#mag writes fic

[ghostmaggie]

girl help my fic isn't writing itself and i want it to

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

it’s past midnight and i need to sleep but more importantly 

I need to talk about Mags Flanagan from the Hunger Games

Listen. Listen. She might be a minor character who dies halfway through the book she arrives in. But her story is fucking fascinating. 

First of all, since she’s 80 years old during the 75th Annual Hunger Games, she would have been 5 when they started. That means that she’s the only victor we know of that’s guaranteed to have memories of the beginning of the games, not to mention the rebellion itself.

Second, there’s a promotional poster that has a photo of her Victory Tour and the Implications it accidentally has are staggering

her expression and the fact that they dressed her in a military uniform with medals is captivating in its own right but. She’s the victor of the 11th Hunger Games. That doesn’t sound like a big deal but it is.

The 10th Games, featured in The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes, took place in a literal arena. They were the first Games to feature sponsorships and betting, which meant they were the first Games where a tribute’s ability to play to the camera mattered. Lucy Gray, their victor, did not have a victory tour.

Mags Flanagan having the 11th games means that she was the first tribute to know that winning over the audience was a factor from the minute she was Reaped. She was the first tribute with a Victory Tour. It’s likely they she also may have been the first tribute to fight in an arena of the kind that’s shown in the actual Hunger Games trilogy.

So she goes from a witness to the fall of the rebellion and the Capitol’s new horror, to a record-breaking and possibly crowd-favorite Victor. That’s already a lot and we’re only 20% through her life.

She then went on to be a seasoned mentor for Four, possibly shaping it into a Career District. She played the Capitol’s games, while eventually becoming a rebel conspirator.

Speaking of the rebellion-Her district’s victors were far more onboard with fighting against the Capitol than any other Career District. If not for Lyme from District Two (shoutout to Lyme from District Two), Four’s victors would be the only career district victors that actively plotted against the Capitol. Why? When did this start? What was Mags’ hand in it?

I have a million questions about her. Mags Flanagan appreciation please

[inthehouseoffinwe]

“Kanafinwë Makalaurë Maglor Fëanorion.”

Despite the dangerous tone that had once sent Morgoth’s armies fleeing, Maglor smiled innocently.

“Mhmm?”

Maedhros turned fully towards the younger, a thunderous look darkening the fair face. He held the phone to Maglor’s face.

“What. In Eru’s name. Is this.” He ground out.

“Fanfiction, brother dear. The name gives it away.” Maglor said with an offhanded wave, laughter threatening to break out despite the elder’s ever increasing rage.

Maedhros snapped.

“It’s MORGOTH’S WORK, THAT’S WHAT” He jumped up from the sofa, pacing back and forth, and Maglor was suddenly thankful that the walls were... somewhat soundproofed. “WHAT DEVILRY IS THIS THAT PORTRAYS THE EVENTS OF THE FIRST AGE IN SUCH A- A FRIVOLOUS MANNER-”

A string of curses followed as Maedhros ranted on and on about the inaccuracies, and Maglor fell off the sofa, clutching his stomach laughing. Maedhros glared daggers at him.

“You truly are the spawn of Morgoth, you know that?”

“Now now Maitimo, better not let Ammë hear you talk like that,” he replied, still laughing.

“I hate you.”

“You love me really.”

“I’m going to leave you here.”

“No you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

Maedhros frowned, crossing his arms as he stared at his younger brother lying on the floor, one leg on the sofa and his hair splayed wildly across the carpet. Maglor gave another innocent grin. Maedhros sighed.

“I will.”

Maglor’s grinned triumphantly, the spark in his eyes, so dull when Maedhros had arrived, finally growing brighter. Despite the reservations of his brother’s sanity, Maedhros gave a small smile back and dropped on the floor, leaning against the sofa

“But I’m warning you now. Anymore of that... whatever you want to call it, and I’ll toss you into the ocean myself. See how Ulmo treats you.”

“You’re the one who said he was first to appeal on my behalf,” Maglor retorted, “but fine. I suppose the last thing I need is to be done for another kinslaying.“

Maglor laughed again at his brother’s long suffering groan then sat up, a gentle smile taking the place of his grin.

“I’ve missed you Russandol.”

AKA: After several Ages, Maedhros is healed enough to be reembodied and given permission to hunt down his stubborn brother. Maglor isn’t quite ready to leave… but that’s ok. Maedhros can wait.

He could do without the horrors of modern day technology though.

