forum ame’s art and writing dump (or: ame’s one and only coping mechanism)

Started October 28, 2023 by @the-void-phantasmic language

tune

Heyyyyy besties-
I’ve been inspired by a fanfic that smushed a bunch of fandoms together and threw them into the Hunger Games so naturally I eated that idea.
Um I’m not very good at writing some characters even with their wiki page sitting next to me (cough cough Phoenix Wright cough cough) so please bear with me, I’m trying, dont get mad I will cry
Also, some of these are ocs, and some are fandom characters renamed for the sake of universe accuracy
Oh also I’m terrible at making up Capitol people
Enjoy the shitshow <3

TW: mentions of murder and death, cursing

---

July 4, 2306
Panem, District 12

It was the morning of the day of the Reaping.

Apollo stood outside, near his house, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He knew he would be reaped for the Hunger Games this year. How could he not be chosen, with all the tesserae he’d signed up for? He already devised a plan. Win, so he could support his family. Easy enough, he was the toughest of the three brothers and could pick up new skills quickly.

He heard the patter of small footsteps coming up behind him and looked over his shoulder. It was Artemis, his younger brother, looking very disheveled. Apollo tilted his head, turning to face Artemis.

“What are you doing up? It’s still early.”

Artemis rubbed the sleep out of their eyes, looking up at Apollo with a worried expression. “I couldn’t sleep. . .”

Apollo furrowed his brows. He stretched out one of his arms, offering Artemis a hug, which they quickly accepted. Apollo wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders, holding them close as they hugged him tightly.

“Are you worried about the Reaping? I doubt you’ll get picked, if that helps.”

Artemis shook their head. “No, it’s not that. Well, yes, it’s the Reaping, but. . .” Artemis sniffled. They were crying. Apollo lightly ran his free hand through Artemis’s curls, an attempt at comfort that usually worked, but not this time.

Artemis let out a quiet sob, then spoke again. “I don’t want you to get picked.”

Apollo sighed. “I. . . I know, Artie. But my name’s been entered over twenty times.” He withdrew from the hug, gently grasping Artemis’s shoulders. His determined gaze met their tear-filled eyes. “If I get reaped, I’ll do whatever it takes to win. Okay?” Artemis nodded silently. “Besides, you still have Atlas.”

Artemis pouted slightly. “But Atlas is mean.”

Apollo raised his eyebrows in slight amusement. “Yes, but he would do anything to protect you, just like I would.”

“Why didn’t Atlas sign up for the tesserae? He’s the oldest.”

“Because we agreed that I would have the best chance of survival.” Apollo squeezed Artemis’s shoulders, then let go and stepped back. “I need to do a few things. I’ll be back in time to help you get ready. Go back inside and get some rest, okay?”

Artemis nodded again, then turned and ran back to the house. Apollo watched them for a few moments, then turned and started walking away, towards the Hob. He felt around in his pockets. . . Good, there were still a few coins in there. He could get at least some bread for his family.

——

July 4, 2306
Panem, District 2

Resh messily braided his hair, quickly walking to the Justice Building. Just one more year, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being entered in the Hunger Games. He hoped deeply that he wouldn’t be drawn this year, which was uncharacteristic for someone from his district.

Teth and Tsadi, his two friends since childhood, walked on either side of him. Teth was the most put-together of the three, watching with a grin as Resh struggled to fix his hair and walk at the same time. “You should really start getting ready sooner,” She commented, earning a glare from Resh. She simply laughed in response. “You’re just pissed because you know I’m right.”

Tsadi was in a less cheerful mood, staring straight ahead as the trio walked. Resh finished his braid, then looked over at Tsadi, worry seeping into his expression. “Tsadi? You okay?” Tsadi glanced at Resh, then sighed.

“Yeah. Just worried. You’re the oldest out of us three, which means you have a really good chance at being drawn this year.”

Resh arched an eyebrow. “Well, if I am drawn, I’ll probably win. There’s a reason District 2 tributes are the scary ones.”

Teth shook her head and nudged Resh slightly. “Resh, you’re not a killer like the other tributes from our district.”

“Also, you’re especially not a kid killer,” Tsadi interjected. “There’s gonna be twelve-year-olds in that arena, remember?”

