rutrum. Nullam tortor eros, egestas sit amet vehicula luctus, elementum quis nunc. Nam semper nisl at lacus consequat tempor. Suspendisse massa quam, ornare a fringilla ut, lacinia non augue. Aliquam in sagittis libero, nec pharetra quam.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur et posuere felis, eget elementum diam. In luctus auctor libero eu ultricies. Suspendisse vehicula vehicula massa vitae viverra. Etiam venenatis libero non mattis tincidunt. Quisque tempor, libero dapibus porttitor cursus, dolor dui maximus lorem, vel gravida sem velit a ipsum. Phasellus convallis purus eget egestas rutrum. Nullam tortor eros, egestas sit amet vehicula luctus, elementum quis nunc. Nam semper nisl at lacus consequat tempor. Suspendisse massa quam, ornare a fringilla ut, lacinia non augue. Aliquam in sagittis libero, nec pharetra quam.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  

  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  

  
  
  

  filler! ignore

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 

[aeneas.]

midas larmanton ; dist. 4

# victor of the 72nd games

# avan jogia

♡coded by uxie♡

i did it for love.
"i did it for fun."

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  Midas larmanton

  
  

  Will your hubris be your downfall, dear Midas? Shall your golden touch pave the paths of destruction? Shine a trail of hope? When will everything be enough?
  
  (TW: death, violence, a victor's bitter fate, gore)

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 1
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Midas Larmanton.
    

    nickname:

    sometimes darling, occasionally dear, mostly just midas. people call him a siren too, but he wouldn't prefer it.
    

    Age:

    21 years old.
    

    gender:

    male.
    

    sexuality:

    bisexual.
    

    race:

    half. (indian Gujarati & white).
    

    residence:

    district 4.
    

    role:

    victor.
    

    allegiance:

    passive allegiance to the capitol, is in a position to think it is the only side to play for his survival.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    he says he volunteered for fun.

    
    
    

    victor file: larmanton, m.

    
    

    game won:

    seventy-second.
    

    age:

    18 years old.
    

    weapons:

    bare hands, stalagmite, net.
    

    skills:

    underwater endurance, swimming, brute strength, patience, charm.
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    
    "district four is a career district; where there are aspiring tributes who train for the games. but you midas—you volunteered without any of this training. as a matter of fact, your father is the mayor of your district. some would say you didn't need to volunteer, wouldn't you agree?" diving straight into a plotline—some would say it was a cheap tactic. the ogle of gasps and murmurs showed its efficiency to get a crowd hungry.
    
    A sly smile to show that he could play along. "well who told you that, caesar?" a tease to show that he was different from the shaking tributes they've seen before. they eat him up. "so feisty! well, i have my sources."
    
    "well, it would be a waste to your sources if i don't answer right?" a glance at the audience, they're at the edge of their seats. "yes, but you see, i did it for fun." a lie that was almost instantly met with amused laughter and applause. "for fun?" a prompt to say more. leave it to the capitol to bite the hand that feeds them.
    
    he nods. "we can't have all my peers hogging all the fun." cue the cheers. he presented himself as overconfident—sure, but all the more charming and alluring. "i'm thankful for the life i have back in district four and i think it's about time for them to have a victor whose heart lies so close to home." titania is going to have his head. the audience shower him in nothing but praise. "and who doesn't love an underdog story?"
    
    "right you are, midas. i'm sure you now have many of us rooting for you—isn't that right folks? midas larmanton of district four!"
    

    what their game was like:

    
    midas' arena is modeled after a subterranean river—reminding the districts that without the capitol, they would be lost astray to wander and drown. the 72nd hunger games ran with the idea of an underground labyrinth of cave systems that demanded tributes to be adaptable on both water and land. with flooding caves, falling stalactites, and murky water not only hiding other tributes, there were many things to be on high alert. especially given that without sponsors or supplies from the cornucopia, tributes could only rely on attempting to make a fire or the bioluminescent moss that grew in portions of the caves to guide themselves throughout the arena. with carnivorous piranhas, hallucinogenic fungi that eat at open wounds, and flash floods, it wasn't a surprise that the games lasted only five days but were a hit with the capitol nonetheless.
    
    midas played the social game which helped him take home the gold, receiving sponsors that provided him supplies such as food, a lantern, and his infamous net. out of sheer charm (and possibly the idea that they underestimated him), he had started the games with an alliance with the careers; including his fellow district tribute of district four. however, come the canon fires of nearly half of the tributes, midas made his steps to eliminate his allies before they decided to do so first.
    
    what caught the attention of viewers was midas' strength and cleverness—attributes not many people noticed from him. as him and his allies entered another cave system on the hunt for more tributes, midas made use of the vast and dimly lit space of the cave in order to take his allies down one-by-one. his process of drowning tributes quickly became a technique he was infamous for, allowing quiet and controlled deaths.
    
    the closest he came to death was when his district partner realized his strategy. she was better trained than him, an advantage in her favor before he was able to catch her on his net. the two's relationship wasn't nearly as interesting as other career district partners but as said by midas himself on his victory tour, the two had gotten along and known each other before the games. though whatever sentiments they had weren't enough to spare her from the swing of a stalagmite midas had broken off as a makeshift weapon. he cleaned his net for what felt like hours after.
    
    when analyzing his games, many mentors would say he is a prime example of winning through the favors of the capitol, especially in an arena that showed clear advantages with additional supplies. once he won, he was titled a siren—as alluring as he is dangerous. providing a satisfying underdog story within the underground caves.
    

    reputation:

    a tribute who had entered pretty-faced and overconfident that inevitably rang his claims true. before the games, he was popular around the district as the mayor's son—one either adored or despised by his peers. always a charismatic fellow. to the capitol, he is a golden boy, one who is always willing to parade himself on camera for the entertainment of his adoring fans. to his fellow victors, not much of his "true self" is presented, some would even argue his outlandish and proud nature is a facet of who he really is when the cameras are off. though to the very few who has seen him within the four walls of victor's village, he is nowhere near as sweet as he shows himself to be. a bitter fruit scorned by the mistakes he made as a child, wanting nothing more than to simply live and survive.
    

    mentor:

    for his short time post-72nd games, yes.
    

    can we kill them off?

    as long as there will be water works he could deffo kick it.
    

    do you want them in the quarter quell?

    of course!
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    when does a man become a monster?

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    do you ever regret that day?

    
    

    every single moment.

    
    

    I should have thought about myself. I know better now.

    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    Dark brown.
    
    

    eyes:

    Dark brown. Capitol citizens like to flatter him with sentiments of how they glowed almost amber in the sunlight. He knows they're full of shit.
    
    

    height:

    Six foot two.
    
    

    body mods:

    Pierced ears.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    Soft hands and even softer hair. A devilish smile. Back maimed with scars from his games—not that he shows them in public that is.
    
    

    face claim:

    Avan Jogia.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    Likes:

    The smell of the ocean, handicrafts, diving, shiney things, sweets.
    
    

    Dislikes:

    Dark spaces, small talk (especially sweet talkers), storms, the taste of most wines.
    
    

    Strengths:

    Brute strength, swimming, net-fishing, charismatic, playing the social game.
    
    

    Weaknesses:

    Wreckless, selfish, decietful, untrusting, stubborn.
    
    

    Fears:

    To die alone, the dark.
    
    

    Ambitions:

    Leading his students to—well—something, to simply live, laugh, and love
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    the crooked, the cradle by the crane wives
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    
    "I don't want to volunteer tomorrow."
    
    Whispered confessions underneath the layers of textile of Midas' bed. Secrets breathed throughout the Larmanton's house of limestone, hushed by the current of the sea's waves beneath. But none weighed more than those of Caspian Escalus—Midas' closest companion and highest rank career of district four's academy. For the first time in all the years he'd known the career, he looked frightened. As if they were back to infancy and he awaken from a terrible nightmare. Like cold water to a pitiful drunk, it had finally dawned on the young man that representing the district in the games didn't bring honor or prosperity, only death. And if death would come for either himself or others, he didn't wish to find out.
    
    If Midas hadn't realized it was his own body shaking, he would have believed it to be a sudden earthquake. A part of himself wished it were a natural disaster—something to postpone the games to at least give him time to think. He knew even then, the capitol wouldn't be so lenient. The mayor's son since birth, Midas Larmanton rarely experienced the hardships faced by his district. His hands were softer than others, hair lacked the brittle damage from the constant fishing in the ocean, body never starved of food or water. There was never any demand on him to do anything be it fishing or enrolling into the career academy.
    
    The childhood of Midas was better than most, a calf bred to be a show-cow. Not created to work or become someone's next meal but created to be paraded and adored. Instead of being taught a net for the purpose of fishing to eat, he was taught net-fishing for sport, swam for leisure instead of work. If there were guests, he was turned into a spectacle to earn claps and praises. The most labor he had ever been put under would be from his own desire for the sun's beams of light instead of his family's dreary home. In his free time, he'd dive for oysters and break them open for pearls.
    
    Never did Midas face the amount of despair throughout his entire lifetime to what he felt at that moment. "Don't worry." He himself was beyond that point. "I'll handle it." He didn't know how—or at least he had yet to settle on the impending plan.
    
    But inevitably, he knew what had to be done.
    
    Come the reaping, Midas Larmanton volunteered before the escort could pick out a name from the pool of fates. The pretty boy from district four, boastful and quick-witted. He had scored moderately in training and scored even better when earning the favor from sponsors. They enjoyed his spark; already a master of the ship that was his persona, he knew what actions made seas of onlookers bend to his will if commanded to. In another world, he would have considered marketing the truth during his games—folks loved the tragic sob story of volunteering for one's love after all. Yet in those small, golden, pockets of his own solitude, underneath the fabric of his bed, he supposed he felt just a little attuned to his namesake.
    
    A selfless act out of a selfish passion. Dark caves and treacherous depths. Alliances out of chance. Catches in the line. What once felt like a suicide mission in between his lips began to taste of a sliver of chance. Not many believed he'd be the one to exit the arena—Ceasar Flickerman let him know later in his tour that the average bets on him from capitol socialites were 15-1. However, those who believed higher, made it more than known.
    
    Show-cow through and through. He made a spectacle out of himself during broadcasted segments leading up to the games and was awarded the prize of survival.
    
    Midas soon learned the hard way that even prizes came with consequences. His games left his back plastered in the final moments of his victims—their final breaths spent clawing for life only to be met by the murky current of the arena's river. In his district partner's passing seconds, she never stopped biting at his net, rope burn against her palms from trying to snap the bonds apart. Thetis Sevina knew she didn't deserve to die in the hands of an ill-trained and big-headed tribute like Midas. It wasn't fair to her. If the positions had been switched, he knew that he wouldn't have put up as big as a fight as she did. Purely unlucky on her part and extremely lucky on his, but the games didn't play to benefit the fair and just. The capitol didn't play under any rules or regulations but their own.
    
    And thus Midas delivered her a final blow, he delivered many ends to the unsuspecting tributes. Sparing no thought to how their bodies jolted in surprise or how his father would probably call his techniques cheap if it weren't his son being broadcasted. As the game quickly came down to the final five, he played to win.
    
    Five became four, four became three, three became two, and after a gnarly kick to the chest to the swarm of piranha mutts circling beneath where they stood, Midas stood as the final one. The victor of the 72nd hunger games.
    
    Instead of the warm comfort of his companion, he was met with a harpoon inches away from his heart. "A selfless act out of a selfish passion." Confessions meant to remain confessions—taken to their graves. Just because he didn't want to volunteer didn't mean he wasn't going to continue his duty regardless. Maybe it was Midas' lack of understanding of how careers were molded at the academy or maybe it was a form of jealousy he himself would never bare. The uncertainty still rang through his head before he slept at night, wondering where his faults lay and if there was more he could have done. But what was set in stone was that when Midas Larmanton moved into the Victors' Village, he moved in alone.
    
    He brought no family, friends, or loved ones. Besides the occasional visits from his mother and the admittedly rampant pestering of his old mentor, Midas found himself in yet another house too big for himself. Surrounded by nothing but the growing pains of adolescence and ill-gotten victory—fragments of who he was before he took the high road and reflections of who he stood as now.
    
    Who was the boy who volunteered for love? The one was once willing to throw his life away for the sake of another? Had he ever been so selfless before then? What good did it do?
    
    Absolutely nothing.
    
    All he presented was all that was known. So he continued to be Midas Larmanton—as beautiful as he was cheeky. Appearances in the capitol were in-demand and actively responded to. Where others flinched and whimpered, he performed under the capitol's boot with gusto. A favorite among high-paying socialites.
    
    Play your role—win your game. Play your role—win your life.
    
    Barely into his fifth year of residence, the Quarter Quell called for a possibility of his return. Survival never felt direr. Whatever it took, no matter the odds, Midas promised himself to never prioritize another's life but his own. Everyone had a motive; underlying secrets to push whatever they thought was important—he himself wasn't an exception but he refused to be the catch stuck in the line of another's.
    
    

    
    
    

    A selfless act out of a selfish passion.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - esfp-a

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    play your role—win your game, play your role—win your life.

    
    
    

    
    

    persona

    
    

    A coy character to be around, a time with Midas is guaranteed to be unlike any other. Under the capitol's watchful eye, Midas was charming; words always coated with sugar and nectar that make people gather around him for a taste. Silver tongue and sweet lips as they would say. A gleefully smug energy even before the games, one who enjoyed teasing to show affection and throwing jokes with the intention of laughter in return. His playful nature continued to be a facet of who he was now—regardless of the acts he performed.
    
    To most, the siren boy of district 4 never changed when he returned victorious but some knew better. He was scorned now, walls within his mansion left with ugly holes. On the days his masks had cracks, one can feel the lack of satisfaction in his tone, the heaviness in his eyes, and the slight tremor of his hands. Midas was more tired now.
    
    Not that being tired could be an excuse, something to grace a person their life. If Midas was anything, he was always critical of an environment—he could read and room and understand what he needs to do to survive. The capitol liked him the way he had always been on-air, a fraction of who he once was before the games. And so he keeps up the facade: confident, toying, and proud.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[armeen]

Wren Whitlock | Dist. 12

#73rd Hunger Games Victor

#Fionn Whitehead

♡coded by uxie♡

"I no longer need sleep to see the nightmare that surrounds me."

Wren Whitlock

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  warning!

  
  

  "It wasn’t me these people cared about; it was my capacity to soak up pain like a sponge."
  
  (Trigger Warning: extreme violence, death, trauma, mentions of disordered eating and starvation, Hunger Games gore)

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    name:

    wren Whitlock
    

    nickname:

    none
    

    age:

    16
    

    gender:

    cisgender male
    

    sexuality:

    demisexual
    

    race:

    white
    

    residence:

    district 12
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    rebellion

    
    
    

    
    

    You were one of the lucky ones...

    
    
    

    victor file: whitlock, w

    
    

    year won:

    73rd hunger games
    
    

    age won:

    14
    
    

    weapons:

    pickaxe, crossbow, and explosives
    
    

    skills:

    very good at sneaking around and going by unnoticed, knows how to use the environment to his advantage, able to navigate well even in a new area, even better at navigating through enclosed spaces, like caves, knows how to determine whether something is safe to consume or not, quick thinker and is normally able to come up with ideas and strategies on the spot, is able to adapt to his surroundings, survival 101
    
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    "my my, aren't you a lanky one, wouldn't you say so folks?" the laughter of the crowd filled wren's ears, completely overwhelming him and making it feel as if he were drowning in a sea of ridicule. that's how it has been for the past few weeks. the scrawny 14 year old district 12 tribute that was almost skin and bones. it was clear everyone believed he would not even last a second in the games. "now now everyone...we all wish we could stay as skinny as him. i know i could loose a few extra pounds myself." caesar flashed another one of his signature smiles and patted his abdomen, which brought up more laughter, before turning his attention back to the boy sitting next to him.
    
    "wren, my boy, i must ask...how has the capitol been treating you?" fear and anxiety wracked his body as he felt all the eyes turn to him. eyes full of wonder and curiosity that viewed him as if he were some type of anomaly. and in a way he was. at least to the capitol. with a nervous chuckle, wren finally responded. "it's certainly different than what i am used to...district 12 is nothing like this..." god why does my mouth feel so dry? "don't even get me started with the food. i have never seen or eaten anything like it." there were murmurs of agreement and nods of approval among the audience. "you are certainly right about that! i always say the same thing myself...no cuisine beats the capitol cuisine! that's my motto, am I right ladies and gentlemen?" wren let out a small sigh of relief as the crowd cheered from caesar's commentary. if the games weren't going to be the one to take him out, it was for sure going to be the publicity.
    