[mortal-kingss]

just a sketch but be on the lookout 🕷️

update: they have been rendered… mwahahahhaah

[sarcasticscribbles]

Hello Timsasha icon of tumblr, I was wondering if you had any first date head canons for them?

Oh! I like to imagine they met at after work events when Tim started the Institute. Probably got paired up for some horror film trivia and kept going every week in hope to see each other again. Tim fell first, and hardest, but they developed a rich friendship first over pints. They prioritized being friends, but then the ill advice hook-up happened, some awkward aftermath, and gradually rebuilding friendship. In my mind the hookup took place just around before s1, and they had just regained each other as friends when Jon got picked as the archivist (was Sasha expecting it to be her, and needed support in an old friend despite their awkward past? Maybe). Tim always had pretty obvious, known feelings for Sasha, but she was in the middle of figuring out her next career move.

They go through season one as rebuild friends, and I think Sasha would be the one to take the (second) first step and ask Tim out. Maybe somewhere in the summer, say, oh, I don't know, maybe on 29th of July 2016.

[hezekiahwakely]

There's something so, so.... I don't know. Sickly anticipatory? About wanting to see the fallout from MAG 200 in somewhere else. Yes it's a good space to make fluff and comfort for the characters yes its healing to imagine them living out the rest of their lives in domestic bliss. But I can't stop thinking about the fallout. The pain of that betrayal and misunderstanding. The worst it could bring out in both of them.

I want to see them have to figure out how to live with themselves, and make an effort to love each other and come back to each other over and over again. I want to see them heal from their experiences, but I want it to be realistic. I want it messy and ugly and relapsing and I want it to hurt before they come out on the other side.

[trampled-and-melting]

nobody:

me: what if every character was roughly 20% more fucked up than popular fanon suspects them to be?

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

romantic homicide by d4vd is a good post-third kinslaying maemags song methinks

[blooberryberet]

what are y'all listening to atm i need new music for my writing playlists (especially anything even vaguely killugon coded tytyty)

[ghostmaggie]

personal affirmation: I'm going to finish writing these fics I'm so excited about and they're going to be so good. I am not going to burn out and leave them unfinished for years. PLEASE.

[meownotgood]

any aki fics in your drafts ? :)

oh I have... too many... most of them are just small scraps I'll probably never truly finish, but the current draft I was working on (before bg3 brainworms possessed me) was my elf prince aki x witch reader fic...

it's about 10k words right now! definitely will resume working on it when I've finished a few more tidbits for bg3. I'm experimenting with making it my first true multi chapter fic (under the influence was more of a super long one shot just split up...)

basically aki is the prince of a well established kingdom and reader is a witch, magic has been outlawed so their relationship is forbidden... I'll share a small bit of it for you...

There's a man leant on the door, your door, clutching his side. His clothes are simple, pants and a tunic with long sleeves, nothing you'd place as out of the ordinary. Knights from the kingdom would be wearing armor covered in motifs of the royal family's crest, and even commoners would most likely be donning a necklace or a pin or something that'd identify them. You glance him up and down, and he seems to have none of that. 

Surrounding the hand he has pressed into his side, the off-white of his tunic is stained a dark red you can notice even with only the stars and moon to illuminate him. You feel an ache twist in your gut. His chest heaves as he struggles to breathe. His hair is dark and shoulder-length, tied in a half-up style, a small ponytail on the back of his head. Poking out from his hair is a pair of distinct pointed ears. They're decorated by an array of studs and hoops, with black, star shaped earrings hanging from his lobes. 

You watch his jaw tighten as he speaks, the bridge of his nose in a knot, "Please, I don't mean any harm, I was-" He winces, sucking in a breath through his teeth, "I was training in the woods, and suddenly became overwhelmed by devils- I won't be a bother, I only want to rest until the storm clears. And then, I'll be on my way. I swear it." 

Devils? 

Wait. Your gaze flickers to his expression, pinched slightly as he tries to hide his discomfort. Then, to his side, his hand pressed to an obvious wound, blood staining his fingertips and speckling the sleeve of his shirt. This is your fault. 

When you head into the woods to forage, you cast your distraction spell on the opposite side to lure demons over to it, giving you temporary safety. Sometimes there are stragglers, but most of the demons will head towards the area, drawn by the rune without their control. 

This man sounds like he's telling the truth, and he's clearly injured. If he came here alone to train, he must've been expecting a fight he could win. But you sent every single demon in the area to one location; a risky spell, but effective as long as you know where it's been cast. He didn't. 