Resh pursed his lips. Right, they were all kids. And so was he, technically, but still. His friends were right, he didn’t have the guts to kill that many people. He would definitely die.

“Let’s just hurry up. We’re almost late,” He mumbled.

——

July 4, 2306
Panem, District 12
Justice Building

Apollo stood near the front of the Reaping stage, with the rest of the sixteen-year-olds in District 12. He knew Atlas was up with the eighteen-year-olds, and Artemis was near the back with the thirteen-year-olds. He would never admit it, but he was nervous. Really nervous. His fidgeting made that evident, and he was glad neither of his siblings could see.

A woman walked up onto the stage, smiling and waving. She looked like she expected everyone to be excited about two kids being shipped off to fight to the death. It was disgusting. Apollo narrowed his eyes, giving her a death stare that was likely identical to Atlas’s in the same moment.

He remembered this woman from the past Hunger Games. Her name was Decima Spring, and he could only truly recognize her by her striking purplish complexion. She wore a different colored wig every year, normally clashing with the outfit she wore.

This year wasn’t any different, with Decima sporting a bright green dress, with a short, deep blue wig. It made Apollo’s head hurt just looking at her. Decima stood in front of the microphone, looking around expectantly.

“Hello, all. Welcome to the Reaping for the sixty-eighth annual Hunger Games!”

Apollo closed his eyes, letting Decima’s voice fade into the background. He would start paying attention once she started calling out tributes. . .

After a short introduction speech, Apollo heard Decima say, “Now, for the first tribute. . .” Now he was paying attention again. Apollo’s heart pounded as Decima slowly reached into the glass ball containing the names of the District 12 children. She was being agonizingly slow about it.

Finally, Decima pulled a slip of paper out of the ball, studying it for a moment before opening it.

“Apollo Stellaris!”

Apollo looked around a bit, then slowly started walking towards the stage, staring straight ahead at Decima. He wouldn’t let himself look at Atlas or Artemis. He couldn’t.

But as soon as he stepped onto the stage, he heard Artemis yelling.

“APOLLO! APOLLO, NO!”

He turned to face the rest of the audience, ignoring everyone but Artemis. He stared at them, wishing he could go down there and reassure them. Comfort them. Do something that would make them stop screaming and crying, because watching his little brother in so much pain hurt Apollo deeply. His eyes stung with tears that would never be shed as he watched Artemis, screaming and struggling, be held back by Peacekeepers as they tried to run to Apollo.

Apollo glanced at Atlas. Atlas simply nodded back, his eyes holding as much pain as Artemis was expressing. When the Peacekeepers eventually forced Artemis to calm down, Decima cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Well, clearly you’re not happy with the selection.” She giggled, as if this was all a joke, then continued. “Let’s draw the second tribute before this one—“ Decima gestured to Artemis, who was now standing in the middle of the Peacekeepers, sobbing. “—gets a bit violent, hm?” Apollo clenched his fists, but held his tongue. He would win, and get back to Artemis and Atlas. He had to.

“…Artemis Stellaris! Well, looks like we’ve got a pair of siblings! How lovely.”

What?

——

July 4, 2306
Panem, District 6
Justice Building

Phoenix stood with the other fourteen-year-olds, his head tilted slightly. He stared at the Capitol man on the stage. The man apparently went by the name Valerius Steel, and he had blue and yellow gems imbedded near his eyes. Phoenix never understood Capitol fashion, but now wasn’t the time to pay attention to gems implanted in skin. He listened intently as Valerius began his speech.

“Welcome, District 6, to the Reaping. As you all know, it’s about time for the sixty-eighth Hunger Games! Very exciting, yes?” Awkward silence. Valerius looked uncomfortable. But really, it was his fault for being so enthusiastic about sending children to their deaths. Valerius coughed, then spoke again. “Uh. . . It’s time to pick our annual tributes!”

Well, that was short. Phoenix took a deep breath, watching Valerius reach into the Reaping ball. If he was picked, it wouldn’t be good at all. He was definitely better with words, and that would be useless in the arena.

Valerius slowly pulled a slip of paper from the ball. It was also tradition to drag the drawings out unnecessarily, wasn’t it? The man watched the crowd in anticipation, then sighed quietly at the lack of a reaction and opened the first slip of paper.