    "now wren...this next question is one that i think everyone in this room is dying to know...how do you feel..." he paused for dramatic effect, making members of the audience shift in anticipation and sit up in their seats, so they would not miss a single second. "about your chances of winning the games?" the room went silent. everyone wanted to know what the boy who seemed to be the most at a disadvantage compared to the other tributes was going to say. remember to play the crowd...adapt to the situation. his mentor's advice played on repeat in his mind. "well caesar...it appears you would just have to watch and find out. i will say though that i would not underestimate me so easily.
    
    the crowd went wild. they loved that response and caesar made sure to continue hyping it up with his flamboyant gestures of surprise and shock. "wow! what a bold statement but i love the energy. absolutely astonishing!" despite the feeling of nausea taking over him due to his nerves, wren managed a crooked smile that made the audience cheer even more. this boy may not survive, but he certainly has the guts to still give us a show. that's probably what everyone was thinking at the moment. but wren did not care. he just wanted to finally get out of the spotlight. little did he know that would never happen. "that is all the time we have with our fiery tribute, ladies and gentlemen! wren whitlock of district 12! we will definitely be keeping a close eye on you..."
    
    

    what was their game like?:

    a complex maze of caves that forced tributes to spend days without any source of light. constantly at the risk of finding little to no resources, bat mutations that carry venom and can paralyze their victims until they succumb to other natural causes, toxic gases, cave ins...the list goes on and on. as someone who spent a majority of his life working and assisting in the mines of district 12, wren was familiar with this type of environment. however, that did not make it much easier for him to survive as the game makers always made sure to have tricks up their sleeves. just when he thought he was one step ahead, a new and more complicated obstacle would appear. the bats, in particular, were a nuisance, but after picking up a crossbow from a dead tribute, he was able to use that as an offensive to take them out whenever he encountered them.
    
    he started the game out with nothing but a pickaxe, which was the only item he recognized and managed to pick up during the bloodbath at the cornucopia before making his escape into the caves. he was able to navigate himself through winding tunnels, sudden drops, and inclines despite the lack of light, feeling his way around and using his knowledge of earth formation. he could detect loose sediment and used it to his advantage to create his own form of destruction onto other tributes. on one of the days, a group of careers had caught sight of him and he was able to lure them into a trap he had set up beforehand. once the careers were right where they needed to be, he hacked away at a spot that caused a cave in, crushing the careers to death as he escaped.
    
    what ultimately caught wren off guard was the shifting of the caves. he found that out the hard way on day 7 of the games. he had been luring another tribute that was after him into a trap when all of a sudden the tunnel he had it set up in no longer existed. it was replaced by a wall, trapping him in with his opponent. he turned to face the other tribute who stood at a much taller height and was clearly physically stronger than him. the tribute noticed his bewildered look and laughed cruelly at his misfortune. "looks like you got no where else to run..." wren held up his pickaxe, bracing himself for impact. the tribute lunged at him with such ferocity that even though he was able to block the force of the attack was strong enough for him to stumble back and nearly lose his balance. the slight distraction of reclaiming his ground was enough to cause wren to no longer have his eyes on his opponent, and in that moment the tribute was able to strike, slashing across his chest. the pain caused him to cry out as he fell to the ground and clutched his chest. blood started to spread and stain his shirt. the tribute let out another awful laugh and this time it caused wren's ears to ring as the sound bounced off the cave walls. before he could recollect himself, he was suddenly pinned to the ground with a dagger pointing dangerously close to his face.
    
    "you know...for someone who said not to be underestimated...this was a disappointing fight. went exactly the way i was expecting." the tribute flicked the dagger, creating a cut over wren's lip. he could taste the blood as it entered his mouth. this was it. he had lost. there was no way to escape. he could hear the rapid pounding of his heart in his ears and would not be surprised if his assailant could too. there was no point in struggling anymore. all it took was one more strike and he would be removed from this hell. wren closed his eyes, accepting his fate. at least he had lasted longer than what everyone was expecting of him, and for that he was satisfied...or was he? his fingers suddenly brushed against wood, and his eyes snapped back open with the realization that his pickaxe was still within arm's reach. he should have kicked it aside. the next couple of seconds felt as if they were happening in slow motion. right when the tribute was about to make their final strike, holding his sword above his head and aiming it to plunge downwards into his victim's skull, wren grabbed the pickaxe and swung with as much force as he possibly could. the pointy end of the axe made impact with the left side of the tribute's head. his eyes widened in shock as he toppled off wren and dropped his sword, his body hitting the cave floor with a soft thud. blood started to pool from his head as the pickaxe remained lodged in. the shocked look on his face never went away as the light faded from his eyes.
    
    wren stood and watched, motionless. after what felt like a millennia, he finally moved towards the body. each step feeling heavier than the next as the thought of what he had done weighed on him. this was his first direct kill. all the other kills he had been involved in throughout the games were from his use of the environment. this was the first time he had killed someone with his hands alone. once he was close enough, he reached for the handle of the pickaxe and tugged to pull it out of his victim's skull. the squelching sound the flesh made caused him to gag, and he was immediately on all fours emptying what little he had in his stomach. he knew he already had blood on his hands for the previous deaths he had caused. but this was different. no matter how hard you try...the games will always find a way to bring out the cruelty they claim everyone is capable of possessing. there was no holding back anymore. if he was going to survive this, he had to do what they want. he had to entertain them.
    
    

    mentor (y/n)?:

    yes
    
    

    reputation:

    it was obvious that wren was not the most popular among the other tribues. while his pre-game interview went well given the circumstances, there was no way he could beat the bravado the career tributes were taught to express. his training score was also not as impressive, with the gamekeepers giving him an 8. so when the games started, it made sense that he did not have very many sponsors. the first couple of days, he had to use what he knew and the resources he was able to scavenged to survive. the harsh lifestyle of district 12 certainly has taught him that. as days went by and the number of tributes began to dwindle, that was when he started seeing an increase in supporters. the first day he had received a gift from a sponsor, he happened to be in one of the few caves that had a hole on top, revealing the night sky above him. he had gone hours without water and was searching for any signs of a source. a gleam of silver suddenly caught his eye and he noticed a small silk parachute heading down into the cave towards him. his eyes widened in surprise once realized dawned on him. a sponsor had sent him a gift. he could not believe he had finally gotten one. the gift landed gently on top of a large rock, and wren immediately ran to it, eager to see what was given. with slightly shaky hands, he opened the box and inside was a reusable bottle of water with a filter, a piece of bread, and a stick of what appeared to be dynamite. an expensive gift, and one he would cherish. a small note was also at the bottom of the box saying, you know what to do.
    
    it would be that stick of dynamite that gives wren his victory and ends the games. one major explosion to create a massive cave in, trapping and crushing the last small group of tributes still alive. wren watched from outside the caves as the smoke from the explosion rose above. he listened to the canons as they went out one by one, signifying the deaths of the tributes. an announcement was then made, marking the end of the games and announcing him as victor. the damage was finally done. his damage. and now people knew. he was not to be underestimated.
    
    

    can we kill them off?:

    preferably no. but would be down for them to get captured and become an avox.
    
    

    quarter quell?:

    yes
    
    

    
    
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    how can one doomed to die make it out victorious?

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    you haven't eaten anything but a scrap of bread in days... please eat something. we have food for once.

    
    

    i'm not hungry...

    
    

    you must keep up your strength.

    
    

    i will not give them that satisfaction.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'10
    
    

    physique:

    due to growing up in an impoverished district, wren often went to bed hungry more times than he can count. it is because of this that he has a very thin and lanky build. when he was reaped and sent to the capital he had to undergo training and was given more food than he was used to, so he was able to fill out a bit. currently, he still on the thinner side with a slightly lean physique from newly developed muscles.
    
    

    eyes:

    dark hazel with gold flecks
    
    

    hair:

    soft, dark brown hair that naturally falls in waves as it grows out. he mostly keeps it short but long enough to still run his fingers through it.
    
    

    body modifications:

    pierced ears that were done by his stylist at the capitol
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    due to working in the mines, he has a lot of miscellaneous scars from various incidents. however, his more distinguishing scars like the one on the right side of his face, starting at the top of his lip and going down to nearly his chin, and some large ones on his chest and arms were from his time in the hunger games.
    
    

    face claim:

    fionn whitehead

    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    likes:

    watching the sunrise and sunset, stargazing, the sound of running water, light breezes and slightly cloudy days, listening to the birds singing and the sound of rainfall, fire and the warmth and light it brings, dogs, spending time with friends and family, a good laugh, music being played around a campfire
    
    

    dislikes:

    never-ending darkness, the mines, the capitol, publicity, thick smoke (particularly ones caused by debris), being under surveillance, the reaping, extreme temperatures, feeling restrained
    
    

    virtues:

    practical, intuitive, problem-solver, adaptable, sharp, intelligent, persistent, observant, creative
    
    

    vices:

    reckless, selfless (to the point where it becomes a danger to himself), critical, distrustful, manipulative (in this case that can be both a good and bad trait), recluse
    
    

    fears:

    suffocation, drowning, not being able to protect those he cares about, the mutations
    
    

    ambitions:

    keeping as many people as he can alive, protecting those he loves, taking down the capitol
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    heavy by peach prc
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    
    

    
    
    

    that scrawny boy is the victor of district 12.

    
    
    
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    personality type - istp

    
    

    
    

    introverted
    

    sensing
    

    thinking
    

    
    
    

    perceiving
    

    turbulent
    

    assertive
    

    
    

    Weakness thrives where strength can go no further.

    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
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© weldherwings.

 

[sollie]

Tarlo Collier | district 12

# 71st Hunger Games

#Kawennáhere Devery Jacobs

♡coded by uxie♡

“My body is a burden.”

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  TARLO COLLIER

  
  

  
  "When the sirens sound, you'll hide under the floor but I'm not gonna go down with my hometown in a tornado."
  
  (trigger warning: violence, hunger games gore, death, trauma )
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Tarlo Collier
    

    Age:

    21
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    cisfemale
    

    residence:

    district 12 | victor village
    

    pob:

    district 12
    

    sexuality:

    ????
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    passive allegiance to whoever will protect her family?
    

    occupation:

    victor
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    all I hear is silence and my beating heart.

    
    
    

    victor file: collier, t

    
    game won: 71st hunger games
    age: 17
    weapons: Makeshift knife, wooden beam, gas lines.
    skills: Adaptable, heightened senses, perceptive, resourceful, crafty, knowledge of nursing wounds and making weapons.
    pre-game interview questions: "Tarlo-- Would you say that, perhaps, you're being underestimated? I mean, we certainly would not underestimate you-- But, we've seen from the other tributes. The looks. Being from District 12. What do you have to say to them?"
    
    Tarlo spoke, while also signing. "It is often the things you dismiss that lead to your downfall."
    
    "Insightful words! For your age, you're quite mature, Tarlo. I know you've had to take a role in caring for your siblings after the accident in 12. Do you think those skills will help you in the Arena?"
    
    "I'm sure they will. I'm used to taking care of myself in 12... I'm sure the Arena will be no different. I-- I think I'm ready for whatever they throw at me."
    
    "Hopeful determination! I love to see it! We've only got a few more minutes, but... Is there anyone back home you'd like to send a message to? Anyone at all?"
    
    "I will fight with every breath to get home." Tarlo finished speaking but she signed: 'I will persist. I will survive.'
    
    what their game was like: The 71st Hunger Games was a design inspired on old, decaying mine shafts. . Designed to force tributes through tight spaces, dusty halls, and endless dead ends, the arena was dark, dusty, and suffocating. Despite being from District 12, Tarlo was not equipped to survive in the Arenas mines. Children in District 12 were unable to work in the mines until they turned 18, losing the valuable skills of working that many districts reaped the benefits of. In addition to her lack of experience, the dark was a fatal environment for her to survive in. If she couldn't use her sight, what could she use? Not her hearing, that was a given. The dim lights of the tunnels and mine shafts would be the only light allowing her to use her sight, and with her hearing clearly lesser than the other 23 tributes, death would surely come quick to the girl with all the disadvantages.
    
    Tarlo wasn't even an underdog-- she was a walking corpse.
    
    It was only by luck the she survived the bloodbaths, a tribute stepping off their pedestal early and causing a small explosion forced the roof of the mine shaft in, separating Tarlo from the cornucopia, supplies, and any bloodthirsty tributes that knew she would be an easy kill. With the dust rising from the rubble, Tarlo did not attempt to seek any sort of tools from the Cornucopia, using her opportunity to disappear in the inky abyss of the mines. This arena was not a maze by any stretch of the imagination. While some tributes found that to be a relief, Tarlo only found it to be nerve-wracking. After all, with a maze, it would force tributes apart. With this straightforward layout, there was bound to be bloody combat within the first few hours.
    
    Still, her determination to win despite her weaknesses was ever persistent. She would put as much distance between herself and the other tributes as possible, making her way down the depths of the mineshafts, deep underground, with nothing to use as supplies. She did, however, collect what she could on her way down. A loose wooden beam, shards of rock, rope from the safety bridges across unsteady areas. She would use the resources of the desolate arena to craft herself weapons. During her descent, it is here she noticed the gas lines which ran through everything and everywhere. Curious.
    
    Her plan wasn't completely sound, despite going in the opposite direction of a majority of the tributes. The farther down she went, the darker is became and the less reliant she could become on both her vision and her hearing. In the dimmest part of the mines, Tarlo was nearly helpless, clutching her makeshift knife as she hesitantly delved deeper in. Tripping over a lump on the ground, she was convinced that it was her last moment but a girl, grumbling from just being bashed in the side by Tarlo's foot emerged from a thick piece of fabric that appeared to blend in with the ground. "Ouch!" The girl hissed out, tossing the fabric off of her.
    
    "What the hell?!" Tarlo murmured to herself, looking at the tribute with wide eyes as she held her knife out in front of her.
    
    "Oh. You're the deaf girl." The girl said, seeming to relax upon seeing Tarlo wasn't a career. Lyla. That was her name. She scored an 8 on the evaluation. Why wasn't she trying to kill her immediately. Still keeping herself guarded, Tarlo, picked herself up. "I didn't see you."
    
    "No shit. That was the point. The idiots from five passed over me an hour ago. I can't believe you're the one that did."
    
    Despite Lyla's harsh personality, the girls quickly decided that allying together would be their best option together as apparently her district ally had betrayed her and the District 12 boy died in the blood bath. Tarlo was wary of Lyla, of course but nessecity called them to work together. Lyla could be Tarlo's ears, and Tarlo could work to set up the traps she'd been planning all games. The gas lines were going to be there way out of this game.
    
    On day four of the games, the girls began making their way back to the cornucopia. Lyla scouted out the day prior, and to their delight, the careers, a girl from District 9 and the Boy from 7 were camped out in the cornucopia, basking in fresh water, food and safety. They have guards posted at each tunnel shaft entrance, ready to stab, shoot, or dismember whatever poor soul thought they would be able to savage resources. It was time for a second bloodbath. One that would eradicate 8 tributes in an instant.
    
    That meant Lyla and Tarlo only had to deal with each other and the remaining tribute from District 8-- Was Tarlo going to have to kill Lyla? Could she? How quickly would they turn on each other? That thought scared the girl but they would deal it once they'd executed their plan. From the southern tunnel, Lyla approached throwing a rock to draw the attention of the careers. It worked perfectly. With that distraction, Tarlo as able to crawl along the permitter of the Northern entrance, poking precise holes in the gas lines which released the gas. She was quick to make her exit, meeting back with Lyla when the careers gave up.
    
    A commotion distracted them-- the district 8 boy apparently had entered their domain without permission and the careers were pouncing. "It's our chance." Using the flint Tarlo chipped off from the lower levels of the mind, they used the end of a wooden beam to light it on fire. "Brace yourself." Passing the makeshift torch to her partner, they gave each other a nod. "See you on the other side."
    
    In tandem, once Tarlo knew Lyla was in position, the girls tossed the flaming beams inside the large space and in an instance, Tarlo's body was being thrown back against the mine shaft walls. The explosion caused the roof of the mine to cave in, burying the careers in a pile of flaming bodies and rubble. One canon sounded. Then four. Then six. Then nine. The district 8 boy-- That meant...
    