Even after the spell had been dispersed, even once the rain came down and the demons ran to hide in their holes, there would still be a ton of them, all in one place. Hell, as far as you're concerned, he's lucky to be standing. He could have suffered a whole lot worse than just a single injury. 

But what if there's more wounds you can't see? 

You take a step away from the door. The rain continues to drum overhead, and you hear the man briefly stumble, mumbling a swear to himself through gritted teeth. Your heart is pounding, and you don't know what to do. 

You shouldn't let him in. You shouldn't help him, shouldn't heal him, you should pretend no-one's home and leave him be without meddling. You know that, and yet you can't help but tell yourself you need to help him, you can't shake this feeling that you're the only one who can. 

There isn't anyone else out here, not for miles. He won't make it out in this storm, and if he leaves the protection of the cottage he'll surely be attacked again. From what you can see, he doesn't even have a weapon on him, and even if he tries to run you doubt he'd make it far. 

It's been a while since you've last met or spoken to someone, you haven't since those knights a long while ago. You hear a faint knock at the door once more, and your lips part, although you aren't sure what to say. Ultimately, you're silent, but you shuffle over to the kitchen in a hurry, stumbling through cabinets to search for what medicine you have left. 

Although you shouldn't, you can't help but care about him, even if you hardly know him. You can't let him in, that much is true. He walked over the mushroom circle with no problem, so you're assuming he can't detect spells. Regardless though, your cottage is covered in magical items, in spellbooks that were supposed to be burned with the rest of them. And you aren't the best at keeping your cool, if you say one wrong thing and he somehow discovers you're a mage, his injuries will be the least of your concerns. 

You'll give him some standard medicine, nothing infused with magic, just some herbs and some ointment for his wound. Then, you'll tell him you can't accept visitors, and he must be on his way. That's the most you can do for him. 

You gather the herbs, the ointment, and some bandages, placing them all in a small, spare pouch you found on the counter. You walk over to the door, hands shaking as you attempt to gather the courage to open it. You'll be fine, he won't know a thing, you'll be just fine. 

"Okay," The man's smooth voice starts from behind the door, he sounds slightly out of breath, "I don't think anyone is home, so I'm… I'm going to try to come in now. I'm not robbing you, just need to get the hell out of this rain- Please, don't kill me." 

Shit. 

The door unlocks in a hurry then, you fling it open and the man sways forward, almost tripping once what he was leaning on disappears. He's rather tall, even taller when he stands up straight. Deep blue eyes meet yours and you must be making a face, because he's quickly making amends. 

"Thank the Gods. It's okay," He says, he gives you a reassuring look, but his skin is pale and he seems lightheaded, "It isn't as bad as it looks, I'll be… fine, I'm…" 

With one more stumble, his eyelids flutter, his knees buckle and he falls into you, giving you just enough time to catch him. You squeak in surprise, he's already limp in your arms and you're barely able to hold up his weight. Rain pelts the ground, and in between the rhythmic drone, tiny droplets of blood slowly splatter against the floor of your cabin with a plip, plip. 

Damn. And you were hoping to eat your stew while it was still hot. 

also including this small part even tho it doesn't have anything to do with anything because... aki's cute when he's introducing himself...

"I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" He starts, a hand extended out for you to shake, "You can call me Aki, I'm glad to be acquainted." 

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover, and then he'll have to be on his way. He can't discover you're a mage. A witch, as the kingdom would call it. If even a hint of suspicion arises, you have a potion that erases memory in case of emergencies — Once infused with a hint of your magic, he'll forget everything about you, up to the moment you'd met. 

You won't give him the chance to be suspicious in the first place. 

"Nice to meet you." 

You don't take his hand. Instead, you give him a once over, and then you stride over to the fireplace, tossing in another log from the pile. 

Aki lowers his hand slowly, placing it in his lap. "Could I know your name as well? I'd like to know who I should be thanking for saving my life." 

"I'm going to bed," You head towards your bedroom, and you take one last look at him over your shoulder as your hand closes around the doorknob, "I'll be waking up early tomorrow to gather herbs for your medicine, I'll try not to wake you when I do. I suggest you get some rest, you won't regain your strength without it." 

"Goodnight," Aki murmurs, before you can close your bedroom door behind you. "Sleep well." 

