#my WHG writing
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WHG 21 - The Big Day (Viper and Honey)
I have once again failed to come up with a title for these instead of using the prompt titles.
tagging @concealeddarkness13 @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler (let me know if you would like to be removed, or if anyone would like to be added)
Somehow ended up being a bit over 2k words.
POV: Viper
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The sun had yet to peer over the horizon at the hour I roused Honey, sleepy-eyed and sluggish but who knew better than to argue. The rest of the Aristata were still sleeping, deep enough that no one stirred as I waited for him to ready himself. As the youngest, and the newest, it wouldn’t hurt for me to pick on him a little bit with the occasional early morning chores. He followed me quietly through the dawn, slipping out of his tent and falling in at my side like a good dog trained to heel, yawning like a teenaged boy woken up too early.
Which he was, but I found no harm in letting him think I believed him when he had claimed to be twenty years old. Or that his given name was truly Honey Davis. Who was I to judge? He’d been trustworthy so far and so why bother questioning his motives.
It wasn’t like I’d ever let anyone know who I once was, where I came from, anything more than a few years before Winter and the others found me and freed me. Ever since Stark had dubbed me Viper the name stuck and so I became her.
Honey pulled his jacket tighter around himself, breath fogging slightly in the chill morning air. “Hey, Viper?”
I hummed and looked to him as we reached a small barn, a dim silhouette against the pale sunrise peering over the mountains far off to the edge of the valley. Dawn wind blew cool through the desert and in the distance a band of coyotes loped off to some unseen destination after their night under the stars. Everything seemed as it should be, but at my side Honey grew tense.
“I… I have a bad feeling about today.”
Pausing by the door to the barn Lady Alabaster had allowed the Aristata to use for our horses, I turned back towards him. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when everyone went to sleep last night. Lady Alabaster’s boy was still gone, but nothing new had come up about him in days now. Nearly a week.
Honey had recently been apprentice to a mortician mage. They were known to occasionally have premonitions, if the gods favored them so. Perhaps he’d been shown something I’d missed.
Pulling open the door to the barn I waved him close enough to hear me whisper, “think we’re in danger?”
He paused, eyes wandering from the ground in front of his feet out to the desert and the indigo-blue sky lightning minute by minute. In the low light his eyes reflected bright and green like a cat in the night when the torch by the door caught his face in it’s glow at just the right angle. Not for the first time. Odd perhaps, but he’d proved trustworthy so it was none of my business to grill him on it.
“I… I’m not sure.” Honey mumbled, soft and private in the quiet air. “I can’t think of anything that’s happened, but I’m nervous. I had a dream last night.”
Oh? I leaned against the doorframe, dark skin and hair half blending with the sturdy wood of the barn. I tilted my head, crossing my arms. He ducked his head and rounded his shoulders and I raised an eyebrow. He shouldn’t have brought it up if he was going to be shy about it. Unwilling to take a non-answer I stood waiting and watching, letting him shift uncomfortably under my gaze until he took a long breath and stood up straight.
“You were there.” He swallowed. “You gave me your heart and let me eat it.”
I scrunched my face, eyebrows furrowing and my heartbeat suddenly louder and more noticeable in my ears. Sometimes mages would receive messages but if this were the case, what was I supposed to think of this? Goosebumps ran up my arms and I shivered in the wind.
I pushed the door open wider, my whisper coming as a hiss, “keep your guard up for now. Could be nothing, but after those wolven came after you I don’t want to take chances.”
He nodded and slipped inside behind me into the dim barn. Faint light shone in through high windows, catching specks of dust floating softly through the air. I took a long breath, taking in the warm, familiar scent of hay and livestock. Opening the lower windows brought more clean white morning light through to the inside of the barn. At the other end Honey slipped out with a bucket already knowing I would have sent him out to the well first thing.
Dull sorrow sunk aching in my chest. He was too young for this, for what would come of him if he stayed here. The boy was no mercenary. There was hope still for him to finish his training, but who was I to tell him that? Winter thought he would make a good addition. Who was I to disagree?
In a moment I would have to get started on cleaning and feed but first I stopped by the stall where my Cinnamon stood waiting for me. Lean and long-legged, I’d bought her off a sweet but clueless man who’d wanted a graceful horse for his young daughter and got in over his head with her stubbornness and antics and refusal to work nicely with his daughter. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, she was young and inexperienced and Cinnamon could be a challenge sometimes even for me.
I smiled as I stroked her nose and cooed warmly to her. Sometimes I got the sense that she pushed me on purpose, tested me just to see if she could, but she worked hard and listened when it mattered and had to be my best horse yet.
A low nicker behind me made me turn halfway, snorting at Platinum, the horse I’d trained for Winter, stretching her head out from the stall as far as she could reach towards me.
“Be patient,” I whispered, leaning over to give her a pat. “I’ll get to you don’t you worry.”
Gunshots rang out loud and sharp and I whirled. Just outside the barn.
“Viper! Viper help!”
I ran at the door, pistol drawn and ready. Etched with the snarling face of Raesi, dog spirit of protectors, it glinted in the morning sun as I slipped out of the barn. Around the corner of the barn I found him struggling against the grip of two young men, his gun knocked to the dusty ground and arms wrenched and cuffed behind his back. His cheek was red and he winced when they jostled him and sneered.
I whistled sharp and quick, raising the barrel of my gun and glaring at his captors. Shooting would be risky with his head so close to theirs, and his body overlapping the other two, but they didn’t need to know I would hesitate.
“And who might you be?” One of them, the taller of the two, gestured lazily towards me. “Do you know this monster?”
I swallowed, throat and chest tight. Even if I tried to speak it would only end up caught in my throat, the words blocked somewhere between my head and my voice. So I stood, unwavering, giving only a tilt of my head to acknowledge I’d heard him.
There were only two of them. If I were quick, and if I shot true maybe I’d have a chance but they could move or my hand could shift or my aim be off but just a touch but enough to hit Honey instead.
The tall bastard snorted. He grabbed a handful of Honey’s hair and forced his head back drawing a surprised yelp from the boy. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but this runaway is Rantha Cathartes. He killed five good, upstanding young men and women in Wayton taking them from this world and their families forever.” He craned Honey’s head farther back, leaning in to snarl in his face. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with this one after all, eh? He’s a demon parading as a mage and this is what happens when no one has the guts to step in until it’s too late.”
Anger surged inside me and I hissed, my finger twitching on the trigger. Honey caught my eye, pale faced and scared but with a tiny shake of his head. Cathartes or not I couldn’t throw him aside like a scrap carcass to be chewed up by scavengers. It wasn’t his fault what his mother did. It wasn’t him who pulled the trigger to kill my parents and countless others who tried to stand up to her and her followers.
“You’re wasting your energy.” The other peacekeeper huffed, pushing Honey to turn and walk. “But don’t worry, as much as we’d like it he’s not coming back to face up to what he’s done in Wayton. It was good timing figuring out where he’d run off to and the request to send someone chosen to compete against the best of the best.” His eyes narrowed cruel and vicious. “So Rantha naturally won’t stand much of a chance.”
The both of them laughed and I raised my gun. If they turned just a little more I had a clear shot but only one turned fully to force Honey to move. Hissing sharp under my breath I stalked towards them. If they wouldn’t give me a good shot I would just have to make one.