“Topaz Barnett!”

Phoenix watched as a tall, well-built girl walked up to the stage. Topaz Barnett. She looked about the same age as Phoenix, but with a much more confident and slightly intimidating stature. She seemed to glare at everyone she laid eyes on, so Phoenix purposefully avoided eye contact.

Valerius cheerfully greeted Topaz, jumping back a bit as she snarled at him. “Woah, she’s aggressive. She may fit right in with the District 2 tributes this year!” Phoenix couldn’t say he disagreed.

As Topaz stood there seething, Valerius nervously reached into the ball again. Now, Phoenix definitely didn’t want to be picked, if it meant facing off against her. And other tributes who would no doubt be much older and stronger than him. . .

Phoenix froze when Valerius called the next name.

“Phoenix Wright!”

Uh oh.

Phoenix stared at Valerius and Topaz, and suddenly he felt nauseated. There was no way for him to survive the Games, so he pretty much got sentenced to death. He remembered last year’s Games, and losing a close friend to them. He knew she would want him to win, or die trying. He squared his shoulders and walked to the stage, trying to push away any doubts in his mind.

He had to try. He wouldn’t die without a fight.

Here’s the next part, I could only think of 2 tribute perspectives for this,,, if anyone’s here feel free to suggest random districts you’d like to see me write next :D

I may be a bit too obsessed with Artemis, Apollo, and Atlas 😶

Same TWs from above apply here

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July 4, 2306
Panem, District 11
Justice Building

Juniper had been escorted into a room in the Justice Building as her panicked thoughts swirled around in her mind. She had just now been eligible for the Reaping, and she was picked? It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. She wiped away the tears streaming down her face as she sat on a chair in the room, curled up into a ball.

She jumped as she heard the door open, and looked up to see a face, smiling at her through the doorway. It was Foxglove, her friend since she was nine years old. She relaxed a bit, watching as Foxglove walked over to Juniper holding something in her right hand. As she handed it to Juniper, it became obvious what it was. It was a small hairpin, with a purple lilac attached to it. Juniper’s favorite color.

Foxglove pressed the hairpin into Juniper’s shaking hand, then gently took her other one. “Juni. Look at me.”

Juniper finally made eye contact with Foxglove. She looked. . . sad. Juniper bit her lip to keep from crying more as Foxglove held her hand.

“I just want you to remember, when you’re in that arena, that I love you. And I wish I could be with you every step of the way at that Capitol, but I’ll be there in spirit. And I’ll be rooting for you.” Foxglove’s eyes brimmed with tears of her own, but Juniper could tell she was holding them back. Foxglove was only a year or two older than Juniper, but she had always felt like a parental figure to her. When Juniper’s real mother refused to be there for her, Foxglove was there with whatever she needed.

“I don’t think I’ll make it out of there,” Juniper whispered. “I’m probably the youngest tribute. They’ll kill me almost instantly.”

Foxglove looked down. “I know. It’s terrible that we have to be put through this.” She couldn’t say much more, since trash-talking the Capitol might get her shot on the spot by the Peacekeeper at the door.

As if on cue, Foxglove had been escorted out of the room, waving and saying her final goodbyes as she practically had to be carried out. Juniper sighed, and turned the pin in her hands. She wouldn’t get any other visitors. Foxglove was her only friend, and her mother was probably thinking ‘good riddance’ about Juniper being sent to her death.

——

July 4, 2306
Panem, District 12
Justice Building

Artemis couldn’t breathe.

They had wedged themselves into the corner of the room that the Peacekeepers dragged them into, the only sound being their hitched sobs and the rustling of fabric as they frantically scratched at their arms through their sleeves.

First, they were scared of losing Apollo. Now, they were scared of dying in the Hunger Games themselves. They never thought that would happen. And now they’ve been dragged away from Apollo. What if they couldn’t see him until they were forced to fight in the arena? They didn’t want to think about it at all, but they couldn’t help it.

“Artemis?”

Artemis froze and looked up, staring at the person who entered the room. It was just Atlas, who’s expression changed from worry to sorrow as he saw Artemis’s state. Atlas quickly walked over to Artemis, sat down next to them, and wrapped them in a tight hug. Artemis shut their eyes, clinging to Atlas as if their life depended on it. Their breath came in short bursts, their chest tightening with panic and despair.

