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firefly-ace · 2 days ago

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THIS FIC NEEDS TO BE VIRAL. I YAP ABT THIS EVERYONE IK PLS PPL MAKE THIS VIRAL SO I CAN YAP TO MORE PPL

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔳

summary. amid all the terror, trounce, and trepidation of the games, an oasis is stumbled upon. a much needed place that provides refuge to all of who necessitate its intangible bastion. though it need not be forgotten: good things are as temporary as loose sand against the shore.

content warnings. nudity (not fully bc they're still in their underwear), tension, drowning, brief mentions of past exploitation (blink and you'll miss it), more tension, flashbacks, PTSD, a bit of angst, graphic depictions of gore & violence

total wc. 7,931

notes!! ok i genuinely love this chap. while writing it, i wanted to die bc i thought it was horribly written but then i reread it and realized it's not THAAAT bad,,, def not as good as i'd like but !! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

DAY FOUR.

THE ARENA.

You’re beginning to think you’ll die from this heat before anyone else has the coveted chance to kill you themself. The Gamemakers must have increased the temperature by tenfold. And Remy’s heavy presence on your back is not helping. Nor is Ellie’s incessant desire to make her annoyance known—whether that be through complaints or nigh inaudible scoffing.

Sweat coats your entire body, causing your tanktop to stick to your skin. You wish they’d given you shorts to change into, but you hadn’t been that lucky. Instead, the denim of your jeans chafe at your thighs with each step you take.

Ellie isn’t in much better of a state, though she isn’t carrying an entire second human on her back. Lucky fucker. Still, despite your mental complaining, the decision to carry Remy is entirely your own, and you wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again knowing that it relieves him of pain.

“Okay,” You sigh as you stop walking.

Ellie turns to you, breathing heavily as she shoots you an expression of irritation. “What is it?”

“We need to rest.” You say. “I need to rest, at least.”

She opens her mouth as though to oppose, but soon closes it. She gives in, walking over to a random tree and sliding down it, pulling her backpack into her lap as she tips her head back against the warmed bark. You crouch down, allowing Remy to slide off. You take the supplies from him, swinging the backpack over one shoulder, the bow and quiver over the over.

Ellie scoffs. “You’re only keeping the stupid bow out of spite.”

“Yeah, I am.” You reply easily.

“You can barely even carry the backpack, Y/n.” She says harshly, gesturing in a vague motion to the entirety of your body. “There’s no way in hell you can shoot.”

You don’t respond to that, simply turning away to lean against the tree opposite to hers. You slide down it, your spine separated from the rind due to the sleeping bag acting as a cushion within the backpack.

Remy sits beside you, propped against the same tree. He allows his shoulder to lean against your arm, his chest heaving. Not necessarily from exertion, but just the heat alone is enough to make his lungs strain. You turn to him, gaze contorted by concern. His entire face is red, his matted hair clinging to dampened skin. His lips are parted as he breathes in and out in gulps of air.

“He’s fine.” Ellie says.

Your head snaps up to her, the gentility in your expression instantly vanishing. “Heat like this can cause kids to pass out. Or worse.”

He lets out a frightened sound. “Worse?”

“A heat stroke.” Ellie tells him bluntly, caring naught for his preexisting distress.

“Wait— Is that true?” Remy’s head whips to your face. “My granddad died from a stroke in his heart, I don’t wanna—”

“No, no, no.” You shake your head. “You’ll be fine, Rem. She’s just being an asshole.”

Ellie rolls her eyes at your comment, facing the boy. “Believe what you want, kid, but let me tell you, she isn’t the most trustworthy individual. If I were you, I’d take my chances with literally anyone else. Even if that someone is a complete stranger, they’re more reliable.”

Remy opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Are you actually asking me that?” Ellie’s head tilts. “Or is this another ploy to get me to confide in you?”

“Look,” You say, “Whatever you think happened between us has nothing to do with him.”

“What I think happened?” Her brows are creased with vexation. “You completely fucked me over, Y/n. That’s not an interpretation.”

Your heart rate picks up as anger nestles into your bones, solid and familiar. You try to swallow it down, remembering Ruben’s caution against allowing it to consume you. With a deep breath, you ground yourself. “The heat is getting to us. It’s making us irritable and irrational. Just admit that you—”

“I’m not admitting shit.”

Remy shifts forward, his heavy breathing having slowed a bit by now. He frowns. “When my parents argue, they talk about things they enjoy, things that make them happy. My momma would talk about her garden and my dad would talk about fitness. It seemed to work for them, so— Well, maybe you guys could try that? If you want.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Rem.” You say kindly. He smiles bashfully, looking down at his lap. You turn to Ellie. “You wanna go first or should I?”

“You’re not seriously—”

“I’ll go first then.” You interrupt her before Remy is able to hear any words of dissent. You shoot her a sharp glare and she scoffs, turning away. You continue. “Something I enjoy…”

“You like Ruben, right?” Remy offers. “He makes you happy.”

A wave of solemnity washes over you at the thought of your brother. The thought of him watching everything you’ve been through, all the lives you’ve taken. It brings a sick feeling to your stomach. You give Remy a small smile nonetheless. “Yes, he does.”

“Tell us about one of your favorite memories with him.”