A hand closed on my wrist from behind and wrenched my gun from my hand and my arm behind my back. The pressure on my wrist made me freeze, stiffening long enough for them to snatch my other wrist and force cuffs around both. My heart picked up, racing in my chest. I yanked and pushed at the cuffs but they held tight, unmoving. Hard and inescapable. Dark and cold and damp and trapped. My skin crawled, crawled, up and down my arms my back.
A hard punch in the stomach snapped me back. I gagged and gasped for the breath knocked out but he, the taller vagrant, struck again harder than the last time. Pain ricocheted through my body and I spat up watery vomit. It dripped from my mouth as I fought and coughed, trying to catch a breath.
“Not so tough now are you?” The taller laughed, shaking out his hand as my head fell forward.
“Stop! Don’t hurt her!” Honey sounded farther than he was and out of the corner of my eye, clouded and dizzy he struggled uselessly against his captor’s grip. “Please don’t!”
The remaining man shoved him roughly and forced his head down. I fought for breath and sucked it in just in time to glare at the fucker standing in front of me and sucked in enough breath to raise my head and spit at his face.
“You stupid bitch!” He struck me across the face with the back of her hand, pain stinging my cheek and stars dancing along the edges of my vision.
The one holding me tight leaned forward, his head next to my ear in a way that made my skin crawl and nausea churn in my gut. My chest tightened and my body stiffened like a rabbit caught in a coyote’s gaze.
“Since this one seems so keen to look out for our little runaway,” he smirked at his partner, voice low and dangerous. “Why don’t we let her go with him? Friend of mine said they’d been given a similar request down in Alekton
The taller one grinned. He reached forward and caught my jaw in his hand, forcing my head up. I glared but my mouth went dry and my legs shook. My wrists ached, a phantom of pain of skin chaffed and raw. Of rope and chain and cuffs and hands…
“Not a bad idea.” His eyes flicked up to the other with a sick smile. “You can take her to Alekton,” he chuckled, “and if they don’t want her you could always give her to that friend of yours.”
My throat cinched and my eyes narrowed. I jerked my head and lunged for the hand before me, snapping my teeth on the empty air when he just barely yanked his hand back in time.
“On second thought I’ll go with you. Doubt that Martin will need my help with Rantha.” He turned and waved back at me and the other. “Come on, let’s not waste anymore time here.”
#whg 21#my writing#Viper (character)#Honey/Rantha#Bristlecone#changed where I wanted to go with this like three times
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Fishing Fiasco, pt3
cw: presence of alcohol, mentions of dizziness and nausea
first previous
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She didn't go outside the rest of the day.
Or the day after.
She really didn't need to. She had enough to eat and all, and she had her TV to keep her busy.
And to drown out the songs lilting in now and then from the water.
Whatever that creature was, it was persistent. It kept singing about things like money, knowledge, sex, fame, farming, winning competitions, even murder! Every ten minutes it seemed like there was a new thing to want, as long as the fisher came out and got in the water.
She knew one thing she wanted for sure, and that was to never, ever get into the water with that thing.
It stopped singing again around sunset. It seemed even the monster had better things to do than wait around on the fisher. She sighed, cracked open one singular beer, and settled in to watch her TV in peace.
She was able to finish binging her latest show (unfortunately) and started browsing new ones. She was halfway into a new season one, curled up under the blankets, hours after her second drink, when it started singing again.
"Deep and aching scars you've left behind…"
Its voice was different this time. All day and all yesterday, it had been smooth, lilting, wispy, soprano. But now it was a coarse alto register, and it wobbled—
"No hope of love or home for me to find."
Everything seemed to lurch even as the fisher was laying down, something related to nausea washing up over her back and swirling in her head. She felt herself lifting her head and pulling off the blanket, but she was so dizzy she could barely see.
The next thing she knew, she was standing on the beach, the wind whipping up her open flannel shirt and pajama shorts. She flinched, staggering in the wind, a dull headache starting well behind her eyes. She looked around in the night and saw that creature on the very end of the pier, looking directly at her, some of its hair blowing forward in the ocean air. The fisher gasped, and took a shaking step back.
"I'd cut myself into shape for you…"
The not-nausea swirled around her again, the beach spinning unsteadily. She felt herself starting to move, and then she came to again, standing at the edge of the pier.
She looked down, gasping, heart racing to see the woman-thing sitting right in front of her, a cold hand curled around her bare ankle. The look on its face was… sad as it watched her with dark, dark eyes.
She didn't dare to move. She didn't know what this thing was capable of, she was realizing. It could hiss, it could screech, it could sing, it could… mind control?
It had a gaping cut in its cheek.
The fisher narrowed her eyes, then tried to widen them to see better in the dark. It was jagged, and it went to the edge of her mouth, and as the creature parted her lips, the fisher could tell it was a complete cut all the way through.
"You're hurt," she whispered. Her voice was rough, and she cleared her throat and sniffed, and then she realized her face was wet. With tear tracks. Good lord, had she been crying? She wiped her face and cleared her throat again, but looking down at the fish woman, all she could feel was the pressure of longing in her chest. "Let me — I have something to help," she said, looking at the cut. "I can go get it."
The fish-woman watched her, completely silent. Did she know how to talk? She must have, she could sing perfectly well.
The woman let her go. She nodded, stepping backwards calmly. "I'll be back soon," she promised before turning to run up the beach to her house.
It wasn't hard to find her first aid kit, or a pair of sweatpants and some beach shoes. She returned better dressed for the weather to find the fish-woman still sitting at the end of the pier, though she seemed freshly wet. The fisher sat down in front of her and opened her kit, digging around for materials.
Now that she was getting a good, long look at the woman, it was hard to ignore how pretty she was. She wasn't wearing any kind of clothes, and it made the soft-looking, sheer scales easier to see. She seemed to have normal human skin, but on her shoulders, the side of her ribs, and the backs of her wrists and hands, she had blueish-green scales that almost glittered in the moonlight. Her tail, too, was pretty. It was long and muscular, but she had long, soft fins that probably looked very pretty in the water.
The fisher looked up to her face, holding a cotton swab in her fingers. "This is going to hurt," she warned. "But it'll make you feel better afterwards, I promise." The woman watched her mouth, then looked back up to her eyes. She seemed lucid, like she was present and could understand. Cautiously, the fisher reached forward, holding the woman's chin with the tips of her fingers before dabbing at the cut.
The woman winced, but didn't flinch or try to get away. The fisher kept going, gently cleaning the surface of the cut. It looked extremely painful, and she was especially careful as she got closer to the woman's lips. She finished cleaning the wound, then reached down and pulled out another bottle.
"This stuff stings like a bitch," she said. She dipped the little applicator sponge and wiped the excess off in the lip of the little bottle. "But it's good stuff." She set the bottle down to hold the woman's chin again, then stroked the sponge over the far end of the cut.
The woman flinched, hissing briefly, warningly, frightfully. It put the fisher on-edge, and suddenly reminded her that she was sitting in front of a rather strong creature with needles for teeth and a hot temper. But the woman relaxed again, though she did have a bit of a glare on her face, and returned her head to where it had been.
Nervous, the fisher kept going.
