The Master of Ceremonies is not dead! Just stressed and depressed. But I was thinking, and Pride month is a perfect time to have another Writeblr Hunger Games. So, once again: Have you wanted to put your characters in a life or death situation with other writeblrs' characters? Have you been hoping to write some good angst for them? Do you have a hankering for a potential rebellion against the powers that decided to make the Hunger Games in the first place? Or! Would you like to put your characters in a dating simulator since it's Pride month? Where they can fall in love with other writers' characters? Well, this is the event for you! I'll throw your characters into the Brant Steele Hunger Games Simulator!
If there's enough interest, we'll have another round! There are different options for this one! I would want all characters submitted to be LGBTQ+ in some way, and we could have a life or death vanilla WHG, or we could have a dating simulator this time, teehee. The simulator will not take into account characters' sexualities, but it could still be fun! I'll put this as a poll so hopefully, more people will see it and be interested. Please reblog to spread the word!
What kind of simulation would you want?
Death
Dating
Voting ended onJun 11
Also tagging some friends and others who have been interested:
you remind me of that one old video of sans undertale and nagito danganrompa dancing to a cover of asgore's boss battle music from undertale but some guy is singing about kanye west liking fingers up his butt the whole time
Content warning for murder and death. Prompt 1 of the WHG! These will be Chess's WHG stuff, and I probably won't write any of Vyxis's due to motivation issues. Some notes for this one: Fate uses it/its pronouns, and I won't be writing the Reaping because I don't think it has anything super interesting in it.
Tagging: @jj-shubert-writes, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses, and @forthesanityofstorytellers!
I woke up choking on dirt. What the hell had Ashont done after he had knocked me out? I tried to cough, but more dirt just made its way into my mouth, and I scrabbled desperately at the dirt above me, trying to escape.
When I finally broke through into the sunshine, I wiped the dirt out of my eyes and looked around blearily. I was still in District 1, and I had been placed…in an unmarked grave. My breath hitched, and I looked for the wound from where he had stabbed me, but it was just a scar on my stomach. My clothes were still torn.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember. The Peacekeepers had captured me after putting a muzzle that neutralized magic on me, and they had brought me to Ashont. Ever since…he had kept me as his plaything four years ago and I had escaped, he had wanted me back. But I fought still and scratched his face, and he had gotten pissed and stabbed me. Again and again. And…
It was blank. What had happened after that? How had I healed from that so quickly?
Before I could confuse myself too much, someone walked up to my grave. It had long, black hair, glowing yellow eyes, and ashen gray skin. Its arms were too long proportionally, and its fingers ended in claws. One of its hands played with a string as it stared at me.
I bared my teeth. “Who the fuck are you?”
Even its voice sounded more like a hiss. “You are an anomaly that needs to be removed from this world.”
I flipped it off and tried to scramble up and run away, but it darted forward and grabbed me by the hair, lifting me up too easily as I grunted in pain. My feet left the ground, and I tried to kick at it, but the kicks were too weak to do much without any leverage.
It laughed, a menacing sound. “I am Fate, and you have lived on borrowed time for too long.”
The world seemed to warp around us, and next I knew, I was in a Capitol building, with something pushing at my memory but just out of reach. It walked with me still suspended by my hair, but before we got very far, someone else walked up.
He had the air of a pompous asshole as he looked down his nose at Fate (a feat for how tall it was). “You cannot take her. She has been volunteered for the Hunger Games.”
It hissed and glared at him. “How? No one should know that she was going to revive.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But apparently, Ashont had submitted her for the Games, and since she is back alive, she is required to go to District 12 to get Reaped.” He gestured for Fate to give me to him.
Fate hissed. “You know I will have her back after these foolish Games are over, right? I don’t know why this matters. She will be dead.”
He just scoffed and gestured again, and Fate dropped me. For some reason, my legs felt weak, and I almost fell to the floor, but the asshole rushed forward and caught me. He helped me stand but kept a supporting hand held onto my arm.
I growled and tried to pull free, but he held too tightly and my legs were shaking. “Get the fuck away from me.”
He scoffed and started walking, tugging me along enough that I almost fell again. “You will be going to the Games. I will make sure you get to District 12 safely.”
I bared my teeth. I was not going to that death trap! “I won’t be, you dumbass!” Smoke escaped my lips, and I allowed the fire to dance along my skin, to burn him, but when it touched his skin, it seemed to be sucked in and disappeared. I paused and stared, almost falling again.
He glanced over at me with a slight smirk. “What were you saying before?”
I flipped him off, and he pulled me forward with a chuckle, to the damn train where he watched me the whole time until we got to District 12. I just glared back at him.
When the train stopped, he grabbed me by the arm again and pulled me up. Peacekeepers stormed in, and one of them shoved a muzzle on my face and tied it too tightly, and I felt my magic go away. I growled and tried to fight, but they held me too tightly as they started pulling me out. But before they could get very far, the man snapped his fingers, and they stopped, turning me back to him.
He bowed his head. “My name is Vyxis. You died from the wounds Ashont gave you, but you have returned. I expect you will give the Capitol quite a show. And I will be watching with interest.” He smirked.
I just bared my teeth. “Fuck you. I won’t do shit for you.”
“As I said, a good show.” And with that, the Peacekeepers dragged me out to seal my fate.
So that one was meant for Morgana and Michelle’s birthday as well as for Day 8: Final Door - Fairy Tale for @fata10thanni
It got late 💔 But I still got around to finish it! Happy birthday 🦋
[Image description: A traditional fanart with ink and paint of The House in Fata Morgana. It shows the characters of Morgana and The White-Haired Girl or Michelle. Morgana is a teenage girl with pale skin, golden eyes, and long red braids resting on her shoulders and longing her whole body. She is sitting down and wearing a white dress with long sleeves and golden frames, with her left hand set on an open book in front of her. The White-Haired Girl is sitting to Morgana’s right and touching her shoulder. She is a teenage girl with pale skin, long white hair and red eyes wearing the same dress. A white dove is flying to her holding a letter in its talons, and The White-Haired Girl is reaching out to it with her left hand. Morgana and The White-Haired Girl are in the middle of the picture while pages from the book are flying around them. They are surrounded by green ronces and blue strikes in the background. They are framed by a beige border with white lozenges. /End description]
Lyra managed to make her way to the largest crowd. Waited patiently, doing her best to blend in. Match the attitude of the others; the sort of weighed-down resignation in their faces mirrored in her own. Even if she didn’t feel like it at the moment, she knew the feeling itself. She allowed herself to be gathered and sorted into the lines, fidgeted as she waited for the speech to start and end. Didn’t listen, knew the propaganda this time around.
And as soon as it was finished, as soon as the grand flourish led to the calling of names, Lyra waited until the first name was called and then raised her hand. Volunteered to go in their place. It would sell better, be less conspicuous even if she didn’t know the person she was going in the place of. And maybe, just maybe, the one whose place she was taking would be able to feel hope that a stranger took their place. Spread that hope to others.
She made her way to the stage and stood there, waiting for the next name to be called. Did her best to be patient, look sullen but resigned, and not give away how much she was ready to be on the train. Get to the games. And break the system.