Artemis felt Atlas gently rubbing their back, and barely made out his quiet, soothing voice. “Hey. . . Hey, Moonlight, just breathe. Breathe. Just focus on me. . . Focus on my voice, okay?” Artemis leaned against Atlas, their head rested on his chest. They tried to match their breathing with his, drawing in slow, shaky breaths.

“There you go. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Atlas whispered. Artemis opened their eyes, staring across the room, tears blurring their vision. They knew they weren’t okay. They were going to die soon. But they just sat there, letting their brother comfort them.

They sniffled, then finally spoke. “Where. . . Where’s Apollo? Where did they take him?”

“He’s just in a different room. I visited him earlier, and he’s okay. Well. . . ‘okay’ is a relative term.” Atlas sighed. “He was worried about you, of course. We both know how much you hate being alone.”

That was certainly an understatement. Artemis made a small noise of protest as Atlas pulled away, and they quickly retreated to the corner again. Atlas ruffled Artemis’s hair, then stood up. “If I stay here any longer, they’ll end up dragging me out of here.”

Atlas started walking towards the door, and just as he was about to walk out, he turned to Artemis again. “I’m so sorry, Moonlight. There really isn’t any way for this to turn out well. . .” He quickly turned away, walking out of the room and leaving Artemis to sit in silence.

Alright, here’s my way of introducing all the tributes :))
Sorry if the descriptions are kinda shit, also a good chunk of these are ocs so don’t fret if you don’t recognize them!

---

July 4, 2306
The Capitol Train

Resh walked silently through the corridors of the train that was taking him and the other tributes to the Capitol, staring at the ground. His hair had been taken out of its braid, and now messily fell over his face. He brushed a section of hair out of his view to look around at the three people accompanying him. His fellow tribute, Archer Drew, who was a few years younger than him, and had a lively, determined aura even while being shipped off to the Hunger Games. His and Archer’s mentor, Callisto Dorado, who stared straight ahead, her posture rigid and her expression. . . slightly violent. And their Capitol escort, Camelia Nightbloom, who seemed relatively normal despite her Capitol origins.

The group was led by Camelia to a separate compartment of the train, where they would get to know the other tributes from their Reapings. Resh swallowed hard as he tried not to think about Tsadi and Teth, and what their faces would look like as they saw Resh walking up to the stage.

The tributes from District One looked like typical District One kids. Everett Ventura, a tall, lean boy with light brown hair and brown eyes that looked nearly black, seemed pretty unassuming, but he could no doubt take someone in a fight. Miles Edgeworth, a well-mannered looking boy, stood next to Everett, his confidence very clear in his expression. Resh could tell that Miles would easily win the favor of sponsors, with both his personality and his looks, typical of one from his District.

Next was Resh’s own District, District Two. Resh watched himself walking onto the stage, taking a deep breath as he looked into his own worry-stricken eyes. He definitely didn’t look like a District Two kid; thin, but not frail, his white hair falling into his almost pallid face. He was worried and fidgety, a stark contrast to his counterpart, Archer Drew. Despite being younger, only fourteen, he looked a lot less anxious. Archer was obviously shorter than Resh, but he appeared physically stronger. His amber eyes flashed with courage, something Resh hoped he would develop in the week leading up to the Games.

The tributes from District Three were almost polar opposites of each other. The first tribute, Caroline Johnson, was a tall, well-built girl, with long, brown hair and dark eyes. She had an almost sinister look on her face, as if she was excited to participate in the Games. That alone sent a chill down Resh’s spine. The other tribute was a small, pale girl, with short, black hair and bright blue eyes, named Alice Miller. Alice looked terrified, to say the least. Resh felt a pang of sympathy for the younger girl. . . she didn’t stand a chance.

The District Four tributes similarly didn’t seem to stand a chance in the Games. The first tribute was a girl that looked eerily similar to Resh in her complexion, named Aurora Blanche. Her light blonde waves fell just past her shoulders, and her pale blue gaze fell right on the cameras as she smiled solemnly. She was. . . a strange girl, Resh thought. Her counterpart, Sayori Fujioka, had needed to be dragged to the stage by the Peacekeepers, as she had seemed too stunned to walk up herself. Her strawberry-blonde hair, ruffled from the small tussle, just barely reached her chin, contrasting her tear-filled blue eyes.