She got the stuff over the length of the woman's cut without further incident, and closed the bottle before setting it back in the kit. She held the woman's chin and gently turned her head, then blew softly over the newly sealed cut. The woman winced again, her big, dark eyes watching the fisher closely. They were very close to each other, and the fisher remembered with a slight wave of embarrassment that the fish-woman was entirely exposed to the air. Her hair was starting to dry out again.
"That should help," the fisher whispered, pulling away. The fish-woman reached up to her face, and the fisher reached out to stop her. "Don't touch it until it's completely dry."
The woman glared, but lowered her hand.
The fisher studied her wound again. She wouldn't be wanting to open her mouth very wide as long as that was trying to heal. If she was living in the ocean and eating whole fish, the woman wouldn't really have any recourse.
"Are you hungry?" the fisher asked.
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
The woman turned around and lurched into the water in a blur, slapped the fisher with her tail so hard she fell to the boards in the same motion. The fisher groaned, getting her arms beneath herself and rising, her head spinning dully. She put a hand on her temple, blinking away bleary vision, and looked down. The fish-woman was glaring at her, nose beneath the water. After a moment, she disappeared below the surface, flashing her tail and flicking sea water into the fisher's face before vanishing.
#Fayte writes#mermaid x human#writeblr#writing#woah Fayte posting writing two days in a row?!#whaaat?!#:0#pt3 here burning a hole in my pocket#mostly because I've had it in said pocket for awhile#but also because I know the WHG shenanigans are starting today and I don't know when next I'll be looking at these fishy friends#nausea
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Its been a bit since youve posted- hope youre doing okay! (your blog gives me life) (and so much dopamine)
ok computer open spotify ok computer play liked songs playlist ok computer open google docs ok computer open new document
#im taking it one day at a time but im also taking it dry. its rough out here man#thank you v much for the compliment tho it means a lot!! whg eeaaaghhh#just glad 2 be here and of service.. so many ideas not enough hands#im writing more than im drawing lately which is annoying bc im not writing that mucheither. ill get back into a doodling mood soon enough#its eh ^_^ technically difficulties folks!! WORKING MY WAY THRU THE INBOX AS CHRONOLOGICALLY AS POSSIBLE DW
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after some intense thinking for quite some time, i think im gonna change my major due to the fact that
(pretend the cat is me)
#annabelle yellz#i have a number of reasons aa to whg im changinfg it#but the main one is just that i am genuinely so happy when i get to write papers for my classes#the last essay i did i honestly thought i would get a C at best#but i literally got 100%#and the comments my professor made on it made my entire day#i still have passion for the sciences but i dont think thats my calling#esp since theres much more math involved
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im likely to fall asleep soon, but heres a thought i had.
no matter the life they live, certain people always find each other.
thats what fanfics teach us. that no matter who you are, there is always a person who will be a constant for you.
wether its reincarnation, or an au, or even canon divergence.
theres always that one duo that always meet.
and dont forget that.
there js a person you either have met or will meet that has been with you through every variation of your life you can imagine.
they might not always he your friend or your sibling or your lover, it might be your enemy, but they are still alongside you for so many stories
so. never think that there isnt a reason for your existance, or that youre destined to be lonely.
#my write shit#i posted this instead of sleeping.#i dont wven know whg i thought abt this#abygay#goodnight to you all#my fellow people
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Round 21?
Ignore the fluttering of pages as I dust off my notes to check whether the number is right...yes, 21!
Attention, writers! Are you tired of That Character living in your head rent-free? Alternatively, are the people of That Character's world or immediate surroundings tired of them living in their heads rent-free? Are ya ready to make them pay their dues by chucking them into a Hunger Games simulator and seeing who wins, with optional Hunger Games AU writing prompts along the way?
That’s right! We are NOT dead, so if a few people are interested, it's time for another round of the Writeblr Hunger Games! For those who don't know, the basic format for the WHG is that writers submit their original characters as potential candidates. Then I put them in the Brant Steele Hunger Games Simulator and share the results of them fighting each other to the death.
This round's going to look a little different. Instead of random characters strictly fighting for their lives, you would choose your most special someones to compete in the True Chosen One Challenge. Whether your character has a canonical destiny, a headcanoned prophecy, or just way too much of your brainspace, this competition will force them to face their fate. Whoever rises to the top shall win the title of True Chosen One! (Chosen by the simulator algorithm, anyway.)
This post is just for y'all to let me know if you're interested, share the news with anyone you think might be interested, and let me know any thoughts or suggestions you have. If more than a few people are willing to at least throw a character into the ring (no writing necessary), then I'll soon tag interested folks with a post with more explanation on how to submit a character and what happens from there.
This is intended to be a somewhat more lighthearted, faster-paced WHG round, so there's no expectation of intense participation if this time of the year gets hectic.
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WHG Prompt 5 - Air of Authority
Lyra leans back on some social training from home and can't believe it actually works.
Taglist: @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes @pied-piper-of-hamlet @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler
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She was left alone for most of the rest of the ride, ducking into a room that seemed to be for her and pulling out the other bits of food she’d managed to steal. Only when she was alone did she feel a tiny hint of regret that she was doing this alone.
Oh well. Jake and Hansel only wanted to get back home. Not help. She had to convince them to help out here. This time she was only restricted by what she wanted to do. Nothing else.
Well…nothing else that couldn’t be overcome. She still had to abide by the rules enough so that she didn’t stand out…which meant she probably shouldn’t have threatened the citizen in the foul suit or broken the screen. But he was begging to be knocked down a peg and out here, there was no one to tell her how high-borns were supposed to behave.
She finally finished what she’d swiped from various tables and was trying to decide the best way to get her hands on some materials enough to make a bow when she felt the train come to a stop. She peeked out only to find a pair of guards outside where she was, ready to take her on. But this was how it was supposed to go, right? Train ride, out to the almighty Capitol, put on display, listen to someone drone on with the lies of how this is honorable, then to a…what was it…a training room, she thought. That was where she’d be able to approach the others or listen from a distance. That was where she really wanted to get to.
So she let herself get practically pulled this way and that, down hallways and past windows and more screens, plopped in a chair, a small group of others surrounding her.
She snarled and snapped when they tried to remove her bandana, the team hesitating and looking around. “I have this on for a reason,” she growled at them. “Trust me, taking it off works against any sort of beautification process.” She hadn’t managed to fend them off last time…and after a moment of consideration, it seemed she wouldn’t be able to fend them off this time either as someone grabbed it from behind and practically snipped it off her head. The rest came with equal precision, her jacket pulled off before she could really react.
She grunted at the sudden silence, the weird chattering monkeys looking at each other and then their leader, who was eyeing her up and down. Lifting her head, Lyra cleared her throat and flexed her wings for a moment, the fluttering noise filling the room as she worked them before letting them down once more.
“Stop gawking,” she demanded of them. “You have a job to do. Do it.”
That seemed to snap them back into action, the group chittering and chatting amongst themselves. The head of the group glanced at what he’d prepared and back at Lyra, her training giving her the authoritative air of the highbloods and, with it, the instinctual space afforded to one of a high standing. While they chatted among themselves and began to buzz around her, trying to work her looks into the costume, she stood as still and commanding as she had been trained to do.
“No,” she said, slapping at one of their hands when they went to put the costume on her. “That won’t work. That fabric doesn’t work with my skin tone; are you blind?! Get something that works with me, not against me, or do you not know your own occupation?”