    Tarlo and Lyla were the only tributes left.
    
    In the end, Tarlo emerged victorious, the blood of her ally-- of her friend-- on her hands, splattering her face, coating her body. But it was the only choice she had. Lyla attacked first, coming at her from the left, her deaf spot, and bludgeoning her in the head. Tarlo had no choice, using the makeshift knife to slit her throat, cutting a vital artery. Hence the blood. But she'd won. She'd won the Hunger Games, despite everything...
    reputation: Tarlo was an unlikely victor from an outlying district. A deaf victor? What were the odds? While the Capitol loved the story of an underdog, many see her actions in the game as simple luck and using her ally to do the heavy lifting. Still, most see the intelligence in her choices in the Games. Despite her disadvantages, she prevailed-- a tale that Panem hadn't seen in a long while. Tarlo was an unconventional victor that many perceive as undeserving of her win. Her initial unwillingness to participate in President Snow's favors put her in the eye of those in power, in an unsavory light. But, as all victors eventually do, she came around and remains popular with patrons.
    mentor? (Y/N): Yes. Mentored six tributes from District 12.
    can we kill them off?: Eventually!
    do you want them in the quarter quell?: Yes!
    
    

    
    
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    my body does not belong to me but my mind remains untethered to your filth.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    tarlo?

    
    

    tarlo?

    
    

    tarlo?

    
    

    sorry.. what?

    
    

    your mother is gone. you can't keep coming here.

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    dark brown
    
    

    eyes:

    dark brown/black
    
    

    height:

    5'2
    
    

    body mods:

    pierced ears.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    long, dark hair, often kept straight or in braids. strong brows.
    
    

    face claim:

    KAWENNÁHERE DEVERY JACOBS
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    likes:

    Spring flowers. The smell of rain. Soft thunderstorms. Painting.
    
    

    dislikes:

    Winter. The smell of smoke. Coal. Violet flowers. Peacekeepers. Being touched.
    
    
    

    Virtues:

    Kind. Hyper-Intelligent. Perceptive. Empathetic. Caring. Strong-Willed. Loyal
    
    
    

    Vices:

    Temperamental. Overly Emotional. Paranoid. Unwilling to Compromise. Uncontrollable.
    
    
    

    Weaknesses:

    Dark spaces, hand-to-hand combat, loud places.
    
    

    ambitions:

    To free herself of the Capitol's chains and protect her siblings.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    Me And The Devil - Soap&Skin
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    - born to poor family of miners
    - the oldest sister of two
    - happy child very not deaf
    - takes care of her sister and brother while her parents slay at work.
    - la la la everything is fine
    - a peackeeper is being not slay and tries to attack someone.
    - tarlo shoves that mf outta the way and ends up getting whacked in the side of the head on her left ear
    - BAM ruptured ear drum with a big sexy large hole
    - permanent hearing loss in one ear
    - she gets up-- bam whack to the other side of the ehad-- oney partial hearing loss in right ear, but enough to be not great.
    - when she's 7 dad gets suffocated in a mining shaft cave in
    - takes up extra illegal jobs like animal trapping to help mom provide food for the family
    - her mom gets sick!! they can't afford groceries!!
    - takes extra from the tesserae (more names in the reaping jar)
    - gets reaped at 17 (not slay)
    - kills bitches and get money
    - finally has the means to get mom treatment but she DIES after tarlo wins the games
    - becomes a mentor and a "desirable victor" (not slay)
    
    
    

    
    
    

    I feel I am just dragging myself around.

    
    
    
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    personality type - isfj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    as Kesha says: this place it about to blow.

    
    
    

    
    

    Persona

    
    

    Determined, Stubborn, very strong willed. Resourceful. Compassionate. Independent. Defiant. Hyper intelligent.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

Victor Of District #3

#Rio

# 65th hunger games

♡coded by uxie♡

The Peacekeeper

# “Fido”

# >:3

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[orpheus.]

scroll

scroll

❝

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a.

credit

role role role

let you down.

full name

hello

nicknames

hello

age

hello

d.o.b.

hello

ethnicity

hello

sexuality

hello

Eat Your Young

Hozier

01.

visage

height

answer

weight

answer

hair c.

answer

eye c.

answer

faceclaim

answer

02.

psyche

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur tempor purus a lacus iaculis accumsan. Integer justo justo, ultrices interdum feugiat et, pharetra vitae felis. Ut at arcu quis ante vehicula imperdiet. Etiam aliquam dui id commodo faucibus. Ut semper, ipsum et rhoncus mollis, sem sapien consequat turpis, vitae mollis erat eros quis diam. Curabitur feugiat, ligula id feugiat pulvinar, augue nunc blandit nisl, sit amet aliquam lectus turpis non nunc. Suspendisse elementum nisi eget varius aliquet. Quisque non nibh fermentum, efficitur arcu quis, feugiat turpis. Morbi cursus non lacus sed tempus.

likes

answer

dislikes

answer

fears

answer

03.

history

this scrolls if you add enough content.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed. Praesent sed eros pulvinar, fringilla dui a, vestibulum nisi. Cras blandit enim laoreet orci porta ultrices. Cras purus erat, commodo a rhoncus ac, dapibus quis mauris.

Ut rhoncus libero eu fermentum bibendum. Nullam ac ipsum augue. Donec commodo dui efficitur iaculis venenatis. Mauris a neque pellentesque, faucibus urna vel, dapibus nulla. Sed tincidunt dui sed dictum vestibulum. Ut venenatis urna in elit hendrerit, eu molestie massa efficitur. Nullam sit amet sem ut ligula gravida ultricies. Etiam gravida quis diam at elementum. In dignissim eros ut sapien fringilla, vel lobortis nibh auctor. Sed ut nibh bibendum, tincidunt ex in, mattis odio. Donec egestas facilisis dapibus. Proin varius ornare sapien, at auctor sem lacinia non.

04.

gallery

05.

connections

character name

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character name

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character name

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character name

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

06.

miscellaneous

whatever

hello

whatever

hello

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[armeen]

"you're nothing but a pawn in their eyes. irrelevant and easily replaceable. all you can do is play your part well."

ADONIS LAURIER

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  “I’ve come too far to stop now. I may be knocked down, but I’m not knocked out. I’m going to get back up again. I know I’m a victor, not a victim.”
  
  (Trigger Warning: extreme violence, death, Hunger Games gore, s*xual content)

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    name:

    adonis laurier
    

    nickname:

    the capitol heart throb
    

    age:

    24
    

    gender:

    cisgender male
    

    sexuality:

    pansexual
    

    race:

    white
    

    residence:

    district 1 and the capitol
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    loyalist, but not out of love for the capitol
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    There is nothing more intoxicating than victory, and nothing more dangerous.

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    You are here to entertain. Image is everything.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    how are you feeling after your last visit?

    
    

    I'm completely fine. I don't understand why I have to do these visits

    
    

    no, you're not fine. that's why dr. fisher has asked for you to attend these sessions

    
    

    I still think I should have a say in it.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    physique:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    eyes:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    hair:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    face claim:

    Lorem ipsum
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    body modifications:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    Lorem ipsum
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    heavy by peach prc
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    
    

    
    
    

    I had long ago become a creation, a public image made to be consumed.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - entp-a

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Even as a victor you never stop playing the Games. Everyday is a fight for survival.

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean fermentum porta elementum. Nulla a blandit enim. Sed posuere ipsum in nisl molestie, eget cursus risus elementum. Donec laoreet ut elit non porttitor. Donec pretium non nisi eu ultrices. Fusce mattis augue purus, a lacinia justo sodales vitae. Vestibulum eget porta lectus. Nullam dapibus est vel turpis posuere pretium. Quisque sagittis magna ex, at pharetra ante pellentesque a. Cras neque neque, facilisis vitae viverra eu, aliquet ut metus. Nunc a tempus dui. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer suscipit dignissim odio, aliquet aliquam est rutrum non. Morbi at pharetra nunc, sed facilisis est.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[stellamaris]

"the odds are never in our favor."

NIKOLA FRYE

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  Hunger Games typical violence, implied SA, death, alcoholism.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    nikola frye
    

    nickname:

    nik, niko
    

    age:

    23
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    cisfemale
    

    sexuality:

    pansexual
    

    race:

    white
    

    residence:

    district 5
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    rebellion leaning; she's hasn't had to pick a side yet, but given what happened with her brother and how the capitol has treated her, she'd most likely side with the rebellion despite her intense fear of the capitol.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    because it's all in my head. "you're too sensitive," they said.

    
    
    

    victor file: FRYE, N.

    
    game won: 68th
    age won: 16
    weapons: daggers, slingshots, ropes, wires
    skills: stealth, acuity, agility, flexibility, endurance
    pre-game interview questions:
    "nikola, we haven't heard much from you–is that strategic?"
    "if it was, why would i tell you?"
    
    "ah, we have a smart one here, folks. can you at least tell us what strengths you'll be relying on in the games?"
    "my brain will be my strongest asset. it's how my parents raised me, it's what i know best."
    
    "how sweet, you must miss them, surely."
    "i do."
    
    "a woman of few words! is the capitol rendering you speechless? are you ready for the games?"
    "it's... a lot to take in, but i'm prepared to do what it takes to survive."
    
    what their game was like: Nikola's arena was a desert, for all intents and purposes. There was no source of water aside from sponsors or what was found in the cornucopia, and food was scarce. Nights were freezing and the sun was unrelenting during the day. Naturally reclusive, she made no allies and received no sponsorships. The moment the horn sounded, she sprinted for the cornucopia and used the bloodbath as a distraction to hide inside as far back as she could, devolving into a fit of shaking each time the canon went off. It was a miracle that she survived until nightfall. The career pack had made the cornucopia their camp, taking shifts to keep an eye out for intruders. Nikola listened for hours, waiting until she didn't hear any voices to creep out from her hiding spot. Only one of them was awake, the rest of them presumably asleep in the sand while a struggling fire crackled nearby, illuminating the face of the boy keeping lookout. It was the thought of her brother that pushed her to creep up behind him and slit his throat with a knife she'd snagged on the way out, and with shaking hands, she did the same to three more tributes as they slept. Tears ran down her face by the time she got to the last one–a boy that was Nikolai's (her eldest brother) age when he was reaped. In her hesitation, the boy woke and launched himself at her. She hadn't realized she'd been holding the knife out until a grotesque, gurgling sound erupted from his throat. He died on top of her, and after gathering what she could from the cornucopia, she ran until her legs gave out. She fell asleep that night covered in his blood, and outlasted the rest of the tributes by setting traps for food and rationing the water she'd stolen off of the careers, burying herself in the sand at night to keep from freezing to death.
    
    mentor? no, snow thought she'd be more useful elsewhere.
    reputation: After she won, the Capitol coined her as ruthless and thrived on portraying her as a conniving cold-blooded killer. She played along, hoping her compliance would allow her to fade into the background and scrounge up whatever kind of a life she could live after killing innocent people. But no––it became worse. When she played into their hand, the Capitol began to take more. Their requests became thinly veiled demands, hinting not-so-subtly that the lives of those she loved would be put in danger should she not obey. Even if it came at the loss of her autonomy, she had no choice. There was enough blood on her hands. So they began molding her into exactly what they wanted her to be: the darling of the Capitol.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    all gilded and golden.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    are you alright?

    
    

    nikola?

    
    

    hm? oh, sorry. yes, i'm alright.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'4 / 163 cm.
    
    

    eyes:

    perhaps her most striking feature, nikola's eyes are a deep hazel that can appear dark green or light brown depending on the lighting.
    
    

    hair:

    a medium blonde, often done up in intricate braids when doing work that requires being physical.
    
    

    body mods:

    multiple ear piercings
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    a scar across the palm of her right hand from gripping the makeshift knife so hard in her games.
    
    

    face claim:

    florence pugh
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    can we kill them off?:

    preferably no, but i might be open to it if the situation calls for it.
    
    

    do you want them in the quarter quell?:

    yes
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    free by florence + the machine
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Nikola is her parents' fourth child and their only daughter. Her father worked as a security officer for the power plant long before she was born, and her mother was a technician. They were young parents, comparatively, and neither had a particularly harsh upbringing what with District Five being moderately wealthy. Childhood for Nikola was strict, which was more of an issue for her brothers than herself. She spent most of her time reading, drawing in the sand, and helping her mother with the house. Her upbringing was unremarkable, which is something she's yearned for since the day her eldest brother was reaped into the games. His name was Nikolai, and it was his last year in the reaping. The home stretch, he'd called it. Out of all her siblings, he was the most technologically inclined, constantly accompanying their father to the power plant in the hopes of shadowing the operators there.
    
    Nikolai placed fifth, and his room sat empty for a year after his passing. Her father forbade anyone from touching his things and put in more hours down at the plant, pouring his grief into his work. It was her mother who picked up the slack and quit her job as a technician to take care of their remaining children, spending each moment doting on the three of them until she fell ill one dry, unforgiving winter. The days of chasing her brothers around the kitchen were gone, and so was her mother, by the time she was twelve years old.
    
    Their father grew cold like the winter that took their mother, and Nikola grew independent as the house became more empty. Eventually he would turn to the bottle, and her two remaining brothers would pick up jobs at the plant as soon as they were old enough just to keep a roof over their heads, whilst she would haunt their empty home every day after school. The anxiety would set in soon after that, making her fingers twitch with the urge to do something besides sit and watch her father drink himself into a stupor. So she began doing odd jobs around the district, settling for anything that would keep her from having to return home, if one could even call it that anymore. Mrs. Wilkins had her cat stuck in a tree? Niko knew how to climb. That guy down the street that always talked nonsense needed help around his shop? Niko knew how to clean and count money. It went on like this until she was reaped, which she'd known was possible but hadn't even remotely considered. Not with Nikolai already being gone. Hadn't they taken enough from her family?
    
    The news just about killed her father. The reapings were the only thing he left the house for anymore, and Niko will never forget the look in his eyes or the way his voice went raw as he called after her when the peacekeepers dragged her away. Upon her return, he hugged her so tightly that she could almost pretend she was a kid again. That she would blink her eyes open and find renewed curiosity in all the electrical currents around her, or that her mother would bring some new invention home to show them all, or that Nikolai would be eating the last piece of the pastry she'd been saving with that stupid grin on his face. That he was scooping up all her pieces and when he let go, she'd be put back together again.
    
    But she wasn't––Snow wouldn't let that happen.
    
    For years afterwards he would ask "favors" of her, use her as a puppet to do his bidding, all the while threatening to kill her father should she not comply. How could she refuse? It was for this reason she became the Capitol's darling. The conniving girl from the District that powers all of Panem, tucked under President Snow's wing should he ever feel the need to use her again.
    

    
    
    

    leave all your love and your longing behind

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - infj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    introverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    feeling
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    judging
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    would things be easier if there was a right way?

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    
    Niko has always been a recluse, joking that her brothers got all the charisma and it ran out once she was born. Those that knew her before the reaping knew her as a quiet, clever, benevolent girl with a curiosity glinting in her eyes that would give her away immediately. It died after she went to the games. From that moment on, she became a shell of her former self. Niko jumps at loud sounds, fears the Capitol more than she can articulate, and would do anything to keep her loved ones alive. She's lost enough already, and she'd rather die than let anything happen to them. Winning the games would at least mean they'd be safe, protected; they are, but for a price. A price she's willing to pay even if it costs losing sight of the girl she used to be.
    
    likes: the hum of electrical currents (it reminds her of home), cats, tea, swimming
    
    dislikes: president snow, alcohol, blood, violence
    
    strengths: thinking on her feet, stealth, intelligence
    
    weaknesses: loyal to a fault, fearful, close-combat
    
    fears: being alone, losing her loved ones, the capitol
    
    ambitions: protecting and providing for her family, being able to live a quiet life
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[riddle .]

"evil expects evil from others."
alva kang

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  no longer human

  
  

  trigger warning for self-harm, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, trauma, and canon typical violence and death.

