A/N: I was reading through the Honeymoon SYOT and decided to write little one-shots of the OCs featured. This was a spur-of-the-moment thing, partly due to me getting back into writing, but also seeing the potential of these characters. Not wanting what I wrote go to waste, I decided to show it off to the community and hope that I did your OCs justice. I cannot guarantee I will do every character, but I will try to touch on each district that has shown up in the original fanfic so far. If you want me to write a one-shot and your character hasn't been featured yet, drop me a note. Note that you DO NOT need to read the original story to follow these characters. These stories are able to stand on their own.

I'd like to thank oldflowers for being my editor and designing the cover for this story. Any feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

Honeymoon: The 79th Hunger Games belongs to Mischief739.

Lia and Desmond belongs to Nautics. All other OCs belong to their respective creators.

The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins

Though Magic was only fifteen, he acted like he was already in the Capitol, smiling for cameras that weren't there and posing for pictures that nobody was taking.

Lia was only fifteen and acted like the half-dozen other fifteen year-olds who were still under consideration as tributes for the 79th, which was three years away despite what Magic seemed to think. They weren't acting like their star trainer of an uncle was standing in front of them with a victor's shield deflecting any kind of criticism. Magic, with his stupid moniker, The Next Augustus, like Augustus wasn't still alive and Magic's uncle wasn't just a trainer in the Academy who derived half of his fame from his status as Augustus' best friend. It was unfair.

She wondered what his room looked like, if it was as neat as hers, if he had pictures of Cosmos and Augustus on his walls. She wondered if Magic was even his real name. Some tribute candidates changed their names to reflect the virtue or purity of the object they wanted to emulate. Nah, probably not. He was given that name at birth and it showed in his light-tied walk, like he was floating above everyone, his dark eyes glittering like spotlights.

She strutted from one corner of her room to the other, picking up what her brother had left behind. His rocks ("They're not rocks, they're minerals."), three pencils bunched together with a blue rubber band, and, of course, that stupid coat. Desmond was supposed to hang up his coat in his room, but when he wanted to spend time with her, he'd use it as a pillow to sit on when he colored on the floor. She'd been meaning to remind him to clean up his own mess. She certainly wasn't going to do it no matter what their mother demanded of her. It was in her room but it wasn't her coat, wasn't her rocks, wasn't her shit. Couldn't their mother understand that? Then there were Desmond's drawings. They'd found their way onto her walls next to her posters of the Capitol and portraits of the president, but now they seemed as tacky to her as the painted nails she used to have.

When her brother crept into her room, she had already turned to meet him. "Here." She tossed his coat at him. "I don't want this in my room anymore."

"Uh, okay. Why, what's wrong? You never had a problem with me leaving it here."

"I don't care."

Desmond stood there in the middle of her room, his coat wrapped around him like an ugly, bisected scarf. "What's wrong?"

When she refused to answer, he added, "Is it Magic?"

Of course it was—but she refused to let her thoughts show on her face. She was better than Magic, who pretended to be a nice, charming guy but then broke a third year's leg when he had her pinned to the ground and surrendering. The damage had been so serious that the girl walked with a limp ever since. It effectively ruined whatever chance she had at being a tribute. Magic had his excuses but she knew he did it only because he could get away with it.

Immediately following the incident, Magic greeted the girl's family with a lavender bouquet and a pair of high-quality cushions to affix to the pads of her crutches, likely stolen straight from the stores of his medic mother. According to him, it was to ease the pressure on her underarms while her leg recovered. Just like that, the girl's family forgave him — and so did everyone else. It was incredible how easily the boy could manipulate everyone with some charm and a glittering grin.

"It was an accident. He didn't do it on purpose."

Realizing that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, Lia gave Desmond a slow look. The only reason she ever tolerated him in her room was because he was a good listener. Even after their mother decided to drop him out of the Academy altogether (he didn't have it in him to be a tribute), he still hung around Lia as if he was her shadow.

"Of course you'd say that, Desmond. You believe everything anyone tells you."

His eyes went hard. "No I don't."

Not anymore, he probably wanted to say. Mother was right. He would make a poor candidate. Too gullible, too passive, not someone to be feared at thirteen and definitely not when he turned eighteen.

"He thought Lush was like me. Only her parents didn't think so, and so…"

"Magic ruined Lush's life because he could. Mom didn't have to break your leg to get you to leave the Academy."

"I'm not leaving." Desmond whined, pouting his bottom lip like the child he was and always would be. "Lia, if you just helped me train after school—"

"I told you no."

"—maybe I could show you what I learned—"

"By watching us spar when Mom's not around and watching reruns like some outer district brat? I'm not going to help you. And don't ask Ben or Lavish for help, or else Mom will definitely find out and she might really break your leg. Get out. I need to get ready for training."

Desmond's voice went up like he was drowning. "Training's not until—"

"I said get out." She shoved him hard in the chest, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt when he didn't move fast enough. Desmond twisted his face away from hers with a frantic snort, and with one final push, she sent him stumbling backwards out of the room. Biting her lip, she closed the door before she had a chance to see him cry.