The action almost seemed to take them offguard, which was odd. Surely they had tributes that didn’t willfully stand here and get stripped bear every single time? Either way, she grabbed at the costume and snatched it from their hands. “Go on. Get your betters. Let them try to handle me with grace and dignity you don’t seem to be able to afford.”
After another moment of conferring with each other, the reluctantly left the room. Left her alone.
They really shouldn’t have.
Lyra ripped the stupid costume into ribbons, tying each one to her horns to make them look like a prop, then taking the bits that were whole and creating a loosely-fitting cape that could hide her wings but would shudder as she flapped them to create a sort of wave of the fabric. She the shirt and pants she borrowed, ripping up the seams to create a skirt that had slits but would still go down to her ankles, the colors almost muted compared to the costume but seemed to work in her favor. She grabbed a few of the colored brushes and went over herself once to add some shades or highlights, make it look like the team had done their job, and then took some of the brushes and snapped the ends off for a tipped point. She managed to hide those in her skirt before a door opened and she spun, head up again as she strode towards the opening.
“Finally,” she huffed. “I thought I would have to wait around here all day.”
She was a highborn. She knew how to perform, how to get the respect her position deserved…and it appeared that the training worked even when she wasn’t home. She was taken by the guards – peacekeepers, she was pretty sure she heard someone call them – to something pulled by giant beats that snorted and pawed. At first her mind thought they were Kamare clan, giants that could take the form similar to these creatures. Her eyes lit up at first before she realized they had flat heads and were smaller than the two-skinned ones from her home system…plus the Kamare wouldn’t allow themselves to be worked like this.
The sight caused a small pang of a longing for home, something she didn’t experience often. She shook her head and glanced at the other tributes, reminded herself why she’d come. She took her place next to the other tribute and did her best to ignore the sounds coming from nearby, the loud cheers and jeers from those watching.
She remembered this from last time too. The noise was too much then. It would be the same now. At least this time she was prepared. She flattened her ears to her head and prepared herself to be thrust out in front of everyone, concentrating on the images and names she’d gathered from the images of the Reaping. She had an idea of who she could start with, who looked like they might have needed a friend out here. Who looked like they wanted to escape. Who looked like they’d be able to help her figure out how to break this place and cause as much chaos as possible when doing it.
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WHG 21 Prompt 5 - Chess
Content warning for explicit sexual dialogue and suggestive themes. About 1,500 words. Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, @drabbleitout, and @grailfish!
Even though I had been to the ridiculous parties in the past few months, the stylist team still found things to poke and prod and rip out. They hadn’t sedated me yet, which was probably on purpose so I would have to experience all the embarrassment and pain. I just gritted my teeth (I had went back to dull teeth and no tail or scales) and stayed quiet. It would soon be over, and I wouldn’t even be able to get uncomfortable over the ridiculous outfit they’d have me wear.
The team told me that the stylist would come in soon, and they left me alone, with just a towel for cover. I wrapped it tightly around me when the door opened, but I frowned when I saw who it was. The fucking escort! The one who had looked at me and seemed to know me! He was still covered in glitter, making me want to gag at the garishness of it all. Great. I was doomed.
He smiled and bowed at me with a flourish. “Yes, it is I, the mysterious stranger from the party all those months ago. It is so good to see you again, little dragon.”
I blinked, recognizing what he was talking about, but still entirely confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He blinked and stood up straight, before muttering something I didn’t catch. “I guess your mentor didn’t tell you that I would be your stylist?”
I blinked again. “No?”
He sighed dramatically. “Then I’ll need to start again. Goodbye.” He actually left the fucking room just to walk back in a few seconds later, smirking. “If you remember the party where you so gloriously bit that bastard’s cock off, I met you there first, and we talked. I hope you will forgive me for not doing what we had agreed would help you recognize me, but that would be unfortunate with how they left you for me.”
Conor. He was the whole reason I even had the courage to hurt Ashont that night. My cheeks burned as I imagined just kissing him here and now. “I…they sedated me after that, so I wasn’t able to look for you. I’m sorry.”
His smile got sharper, more dangerous. “They should be the ones who are sorry, little dragon. Punishing you for fighting against your own abuser. But I suppose little can be expected of them anyway.” He sighed and walked further away, towards a wardrobe. Which at least meant he didn’t notice how I embarrassingly leaned towards him as he moved away, as if he had a gravitational pull. “The stylist you originally had was going to put you in a ridiculous outfit that would have just shown off your body. No flair whatsoever. So, I decided to…intervene.” He looked back at me with a smile that showed off his fangs, and my cheeks burned worse. “I was thinking more of a theme, if you would be inclined to at least trust me in this.”
Anything would be better than being constantly sexualized. I nodded. “I trust you. In more than this. You—” You were the reason I held onto hope. Knowing that someone wanted to help, that there were people who cared, while being surrounded by indifferent Capitol citizens, saved me. I know I can’t really trust anyone, but still, I absolutely trust you. How the fuck could I say that to him? It sounded like a declaration of love.
He tilted his head. “Not recommended, when it comes to me.” He chuckled and opened the wardrobe, pulling out a red suit that glittered in the light and had a pattern that looked like scales. He turned back to me and handed it over. “Please change into this. I need to get some accessories that the Capitol did not provide.” He waved and left, and I scrambled to get changed, not wanting to sit around in that fucking towel anymore.
The suit fit well, but I changed so quickly that I had to wait for a while before he finally showed up again. He was carrying bottles and makeup and smiling conspiratorially. He didn’t explain though, just setting down the stuff and opening the wardrobe again, pulling out a crimson cape and a set of dragon wings that looked realistic.
I stared as he helped put both the cape and the wings on. “Could you remain partially transformed, with your tail, scales, and fangs?” I nodded, letting my tail, scales, and fangs appear, and he smiled wider. “Good girl.”
Fuck. My tail wagged, and I couldn’t stop it as Conor went and grabbed the stuff he came in with. “Sit down, please. I will apply your makeup and fix your hair.”
I did so, intentionally sitting on my tail to stop it from wagging. He set up an area in front of me, and my cheeks burned as I finally remembered how gorgeous he was. “The wings move, letting you stretch them out to show off to the crowd more, if you would like that. I have an idea to make your hair look red and firey in the light. Is that suitable to you?” I nodded, drowning in his eyes. He could ask anything of me, and I would agree. He nodded, his smile turning into a smirk. “I’ll take care of you afterwards so you will not have to worry about any leftover glitter from your costume.” I squirmed at his low voice and how he looked me up and down. Couldn’t he just take me right now if he was gonna be so flirty?
And then he just left me there in my horniness. He walked away from the palpable sexual tension and grabbed one of the bottles and shook it. “Make sure to cover your eyes,” he purred. Fuck, he totally knew.
I couldn’t help but squirm again as I covered my eyes and he sprayed the hair product all over my hair, carefully running his hands through it probably to make sure the product distributed all through it. Once he was done with that, he caressed my cheek. “Now, for the makeup. Try to relax, little dragon.”
Oh fucking hell, it was like he was using the flirts I had had to use on others right back on me. And as I kept my eyes closed but did move my hands away and he started working, he was so gentle. I was so used to people being rough, demanding so much from me, and instead, he was quiet and calm. It was…so nice. I really could relax and not worry about whether he would hurt me or not. I didn’t understand, but I trusted him.