District Five’s tributes. There wasn’t much about them that was of note. Luna Lovegood, the first tribute, almost skipped up to the stage. Her hair was long, wavy, and dirty blonde. Her blue eyes seemed so far away as she looked around at everything except for the people there. She said something in a light, dreamy voice, but it was carried away by the breeze. The other tribute, Spectra Darkwood, just looked angry. With good reason, of course. Their light brown hair fell to their waist, their bangs cut straight across their forehead, and their silver eyes held a ferocity normally only found in Career tributes from Districts One, Two, and Four.

The tributes from District Six looked similar to the tributes from One. Topaz Barnett, a girl with tan skin and fiery orange hair, glared at everyone, especially the Capitol escort on stage. Resh would have found her almost feral behavior amusing, if it weren’t for the fact that he would be pitted against her in the arena. On the other hand, Phoenix Wright, her counterpart, looked a bit nervous. Phoenix’s oddly spiked hair immediately caught Resh’s attention, and he almost laughed despite the tense mood. Phoenix looked about Archer’s age, but he definitely didn’t have the amount of confidence Archer did.

The District Seven tributes both looked strangely calm. The first tribute, William Afton, was a thin, pale boy with messy hair and grey eyes. He had his arms crossed as he stared straight ahead, completely unfazed by the situation. He carried a similar demeanor to Caroline, which worried Resh. Harper Blackett, a tall girl with her black hair tied up into a ponytail, studied her fellow tribute as she stood on the stage, calm and composed but certainly not unfazed. She definitely looked like one of the more sane tributes.

Next were the District Eight tributes. The first tribute, a lanky girl with long, black hair and bluish-purple eyes, had almost tripped onto the stage, but quickly caught herself. Her name was Jasper Weber. She looked around and fidgeted nervously, seemingly shrinking in on herself. The other tribute, Noah Dawson, was tall and muscular, with messy black hair that fell to his shoulders. He looked almost as nervous as Jasper did, his soft brown eyes flitting across the crowd restlessly.

The tributes from District Nine both looked way too nice to be in the Games. The first one, Wheatley Platt, had an awkward grin on his face that was clearly meant to hide his dread. Unfortunately for him, his blue eyes clearly gave away the terror he was without a doubt feeling. Ginny Weasley, a small, kind-looking girl with long, ginger hair and hazel eyes, seemed very worried as she stepped onto the stage. She looked at someone—or multiple people— in the crowd with a forlorn expression, most likely family.

District Ten’s tributes looked like they could be related. Surprisingly, or maybe less surprisingly, given their personalities, they weren’t. Yuri Yoshika, the first tribute, was a tall girl with deep purple eyes and raven black hair, who looked incredibly timid as she avoided the stares of the crowd and the Capitol escort alike. Jax Owens, on the other hand, wore a wide, smug grin, baring his yellowed teeth at the crowd before him. His hair was tangled and fell into his eyes, and he didn’t look nearly as worried as he should have.

District Eleven’s tributes were both young girls, one was twelve and the other was fourteen. The twelve-year-old tribute, Juniper Aquila, her vivid green eyes already brimming with tears, set off several alarms in Resh’s mind. He instantly felt his protective instincts kick in. She was just barely twelve, and forced into a game of death. He tore his gaze from the girl as the other tribute, Melody Baird, walked onto the stage. Melody was a bit taller than Juniper, with a dark complexion and long, black hair. She was slightly more composed than her counterpart, but equally as distressed.

And finally, District Twelve’s tributes. The first one, Apollo Stellaris, stiffly walked up to the stage, clearly avoiding looking at something. Resh saw that one of his eyes, instead of being the trademark grey of District Twelve, was a light blue, not jarring but certainly noticeable. A younger boy, presumably a sibling, yelled something as Peacekeepers held him back from the stage. Resh quickly learned the boy’s name, Artemis Stellaris, as he was also called up. Apollo’s expression had shifted to confusion, then dread as Artemis slowly walked onto the stage, visibly trembling. The two brothers held hands, the younger of the two clinging to the older for dear life.