[thunderjackal]

WOAH GUYS LOOK I WROTE ANOTHER FIC HOW CRIMINAL OF ME. anyway the TMA hyperfixation has set in guys prepare for more of these, anyway here mroe about the fic

Like Real People Do -- G -- 4954 words -- Complete

“Statements huh?” Martin said with a small noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, “Even when you're sick? You do know what a break is- right Jon?” The archivist opened his eyes, shifting in his position into an awkward pose so he could look at Martin, “Despite popular belief, I do in fact know what a break is.” He went silent for a moment, before continuing, “I think- I’ve been away from them for too long, it’s taking its toll. I thought if I-” “You thought if you could read a few it would make you feel better?” Martin finished for him, voice kind, “That Ceaseless Watcher needs to calm down, you’re sick and can't help it.” --- OR Jon is a little sick, has statement withdrawals and is overall the most pathetic man in existence. Martin comes to check in on him

[felixravinstills]

hi!! for the tag game can i ask about the persephone fic??

re: wip game

Of course! Persephone Fic is mostly an elderly Persephone talking to an elderly Mags on a train. It's kind of a lesson on forgiveness but probably not in the way people would expect. Also kind of explores ideas about privilege, and I am thinking about Persephone and Nero having opposite ideas about forgiveness (Persephone believing in it and Nero not believing in it even for himself), but this latter part may not feature heavily in the fic... or maybe it will if I surprise myself?

Similar to what I said for Don't Lose Your Head ask, there isn't too much going on with the concept, so not too much to say without just describing the fic beat for beat, haha!

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

~

Dark and Stormy Night:

Or a different story about Dominic and the strange book, from a different timeline -

~

Well, Pinhole books never quite panned out, and he never got rid of that damned book in latin, but Dominic Swain had been waiting for vacation, and he was going on vacation anyway, successful trip to a creepy bookstore or not.

His doctor had cleared him for travel even with the weird extreme lightheadedness he'd been having recently, and besides, he was bringing the book with him, Spanish and Galician and Catalan etc. were closer to latin, and the tour was stopping at a monastery on the way, maybe he could get someone to read it to him.

He was still curious about it, all the old illustrations full of stars, even the one, the fucking one, that was full of damn heavily-drawn lightning of all things. He didn't like to think on it to much, but lightning? It was almost like the book knew every bad, selfish thing Dominic had ever done, even as a kid.

He could swear the book somehow knew about the incident with Mike... somehow, even though that would be impossible. But even that page fascinated Dom, in a sick way. Anyway, he'd love to be able to read that book even a little so he brought it along for the monastery.

Anyway, that might be the only part of the vacation that went entirely according to plan, Dominic had been struck by a series of rainy days, from drizzly days to outright peals of thunder. In the high parts of the Pyrenees, and even on the bright white cliffs of France's Nez Blanc on the way over. And he could have sworn the same companion was there to help him all the time. Handing him a tarp or umbrella, hard to see in the downpour but always wearing some sort of scarf and with dark hair and pale, pale skin and eyes.

The only time it wasn't raining on a special outing was that peak in the Canary Islands with all the telescopes. (A man with a scarf loaned you his sunscreen there.) All Dominic could see there was the blue of the ocean stretching out below him all around - like a great gleaming chatoyant sapphire.

And now he was face to face with the man again, in the Picos de Europa,

"Excuse me, do you know the way back to the path up to the Torre de Cerredo?"

"Yes, but for you, only for a fucking price. And I think you know what." The stranger's voice held an angry edge to it, and the man laughed darkly and it made Dominic shiver.

"The book, right?" The man nodded. He took his hand and lead Dominic through the sheets of rain and the grey and white of rock and ice. When the ground leveled out again, Dominic chewed on his lips, not liking the idea of taking the book out into the rain, but knowing what he must do.

The man loosened his scarf to show a bright white branching scar, and a matching flash lit up the heavens in a similar fashion. "Mike?" Dominic mouthed to himself. As the man grabbed the book, and brought it into the rain, the ink seemed to pool and run, scoring more black lines into his skin.

The ink seemed to disappear into the ends of the man's scarf, into his coat, and at last into his skin, lightning, and stars, and the endless curls of ocean waves.

And then Dominic was left with a business card with a work address and a scrawled note. "Come see me, once." And as the storm cleared -

Dominic was left with a clear sky and the great peak of the Torre de Cerredo looming above him in noon's light. And his little pool of safety on the bench he was sitting on below it. He shivered again, half in pleasure and half in fear, and a bit in relief.

[heavensbeehall]

my elaborate mags headcanon

eta: lol i have edited this like five times to add details that I forgot.