It took a lot longer than I expected, but when he said he was done, I opened my eyes and stared at the mirror. My hair still only looked like a shiny green in this light, but my face. The makeup looked like I had glittering red scales covering my face and down my neck, with black makeup framing my eyes. I…I looked gorgeous. And not in the objectifying way, in the way that I would want to look.
I blinked and looked over at Conor, tears blurring my vision. “Th-thank you.” I tried to duck my head to hide the tears, but he held my chin up, wiping my eyes with a cloth.
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to mess up all my hard work now, would you? It is almost time, so it’s time to go. I’ll see you afterwards, little dragon.” He bowed.
I nodded and headed out, being careful to not hit the wings on anything. People stared as I walked past, but that didn’t make me feel uncomfortable for once. No one bothered me, they just let me walk onto my chariot on my own. And I just realized that I hadn’t received the sedation I was supposed to get. Was my stylist supposed to sedate me?
Even better that it had been Conor then. Maybe…maybe I wouldn’t have to be sedated again. And I could show them why they should fear me.
But not today. I just stayed happily aware as the chariots started moving, and as the audience screamed, I did stretch my wings out and glared at the crowd. When I saw myself on the screens out of the corner of my eyes, I looked dangerous, and my hair…
My hair practically glowed red with how shiny it looked. It matched the color of my clothes and makeup scales, and I made sure to smile to show off my fangs, and the crowd screamed more. I flipped them off and tried to block them out as I just kept that dangerous image of myself in my head. I wasn’t showing off for them. I was showing off for myself, to prove to myself that I was powerful despite what the Capitol did to me.
I ignored the president’s speech, and when the chariots left the area and stopped, Conor was waiting for me. He grinned and held out his hand to help me off the chariot. I refused his hand, getting down on my own, but once I was on solid ground, I did take his outstretched hand.
His smile turned into a smirk. “Let’s get you taken care of, little dragon.”
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mm, thinking about having you on display during a church service. standing at my podium and talking about resisting temptation. to help me with a presentation, i call you over. you're so cute in your royal priest outfit, wanting to match the atmosphere of the occasion and i can't help but make sure to tell you as much. i mean, the way that your face burns whenever i compliment you is just too adorable. i pull you to a seat i set out at center stage, where everybody can see. i sit down and pull you into my lap, telling you to just follow my lead and to not worry about anything. of course, you're confused on how my actions correlate to my sermon, but i insist that you simply sit back and look pretty, just let me do all the thinking. i then address our audience in the pew, using you as an example of the ways our earthly pleasures can cause us to lose focus and stray from the path of light. i undo the buttons on your soutane, watching as it falls to the floor. next is your alb, and as i remove it, your underclothes are revealed and, subsequently, removed as well revealing you to everybody. there's gasps from the audience, but not a word of protest, all of them entranced by you. they're all looking at you, your highness. adoring you. /wanting you/. i kiss your newly exposed neck, licking up the side and to your cheek, seeing the way you get so embarrassed. when you voice such feelings, i shush you and remind you that you want to be a good boy, dont you? then let yourself be embarrassed for me, okay? that's such a good puppy. i run my hands all over your body, describing all the ways you tempt me, fill me with unholy feelings such as lust. i spread your legs to show off how affected you are by being used as a presentation, as eye candy, being so well behaved as i show you off and dangle you just out of reach from those in the crowd who are struggling to control themselves at the sight of you. wouldn't you love that? i know i would <3
- 🌹
whining whininggg WHININGG this one is just cruel. this one is so cruel and so.!!! so!!! ugh.!!! burying my self in the blankets and hugging pillows while reading and writing a reply. this one is so good. curse you and your daydreams. you. hgh. whg. filling out the pawbeanies kink bingo i see.......
crumbling at this concept so much imm. ugh.
how inappropriate i think. it should be something so proper and chaste, shouldn't it?? i don't usually pay attention during sermons or services anyway (though i'd probably focus on it if it was you. the sound of your voice and all that), but. going along with whatever you have planned, not really knowing where you're going with this because? why would i ever expect something so sinful?
maybe i don't realize where it's going until it's too late. squirming in your lap and blinking as your words sink in, cheeks flushing when you address the audience- like hmph, am i a distraction to you?? is that a proper way to refer to your prince?? but also gh. can't squirm and be a brat when you're unbuttoning the clothes you probably helped me put on that morning... not when people are watching. not when you have me helpless like this.
it's so much i think. the. being undressed in front of an audience??? occasionally turning to hide my face in your chest, when it's too much. whining because you can't talk about how much you desire me and touch me in front of. so many people. so cruel, to show me off like that. it should be embarrassing, humiliating to be shown off like a piece of eye candy, like a doll for a bunch of others to ogle... like oh. this is a new side of me they'd most likely never dream of seeing. but also it's so. thrilling. but also hmph.
maybe ... perhaps. i don't want you to have all the fun. if you think i'm such a distraction, maybe i should try and make you stray from the path of light even more? playing up how loud i'm whining, grinding down into your lap as you show me off, my fingers curling into your vestments as i try to tug them off. looking up at you so, so sweetly as i try to tempt you to give into the urges i know you keep locked away. maybe even being so bold and trying to pull you into a kiss. wouldn't that be nice? to ruin me on the altar in front of a rapt audience? punish me for being such a tempting little thing? maybe make me beg for forgiveness of my sins...
or somethi ng liek that.... much to. ponder and all... mhm... mhm...
(but also. hehe thank youou.. thank you thank you for these. always. im habing fun)
#asks..?!?!?!#🌹 anon#youuu. youu UGHHH ughh uuu (melting#im weak. htese become my fantasies i hope you know#also blinking so cutely at you did you just know the words for alb and soutane like off the top of your head ... rose your BRAIN......#i feel like crumbling into 40294024 pieces every time...... weakspots#ne way. now to go bury my self in the pillows.. thank yew
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WHG 20-Prompts 1&2-Din
WHG tag list: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @concealeddarkness13 @drabbleitout, @grailfish, @forthesanityofsome, and @pied-piper-of-hamlet (let me know if you want to be added)
The plan had been to get through District Twelve and lay low while continuing her research. If they were lucky, maybe they could even make it to the remains of Thirteen to see what was hiding out there and if it had anything to do with the Veyrit and other gods of the world. Unlikely, but presumably not impossible. At the very least the ruins might hold something about before the war and shed light on where Safirel’s body was being kept.
Instead, they hadn’t even made it past District Eight.
Blythe’s boots came running into view. “My Lady, we need ta go now.” She sounded out of breath.
“Not yet,” she forced out past gritted teeth as the heat flared in her veins, gold overtaking her hand pressed against the wounds the Peacekeepers had inflicted on the man.
“Just a little more,” Safirel said. “Let me.”
The gold flooded her vision for the moment he took over. His presence was quickly becoming a familiar comfort, like a heavy blanket left in the sun, that wrapped around her and left her blissfully floating.
But just as quickly, it was gone, and she fell forward, gasping for breath and her body returning to normal, if a little colder.
Hands caught her, guiding her to the ground safely, Blythe’s most likely, given the string of curses she said in her native tongue, though the face she wore was still unfamiliar. “Ya shouldn’t have pushed that far again.”