  
  
  

  
  

  enter hell

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Alva kang
    

    nicknames:

    known as the prodigy by his district and slacker/prick by those who know him personally. call him al and he'll find a way to make your life hell.
    

    age:

    twenty
    

    dob:

    June 19th
    

    pob:

    district one
    

    pronouns:

    he/him/his
    

    gender:

    cismale
    

    sexuality:

    whoever is willing to jump off a bridge with him
    

    role:

    victor
    

    residence:

    capital
    

    ethnicity:

    East Asian
    

    allegiance:

    leans more towards the rebellion for funsies, but sees merit in playing both sides if needed
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    I wanna skin you alive

    
    
    

    victor file: District One - A. Kang

    
    

    games won:

    70th
    
    

    age:

    fifteen
    
    

    weapons:

    his mind and a knife.
    
    

    skills:

    intelligence, stealth, manipulation, acuity, deceit.
    
    

    pre-game interview questions:

    
    Q: "You volunteered for the games even though you had no prior combat training like some tributes before you. What was the reason for this?"
    A: "Well, it seemed like such an honorable way to go for someone like me! Getting to be in the games sounded like such fun, too!"
    
    Q: "Is is true you didn't say any goodbyes when leaving your district? You must have been excited."
    A: "Oh, yes! Very excited! Didn't want to keep the train waiting, and all of you in the audience of course!"
    
    Q: "there's been a rumor going around that you and the other careers haven't been getting along. Any thoughts on that?"
    A: "Haha, we just like to play games with each other, that's all! We all have big ambitions, so there's some issues there, but I try to make sure we all understand each other at the end of day!"
    
    

    what were his games like?:

    
    it took place indoors rather than out, with the arena being a pitch-black labyrinth with the cornucopia being the only area of light, that being a large overhead skylight. it had little food or water and was cold, nearly desolate in every capacity. it was a challenge to the tributes to celebrate the 70th hunger games, and to showcase what desperate environments could do to even more desperate children.
    
    once Alva and the other tributes were put in the arena, Alva went after the youngest tribute, a small girl from District 12. Rather than kill her, he dragged her away from the bloodbath in the center and into the dark maze. he waited with her, carefully using sweet words of protection to make the girl rely upon and trust him. he made her entirely dependent on him, even down to her thoughts and actions, never acting unless he put the idea into her head or pushed her in the direction he wanted, making it appear as though she came up with it. he made her do most of the work like scouting while he laid about, pulling pranks on her whenever she wasn't expecting it to ease his boredom. he was never worried about dying, making jokes about letting his death happen if it came down to it, seemingly prepared to lay down and take it. They survived together like this but even though Alva talked about how he couldn't wait to finally meet an end to the game, he continued to eat and drink and plan for both their survival.
    
    together they waited until the first killings were over and once the careers made torches and found the few flashlights given, going into the dark to kill the other tributes, the pair pilfered the cornucopia for supplies before retreating into the dark. the maze had sharp drop-offs and traps that were impossible to avoid in the darkness without light, so some who came out of the bloodbath at the start met their end in that way. Alva and the girl (he refused to learn her name) from twelve worked together to lead a few into traps to avoid confrontation, using the girl as easy bait to lure unsuspecting tributes into Alva's waiting hands. This tactic was working well, until a tribute from eight got wise to their trick and avoided the trap, attacking the girl from twelve, preparing to stab her, until Alva rushed him, freeing the girl from his grasp. the two struggled and Alva was quickly overpowered, until the girl used the very blade meant for her throat on the tribute from eight, coming from behind and slitting his neck open.
    
    they both were surprised by their actions; the girl at her kill and Alva at himself for saving her and fighting against a tribute who would have surely killed him. their dynamic changed slightly, and the girl, Eleanor, he finally acknowledged, began to take a more active role in their partnership. she talked about her life in twelve and her younger siblings who she mainly took care of, even with being so young herself. Alva shrugged most of her words and affection for him off but allowed her to huddle near him for warmth at night and braided her hair during downtimes, frowning all the while. however, it came to a point where it was just them and the career pack left, and their supplies were steadily dwindling with each day the two groups avoided each other, prolonging the game. Alva complained constantly about his hunger and hated the idea of dying by starvation (too much pain, he whined) and they devised a plan to get rid of the other tributes.
    
    it came to a head when Alva and Eleanor approached the others at the cornucopia, Alva holding a knife to Eleanor's throat, offering her up to the careers. he tried to bargain with them; a kill for supplies, and when they started discussing with each other, he used their hunger and exhaustion to cause strife among the two leaders, that being his female counterpart from one and a boy from five, sewing lies and deceit that the boy from five was undermining the girl from one, causing the two to fight and the boy from five to axe his partner from one in front of the other two remaining victors besides Alva and Eleanor, causing a full out brawl among them. quickly, Alva and his ally went to grab supplies but just as Alva went running back into the dark, Eleanor was grabbed by one of the others who made to stab her. without thinking, Alva rushed him and they landed harshly together, struggling against each other. the tribute from five had his hands on Alva's throat and began choking him, but Alva was content in not fighting him and with the knowledge Eleanor would be fine. then, the boy from five's hands was no longer on him and instead fighting against Eleanor's hold him, trying to lift him away from Alva. in trying to regain his breath, Alva could only watch helplessly as the boy from five slammed Eleanor's skull into the ground again and again, until he stumbled up, grabbing the knife the other boy dropped early on and plunging it into his back until they fell over, continuing his assault until his face and hands were covered in the other boy's blood.
    
    when the final cannon went off and it was Alva all alone among the massacred bodies he caused around him, he didn't even notice the steady stream of tears running down his cheeks as he stared at the small body of his friend from twelve and cursed her for being an idiot. he cursed her as he was taken from the arena. he cursed her when he was paraded around the districts during his victory tour. he cursed her as he met the eyes of her younger siblings. he cursed himself for being the one still breathing when it should have been her.
    
    

    mentor:

    yes, unfortunately for his mentees who he loves to scare and tease more than help.
    
    

    reputation:

    well known for being a flamboyant jackass with a penchant for pranks. his charm and jokes keep him in high regard among those in the capital. however, he always seems to have an ace up his sleeve and knows a little too much about the seedier underbelly of the capital and it's dirty dealings, so there's an air of danger whenever his smiles turn a tad too sharp for comfort. usually though, you'll know him as a carefree victor living his assumed best life with a drink in his hand for every occasion - even funerals.
    

    ----❖----​

    can we kill them off:

    Alva has been waiting for death's sweet embrace for years so he's always ready for it, but I'd find it really funny and ironic if he just kept surviving due to any development of his goals or just through luck.
    
    

    do you want them in the quarter quell?:

    hell yeah! if there's too many though, he can fit into a lot of political situations too to cause trouble. whatever works better for everyone and the gms!
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I wanna wear your flesh like a costume.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    you have to care about something.

    
    

    what's there to care about?

    
    

    If there's nothing, then why keep this act up?

    
    

    because I keep thinking something will change

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'11'' (181cm)
    
    

    weight:

    147lbs (67kg)
    
    

    skin:

    has more in common with the moon with how pale he is, as if he's allergic to the sun. almost translucent in its stark white appearance, the blues of his veins always visible.
    
    

    physique:

    despite his height, Alva is thin and pitiful in regards to physical power. a tad bony, a thing that goes back and forth depending on who's harping at him to eat when he forgets. however, he has a timeless elegance in his movements and moves his body in a way that seems practiced, like he's floating, making his frame it's own special instrument.
    
    

    eyes:

    dark and eerily empty mahogany eyes that appear to track things with an almost predatory nature, ready to strike at a moments weakness.
    
    

    hair:

    inky and short with a fringe that often gets in his eyes, but is easy to manage
    
    

    features:

    many hidden scars on his upper arms and thighs, mostly self-inflicted. a long and jagged scar across his chest from a close call in his games from another tribute with a sword. more optimistically: his winning smile.
    
    

    body modifications:

    pierced ears.
    
    

    face claim:

    lee do hyun
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    likes:

    talking and contemplating about death, alcohol, slacking off, pulling pranks, lying, seafood, classical music.
    
    

    dislikes:

    labor of any kind, large animals, mornings, boring people and things, pain of any kind.
    
    

    strengths:

    charming, doesn't let anything get to him, great actor, using words and manipulation to get people to move how he wants them to, incredible poker face.
    
    

    weaknesses:

    physically weak, difficult to collaborate with, careless, never says what he means.
    
    

    hobbies:

    reading, annoying people, painting, playing the cello.
    
    

    quirks:

    hums when scheming, likes to put bandaids on himself even when unharmed for the designs to show off, smiles automatically when being addressed.
    
    

    fears:

    not finding a purpose or meaning in life, intimacy/vulnerability, being seen as inhuman
    
    

    ambitions:

    find a purpose, make as much trouble as he can in ways to reach his goals, meet a painless and gentle end.
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    human by anavae
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    born to a fairly affluent family in the cushy environment of district one, Alva was far better off than most of the bugs that the capital crushed beneath their iron fist of oppression. he didn't want for much anything but therein lay the problem - the sickness. Alva was an empty doll that his parents liked to show off, especially when he showed great talent in music. playing his cello, which was his preferred instrument, brought some life into him, but even that became tiresome and repetitive in the awfulness of life. he had first-hand experience with the wickedness of others. his district was complicit in many atrocities the capital enjoyed handing out, fearful of being treated like the outermost districts. dinner parties full of fakeness and plastered-on grins became his greatest lesson and eventually, his blank slate became vibrant with saccharine glamor and poise, turning crueler when he made others suffer with his words, the only form of entertainment he found tolerable.
    
    being Alva's friend was akin to a cat having a pet mouse; one had to learn to live with being battered around for a chance at rare affection. most preferred to keep a wide berth between them and him, only adding to his loneliness and poor regard for others. eventually, the feelings became too overwhelming to bear with a forced smile, so the cuts on his skin were the best alternative. he was eager for an end to pain but was fearful of the thing itself, leading to many covered-up botched attempts. coming to terms that he couldn't do it himself, he turned to volunteering for the games as a last resort, hoping that it would be a quick end if he convinced or bribed the right tribute.
    
    

    
    
    

    it's getting too loud.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - entp-a

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    I wanna be human.

    
    
    

    
    

    persona

    
    

    alva kang is a being made of masks, donning a different one to blend into any situation he finds himself in. his true intentions are always hidden under poorly-hidden grins as he teases and prods the lions in the den of the capital. a man with little regard for himself and others, always playing some game others don't realize they're in, pulling at their invisible strings he wraps around their throats much like the rope he often toys with around his own.
    
    a master at deflection, answering one question with three of his own, steering the wheel all while he watches with dead eyes, half in the bag and aiming to unsettle the spirits of his newest playthings.
    
    there's a distance between alva and the rest of the world, even as he spins with the most beautiful women and men, taking their hands in his and kissing them with sickening sweetness, the whites of his teeth appearing wolflike as he threads himself into their graces. Many mistake him for the boy who cries wolf as he dangles over the edge, arms spread wide and welcoming, but perhaps he is the wolf as he reaches out to pull you down with him, laughing all the way.
    
    maybe he's hoping you'll hold him back too.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Radio Silence]

Fickhar Hadley- District 2

# Victor of the 64th Hunger Games

# Daniel Millar

♡coded by uxie♡

https://66.media.tumblr.com/232c090...0344/tumblr_inline_ol4nwhvSwg1uxxza6_75sq.png[/URL]), auto!important;]

"The righteous hand of God, the Devil that you forgot,"

FICKHAR HADLEY

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• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  "I promised I'd make them pay. I intend to keep that promise."
  
  Following File includes: Death, trauma, Hunger Games gore
  
  Please continue at your own risk.

  
  
  

  
  

  Continue

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Fickhar Hadley
    

    Nickname:

    Flick
    

    Age:

    23
    

    Gender:

    Male
    

    Sexuality:

    Bisexual
    

    Race:

    White
    

    Residence:

    District 2
    

    Role:

    Victor
    

    Allegiance:

    Rebellion
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    If this is to end in FIRE, then we all shall BURN together

    
    
    

    Victor File, Hadley F., Last Updated 2164.9.01

    
    pre-game interview questions:
    “So Fickhar…” Caesar started with a smile as usual because the show must go on, and the show tonight concerning Fickhar Hadley, he hoped would go extremely well in terms of dramatics, angst, and possible romance.
    “Please, call me Flick, all my friends do,” the fourteen year old interrupted with a smile of his own, because he planned on being as charming as he could be, he wanted the capitol to eat out of his hand in terms of this Game, and if it took being a capitol mutt, so be it. He was here to survive, not people please the rebellious types who thought the Games were bullshit.
    “Okay, Flick, I think I speak for all of us when I ask why you volunteered for that boy? We all know District 2 is famous for it’s volunteers on a yearly basis, of course, however you seemed to know that boy on a personal level,” the host continued, and Flick internally sighed. He had known this would come up. Of course it would. He had been standing right next to Orion, and had kissed his forehead before making his way to the stage where his hand would be raised in the air, and he would be escorted away because now he was a token of honor for District 2.
    “Orion Tiffet and I grew up together. He was the only thing I could depend on. I felt I owed him a favor for being the only person that really stuck with me throughout my life.” Flick answered honestly, his smile still intact as he looked at Ceasar sincerely.
    “That’s sweet. Did you two say goodbyes to each other?” He asked, and Flick felt like this was digging a little deeper however he couldn’t just not answer and so he inhaled as he nodded.
    “We did,” he said plainly.
    “And how did that go? What did he say to you?”
    If one knew how to look past Flick’s masks they would see he was increasingly growing annoyed with the personal questions, that he would rather not indulge in, but again you couldn’t just not answer Ceasar Flickerman.
    “He told me to win the Games, and come back home to him safely,” Flick said quietly, shifting in the seat uncomfortably.
    “And what did you tell him in response to that?”
    “I made a promise I’d win, and he had absolutely nothing to worry about,” he admitted his voice faltering as he answered, completely oblivious to why any of this was relevant, and then realized Ceasar was making him seem human to Panem. He was giving him a personality, something for the Capitol and viewers to fawn over. Some reason for the sponsors to like him, or at the very least pity him. And if Ceasar could play that game so could Fickhar.
    “Is there anything you regret not saying?”
    Flick nodded but he didn’t indulge this time, simply to keep the audience on the edge of their seats for dramatics. Caesar raised a brow, and laughed. “Well, come on, don’t keep us in the dark, Flick.”
    “I would have told him thank you….and, well” he trailed off slightly shrugging.
    “And….?” Caesar drew out, unable to let this go. If he wanted to know, the capitol wanted to know.
    “I would have told him, I love him.” Flick said with a slight smile. “I would have said specifically ‘Orion Tiffet, I am in love with you. And I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed. And that one day all our labor will be returned to dust. And I know that the sun will swallow the only earth we will ever have. And there’s a possibility I won’t be able to keep my promise and will not make it back to you. And I’m in love with you.’” he said finally after a moment of thought.
    In response Ceasar held a hand to his chest, and gave a look to Flick that made it clear he thought the sentiment was sweet, once again. He didn’t bother looking at the crowd for their reactions, because that time it wasn’t for them. It was for him and Orion. Just in case he never came back. Just in case he didn’t have the chance to say this to Orion in person, face-to-face.
    “I wish we could have seen Orion’s reaction to this.” And if Flick didn’t know better, he would have assumed Ceasar was being genuine and just a hopeless romantic in general, however he did know better. The face of Panem, specifically the Capitol, couldn’t be anything but a snake afterall. “Okay, last question, Flick…how prepared do you think you are?”
    Flick could answer this question easily, thank god. “Very,”
    “Immaculate, thank you Flick, that is all from District 2 tonight!”
    
    What was their game like?: Flick won his Games by hiding out in the higher parts of the arena, given his arena was in short a burnt forest with a thick fog almost always covering it. Dead vegetation was more likely the farther away from the cornucopia making it difficult to hide in trees because they were leafless making it clear to other tributes should you try and hide in them, but despite this Flick consistently kept in the trees taking out tributes with throwing knives. However, later on in the game he was forced closer to the cornucopia, as the river that ran through the arena dried out and the animals had pretty much all been hunted so to get supplies, he made his way there and to his surprise found, Trinity the other District 2 career, who he decided to form an alliance with right there and then, taking the necassary supplies. Ten tributes remained and that following night, ashes fell from the sky infused with tracker jacker venom causing vivid hallucinations in which Flick was almost killed by before Trinity saved his life due to the fact she was older, and they were less deadly than those of actual tracker jackers. When it came down to three tributes they were eventually forced back to the cornucopia where Trinity, Flick, and the District 4 tribute were all encountered with mutts in the form of giant insects. Trinity was sacrificed by the District 4 tribute who pushed her in front of the spider-like creature, and was promptly bitten, which led to her death a few hours later, but not before Flick ended up decapitating the District 4 tribute with a sword. This was highly entertaining to the capitol but no help was offered to heal Trinity, and so she passed away leaving him the victor of the 64th Hunger Games and completely hateful towards the capitol and President Snow who he had later found out instructed the Game Maker to dismiss any sponsor gifts to assist Trinity.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    Just because I carry it so well doesn't mean it's not heavy

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    how are you holding up?