Sixteen-year-old Mags Flanagan lives with her elderly grandmother who suffers from dementia, one-armed uncle (he lost it in the war but made the mistake of telling Peacekeepers a shark bit him) and cousin and is Reaped for the 11th Annual Hunger Games. She strongly suspects the Capitol-loyal Mayor of choosing children from Rebel families on purpose (he is naive in thinking eventually the Capitol will be appeased). Her Uncle feels incredibly guilty about her predicament. Her lobsterman cousin must race back from waters near District 13 (aka Maine) to look after the grandmother who should not be left alone. We learn the people of District 4 have always known District 13 was not destroyed (they can see it from their boats).

The small, redheaded girl has little hope of winning, especially compared to her tall, athletic District Partner, Tack, who is surprisingly easy to talk to and willing to team-up with Mags. She had thought him a bit of a jock. Tack's family were also Rebels and he has A Lot of Opinions on how the Capitol uses terror to keep the districts down. He would prefer to die at Mags' hands, or any other tribute than the muttations like the snakes that got Coral the year previous. He knows several District 4 kids who had nightmares about the snakes. He is very high minded, so obviously he will die. (Tack is blonde and has a polisci major vibe.)

Mags is more like Katniss in that she just wants to get back to her grandma. (She's old and might wander off a cliff!) But she does see his points.

Locked in cages, the tributes are interviewed by "the Gamemaker boy" (Snow), and Mags watches him very carefully as he charms some of the other tributes, particularly the female ones. Mags is, for once, grateful to be a lesbian because she forms a bond with Tigris, who is hired to make the tributes look presentable for the interviews, instead--both queer, both raised by their grandmothers and close to a cousin. She comes to realize Snow and Gaul never intend to stop the Hunger Games. She sees darkness in him and thinks he distrusts women (reader will know this is baggage from tbosas), thinking they are manipulative.

The Tributes are thrown into the ampitheater arena (same as 10 and prior) but it has been gutted and circus-themed, then filled with freakish muttations. There are different "rings" where different mutts are located. Mags and her partner work together and survive the lions, bears and--finally--an electric eel (as seen at the end of TBOSAS movie) which Mags evades mainly due to her ability to hold her breath for several minutes thanks to years of freediving in District 4. She is greatly affected by Tack's death.

When she emerges from the arena, she finds Snow made himself (the Ringmaster)--not the tributes--the star of the show, for political advantage. Mags is rarely allowed to speak in public--though her image is widely used for publicity purposes (see Capitol Couture) though Mags thinks it is Tigris who really made her striking. But she has a falling out with Tigris because she takes a dim view of Coriolanus, whom Tigris still thinks will stop the Games once he has more power.

Mags returns to 4 determined to spend as many good moments as she can with her grandmother (who no longer recognizes her, but that is okay because they are together) and hopes to prepare the children of 4 for the ongoing "forever war." She speaks out about her experience in the Capitol at events in 4 and eventually over the shipboard radios (mags basically goes on a podcast). Most people in 4 don't have TVs. Snow has her silenced with a poison that immobilizes much of her face. She helps her cousin run for Mayor in the hopes of finding a "better way" to chose kids for the Hunger Games--though she does not think any child should go only knows that it's not going to stop.

Slight Mags/Tigris but it doesn't work out. Epilogue set after the 70th Games, where Annie's disorientation reminds her of her grandmother. Annie very much wanted to be like the Mags of the posters the Capitol produced when she volunteered. But Mags knows that version of Mags was just an illusion. And Mags understands why the death of Annie's district partner nearly destroyed her. Themes about perception and reality, dementia, psychotic breaks etc.

Even though Mags' grandmother didn't know who she was at the end, it didn't matter so long as she felt safe and happy. Annie and Finnick give her a sense of family that she thought she had lost when her wife (who was not Tigris but that is okay) was killed by Snow. She is happy in this moment.

[imikhailo]

(first time doing something like this 🙈)

prompt: you never asked @galladrabbles @arrowflier

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mickey groans getting up off the floor to open the door.

when he opens the door he's faced with the most gorgeous redhead he has ever seen. 

he rolls his eyes.

the redhead smirks. "Hey, Mick."

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay you a visit."

"A visit uh? 

"A visit means that you just passing by. and also means you gonna leave'." again, mickey thinks

"Are you going to invite me in or not?"

a sigh. mickey gives up. "Do you want to come in and have a beer?"

"I Thought you’d never ask." the redhead responds with a big dork smile

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