She waved her off, even as the world was still spinning just a little too much. “Is he fully healed now?”
Sighing, she left her side and checked the man, Silk or something like that, over. “He’ll live, though he’s still out cold. Again, ya shouldn’t have done that. They know we’re here, Din.”
“You know I couldn’t have left him like that after he took that beating for us.”
Her brows knitted, but she dropped the point. After all, Blythe likely would’ve done the same thing if she could, just after Din was safe somewhere else.
Yelling broke out outside, unintelligible for the moment, but there was little doubt who it was.
“Damn it all! They were suppose ta take the bait!”
“Back door,” she wheezed, struggling to her feet.
In an instant, Blythe had an arm around her waist and was moving them both towards potential freedom. The house was small and easily navigable, but that was also a downfall. Even as she managed to get the back one open, she could hear the front door being crashed in.
“Search the house!”
“Sir, what about him?”
“Kill him.”
“No!” She yelled, and crumpled, coughing and gasping.
“My Lady, are you okay?” The concern and pain in her voice tore at her.
They were after her, not Blythe.
“Blythe, run.”
“What? No, I’m not leaving ya!”
“That’s an order.” The words weren’t entirely hers, but the connection to Safirel was too distant for him to take complete control now, and her sentiment remained the same. “They won’t kill me. And I can’t lose you.”
Blythe set her jaw. “Sometimes, I really hate ya.” But she was running anyway and shifting her appearance already as the footfalls and voices got closer.
When they finally came into view, she glared up at them from the ground. They had the audacity to level their guns at her, what an empty threat.
One of them pulled her to her feet and held her hands behind her back.
“Are you the real Najdinel,” Haven stepped forward, though his face was covered by the Peacekeepers uniform. “Or her little bitch?”
She spit on him in answer.
He struck her across the face.
Even as she tasted blood though, she tilted her head up and raised a haughty eyebrow, affecting the familiar air of authority.
“We have means of proving it regardless, and whichever one you are, we’ll find the other soon enough.”
“You won’t touch her,” she growled.
“You have no authority here.”
“And you can’t kill me.”
Most likely they would take her back to the temples. They had contingency plans to prevent that, even though security would be tighter than before.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, girl. The beynlerya don’t have too much faith in your status as their prophetess anymore.”
Her heart sped up.
That was obvious before she’d even set the fire and attempted to fake her death. But they couldn’t disprove she wasn’t either. Not when no else had ever come forward or been found and she held the marks.
Still, she kept that off her face.
“So go ahead then, if you are going to.”
“We have other plans for you. The Capitol wants you in the Games. See if it sparks anything when you’re fighting for your life, or to make an example of liars and traitors if it doesn’t.”
That…had not been any of their plans.
“I don’t qualify, I’m not from the Districts.”
He actually laughed, as did several others. “Since when do you think that’s mattered to them? They have complete control here. You are powerless.”
“You won’t be able to contain me.”
“Then we’ll kill others in your place. But if you play nice, like a well trained girl, we’ll let your traitor of a friend go free.”
Blythe.
There was no way they would catch her if she was on her own and hiding. But she would come back for Din.
They were probably lying.
She couldn’t pass it up if they weren’t though.
“Swear on your blood and the Veyrit that’s true.”
“I swear.”
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.
“We can’t trust them,” she thought.
“No. But we can use this too. Twist it against them. Another chance at revenge,” Safirel answered back, flashes of the bloody knife and fire replaying. “We’re more powerful than they are, Najdinel. And they’re about to give us free training and access to a live audience.”
Opening her eyes, she nodded, the heat settling into her veins but not appearing visibly. “Fine. Take me to the Reaping. But touch her, and I’ll kill you all.”
- - - - -
They dressed her up for it. Nothing dramatic, a simple white dress and gold ribbons through her dark hair and to hide the horns, but pretty enough. Enough to easily blend into the crowd unnoticed, knowing she wouldn’t run with Blythe’s life on the line.
Apparently, they didn’t want it yet known who she was. Even her name had been kept secret, so it getting called wouldn’t blow the cover either.
That big reveal would be for the Games themselves. They had always loved a spectacle outside of the temple, and the beynleyra had left her to the overly puffed up peacocks until she could prove herself.
Fat chance of that of course.
The magic may have finally ignited in her veins, but until Safirel was free and by her side, there was no way she was going to be caged by them again.
Plans would just have to be…adjusted.
The first name was called, not hers surprisingly, but a small child’s by the looks of things. She almost stepped forward to volunteer in her place, but someone else beat her to it. Family? Friends? It didn’t really matter, she seemed more determined and capable than a literal child.
The next name was her own though, and she took the stage with her head held high and the polite smile she’d perfected practically from birth, shaking off assistance from the Peacekeepers. She ignored the overly eager escort making a show of asking questions.
Being in the Games had been the deal. That did not mean she would start playing them now.
At the edges of the crowd, she watched someone’s hair shift from brown to blonde and grow slightly taller, before slipping away towards the train.
#whg#writeblr hunger games#whg 20#Din#heyyy i finally wrote one for Din#its both because#i didn't really know what else to do for the Reaping#probably won't do a 3 for her considering Blythe is the only one who would come and she's sneaking onto the train#but yeah#Din's finally here
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WHG 19: The Reaping
whg tag list: @concealeddarkness13 @pen-of-roses @ratracechronicler @knmartinshouldbewriting @clocksandchaos @forthesanityofsome
Slow day at work today lol so I was able to write this earlier than I thought I would lol.
---
I didn’t like the crowd. Everyone was nervous, jittery, and none of them wanted to be here. Neither did I but I kept that to myself. Some of the smaller children looked like they were about to cry, if they weren’t crying already. I stood with my arms crossed on my assigned spot, shifting from side to side as the last of the potential tributes filed into the corral-like sections laid out across the town square. It seemed that no one would be late though so this must have been something seen as important to just about everyone. I probably should have held more reverence for the date as well considering the risks that came with it, but try as I might as soon as I remembered that Asher and I were going for ice cream after it didn’t seem so bad.
The crowd quieted and the lights on stage flickered on. I flinched at the sudden light and noise blasting from the speakers at the front of the square. The anthem play too loud, ringing in my ears and scrunching my shoulders up as high as they would go. I shuddered and shook off some of the shock by the time the song ended and the most dressed-up man I’d ever seen stepped out onto the stage and right up to the microphone. Bright yellows and reds shone from his outfit, far too cheerful for the crowd he stood before. He cleared his throat, loud and wet and it made me cringe. Why couldn’t he had done that before near mouthing the foam front of the microphone?
He talked on and on and on and on about nothing in particular. Nothing but lines that sounded straight out of some kind of manual on how to sound like you care about something that no one possibly could care that much about.
“Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” He announced with a clown-like flourish of his hand. “The reaping!”
His hand dove into the glass bowl of names, fishing around dramatically as if he couldn’t just choose any old name. As if his job required any kind of skill. Finally he plucked a slip of paper between his fingers and held it out to the crowd, grinning.
“The first tribute will be—Argent Sang!”
Huh. That was my name. That... That couldn’t be right.
But the peacekeepers assigned to my section turned and waved me forward all the same. I uncrossed my arms and pointed to myself with a questioning tilt of my head and they nodded. Huh. Okay.