    
    

    Absolutely wonderful. Why?

    
    

    ...If you say so. Just checking in after hearing about the capitol calling you back in.

    
    

    Ah, well who says I'm against seeing...old friends?

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    dark brown, right bangs hang over part of his face while the rest tends to be slicked back
    
    
    

    eyes:

    dark brown
    
    

    height:

    5'11
    
    

    body mods:

    earrings, and a triangle tattoo on the small of his back
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    Scarring on his right shoulder trailing to his chest.
    
    

    face claim:

    Daniel Millar
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    game won:

    64th Hunger Games
    
    

    Age:

    14
    
    

    weapons:

    Throwing knives, swords, and a baton if he can get his hands on one.
    
    

    skills:

    Masonry, Weaponry knowledge, Peacekeeper/Intensive training, hand-to-hand combat
    
    

    mentor:

    no
    
    

    Reputation:

    Flick's reputation before the games varied moment from moment, quite literally. On one hand, he was seen as an overly intelligent and charming child with a delightful sense of humor, but during the games he was quickly overlooked by the brutes forming allies to kill off other tributes until the last ten remaining tributes in which he was seen as stealthy with the perfect amount of intelligence along with his partner, who was a great deal of help, earning them plenty of sponsors and fans.
    
    

    can we kill them off?:

    Yes, but I'd like for him to go out in a Finnick-esque way, and when he dies is hopefully negotiable.
    
    

    do you want them in the quarter quell?:

    absolutely
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Claudius Hadley had fallen in love with one of District 2's most formidable mentors, having been a victor, and offered to be her predecessor. Soon enough the two had a child, although his love died, her body unable to handle the complications and hardships of birthing their son, who would later on be known as Flick, or Fickhar Hadley. His mother's friend, Julia, had offered to take on Flick and raise him with their son Orion, however Claudius denied the offer believing him and his mother could raise the child on their own. Despite this, Orion and Flick grew up to be close friends, until the age six when Flick had started pulling back from outside relationships as his father had finally crumbled under the pressure, and left Flick fumbling to try and learn to take care of himself and his father, while trying to keep up enough income for the three of them although his father wasting the income they did have on booze didn't help his efforts in the slightest. When he was nine, he decided to apply for Career Academy, quickly throwing himself into intensive bouts of training, and sponging up any knowledge he could to distract from his home life. Time spent with Orion grew less and less, until one day the two had a falling out over it, and Flick had explained everything. Things went well from there, and he tried to make more time for Orion, until his Grandmother passed away, although he honestly couldn't say that he was heartbroken over it. The only downside for Flick was that providing for himself and his father was becoming more and more difficult, until Julia had found out via Orion- Which, yes, Flick was a little upset over- of their situation and decided to take Flick and Claudius in. Against all efforts, Julia and Flick had put up, Claudius refused to quit drinking, leading Flick to put a hardstop on his feelings concerning his father, and fully immered himself in training until 12.
    
    Around 12, Flick had decided with his teachers and mentors assurance that he was ready for the Hunger Games although, didn't volunteer due to his young age. When he had turned 13 he considered it, and decided against volunteering once again, confusing everyone, until he explained the situation. He figured he'd volunteer for the 65th Hunger Games, but at the age 14 that idea was put to a stop once Orion, who had become a bit more than just a friend lately, had been Reaped and he had volunteered in his place.
    Flick's decision hadn't really processed until he was at the capitol building, showered with interviews and compliments that he practically thrived in, absolutely loving the idea of the Hunger Games, winning the heart of the capitol with a dorky smile, and quick wit along with the romantic touch he had implied when asked why he had volunteered ignoring questions on why he had fallen so young, and simply told everyone it wasn't a choice he had inherently made.
    Despite being comfortable pre-Games, Flick had kept in mind the promise he had made to Julia, and Orion. Come back safe. Making sure not too show off too much of his skills until the Games really began, he went in with the full intentions of keeping that promise.
    
    Day One of the Hunger Games, Flick's strategy was to run up to the cornucopia, and grab a sword, a knife, and a bag which he had snatched off the dead body of the District 1 tribute he had wrestled with finally managing to kill him by digging his blade into his opponents throat, earning him first kill, and a newfound respect from the capitol, and more importantly sponsors. After that he had found a safe spot to hide for the time being, keeping in mind who was all dead and who wasn't.
    
    Day Two of the Games, he had learned that there had been a bloodbath he thankfully wasn't involved with, leaving the shiny number of 13 tributes left. Figuring there was an alliance he went to go find the group, with about six throwing knives left, and his sword in hand, although kept to the trees which weren't all that helpful in terms of hiding, although sufficed when the time came to attempt an ambush the alliance which consisted of the other District 1 tribute, District 3, and whom he had believed but still can't exactly recollect to be the District 7 tribute. Taking out District 1 first considering he believed them to be the utmost important competitor taking to blades to bring her down, he next took out one of the District 3 tributes with a knife impaled in her hand nailing her to a tree and slitting her throat. After that he had easily taken down the other District 3, although complications grew when he faced the District 7 tribute, who had been considerably more adept than him considering he was bigger and older by three years, in the woods being from a lumber district. It had taken a moment, and an axe swing to his shoulder that thankfully missed it's original mark, and had been slowed down by Flick landing a stab to his dominant arm, which he used to his advantage and had finally taken down with a stab through the chest.
    
    Day Three of the Games and only three tributes had been killed, and huntable wildlife had been running down already. The River was noticably drying up, although it did last through the day in which Flick had tried to avoid other tributes to try and bandage and disinfect the axe wound the best he could, and it considerably helped when he had a few donations given to him via sponsors, with medicinal cream and fresh bandages that weren't clothing strips being sent down. They didn't do much good though, when ashes were falling from the sky that night like a soft snow, leading several of the tributes to go into frenzied fits, and eventually deaths if shelter wasn't taken soon enough. Flick had almost died due to the tracker jacker infused ashes, until the other tribute from District 2 had quickly saved him.
    
    Day Four, Five, Six, And Seven of the Hunger Games Flick remained unconscious later learning that most of the tributes had been killed, due to various things, and the eighth day he had learned the river had completely been dried up, and the wildlife was seemingly gone. With no other choice, Trinity (the other District 2 Tribute) and Flick had made their way to the cornucopia where they were faced with a tribute from District 4, and mutts in the form of gigantic spiders. Initially Flick and Trinity had tried to run away, and find a high point to avoid being bitten and eventually realized they couldn't. Trinity and Flick had fought their way through most of them with fire from matches found in Flick's backpack, until Trinity was pushed into the remaining mutt by the District 4 tribute, resulting in death about an hour later, after Flick had burned the last spider, and the District 4 tribute after decapitating his head, leaving him to be the victor of the 64th Hunger Games.
    
    After he had won the Games, Flick was forced into prostitution for the nature in which he had displayed pre-Games and threatened Orion and Julia's life when he tried to resist, learning much more than he'd rather know about the capitol he had once been enthralled by. He had practically become a living shadow of his father, finding comfort in alcohol, and letting the hatred for President Snow and the capitol burn brighter day by day, thriving on the fact one day revenge might be possible.
    

    
    
    

    I didn't go through all of that for nothing

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - INTJ

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    I am not who I was

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    personality: Flick's personality varies from moment to moment, all depending on where he is, and who's around. He creates an image that he knows the capital audience would love and uses that to his advantage. That's why many perceive him as a flirty peacock when he is not - he is empathetic and his heart only belongs to one person. However, years of abuse and acting make him resemble two different people. To those who see him at face value (the image he set up) he comes across as shallow. In reality, he ends up being a sarcastic and witty, doesn't actively pursue thrill, or seek stimuli as perceived due to a few incidents with Orion and his Games. He tends to be more immersed in the moment, perceiving the concrete reality of things, grounded, reactive, and sometimes reckless. When he can or wants he's also selfless and kind, however this side to him remains pretty much unseen by his own will.
    
    likes: sun basking, cats, knife throwing, sword practice, and coming up with terrible puns.
    
    dislikes: Crowds of people, loud noises especially, canon noises, the Games, President Snow, and grapes.
    
    strengths: Determined, passionate, selfless, adaptability.
    
    weaknesses: impulsive, aggressive, prideful, stubborn, and reckless.
    
    fears: After the arena, fear wasn't an emotion he had really processed until his family and loved ones were threatened once again for showing the slightest signs of rebellion against the capitol, and so he had taken on the job of looking pretty for the capitol among various other things. His fear is loosing what he has left. He also tends to have a fear of bodies of water, and large animals.
    
    ambitions: To one day see the downfall of the capitol, however this mostly is just wanting to see President Snow, in whom he fully blames for the Hunger Games in general, fall off his high and mighty throne.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[BakedBeansIsGood]

Fleur Astaret - District Ten

# 62nd Hunger Games

# Tashi Rodriguez

♡coded by uxie♡

The bitter taste of victory coats my tongue

Fleur Astaret

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  warning!

  
  

  Do you ever think that it would've been better if you didn't survive? That someone else deserved the sweet nectar of life and you're only tormented by memories, barely surviving?

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Fleur Astaret
    

    Age:

    28
    

    nickname:

    N/A
    

    dob:

    July 4th
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    female
    

    allegiance:

    passive rebel
    

    residence:

    district ten
    

    sexuality:

    pansexual
    

    ethnicity:

    puerto rican
    

    role:

    victor
    

    nickname:

    the actress set aflame
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    Everyone understands one thing—fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death.

    
    
    

    victor file

    
    Game won: 62nd Hunger games
    Age: 15
    Weapons: Knife, improvised rock as a weapon
    Skills: Speed, acting ability, some knife skills from butchering, decision making
    pre-game interview questions: The events up to the interview passed in a blur, so much new information consumed that Fleur felt like her head was going to burst. In her interview, her mentor appeared to go for a black-horse angle and Fleur had decided to act confident and determined, if not a bit cocky. It wasn’t one that was accurate to her at all. She was more of a flame, already spluttering out and ready to be stamped out but if it was for sponsors, she has always been a good actor.
    
    Donning black make-up and a puffy-sleeved black trailing dress, she made her way up the flatform, palms sweaty as she began to answer questions, but she walked with a strut, a smug expression upon her face. She had to pull her act off and lie through her teeth, and it had to be believable.
    
    “I'm sure the audience is all eager to know, what are your strengths?”
    
    “Well, I’m more of a Jack-of-all-trades but let me assure you, I have a little something up my sleeve. It’s sort of a secret weapon and I suppose you’ll have to find out.”
    
    “That’s certainly a smart move, I can’t wait to see what you can bring to the table. So, do you think you could win this year's Hunger Games?”
    
    “Well, what kind of a question is that? I think the answer is quite obvious but for the sake of my game, I’ll decline to answer.”
    
    Mentor: no
    can we kill them off? You can kill Fleur off, but it would be interesting for her character development later on, mainly with her self-guilt so if you want to, later rather than sooner would be preferable.
    do you want them in the quarter quell? Preferably, yes.
    
    Rest of the information is in the backstory
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I made it through the maze but lost myself in the process

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    Hey, what's wrong?

    
    

    It would be easier to ask what isn't wrong.

    
    

    At least you're still alive.

    
    

    I don't know who I am anymore; they should've won instead of me.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'2"
    
    

    eyes:

    Chocolate brown
    
    

    hair:

    Black curly hair reaches up to a few inches above her shoulders, usually down but sometimes tied up in a bun.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    A 2-3 inch long scar starting at her right shoulder blade.
    
    

    body modifications:

    She has pierced ears
    
    

    face claim:

    tashi rodriguez
    
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    likes:

    Capitol Food (the only thing she does like about them), mornings, materialistic items, her family
    
    

    dislikes:

    The Capitol, the Hunger Games, death, fire
    
    

    strengths:

    Loyal, charismatic, independent, all good traits applicable to her. Fleur is an easily adaptable person who will utilise whatever she can to her advantage. Combined with some knife skills, acting ability, and fast thinking, this resulted in her winning the 62nd Hunger Games.
    
    

    weaknesses:

    She is stubborn to a fault but could be described as cowardly, having prized survival when she competed in the Hunger Games. Her self-guilt can often overwhelm her and even now, she struggles with some things that appeared in her Games.
    
    

    fears:

    Fleur is scared, terrified of having to hurt someone else again, she would rather die than do that again. Another long-running fear of hers had been her and a loved one dying and her being incapable to stop it.
    
    

    ambitions:

    The faint hope that the Capitol could be overthrown, that the Hunger Games could be stopped had been one Fleur had been hanging on for a while and something is going to make a reality, no matter what it takes.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    
    Born in district ten, the curse of the Hunger Games has loomed over her in her teen years. It was a fear that lingered the entire year as the gore and blood from that year’s games imprinted itself in her mind.
    
    Her district dealing with livestock and the preparation of it, Fleur had some knife skills, butchering the likes of pigs and cows as well as some slaughterhouse techniques. She had two younger siblings who she treasured greatly with a single father, her mother having died of a sickness with medicine too expensive for them to afford. With the little money made, Fleur took the tesseract every year to feed and clothe her family, reassuring herself that it was too unlikely for her name to get chosen. Taking up a more maternal role for her much younger siblings-respectively five and seven years younger than he, responsibility was nurtured from a young age inside of her, often giving up her own portions of food for them.
    
    This lifestyle was disrupted by a haunting event, something every person feared that left parents wide-eyed in hysterics, being reaped. Fleur could still remember that day, her throat dry as her legs shook, restraining the urge to vomit. Somehow-by some force of will, she made her way up to the stage as gracefully, confidently as she could, attempting to fake acceptance with her situation. With her district partner, a seventeen-year-old named Plato, she was sure she had just received a death sentence.
    
    Meeting with her family after being reaped, a thought pulsed inside Fleur, one of determination instead of panic and despair-her siblings needed her, her father needed her.
    _____________________________________________________________________________
    Her arena, still not a scene she could bear to picture to this day. Archaic ruins-limestone and bricks spread across the diameter of the arena, a large portion of it already overtaken by wildlife. Long grass stretched across the arena, a few hills and mountains spotting the area. A beautiful sight but beauty always hid destruction.
    
    Fleur’s shaky alliance with her district partner and the pair of district three tributes lingered in her mind until the countdown started. The 17-year-old and 13-year-old pair-would she be really able to trust them? 17, 16-, oh, how she hated that voice that was counting. So…so…nonchalant to the desperation in the tribute’s minds, uncaring towards the bloodshed that would ensue, that they caused.
    
    Positioned to a district 6 tribute and a district 4 tribute, Fleur noted the lack of a water source and animals in the flat terrain circling the Cornucopia. Sharing glances with her patchy alliance, she nodded to her left. The original plan had been to flee lest the careers kill her but the backpack and water canister next to her were enticing, a bit too enticing. She sprinted towards a nearby backpack before heading to a canister of water-until another pair of hands gripped the same bottle.
    
    She kicked up as the pair of hands began pulling, ones much stronger than her own only to let go at the well-aimed kick. Stumbling as the raucous sounds of screaming, panting, and pleads echoed into her ear, she headed away to an area with limestone structures to group up with her teammates. They traversed the game together, smoothly with only around 10 tributes left by the start of the 5th day.
    Clearly, the gamemakers were becoming bored as tornados formed at the perimeter, flushing them into the centre.
    It was then that the three remaining careers attacked them, one slicing an axe into Fleur’s district partner. Slashing out with a knife she had received from the 13-year-old girl from district three in her alliance, she came into contact with something before turning tail and running. Looking back on it, she ran far too much. She was a coward, a fool. A monster. A selfish idiot who would sacrifice anyone for her sake-all insults she would continue to bash herself with following her victory.
    