Her mother wasn't alone when Lia entered their usual training room. It wouldn't have bothered her so much, if she were with anyone but Magic.

His white wool training clothes were gray with sweat. He had been sparring with a longsword, not any of the real ones, just one of those with the blunted edges and a cap over the tip. It should've made her feel better that he was all sweaty using a practice weapon like everyone else. He had to catch his breath. There was nothing godly or flattering about him and yet…

"Oh you're hardly out of breath," the others would say, then tell her that she was wheezing like a cripple. She knew that was how everyone saw it, including her mother. She didn't have to ask, even as her mother gave her a quick nod and Magic a smile like they were more than just students slotted in unfair tiers.

"I'll get outta your hair, Geddes."

Even that rankled.

"Only for an hour, Hollyfield. And do your stretches instead of jogging this time."

Magic saluted her, gave Lia another smile that she didn't return, and left.

Her mother quickly crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it this time, Lia?"

"Nothing. I'm here to train, remember?"

"Not with that attitude you won't."

Lia stiffened. She almost reached out to touch her face.

"I can see it in your eyes." Her mother walked away, pulling at a foam mat that had been moved off center. "You're getting better at holding your mask, but you forget that your eyes can see through."

Well, if she wanted to get it out there in the open…"He's acting like he's already won. If I or Desmond acted like that, you wouldn't let us get away with it."

"Of course not. You and your brother aren't that good."

Lia stared at her. Her mother stared back. "You want to whine about it, fine, but do it at home and don't come back. I'll focus on the next candidate who won't waste my time."

Then it was her mother who left, leaving Lia staring after her shadow long after it slid beneath the door. With a silent snarl she pivoted towards the longsword Magic left behind. She began to swing it in a wild, untrained arc before she stopped herself and took deep, short breaths. She shouldn't be angry. Anger only meant her mother was right.

There was no one to grapple with, no one to clash swords with, so she fought silently. Sweat ran in tiny rivulets down her scalp. Her hamstrings pulled and throbbed when she went still. Breathing steadily, she drew an arm across her wet brow and turned.

Desmond was standing in the doorway, watching her. He'd managed to stand there for who knew how long, so silent that through the fog of her own frustration she hadn't been able to hear him. He thought he was being sneaky and the look on his face, that stupid little half-smile like he thought he could come up behind his big sister like some honorless outlier brat.

Desmond recoiled. Lia hadn't realized she was snarling. "Fine. Sure. We'll fight. Let's see how good you really are."

She used the same longsword that Magic had used just moments ago. Desmond picked a spear. Normally with a far longer reach than a sword, it was a bane to face off with someone who wielded it, if they knew how to make good use of its reach. Her brother, who had only the basics down before he was dropped from the Academy for good, was slightly better than the dishonest, outer-district scum. But not much better.

Desmond quickly advanced, his right hand on the end of the pole, his left at the middle. He was bobbing it up and down in a scooping motion, occasionally snapping the blunted end at her face. She slapped it away, but it was as much of a feint as his. His legs were splayed, but they didn't lie flat. As she rushed him, she noticed that he danced aside with a light hop and his heels didn't seem to touch the ground. He stumbled slightly with his own forward momentum, then tried to dance back as he turned his spear into another leg to keep him balanced.

Lia dropped her sword and grabbed the shaft of the spear with both hands, trying to wrench it away from him. Desmond hung on, his teeth clicking together as he was jerked briefly into the air. His weight pulled at her arm muscles, already sore from her earlier spar, but she was still able to hold on. Desmond tried to kick out her feet, maybe assuming she was so focused on getting his weapon that she wasn't watching where her legs were. This only made her angry. I'm not like you, she thought, and for a moment saw herself in Desmond's place, with Magic in hers. Seeing him evaluate her, decide with all the other trainers that she wasn't good enough, that she could never be as good no matter how hard she tried, that the only way to keep her down was to make sure she stayed down.

"I'm not like you," she gritted out, letting his blows fall onto her legs as she pressed down, wrenched the spear from his hands and jabbed the end hard beneath his chin. He dropped to the mat, stunned, eyes rolling back, hopefully suffering a broken jaw, enough of a lesson that she hoped he took to heart —

— then his body jackknifed into a seizure.

She dropped the spear in shock, her skin burning, prickling. When she found her voice, she was on the floor with him as he continued to thrash, his teeth reddening around his pulped lips, gurgling pink foam.

"Desmond?" Her hands shook as she pinned him to the mat, her mind empty. Everything she had came out with his name and she could do nothing but say his name. He remained unresponsive to her, to their mother, to the medics. When they hauled him onto a stretcher, his face had gone white, his hair falling loose across his face. He wasn't hurried away and that was when she knew. What was left of herself went away with Desmond's body and returned with his corpse. As two nameless men lowered him into the ground, Lia had enough life in her to think, Magic's never killed anyone. Her laughter was thin and went ignored.