Resh sighed and looked down, completely ignoring the screen now. His hatred for the Capitol only grew while watching the Reapings, especially the one in District Eleven. He up looked at the others. Archer had his brows furrowed in an expression that Resh couldn’t quite read, and Callisto looked angry. She looked over at Resh and Archer, studying them for a moment before speaking.

“Well, we certainly have a lot of work to do.”

Oops this is a tiny bit shitty
They’ll get to the Capitol soon I promise but y’all needed to meet Quinn <3

---

July 4, 2306
The Capitol Train

Apollo sat in the dining hall with Artemis, Decima, and he and Artemis's mentor, Quinn Hall. Apollo was silent as Decima chattered excitedly, mostly about the luxuries and festivities that were to be at the Capitol. He had mostly tuned out Decima, although he could hear his brother awkwardly trying to seem engaged in what little conversation happened. Quinn was equally silent, blankly staring out of the window.

Quinn vaguely reminded Apollo of Atlas, and he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. He supposed they looked similar, Quinn had narrow features and a chronically tired demeanor, just like Atlas. Apollo noticed Quinn’s hairstyle was similar to his own. Short, black curls, but Quinn’s were slightly longer and more unruly.

Apollo cleared his throat, quickly growing tired of Decima’s rambling. Decima went silent, looking at Apollo curiously, while Quinn simply blinked and glanced at him.

“Uh. . . I think it would be a good idea to think of strategies. That’s the whole reason we’re meeting with Quinn, yes?”

Decima tilted her head, then nodded. “Oh, yes, of course.” She smiled, and Apollo resisted the urge to punch her square in the jaw as she stood up and migrated to a different chair, where she wouldn’t intrude on the discussion between the other three. That woman infuriated him, being so excited and bubbly when several children were being sent to their deaths. And was made it worse was that all the Capitol people were like this, and he was headed straight to. . . well, the Capitol.

Quinn sighed, then leaned forward in his seat, staring at Apollo and Artemis for a long moment before speaking. “So, Apollo and Artemis Stellaris. You two are siblings, right?” Apollo and Artemis nodded.

“Good,” said Quinn. “That means if we play our cards right, we could get you two a lot of sponsors.” Quinn glanced between the two brothers, then leaned back again. “Of course, that’s not all we need to do, but it’s a good start.”

Apollo arched an eyebrow at Quinn. “And what exactly do you mean, ‘if we play our cards right’?”

Quinn hummed. “Well, I thought it was obvious. The audience would definitely root for the big brother who just wants to keep the little one alive. So if we just play into that, they’ll love you.”

Apollo really didn’t like the idea of winning the favor of an audience who was just there to watch children die, but if it helped Artemis’s chance of survival, then he didn’t mind. He nodded. “Seems simple enough. That is my main goal.”

Artemis spoke up. “But what about actually surviving. . ?”

Quinn gestured to Apollo. “Simple. Apollo keeps you both alive as long as possible.” Quinn’s expression grew dark. “. . . But it may come down to you or him in the end. Don’t forget that the Hunger Games can only have one victor.” He paused. “I guess this would be easier if you didn’t have a third sibling at home.”

Apollo sighed. “You guessed right.” At least one of them had to stay alive, for Atlas. Which meant losing the other. Apollo gripped his armrest tightly. He couldn’t let Artemis die, he wouldn’t.

Quinn stared at the two for a bit longer. “How about you two head to your rooms? We can talk more at the Capitol.” Without waiting for a response, he stood up and left the dining hall, leaving Apollo and Artemis alone with their thoughts.

“He’s right. The audience will adore you.”

Apollo had almost forgotten about Decima. He quickly stood up and offered a hand to Artemis. They took it and pulled themselves to their feet, then followed as Apollo walked back to where their rooms were.

I know this isn’t writing, but I’ve left y’all in the basement without food for a bit too long so here have some drawings :))

TW for blood, depictions of s/h wounds, and themes of disordered eating.

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Lyric art of Heart for Honey I’m Home - Ghost and Pals

Heart, Mind, and Soul, hanging out with my plushies Artemis, Apollo, and Atlas, respectively.

You’ve been Jashed. Loser.

Lyric art of Mind for End-World Normopathy - Ghost and Pals

Lyric art of Heart for Appetite of a People-Pleaser - Ghost and Pals