    Two cannons, Fleur remembered as she ran to acres of tall grass, diving into the middle, attempting to hide sobs as a nasty cut from a knife at her shoulder blade bled. Apparently, two teammates had died. She repeated a mantra as she hid. “They must think you can win”. She had to put up a confident facade-she needed sponsors. Confidence was always key.
    
    This proved to be true once Fleur attempted to set up a camp near the base of a mountain, only to be cornered by careers. She could vividly remember backing away as the careers sniggered-planning to play with their prey. She had opened her mouth and in an almost calm voice, repeated a sentence over and over again. “Don’t kill me, I know where the tributes from eleven are.”
    
    The tributes from eleven, threats, two people the careers considered the biggest threat in their game. It was a lie, of course, knowing where they were, but a helpful one all the same.
    
    Fleur was still alive after all and because of that, she made it to the dawn of the sixth day with only six people left. Taking advantage of an artificial disaster-a fire of some kind, Fleur ran to a pond towards the direction of the fire. It was where the careers were camping and she submerged herself underwater. She couldn’t outrun the fire in her condition and it was an easy way to get away from the careers.
    
    The fire retreated, Fleur came up, wincing. Receiving burn paste from a generous sponsor, she waited, biding her time by sharpening her knife on nearby rocks. Her body hurt all over, but she continued to push through
    
    She didn’t have to wait long before cannons came, the night revealing the remaining careers had fought between each other and had all died. This left…the girl from district three whom Fleur had allied with. No sooner than Fleur had put together this thought did the girl burst out from a nearby bunch of bushes lunging at Fleur with a longsword.
    
    She yelled out, a nasty slash down her thigh as she barely dodged. Clutching the knife she held, Fleur sliced at the girl, cutting her lengthwise down her arm. In the heat of battle, the weapons were flung aside by sheer force/power and Fleur pounced onto the girl, grabbing the nearest weapon-a rock. She began to repeatedly bash her head with the rock. She couldn’t even relax a second else the girl could reach for a weapon-Fleur had to do this for her family. She had to win.
    
    A cannon sounded, Fleur flinching as it did. She puked into the water, rock coated with blood and a gushing cavity in the girl’s head
    _____________________________________________________________________________
    “The actress set aflame” was her nickname from then on or any variations of that. The citizens of the Capitol found her game an entertaining one and surprisingly, became quite popular though that faded quickly as it had risen. Eventually, her reputation became one of a smart victor, silver-tongued and sharp but still boring due to her lack of bloodlust. Fleur survived but was never the same. She couldn’t use a knife for a while after that and even now, hated it. Her hand always shook as she imagined the poor girl she murdered, blood-coating stainless steel. She was a monster, vile and no better than the people in the Capitol. It would’ve been better if she had died as her takeaway and she had spent the following years dawdling, surviving, not living. Fleur had taken another person’s life, and nothing would be able to cleanse her of that cardinal sin.
    Days submerged in guilt, her relationship with her family worsened as she became more isolated.13 years later after her first game, she was reaped. Again, as a sick twist for the third quarter quell. This time Fleur knew what she was going to do. She wouldn’t win, she would make sure of that. She would simply be a ladder rung or a stepping stone to help someone else, it was the least she could do.
    
    

    
    
    

    The actress that was set aflame

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - enfp-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    They say humans all have an innate survival instinct-where's mine?

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    She had been a social butterfly before she had been reaped, if not a bit impulsive. High-energy and positive, with a certain charisma and assertiveness about her, Fleur had always been popular in her school despite how often she could be impatient and blunt. Always seeking more gratification in life than what the Capitol offered her, life had never been enough for her, seizing new opportunities wherever they came. A little selfish of all, but didn’t all humans have a degree of selfishness?
    
    Her bold attitude has caused her fair share of enemies, displeased at her fiery temper or how outspoken she could be when it came to what she was passionate about- freedom and justice, two ideals that Fleur prized above all else. However, despite what most people thought about her, she was intelligent, and able to utilise whatever she had to her advantage even if it was only her voice.
    
    With a brazen fire inside of her that had sputtered out once she was crowned a victor, the ashes remained untouched and discarded. Fleur had become more isolated, wallowing in self-hate but refusing to turn to drink and drugs, she had never been one to turn away from issues, even ones as large as hers. Besides, she deserved to remember, to suffer at the memory of her games.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[sox]

SAI ESWARA | DISTRICT 1

# VICTOR OF THE 63RD HUNGER GAMES

# NISHA KUMARI

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[magnus effect.]

crest shen | district 4

# victor of the 59th hunger games

# xiao zhan

♡coded by uxie♡

somewhere in between who i used to be and who i'll be tomorrow (when the champagne blows my mind)

CREST SHEN

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  when i die, i will come in fast and low. i will stick the landing. there will be no confusion. the dead will make room for me.
  
  tw for canon-typical death, violence, addiction.

  [/CENTER]
  
  

  
  

  proceed.

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 1
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    
    

    name:

    redacted crest shen.
    

    nickname:

    the prince of the city.
    

    age:

    32.
    

    gender:

    trans man.
    

    sexuality:

    bisexual.
    

    ethnicity:

    chinese.
    

    residence:

    district four the capitol.
    

    role:

    victor.
    

    allegiance:

    neutral, though more out of a lack of perceived options than true disinterest ; would easily be swayed over to the rebellion.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    i was the king of this hologram, where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

    
    
    

    victor file : #5942, shen, xxxx.

    
    

    game won:

    59th hunger games.
    

    age:

    16.
    

    weapons:

    throwing daggers, fishing harpoon, fists and teeth.
    

    skills:

    charm, strategic planning, strong swimmer & diver.
    
    

    pre-game interview questions.

    “⎯and please welcome our next tribute! do you mind introducing yourself, my boy?”
    
    “hello, everyone. i’m crest, from district four. it’s my pleasure to be with you all tonight.”
    
    “crest? i’m not all that young anymore - cut this out of the final footage, will you? (laughter) - but i remember your lovely escort calling another name just a few days ago.”
    
    “yes, well, i’ve been trying to get it changed on my papers for forever, but i’m afraid bureaucracy back home doesn’t work as quickly as it does here. crest's just a nickname of mine, but i think it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”
    
    “can't say i disagree! now, crest, we all know your district usually handpicks its tributes long before reaping day, doesn’t it? and yet here you stand. i hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but, tell me⎯why not step aside and let a career handle it?”
    
    “why, caesar, sometimes a boy’s got to stand up for himself.” the audience titters. “don’t be so quick to bury me. it’s true that i didn’t plan on being here, but now that i am, i can see it’s the best opportunity i’ve been given so far⎯for myself, and for my family.”
    
    “right, right. you’ve got a pretty busy crowd back home, if i remember correctly. they came to see you off, yes? surely they’re watching these interviews right now with the rest of us. since you’ve got yourself a prime time spot here, is there anything you’d like to say to them?”
    
    “oh, i’ve got plenty, but i think i’ll save the airing of my dirty laundry for after the games.”
    
    “ah, someone’s got it in the bag already, i see! well, now you’ve got us all rooting for some juicy gossip. maybe it’ll even convince a few more sponsors to look your way, haha! still, are you certain you don’t want to take the chance? just between ourselves, there won’t be another one like it again.”
    
    “...on second thought, you’re right.” the boy leans in, as if about to share a secret ; the world seems to narrow down to him and his invisible interlocutor. “everyone, i already told you all i wanted you to know before i left. this is for my sister, mingyan. ming’er, i know you’re the most worried about me. be good to baba and mama while i’m gone, ‘kay? remember, it’s only for a while. i’ll be home before you know it.”
    
    “well, isn’t that touching, ladies and gentlemen! for tonight, let’s add our hopes to little mingyan’s, and wish her brother good luck in the coming days! everyone, crest shen, from district four!”
    
    

    are you satisfied?

    crest has always claimed loud and clear that he was nothing but glad of his victory. indeed, the capitol ate it up, commending his wits and the strength he showed in that final challenge. deep down, though, he knows this : it was the sheer luck of his upbringing that decided his fate at the very end, nothing more.
    
    

    reputation.

    having lived in the capitol for some fifteen years now, crest is both well-known and well-loved among its denizens. made notorious by always being down for a good time, he's made many friends over the years by blending in as best he could, an advantage that comes in handy when looking for sponsors for his tributes. among the districts, however, he cuts a decidedly less popular figure : many think his time in the capitol turned his head, leading him to leave his family and home district behind. while part of him would like to deny these rumors, he simply has to acknowledge the truth - that doing so at this point would hurt his standing, and that his weakness cannot come to light in such a way.
    
    

    mentor?

    occasionally, though not everyone believes he takes his duties seriously.
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    designer me up in straight jackets!

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    what do you hate the most about the capitol?

    
    

    ha! asking sensitive questions, aren't you? but if you must know...the gamemakers robbed me of one of the few comforts left to a victor once their games are over.

    
    

    and that is?

    
    

    going home.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair:

    straight black hair, shoulder-length when he was younger and cut to his ears shortly after his victory. has regularly changed styles since.
    
    

    eyes:

    originally brown, often modified by contact lenses in various bright colors, all of them unnatural. his favorites are purple and gold.
    
    

    height:

    180 cm.
    
    

    body mods:

    several piercings on both ears + brows ; double mastectomy. ; erasure of all his scars, save for one.
    
    

    distinguishing features:

    a gilded mark on his right forearm, inlaid with what looks like liquid gold. upon a closer look, one may notice that its odd shape, like a set of teeth. he tends to unconsciously rub at it when he's upset.
    
    

    face claim:

    xiao zhan.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    can we kill them off?

    no(t for now).
    
    

    do you want them in the quarter quell?:

    if there's room for him, why not! else he'll do just fine outside the arena.
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    roaring 20s by panic! at the disco
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    childhood & adolescence.

    the eldest of five siblings, the boy who would come to be known as crest grew up between sea and shore. on some days, he helped his parents care for his little brothers and sisters, as well as two aging grandparents...but on others, he would leave their home and work their family trade : that of fishing and diving for delicate seafood and, most importantly, the precious abalone pearls capitol stylists would have sold a kidney for.
    
    as the first link in a chain of luxury products destined for the heart of panem, the shen family fared better than most, though no one would've gone as far as to call them well-off. at any rate, their work put enough food on the table to feed nine hungry mouths, and in the four years between his coming of age and that fateful reaping, he could have counted on the fingers of a single hand the number of tesserae he had to claim in order to support his siblings.
    
    the income their trade brought home did not make the work any less grueling, though. diving into the deep, day after day, was tough enough on him, young and spry as he was ; for the older members of his family, it was another ball game entirely. every evening, as he chopped fish and rolled dough alongside his parents and watched his grandmother's salt-cracked hands bleed as she set the plates on their children's tables, he wondered what it would take to bring them a miracle.
    
    as it turns out, it took an escort's hand dipping into the glass sphere of the reaping, moving along dozens of other names before plucking out a single scrap of white paper out of it. when the careers of district four started to move in to volunteer in his place, the words escaped him before he could think them through. no, let me do it. there was his opportunity, the riskiest gamble he could take, but also the one that would yield the highest reward. if this was where fate had led him, he would not let it slip through his fingers.
    
    

    before the games.

    unlike a career-born tribute, he hadn't prepared much of a strategy for the interviews and training phase, or a persona to present to the world...but as it turned out, he had more of an affinity for the cameras than he knew. while he was neither the strongest nor the most popular competitor, his friendly nature, humor and more-than-respectable performance in showcases earned him his fair share of sponsor attention, which he did his best to cultivate in the days leading up to the games. crest, a childhood nicknamed earned by his knack for always catching the top of the waves, became the one he was known by. time passed faster than he would have thought possible, though, and before long, he was on the podium, poised to run.
    
    

    the arena.

    in a departure from the usual formula of survival-in-the-wilderness, the 59th hunger games took place in a seemingly-idyllic city, full of narrow, winding streets and nooks to hole up in (think the layout of santorini). this did mean, however, that there were nearly no supplies to be found outside of the cornucopia and a few select drop points, quickly forcing most of the tributes into confrontation for any hope of food. on top of it, various areas of the city seemed to fall victim to floods and landslides at random, making it extremely difficult to settle in one place to wait the competition out. crest would later learn his arena was based on the ancient legend of the sunken city of atlantis, a hit for the capitol's old-world enthusiasts and literary aficionados.
    
    starting out with the rest of the career pack to stock up on food and necessities at the cornucopia, crest and his district partner, an eighteen-year-old girl named maristela, betrayed the rest of the district 1 and 2 tributes by stealing away in the dead of night with as many supplies as they could carry, then leading them in a merry chase around the arena until, wearied and starving, they were caught in a mudslide. the district four pair eventually agreed to part ways for their own alliances, hoping they would not meet again before the end, for better or for worse.
    
    while maristela continued to take advantage of the unpredictable terrain by luring other tributes into traps, crest observed that a single part of the city seemed immune to the disasters that struck it seemingly at random : its tallest tower, the centerpiece of the arena, under which the cornucopia had eventually sunk and disappeared. making his way back, he invested it by killing off the couple of tributes that'd taken refuge inside and barricading every entrance but two, effectively turning the tower into the best defensive position he could find. while he spread his resources across various nearby caches, just in case his theory would not hold up, and often stalked out in search of his fellow tributes, the tower became his main haunt for resting and licking his wounds. out on the big screen, his lording over the arena from atop his perch earned him a new nickname going forward, the prince of the city.
    
    though he made a few alliances after maristela for shelter or medical knowledge, all of them were short-lived, with crest often choosing to betray those who'd chosen to trust him before they themselves could decide to turn on him. on her side, maristela picked most of her adversaries off fair and square, but as they promised, did not attempt to seek him out until the two of them were the only ones left.
    
    in a confrontation long-remembered, the gamemakers forced them together one last time as the city crumbled away into the depths around them. maristela was older and had superior experience with wielding weapons...but as they tumbled, wrestling, into the churning water, diver-born crest gained the advantage. he remembered little of the ensuing struggle, only that he saw little of it and heard even less. their flailing made them sink all the faster, and he could only think to hold her underwater for as long as he could. at some point, she must have grabbed onto the arm choking her off and dug her teeth into it ; the immediate memory of pain blended in among all the others. the audience waited with baited breath for nearly a full three minutes before the boy broke the surface again, gasping for breath...and alone. ( he would remember the sound of that last cannon for the rest of his life. )
    
    

    post-games.

    crest woke up in a white room, so neat and devoid of life he thought for a moment he had died after all. it took his mentor, his escort and no fewer than three of his attendants assuring him he had indeed survived for him to believe them. he felt as battered as if he'd been tossed inside a barrel full of rocks, and the capitol's doctors kept him in observation for a couple more days after he woke up. still, he'd lived - and he'd won. the capitol hailed him as a champion, and for a moment, their adoration worked to soothe him. even so, he longed to leave, to reap the rewards of the choice he'd made.
    
    when he went home after the games' closing ceremony, to his parents' overjoyed tears and his siblings' embrace, he truly believed the hardest part was over. he held them close as usual, laughed off their concerns and tried to resume his life as if he'd never left in the first place.
    
    he made it about two weeks before they found him out. the arena had left him with his life, but also a crippling fear of the depths. he could not stand to live in their new home, not when it squatted so close to the sea, nor help their parents dive as he used to despite his best efforts. the water closing in over his head sent him into a panic, and every night, he woke up in a cold sweat, expecting their home to cave in around him. when an invitation from president snow rolled around shortly after his victory tour, he found himself almost glad to leave district four behind. the capitol was garish and decadent, and he could barely begin to understand how its inhabitants' mind worked...but after a year of struggling to take even a few steps out of victor's village, the foreign land it offered was a relief. he could bear with the unwanted attention and the loneliness, he thought, if he could simply live again.
    
    just some eight months after the games, crest featured in an exclusive interview. in it, he talked at length about the new opportunities his victory had afforded him, the way the capitol had opened his eyes to his true potential, and concluded it with the announcement he'd be staying in the city for the foreseeable future.
    
    his fans eagerly welcomed the news, and soon enough, he had more invitations on his hand than he knew what to do with. each party introduced him to vices he didn't even know existed : liquors that painted the world in new colors and smoke that could dull pain, pills to kill his fear and make his heart beat again. he could not have told you whether he chose them or simply fell in, and perhaps it didn't matter in the end. they allowed him to pass for a whole person, someone who could still quip and joke effortlessly ; someone who, if he could not be the boy his family knew, was more lively than a shell. standing in the limelight made him feel warm, and before long, crest found himself chasing after it. he changed his body first to try to erase the games, getting rid of nearly all his scars, then to keep up with the capitol's trends. after all, he'd made his home there, for better or for worse. though he occasionally went back to visit his parents and siblings, he could never bring himself to stay for very long, both because of his old fears and the newer shame he felt at the betrayal of his own nature. the money he'd earned from his victory would keep them safe and sound, and that would have to be enough.
    
    what choice did he have, after all? he'd dug his grave sixteen years ago ; the least he could do was lie in it.
    