“Come on up now don’t be shy!” The escort’s voice boomed through the speakers as I took unsure steps towards the stage. “We’re all friends here don’t you worry!”
I eyed the peacekeepers lining the main walkway. Friends didn’t carry weapons on them and hover their hands over them when friends walked by, did they? Somehow I didn’t believe that they did.
The escort stood smiling with his hands clasped in front of him as I crossed the stage and stood before him. No one told me what I should do when I got this far so I waited, watching him, waiting for him to tell me. Up close he seemed even more overdressed for the occasion. Or was I just underdressed? I frowned as I glanced down. His shoes were too big.
“Come now,” He set his hand on my shoulder and turned me towards the crowd, ushering me to side step in front of the microphone. “What have you to say to your new fans?”
My fans? I frowned. The grim faces staring up at me didn’t seem all that fanatic. Relieved maybe, but not particularly happy to see me up here. There were still more tributes to be chosen though, two if I remembered from what little I paid attention to during the escort’s speech. Two opponents. Two obstacles.
I leaned forward and gripped the microphone stand hard enough to whiten my knuckles. “I don’t intend to die.” I gripped the stand a moment longer, staring out at the crowd before slowly releasing my grip and stepping back.
The escort took over again with some over the top statement but I tuned out, scanning the crowd for where Asher said he would wait for me. I found Striker, and Kyra standing in shock but there was a gap where Asher should be. He must have left. I frowned. Where would he have gone?
I took my spot by the back of the stage and watched the rest of the reaping idly. There was supposed to be a chance to see people again before leaving. He’d be there then. I’d be able to say goodbye then.
I really was saying goodbye, wasn’t I? Maybe I should have spend more time with him this morning.
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WHG - Training
Shryth
I'm participating in the Writeblr Hunger Games, but I will be recontextualizing a lot of stuff to fit into my own world.
My character has been teamed up with @clocksandchaos' and @autie-auden-writes' characters (Iris and Asa). I'm taking a lot of creative liberty with these two, so they might feel out of character, but I'm hoping to at least portray them respectfully. :3
"Useveu" are large (5-9ft tall) red to orange reptiles with human-like intelligence who generally make up the noble class. They have long necks and stand on four legs.
---
The last several days had been noisy and confusing. I thought reaching the training room would feel like stepping into the Dome again. I thought I'd feel at home.
It was too different.
The floor was tile. I shouldn't have been surprised. Smooth tile, cream-colored with dark red patterns, slick, flat. The roof here was unnecessarily high. Six pillars rose up from the floor to hold up the peaked and buttressed ceiling. Those… stained glass windows went almost from floor to ceiling, all with pictures of people fighting. And the people inside weren't sparring. There were… dummies. Blocks. Objects to practice against instead of each other. Weapons racks set about all through the room.
The worst of it all was the elevated seating area. Several Useveu and humans lounging with food and drink, giggling, talking softly, wearing wispy clothes, all watching other people train.
I didn't understand this place at all.
Asa put a hand on my shoulder. I nodded that I was fine, and we all three continued in.
There were some good fighters here. But not everyone. Only three people I had to be weary of. One full-grown man, two maturing women. They were bigger than the adults at home. But not so big I couldn't use my training.
I walked to a rack of staves. They were at least not decorated and painted like everything else in this place. I picked one at random (they all looked bizarrely identical) and turned away from Iris and Asa to strike it hard against the ground.
The resulting crack filled the stone room like thunder. Everyone went quiet, and I could feel eyes on me as I passed the weapon to Iris. These were solid. But they were also very long and heavy compared to what I was used to. I'd need to become familiar with them.
"Wouldn't a sword be better?" Iris asked, examining the staff.
"I'm not good enough with a sword to teach," I said, taking up a staff of my own. People were talking again as Asa looked around the room.
"Oh, you're gonna teach me?" I looked up at her. She seemed genuinely confused. I gritted my teeth.
Since leaving my village, I hadn't met anyone as young as me. Iris was the closest, but she was at least three years older. I was nine. I was an adult now — I'd won my Race. But everyone here treated me like I was so much a child.
Asa had said to use it. To let everyone underestimate me. But I hated the pity.
"I've been training with staves for four years," I grumbled. I led her to an open space in the room and had her stand just far enough away that we wouldn't hit each other.
Before we even got settled, Asa came up to me.
"You can't show off like this," they whispered. I blinked.
"I'm not showing off." Asa grabbed the staff in my hands.
"If people see you teaching Iris, they'll realize you're a threat." I scowled and looked to Iris. She was gritting her teeth, looking sideways at me. I turned again to Asa.
"Iris needs to know how to fight." Iris scoffed.
"I'm not incapable —"
"Shryth, everyone here is bigger than you."
"I've trained for —"
"It only takes once," Asa snapped. They looked upset in their eyes. They were shaking slightly. "It only takes one mistake," Asa whispered. They looked to Iris, and I glanced over to see tears gathering in her eyes. "Shryth, you can't show these people you know how to fight," Asa said, shaking the staff for emphasis. I looked to them again, clenching my teeth.
"Then how am I supposed to practice?" I hissed.
"Use a sword in here," Asa breathed, and they pulled on the staff. I let them take it. "You can practice and teach in our room. You can use a staff in the arena. But not here." I tightened my fists. How was Iris supposed to get better? How was I supposed to learn these weapons?
"This isn't fair —"
"This game isn't fair," Iris hissed. I glared at her, and she glared back, a tear track on her cheek. "Asa is right. Listen to them."
What kind of game was this? Games were supposed to be fun. They were supposed to be working together. But this place was… it was hungry. Those people in the box who were staring at me were hungry. This place was dirty and sick and I hated it here.
But it was better me than Narak. Everyone at home needed him more. So I was here, unable to use a staff because I needed the others to underestimate me.
"Fine," I growled.
---
next
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OC Associations Tag!
Tagged by @evethenovicewriter tagging @ratracechronicler @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes
Time
Dawn - Monsoon. I feel like he's very much a morning person and loves the sunrise.
Noon - Neuron, since noon reminds of lunch and he cooks.
Night - my yet to be introduced OC Mundy. She's a classic rogue, so nighttime is her time.
Relationship
Friend - RJ. She's a strong friend and her friendship with Ariel is great
Lover - Ajax. Writing the WHG prompts has me thinking about him and Oscar a lot.
Ex - Haf. None of my characters have developed past relationships but I feel like she's had a few.
Enemy - Haraldr. He's still being developed but yes, very enemy
Season
Spring - Dracula. He loves flowers and growing.
Summer - Haf. I believe summer is what her name means, actually!
Autumn - Anayeli. IDK autumn makes me think birds
Winter - Mercury. She controls the temperature around her and its her job to deal with extreme climates.
Destruction
Tornado - Monsoon, since he probably could cause a tornado
Wildfire - Phoebe, who will have to face down a wildfire at one point
Earthquake - Platonic, that's literally their powers
Tsunami - well, Tsunami.
Landscape
Mountain - Violet. Just the general vibes
Forest - Mundy, it's her favorite place
Ocean - Tsunami, definitely. Loves the ocean and grew up near it.
Desert - Rat and Monsoon both grew up in the desert so both of them.