    
    
    

    it's so hard to imagine who i'd be if i walked away
    never know what it's like to be the life of the party
    

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    esfp-t | the entertainer

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    perceiver
    

    
    feeler
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    maybe i'll smile a bit, maybe the opposite (pray they don't call me thankless)​

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    personality overview.

    most people's first impression of crest is that of a foppish, vain man who relishes in the life of luxury victory granted him, having given into the capitol's aesthetics and trends at the detriment of any true ideals. to an extent, it isn't unjustified : he is indeed hedonistic at heart, self-indulgent and quick to dive into new pleasures for entertainment or for escape. years in the heart of panem only amplified his love for excitement, one of few venues left to him to maintain the facade of a flashy but inoffensive victor, scandalous but ultimately harmless. he swears up and down every secret entrusted to him will be kept forever...until he has an use for them himself, that is.
    
    this said, his chatty, flirtatious nature and social butterfly tendencies are no pretense. he sincerely loves to socialize, and thrives when he's at the center of attention, even when the circumstances are less than ideal. contrary to popular belief, though, crest is also more observant and sensitive to others' emotions than he lets on, and has a knack for navigating the troubled waters of the capitol's intrigues. past the bravado and outward selfishness, one may find an attentive ear and unexpectedly sound advice...unless the matter concerns him, in which case he tends to lack, as it must be said, most of his will for confrontation.
    
    the most caring aspect of his personality usually only comes out in the presence of his parents and siblings, or those dearest to his heart in general. the cheerful big brother, the dutiful son - these are sides to him he himself seems to forget sometimes in the haze of his self-medication, but perhaps they aren't entirely gone after all.
    
    

    likes.

    good company. spending time with his siblings. hearty meals. loud music. sleeping in.
    
    

    dislikes.

    silence. boredom. enclosed, trapping spaces.
    
    

    strengths.

    charismatic. strategic. well-connected. quick to take action.
    
    

    weaknesses.

    impulsive. entirely dependent on his consumption for composure. not quite in the shape he used to be in anymore, sixteen years post-game.
    
    

    fears.

    forgetting himself entirely. death. drowning.
    
    

    ambitions.

    frightfully few. to look after his family, even from afar. to find a way home.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Maverick.]

I have a bone to pick with death.
He still follows me around.

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  the butcher.

  
  

  
  Shot out of the sky.
  
  Buried underground.

  
  
  

  
  

  continue.

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 1
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    general

    
    

    Name:

    Poe Wellman
    

    Age:

    35
    

    gender:

    cis-male
    

    pronouns:

    he/him
    

    sexuality:

    pansexual
    

    residence:

    district 10; victor village
    

    role:

    victor
    

    allegiance:

    undeclared passive; rebellion leaning
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    mistakes like fractures, buried under all my sin.

    
    
    

    victor file: wellman, P.

    
    

    games won:

    54th hunger games
    
    

    age:

    14
    
    

    weapons:

    cleaver
    
    

    skills:

    knife wielding, speed, stealth, endurance
    
    

    pre-game interview:

    
    
    “Welcome! Welcome, Poe, Mr. Wellman. So happy to have you here! Hope you’ve been settling in nicely. First time in the capitol, I can guess. How are you liking things so far? Is it everything you’ve dreamed of?”
    
    “It’s… a lot. There’s a lot. It’s, uh, bright and loud, I guess.”
    
    “Well, Sir Wellman, you’re right about that, I suppose. A big step up from District Ten, I take it then. No cows here, of course, unless you count a few residents. No worries, you lovely crowd, just joking, not you.”
    
    “Yeah. No cows.”
    
    “Refreshing then, I assume. You’re quite a young man, too, but a clever one by the looks of it, although a little quiet. Soft- spoken. It’s charming, really. Anyway, I can tell you did well in school, am I right? Is that a strong suit of yours?”
    
    “Not really. I work… worked on the farm, mostly.”
    
    “Oh, interesting! Milking cows, feeding hens, the whole mucky nine yards?”
    
    “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I was a butcher.”
    
    “Oh, a butcher, you say? How exciting, folks! Now that’s worth mentioning. The Butcher, that’s quite the title you have there. The Butcher, I like it. How vicious! Intimidating! Who would’ve guessed it, a shy boy like you? A little terror. I can tell that must bode for what’s to come. Mr. Wellman, are we going to see The Butcher out there in the arena?”
    
    “I… yeah, I guess. Yeah, you will.
    
    “Excellent! Excellent. You’ll want to keep an eye out for The Butcher now, folks, mark my words. Now, speaking of back home, I’m sure they’re all watching and so proud of you right now. Your family, of course. Am I right in recalling that you have some of your own flesh-and-blood to compete against this year?”
    
    “Yeah, my sister—”
    
    “Sister?”
    
    “Well, no. My cousin, I mean. Maeve.”
    
    “That’s right! Well, she’s more of a sister, yes? A long line of girls in your household, from what I’m told. And you’re the only boy. You were quite the man of the house, I bet! I’m sure your family is so proud of you. Unfortunate for your father at the moment, though, I must say.”
    
    “Yes. Yeah.”
    
    “I’m sure he’s eager for you to get back, being his only son. I bet you’re a special one to him, am I right? The only lad, he must be so proud. It must be safe to say you’re his favorite?”
    
    “I… They miss me. My dad, he misses me, I think. He’d said he’d miss me.”
    
    

    the game:

    Poe’s arena was characterized by its fickle heat, as it started at nearly unbearably hot. The temperature was dropped considerably each day, the map becoming more forgiving. It was the Game of extreme seasons, and the spring portion brought growing resources and buckets of bloodshed before slipping into a deep winter. As soon as everything was frozen, the temperature was reversed again, this time climbing once more. Poe’s Games were long, and in terms of the weather, it felt as though a whole year had passed.
    
    

    mentor?:

    yes, upon necessity; district ten victors are scarce, and therefore the times that he has mentored have been non-negotiable-- Poe is rarely anyone’s first choice as a mentor, nor is he readily eager to take on the role.
    
    

    reputation:

    Some recall Poe’s shyness in his interviews, and some recall his killings, but everyone who knows him has seen his cowardice play out. What his fellow victors think of him and his actions depends on their own morals or experience with the games, which means mixed reviews. His district, however, has yet to fully pardon him for what he did. The capitol doesn’t mind him, as his time as a tribute proved to be interesting enough, and he’s done little to interfere with them after. His performance in the Games will never allow him to slip into seclusion, though most seem to get the idea that he wants little to do with them anymore.
    
    

    can we kill them off?:

    yes, but let's make it hurt
    
    

    quarter quell?:

    yes
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I see the horns in the tall grass.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    poe

    
    

    poe you need to swing harder

    
    

    It's not working

    
    

    please poe just swing harder

    
    

    hit as hard as it you can

    
    

    I'm trying

    
    

    you have to help me

    
    

    they're gonna hear you crying

    
    

    keep swinging poe please

    
    

    you're bleeding really bad

    
    

    keep trying

    
    

    please

    
    

    I can't

    
    

    don't leave me here

    
    

    they're almost here

    
    

    I need you to swing again

    
    

    as hard as you can

    
    

    please

    
    

    hurry

    
    

    your bone

    
    

    maeve

    
    

    oh god

    
    

    MAEVE

    
    

    THE BONE WON'T BREAK

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    6'1"
    
    

    physique:

    Poe’s body is weathered and worn, both built and ruined by long days on the farm. His work, even at a young age, kept him strong, though not to a miraculous degree, as improper nutrition kept him constantly fending off malnourishment. As a young man, Poe was lean and athletic due to his activity. Now older, his body has softened, and though he’s short of neither food nor money, his frame hasn’t grown, and his lack of physical maintenance has weakened him further.
    
    

    eyes:

    Deep set with dark brown irises, melting into opal in the shade and amber in the sun.
    
    

    hair:

    Glossy in appearance and rough in texture. His scalp and cheeks are already flecked with gray in some places, a lighter spatter amongst a thick crop of dark hair.
    
    

    face claim:

    rahul kohli
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    Poe’s expressions are heavily determined by his brow, which furrows or lifts according to his moods. His mouth is largely concealed by facial hair, which makes him appear even quieter in a way, with his eyes being the most telling feature about him. He appears weathered, yet carefully molded at the same time, with thick, chafed skin like leather hiding his bones beneath calluses. A few of his fingers appeared crooked, as he’s broken all of them at least once throughout the course of his life. He carries a constellation of scars, most decades old by now, with the most noticeable one being near his eye, which creates a notch in his right eyebrow.
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    His style, to this day, reflects his upbringing. Despite inheriting the wealth of a victor, Poe’s wardrobe has remained simple and practical. Growing up farming among livestock has made him partial to denim, flannel, and thick boots. He has a hard time tolerating the cold, which makes him opt for thick layers and long pants, always with pockets so he has somewhere to keep his hands. He chooses dark or muted earth tones in general, and always keeps comfort his top priority.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    billy no mates + counting worms by knocked loose
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Poe Wellman would not have been missed for long.
    
    He was the only son, with four sisters among him—two born before him, and then two born after, all in quick succession, with hardly more than a year between. Though Poe’s mother and father had only five children of their own, one hard winter of sickness took the lives of Poe’s father’s brother and sister-in-law the same year that Poe turned four. This left the late couple’s own children, three more daughters, to the care of Poe's parents. With the abrupt addition of his cousins into the sole care of his family, who were similar in age to young Poe and his sisters, this brought the group of children to nine total.
    
    This meant that, for the Wellman girls, the odds were far from their favor.
    
    Like many in District Ten, the Wellman family barely survived. Farming was tough work which yielded fickle results, and the slaughterhouses were gruesome and unforgiving. It was dust and wind and the bellowing of cattle. It was the march of hooves through the pastures to the gates, where Poe ushered cows between high fences, parting them into pools according to their size and ranking. Even as a young boy, he found that part to be tedious work. While the quality of the meat was to be judged accordingly, he still knew that whether strong or weak, every calf raised for the slaughter would die.
    
    Poe learned sacrifice by necessity and exposure. Preparing calves for meat, though not a simple procedure, was straightforward. His parents had put him to work young, but prepared him long before that. Sacrifices were to be skipped by no one, and every calf had a price on its head in lieu of a name. As a young child, Poe met their soft eyes with his own, unable to draw a line between himself and the mirrored reflection he saw in them. For the first six years of his life, Poe cried for the calves.
    
    By age seven, Poe was given a pair of reins and a set of knives. It turned out that he wielded both well, becoming skilled in a saddle and at the slaughterhouse. With preparing meat, he was efficient and precise. More than that, he wasn’t squeamish in the least, and he never complained. While his sisters and cousins were more than tough in their own right and not considered to be faint of heart, most children of Poe’s age could not stomach the slaughterhouse day in and day out.
    
    Poe, it seemed, did not mind.
    
    Everyday, he stained his apron with spilled blood, sharpened his knives and dirtied his fingernails. It was mechanical, a series of motions in which he mastered without sickness or fainting. While the majority of his work revolved around butchering, the times at the farm or in the pastures, atop a horse or covered in alfalfa, felt the closest to healing that he could get.
    
    While none had it much better than the Wellman’s, there didn’t seem to be any that had it much worse, either. A family with as many children as theirs meant that struggle was constant and relentless, and catching up to their own needs was nearly hopeless. The tesserae was an unfortunate necessity for Poe and the girls. Their misfortune spread far and wide across their family throughout the years, but the one thing that everyone thought when they spotted a Wellman was the inescapable reality that one day, eventually, at least one of the family’s children was likely to be reaped.
    
    The year Poe turned twelve, his father sat him down. Poe’s father was honest and hardworking, both blunt and practical by necessity. He loved his son, and he loved his daughters more.
    
    “Poe, Maeve saved your life.”
    
    Maeve was the oldest of the girls, almost four years older than Poe. She was his cousin by blood though she was raised as his sister. She was relentless, working harder than most her age, and yet a kinder person than most others despite it. She was her parents’ favorite, and she was Poe’s favorite, too.
    
    “I know. She saved all our lives. That one time.”
    
    “Every day since, Poe. You almost died when you were sick four winters ago, me and your mother had to take care of you and pay the doctors. We couldn’t work or run the farm. We couldn’t feed ourselves. Maeve was twelve, and she entered the tesserae as many times as it took to keep all of us alive. We would’ve starved, Poe, I’ve told you this. That whole winter, she fed us alone. ”
    
    “I know, I—”
    
    “Her name has been in that bowl more times than most of the girls in this district already.”
    
    “She—”
    
    “We owe her our lives. You owe her your life.”
    
    “I… I know.”
    
    “She has three more years left, Poe, only three. She’s made it this far, but her odds are getting worse. This will be your first year. When she—listen to me—if she gets reaped, you will not. You’re not going to be reaped, I know this. I’m telling you now that your chances are lower than any one of your sisters’. Only if Maeve—if she gets reaped, you’re going with her. You will volunteer to save her. She’s already done it for you. She’s volunteered her life for you already. She’s saved you.”
    
    “I don’t… why—”
    
    “Because that’s what’s fair. Never tell her what we’ve just decided. Until the day comes, we’re not speaking any more of this. I pray it never does.”
    
    

    ~ ~ ~​

    
    For the next two years, the Wellman children escaped the Games. Poe spent his mornings ruling the pastures on horseback and his nights washing away the gore from each day.
    
    When Poe was fourteen, he and his sisters attended what would be Maeve’s last reaping. The oldest Wellman sister was unwavering, as she had always been. She never regretted how she cared for Poe and her family, not even when her name was called.
    
    Poe’s eyes found his father’s in the crowd. He was staring right at his son, and Poe’s blood spilled toward his heart from behind his skin.
    
    “Dad, I can’t—”
    
    “Poe Wellman.”
    
    Things moved fast after that. The siblings were ushered out, given an opportunity to say their goodbyes. Everyone had bet on a Wellman getting reaped. No one had bet on two.
    
    Poe and Maeve were separated, left to say farewells to their family without one another. Poe’s father lingered after his mother carried his sisters away.
    
    “I love you, son. You know that.”
    
    “Dad, I love—”
    
    “Poe, I’ll miss you.”
    
    

    ~ ~ ~​

    
    Poe spent the pre-Games festivities stumbling through interviews, leaning heavily on Maeve while she worked to win the favor of sponsors. He did better than expected on the skills scoring, proving that a knife in his hand would draw blood. The Wellman kids’ chances were low, but they had a chance nonetheless.
    
    Maeve wasn’t hopeful, but she was determined enough for the both of them. She never said it, but Poe knew that she was going to try to save him. He had to beat her to it—he knew well enough that there was no other choice.
    
    When Poe arose into the area on the first day, he almost melted.
    
    Him and Maeve participated directly in the initial bloodbath, as they had planned, and escaped. Cover was scarce in the arena, the trees bare, the ground steaming in the rays of the sweltering sun. Water would not be found easily, and winning the generosity of sponsors became a clear key to early survival for the tributes.
    
    That first night, Poe was given a cleaver.
    
    The days wore on, the heat subsided, dropping each night without rising in the morning. With the weather becoming more bearable, the tributes were drawn out, emboldened by the bettering conditions, and the onslaught of violence revived the interest of viewers. As more blood was spilled, a layer of snow began to dust the ground, as fine as powdered sugar.
    
    By the time ten tributes remained, Poe and Maeve knew that they were being hunted. They’d been dodging the careers as long as they could. By now, banks of snow formed hills, and frostbite was gnawing at the fingers of the tributes.
    
    The day that the careers caught up to the Wellman kids, Maeve stopped running. Poe heard the bear trap clamp down on her ankle before he saw her stumble.
    
    Both of them together couldn’t pry the trap open. They could hear the careers by then, their voices calling out to the Wellmans as the pair struggled to free Maeve. She looked at Poe’s cleaver, and then at her leg.
    
    He was fourteen years old, weak, and frightened. He knew that he couldn’t do it even before he started swinging. A life in the slaughterhouse had caught up to him, and his aim faltered and his strength left him.
    
    The careers were right on top of them, nearing the top of the hill through the tree-line. Maeve broke down and begged him to keep swinging harder, to not leave her. He left anyway, running and not stopping even after he heard her cannon.
    
    The cold broke right after that, and the temperature rose like a fever every day. Poe hid the rest of the games, drowning in the melting snow. Somehow, he outlived them all.
    
    Coming home didn’t feel right because it wasn’t. His family didn’t hate him, but they couldn’t love him anymore either. His father tried to pretend that he wasn’t disgusted by his son. His mother couldn’t keep him close enough to remedy his regret. District Ten always favored Maeve, whether they’d admit it or not. They remembered Maeve well, and his betrayal did not go unnoticed.
    
    He didn’t need to work anymore, though he didn’t know what to do without it. On his first visit to the slaughterhouse, he passed out and woke up on the floor. Now, blood made him sick, and wind chill made him sweat. The Victor’s Village, sparsely populated, offered some space. He moved there, and found a way to build some semblance of a farm to maintain.
    
    And so even after he had emerged from the arena, he went right back into hiding.
    
    

    
    
    

    I will atone for the things I've done here.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - infj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    introverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    feeling
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    judging
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    This is a different shade of blue.

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    personality:

    Poe is naturally reserved, always thinking twice before speaking and keeping his cards close to his chest. He offers distant politeness by default and not much else, as he finds himself reluctant to interact in general. His presence, at least before he gained the status of a victor, was often left unnoted. He communicates as little as possible with acquaintances, letting others do the talking while he is left to nod and listen.
    
    His habit of silence can be intimidating to some, sometimes taken as coldness, especially to those who know of his past participation in the Games. Over the years, he’s found himself using it to his advantage, letting peoples’ reproach of his reputation keep him secluded, allowing a withering look from him to hold more weight if he so chooses. He behaves practically, which makes him blunt and to-the-point. His bitterness has been boiling behind his teeth for decades, perhaps perceivable to those who share the same resentments.
    
    In truth, he’s generally slow to anger, and his emotions often get caught and quartered before they reach surface level. He’s jaded by now, often behaving as such, yet not heartless. His exposure to violence and ruthlessness has left him exhausted and craving peace, which he tries his best to emulate himself for those around him, despite still feeling out of practice.
    
    

    likes:

    horseback riding, animals, music, hot beverages, being busy, the outdoors
    
    

    dislikes:

    cold weather, uncomfortable clothes, sweet foods, small talk, extravagance
    
    

    strengths:

    hardworking, intelligent, empathetic, gentle, practical
    
    

    weaknesses:

    untrusting, reluctant, dishonest, passive, taciturn
    
    

    fears:

    Poe has lived out many of his worst fears, and they have left him haunted. His mistakes have isolated him, and the prospect of making more has kept him quiet and shut away. In his mind, he is the wielder of his worst fears, and doing any more damage to someone he holds close is at the forefront of his nightmares. He knows he’s a coward, and he’s seen how easy it is for him to fail when put in a position to protect others. He’s most afraid of everything he went through in the Games simply happening to him again—and he’s afraid that even if he tried, there wouldn’t be anything he could do to stop it.
    
    

    ambitions:

    Poe’s hate for the Games brews in his mind daily. In his more forgiving dreams, he tears the capitol apart with his hands. When he wakes, he does nothing, and says even less. His position in the rebellion has been passive and rather undeclared. More than two decades have passed since his Games, and with each year, he's grown more jaded. After all these years, he's learned that if he rolls over for the capitol, they'll leave him alone. He recognizes the evil of it and the harm the capitol has done, yet he still feels just as powerless against them as he did at fourteen years old.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[keeruh]

I’m sorry that I did this, the blood is on my hands, I stare at my reflection, I don’t know who I am.

Anson

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  warning!

  
  

  The papers say it's doomsday. The button has been pressed, we're gonna nuke each other up boys 'Til old Satan stands impressed. And here it is, our final night alive as the earth burns to the ground.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4

  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Everleigh Harris
    

    Age:

    26
    

    dob:

    August 21st
    

    pronouns:

    she/her
    

    gender:

    female
    

    zodiac sign:

    Leo
    

    District:

    8
    

    sexuality:

    ?????
    

    Game:

    winner of the 64th game
    

    Status:

    Loyalist
    

    languages:

    english
    

    Volunteer?:

    no
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    I’m a bad liar with a savior complex

    
    
    

    Game 64; the reaping

    
    Evie stood amidst the bustling crowd of District 8, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. She knew what was coming, had been dreading it for weeks. It was the day of the Reaping, the day when the names of the tributes would be drawn for the 64th Hunger Games.
    
    Evie was a survivor, like most of the kids from her district. She had grown up in a world of poverty and hardship, where the only way to survive was to be tough and resourceful. She couldn’t hunt, so instead she turned to what she could know and began to sew and weave like a pro, and to use her wits to charm the Peacekeepers into buying her designs. But there was one thing she had never learned how to do: kill or fight. The only experience she had was knife throwing at hay bales with her friends.
    
    She had always hoped that she would never have to face the Hunger Games, that somehow she would be spared the horror of watching her friends and loved ones die. But as she stood in the throng of people, she knew that hope was a luxury she couldn't afford.
    
    Everleigh looked around at the faces of the other kids and teenagers, saw the fear and desperation etched into their features. She knew that they were all in the same boat, all hoping against hope that their names wouldn't be called.
    
    Evie’s heart was in her throat, threatening to burst from her body. She’d be torn apart in the games in a minute. Luckily, at 15, her name was only in the drawing 4 times. The odds of her being picked were slim to none.
    
    It soothed something in her chest just slightly.
    
    And then it happened. The Capitol representative stepped up to the podium, his voice booming over the loudspeakers as the audio from the video shown every year before the Reaping faded away into nothingness.
    
    "Welcome, welcome to the 64th Hunger Games!. What an honor it is to be here!” He announced, his face contorting as he smiled out at them. With a wink, he strode over to the bowl containing the names of all the girls. “And as always, ladies first.”
    
    Everleigh held her breath as he drew out a name from the bowl, her heart pounding so loud she thought everyone could hear it. As he spoke, she stopped hearing.
    
    "Everleigh Harris."
    
    
    Evie felt her legs go weak, felt her heart stop for just a moment. And then, without thinking, she stepped forward.
    
    Two peacekeepers came forward, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her towards the stage. She wanted to dig in her heels and scream. Turn and run away and cry and fight and declare No, this isn’t right!
    
    Instead, she only let them lead her to the front, where she stood before the eyes of her entire district. Her father and little brother. She couldn’t breathe.
    
    “What an honor it is to be chosen,” the man tried to reassure her as she came to stand at his left side. She only glanced sidelong at him, and stopped hearing as they went to choose the boy.
    
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    Wise man close his mouth, mad man close his fist

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    why’re you sad? You won the game.

    
    

    At the cost of 23 other lives.

    
    

    It’s part of life. Our system. It happens every year.

    
    

    I know that. It’s just...never mind. Nothing.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5’6”
    
    

    physique:

    toned
    
    

    eyes:

    hazel
    
    

    hair:

    dark brown
    
    

    face claim:

    Adelaide Kane
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    A spray of grackles across her nose and cheeks when she spends time outside, wide warm eyes and a quiet, reserved smile. Slight and unassuming.
    
    

    body modifications:

    none
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    Living in the textile district has its perks, as a seamstress Eve often sports her own designs. She favors pretty, flowing fabrics and easy to move in clothing.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    lord forgive me by Tobe Nwigwe
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history/bio

    
    

    
    Evie was born and raised in District 8, a place where life was hard and the future was uncertain. Her parents were textile factory workers who toiled long hours for meager pay, and Evie knew from an early age that if she wanted to survive, she would have to be resourceful and tough.
    
    She begun to sew and design clothing at a young age, her skill catching the eyes of several peacekeepers who she began to sell her designs to.
    
    As she grew older, she began to have dreams of one day opening her own clothing shop.
    
    But those dreams were shattered when her name was drawn in the hunger games.
    
    The Games were a nightmare, a brutal and bloody contest that pushed Evie to her limits. She fought with everything she had, using her wits and her skills to outmaneuver and outlast her opponents.
    
    
    And in the end, she emerged victorious, a survivor of the Hunger Games.
    
    But even though she had won, Evie knew that her victory came at a terrible cost.
    
    
    She had been forced to kill, to take lives in order to save her own. Had watched Beckett die under the influence of tracker jacker venom. It was a burden that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.
    
    
    After the Games, Eve returned to District 8, a hero in the eyes of her people. She used her newfound wealth and status to help her family and her friends, to make their lives a little easier in a world that was still harsh and unforgiving.
    
    She’d do nothing about it, though, not wanting to risk the safety of herself and her loved ones. Call her selfish but she doesn’t care.
    
    The Interview:
    “You look perfect,” her stylist Gaia reassured her, a warm hand placed on her shoulder. As Everleigh studied her reflection in the mirror before them, she didn’t recognize herself. Her hair was slicked back, pressed against her head with layers of gel.
    
    The dress she wore was long and flowing and made up of many different fabrics, a supposed representation of her district, before she’d be paraded before the people of the Capitol like some prized race horse.
    
    She’d won the games.
    
    Her mentor, Jakob, smiled at her. He’d been the victor of the 45th game, had been strong from the start. He hadn’t expected to win. Had been blunt and honest with her about what her odds were.
    
    “You’re up in thirty seconds,” he said quietly, ushering her towards the entrance to the stage.
    
    3…2…1…
    
    It was go time. Evie stepped onto the stage. The spotlights flooded her, temporarily blinded her cheers erupted from the audience.
    
    She had murdered people at the age of fifteen and they were applauding her?
    
    Caesar Flickerman was there, a pasty white hand thrown out her her direction as she fought to ground herself. She decided to pin her hazel eyed focus on his face, the shock of blue hair. The ornate embroidery of his suit, similar to some of the styles she’d attempted back home.
    
    “Have a seat,” the man spoke, flashing her a grin. His teeth were white, almost too much so, a stark contrast to the orange hue of the fake tan he wore. Evie took a seat in the Victor’s chair, grateful for the support of the soft cushion beneath her.
    
    “So, miss Everleigh. The Capitol is dying to know. How does it feel to be one of the youngest female tributes to have ever won the games?” He asked, leaning towards her a bit. His voice was lilting and smooth, surely meant to soothe and charm her somehow.
    
    Her throat went dry.
    
    The crowd grew silent as they waited for her answer, and Evie was made all the more aware of the cameras pointed at her, one at every angle. Now that she had won, she was Capitol property. She’d say and do whatever they’d like to keep them happy, or she’d pay for it.
    
    Every victor knew that.
    
    So, Evie smiled, adjusting the folds of her multi-hued dress a bit before opening her pink painted mouth to speak. “Well, Caesar,” she began, sighing. “I’m just happy to have brought honor to my district. I know so many people back home were rooting for me, so I’m glad I could make them proud.”
    
    She paused for a moment, biting her lip as the smile faded from her face. “And…I’m glad I could do it for Beckett, too,” she added, fighting back the hot tears that burned in the back of her eyes. The male tribute from her district had been 16. A year older than her. He was stronger and faster, too, the odds ever more in his favor.
    
    But he’d died instead. For her. It should’ve been her.
    
    “Ahhh, yes. I’m sure everyone will be very happy,” Caesar said, wiping away fake tears before flashing a grin at the audience, eliciting a few cheers. “Now. Tell us about your alliance with Beckett. You both knew one of you would die at some point and yet you remained together for the majority of the games. Why is that?”
    
    Evie blinked, mascara madden lashed brushing her cheeks. She hadn’t been expecting that question so quickly, so she supposed she was dumb not to have.
    
    “After that first night,” she started, fumbling to put her thoughts together as she spoke, “I’d done so much running that I’d thought I was going to die from dehydration. I almost did die, actually.”
    
    For some reason this made the audience laugh, and it shocked Evie enough that she looked towards them, blinking.
    
    “Beckett found me curled up under a bush, trying to take a nap. It was…the worst place possible and had it been anyone else walking past I would’ve been dead. And luckily he had water. After that, we sorta just…stuck together. I honestly don’t think either of us thought we would live to the point where we’d have to end up killing each other, so it worked. And…we never really talked about it. He died anyways, when…” she trailed off again, fighting the urge to gasp for air. She felt like she was suffocating.
    
    She kept the placid smile on her face. For the cameras.
    
    “When I was stung. By the tracker jackers. Just a few—I’d climbed a tree to go after a squirrel and gotten too close to their nest. But the venom got to me, and I started hallucinating. Started making noise. So much noise that it brought the Career pack right to us, and he’d knocked me down and cut open my arm. I thought he was trying to kill me, but instead he smeared my blood all over me, told me to stay down, and…and that’s when they come into view. The venom was in full effect by that point, and I couldn’t move, but…I heard the canon go off. They were arrogant enough to assume I was dead, too.“
    
    The Capitol citizens grew silent as she told the story, Caesar himself even reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.
    
    “I know that must’ve been very tough. But it was very brave,” the man spoke, his voice dripping with perfectly curated sympathy. “Is there anything you’d like to say to your sponsors? I know they were…very generous with you given your pre-game score of seven.”
    
    She paused to consider, tilting her head to the side as she tried her best to twist her features into a mask of amused cheerfulness.
    
    “Of course I’m very grateful to every generous Capitol citizen who decided to sponsor me. Without your help, I might not of won. So a part of my victory goes out to you.”
    
    This response elicited a cheer from the crowd, and as Caesar stood, motioning that their time was up, he grinned out at the crowd as he attempted to settle them down for his outro.
    
    “Well everybody, this was miss Everleigh Harris, the winner of the 64th annual Hunger Games! And what a delight she was. Give it up for our victor.”
    
    They begun cheering her name.
    
    She could still feel the blood on her hands and arms and face, even under all the makeup. Even after about 15 showers.
    
    She was going to throw up.
    
    
    Weapons: growing up doing knife throwing contests, Evie finds herself very handy with most sorts of knives. In her game, she utilized a pair of twin hunting blades.
    
    Strengths: quick thinking, ambidextrous, humorous, confident, intelligent, determined, empathetic, caring, selfless
    
    Weaknesses: impatient, weak, stubborn, curious, short tempered, pessimistic, paranoid, gets aches in her legs from when she injured them in her games.
    
    Game Won: Game 64. Eve’s game was known for its creepy spider-forest with vampire-like mutts, tarantula's and wolves. The spiders would be very fast in speed, have huge fangs, and also had very hairy bodies for some reason. One of the vampire-like mutts was a coyotes, that were also genetically enhanced. They could also change their form and replicate other tribute's words, so that they could draw in more tributes to kill them.
    
    Quarter Quell? Yes
    
    Can We Kill Them Off?[/i] Yes, just make it good and sad and heartbreaking please.
    
    
    

    
    
    

    I haven’t seen light in a while, hasn’t been bright in a while

    
    
    
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    personality type - intp-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    Thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    Turbulent
    

    
    Prospecting
    

    
    Optimistic
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    you know all the greats fall, shit is all the same.

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Everleigh isn’t quite what you might think on the first impression. She’s cheerful, bubbly, happy to be here on the surface, a sweetheart in the eyes of the Capitol. If you wanted a spokesperson for the perfect government puppet, Everleigh would be your girl.
    
    Her fear of losing anybody else that she cares about is what drives this, despite how sick and twisted she believes the games to be.
    
    She is quick witted and humorous, with a sort of dark, bleak sense of comedy that might not be for everyone. She wields sarcasm as a defense mechanism, hardly ever letting anyone close enough to see past that golden girl veneer.
    
    She’s a firm believer out of staying out of trouble and doubling her choices rather than ever being involved in the whispers of rebellion she heard thrown about.
    
    She’s stubborn and tends to be a know it all, taking control in group situations. She can be very charming and charismatic, using her wit and affable charm to talk her way into getting almost anything she wants.
    
    She also tends to be blunt and overly honest, not sparing the feelings of people around her. She often speaks things as they are, a stark contrast to the careful mask she’s built for herself.

  
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