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WHG 21 Day 1
The first day of the 21st round of the Writeblr Hunger Games begins! Our 12 contestants hoping to prove themselves and achieve great destinies are set on pedestals around a flat span of astroturf. In the center is a large cornucopia full of things they could possibly need as they fight for the title of Ultimate Chosen One over the next few days.
A minute counts down for them to take in their surroundings. A suspiciously picturesque forest lies in one direction, elegant plains to another, and brooding mountains to the north. The choices are endless, but in the end, only one fate will remain for each hopeful hero. Only one can be crowned victor. Which one will it be?
The first cannon blasts, and we begin to find out.
The excitement begins! Rod and Belle get a little too into the spirit of things, but we also see a whole lot of teamwork out of our little group! On the other hand, we have about half of our crew going in empty-handed, but hey, at least nobody dies--er, gets disqualified--right off the bat.
The high energy of the initial gathering fades as the tributes run in opposite directions, each finding their own fun. Natural-looking floors give way to mechanical rooms, trees twist like turrets at their roots, and alabaster tricks and traps interrupt the landscape.
Cassian, Viper, and Rod completely ignore all that really cool setup, but Rantha Cathartes and Safirel Beynleyra have a little more spunk! I fear Safirel may have inadvertently caused Chess to have a rough first day, and Layla and Liz Bethany have discovered one of the more combative traps, but the rest did a great job sticking together!
(Oh my gosh Daisy Belle is straight-up a tree person and I set her on fire I am so sorry honey)
It's been a healthy first day as everyone hangs on like champs for those first twelve hours! No cannons mark the day's losses, because we're all winners here, haha. Oh, but for how long? How courageous and determined will you stay when the sun goes down and the nightmares come out to play?
Night is all about reflections and facing the things that haunt you. In Viper and Liz's case, those things are just other people. (Layla, seriously? Insult to injury?) Actually, Chess catches a break that Drest would be jealous of, and while everyone was able to overcome their demons tonight, I'd say Cassian came out of this evening as the biggest winner. Rantha Cathartes...at least you got some sleep.
With many tributes shaken yet victorious and others hungry but unharmed, it's still anyone's game. Until tomorrow, my friends...May the odds be ever in your favor.
Chess (she/her), @concealeddarkness13
Adrestia “Drest” (she/her), @concealeddarkness13
Cassian (he/him), @concealeddarkness13
Rantha Cathartes (he/him), @maple-writes
Viper (she/her), @maple-writes
Safirel Beynleyra (he/him), @pen-of-roses
Liz Bethany (she/her), @waltzshouldbewriting
Lucatet (he/him), @ratracechronicler
Daisy Belle (she/her), @ratracechronicler
Glidon (he/they), @forthesanityofstorytellers
Layla (she/they), @forthesanityofstorytellers
Rod (he/him), @forthesanityofstorytellers
Text transcription of events:
The Bloodbath
As the tributes stand on their podiums, the horn sounds.
Daisy Belle does not look where she is looking and falls into a lake but is fine.
Cassian, Lucatet and Chess spontaneously work together to grab a heavy crate and drag it away, then split the loot.
Glidon, Rantha Cathartes and Liz Bethany spontaneously work together to grab a heavy crate and drag it away, then split the loot.
Rod acquires weapons with suspicious enthusiasm.
Drest runs away from the Cornucopia.
Viper runs away from the Cornucopia.
Layla covers Safirel Beynleyra, who navigates as the two head for higher ground.
Day 1
Rantha Cathartes has to clear an obstacle course to acquire food.
Cassian manages to sleep through most of the day.
Layla and Liz Bethany are dropped into a pit and forced to brawl. Layla wins and is allowed to leave while Liz Bethany stays for the rest of the day.
Bugs sting Chess, causing her to vividly relive her worst pains.
Safirel Beynleyra encounters a statue that poses riddles. He answers incorrectly and is rewarded with a swarm of bees.
Viper manages to sleep through most of the day.
Rod manages to sleep through most of the day.
Daisy Belle, Lucatet, Glidon, and Drest are drawn to a beautiful meadow. It bursts into flames and they work together to get each other out.
Disqualified Tributes
No cannon shots can be heard in the distance.
Night 1
Rantha Cathartes climbs into a tree and sleeps fitfully.
Thanks to holograms, Lucatet's worst nightmares bleed into the real world, but Lucatet overcomes them.
Important figures from Drest's life appear in her dreams to discourage her.
Important figures from Chess's life appear in her dreams to encourage her.
Rod sabotages Viper's supplies.
Monstrous beasts from Cassian's life attack, but he pacifies them and even wins one's loyalty.
A shadow version of Glidon shows up and fights him, but Glidon wins.
A shadow version of Safirel Beynleyra shows up and fights him, but Safirel Beynleyra wins.
Layla sabotages Liz Bethany's supplies.
Thanks to holograms, Daisy Belle's worst nightmares bleed into the real world, but Daisy Belle overcomes them.
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WHG 19 - Prompt 1
Since this is supposed to be my blog for actual writing, Imma put my written bits here but I'll be reblogging them to my main 😁
I might be a little slow, but I'm hoping to at least do a prompt for all three of my submissions, Jake, Hansel, and Lyra. Yay!
Tagging @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, @drabbleitout, @clocksandchaos, @knmartinshouldbewriting
lmk additions or subtractions 😁
Jake settled himself on the edge of the waterfront. Flicked a bit of rock out and watched it hit the waves before going under.
Just like him.
Why he had been playing around with those damn portals, he’d no idea. He’d landed in this place where things seemed…similar to home, but not quite the same. He’d done his best to learn the history, keep his head down, find the others. But they’d landed in different districts, it looked like, and so he’d done his best to fall in line and plot how best to escape.
The best he’d come up with was either hijacking a boat or just jumping into the water and swimming until he hit somewhere else.
He adjusted the settings on his boots, the edges set with runic stones he’d made and powered himself with what he’d managed to pry out of the old dusty books of his library, half of which had been stolen from an old friend.
Well. Frenemy.
He adjusted his density to make him seem a little more solid, adjusted his gloves to do the same. He’d landed in some kind of fishing village or area or town or…oh, right. District. That’s what they were calling it. Seemed to be decently healthy and operating at a good pace economically. But he’d also found some of the younger kids using some of the larger fish as punching bags, set up in sheds and gutting rooms and places that wouldn’t normally be found. So preparing for these…’hunger games’ seemed to be against the rules, yet these kids managed to do it anyway.
He wondered what the other districts were like. If they were all like this.
Either way. He should have been okay, he reasoned. There was an age limit, and he seemed to be on the older end. He’d managed to make out that the older you were, the more times you had to put your name in for being a tribute…but seeing as how he was new here, he’d never actually had to put his name in at all.
He looked up as a roar began to be taken up closer to the central square. From what he could gather, he was supposed to get there before the actual ceremonies started.
He stood and brushed off his jacket, scratching at his chin as he walked. Hopefully the others could partake in the games and he could find them. Maybe work out a way to activate the portals wherever these games were and the three of them could get out. Get home.
But he knew better than to try and plan too far ahead. He’d learned early enough on that doing so only tempted fate in a way that she couldn’t resist.
He grumbled and worked out the magic in his head as he walked, trying to sort variables and make plans for his next steps. And only his next steps. Get called. Find the others. Escape.
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