“Hm,” You hum in thought. There are so many memories in your arsenal, from joyous laughter shared under fuzzy blue blankets to tears shed in the bathroom while stitching a new wound. You eliminate the latter, not wanting to speak of anything of dispirit.

“How about your trip to the beach?” Ellie suggests. “You know, the one Balandin brought up during your interviews.”

That anger from before comes back doubled, pacing around in its waning confines whilst clawing at the insides of your ribs, begging to be released. You’re losing your patience with her. The only reason you haven’t completely lost your mind is because you know she’s been through a lot. Between the scorching heat and the residual pain of Riley’s death, she’s just taking her frustration out on you.

Still, you can’t help the sharp tone from being laced within your voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No.” She agrees. “But neither does anyone else. I’m sure the audience is dying to hear the story.”

Your jaw tightens. “Then I guess they’ll just have to ask me themselves once I’m a victor.”

“Wow.” Ellie lets out a scoff. “You really are an egotistical piece of shit.”

Oh, that’s it. You shoot to your feet, hand instantly reaching for the hilt of your sword. Ellie is standing up just as quickly, though her weapons are pathetic in comparison. A switchblade and a dagger, your dagger. This doesn’t seem to deter her, though, as she stares you down with concrete certainty in her decision to act on rage.

The ghost of a smile threatens to splay across your lips, though you don’t know why—because of your hammering heart, or because of your inherited instinct to enjoy violence. Both options are bad, both options piss you off.

Just as you’re about to unsheath your sword, clicking can be heard in the distance. All three of your heads turn toward the sound. Between the trees, you can see hobbling silhouettes of the mutts as they slowly make their way toward you.

You abandon all thoughts pertaining to Ellie, attention now fully on the wounded boy who can’t walk. You shove the backpack and bow into his arms before crouching down. He’s still adjusting the supplies on his shoulder when he hops on.

“The clickers are getting closer.” Ellie says, eyes flicking between the nearing mutts and the sight of Remy situating himself on your back.

“The what?” Remy asks.

“Clickers.” She says. “The mutts click, do they not?”

The two of them continue to discuss the origin of the name and its meaning. You tune them out, focusing solely on getting as far away from here as possible. What with Ellie’s lack of weapons and your inability to use yours, fighting the mutts—clickers—would be a death wish. And, personally, you don’t particularly wish for death.

You straighten, every muscle and tendon in your legs aching under the weight of Remy’s body. You may have trained more than the average tribute, but this is becoming too much. Carrying him everywhere for two days straight has drawn sharp pains to flare up through your legs due to the excessive effort put into this endeavor.

You walk as fast as you can through the newly regenerated forest, slowing each time you’re required to step over a root or rock. Ellie walks beside you, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds as she continues to hold an idle conversation with Remy. Whether she’s doing it intentionally or not, she’s distracting him from the fear that accompanies the sight of the clickers. For that, you’re grateful.

“This isn’t gonna work.” Ellie says.

“What?” You look over your shoulder. The clickers are now too close for comfort, their corroding legs and rotting knees moving at a shockingly fast pace. You attempt to pick up your own pace, but it does little to create distance. With a muttered curse under your breath, you give in to the last thing you wanted. “Give her the bow and quiver, Rem.”

Ellie’s entire face lights up as Remy begins to shimmy the two objects off his shoulder—which is rather difficult when he’s being jostled with each of your steps. After a moment, he manages to remove them both, passing them to Ellie, who takes them with hungry hands.

She swings the quiver over her shoulder, adjusting the bow in her hand. Then, in one swift movement, she draws an arrow, knocks it, and shoots a clicker right between the eyes. It looks like she was made specially for this task, like archery is the blood that runs through her veins. The mutt squeals loudly as it falls, causing the clickers around to falter, their attentions momentarily diverted toward the sound. Ellie knocks another arrow, but doesn’t shoot it.

“I’ve only got twelve arrows.” She calls out.

“Eleven, now.” You correct her, earning a half-assed scowl.

“Thanks, smartass.” She huffs, lowering the bow to her side. “The point is, I can’t waste too many of ‘em on the zombies. This is all I’ve got.”

“Then you better pick up the fucking pace.” You tell her.

She groans but obliges, slipping the arrow back into the quiver before swinging the bow over her shoulder. She speeds up, now walking in stride with you as you evade the overgrown foliage as best as you can.

Thankfully, the zombies aren’t nearly as close as they were, their legs slowing down as you continue to run from them.

It’s odd, you think, the way they appeared out of thin air before disappearing without cause. Not to mention, none of you had made a loud sound that could have provoked them into pursuing you. Which means the Gamemakers must have sent them. But why? Well, it’s obvious that they don’t particularly favor you, but the question still remains. Why would they have sent the mutts at that specific time? You and Ellie probably would have torn each other’s throats out had they not intervened. The audience would have loved that, the violence. So why… Unless they wouldn’t have loved it. Unless they’re growing attached to the two of you and the entertainment your bickering provides.

You’re glad when you break through the treeline into a small clearing. The sun continues to bake the three of you alive with its unrelenting heat, but it’s much more bearable now that you’re able to slow down a bit.

A few yards away resides a large lake, stretching out across the land. Rays of sunlight reflect off of the water like shards of glass. A smile cracks your face, delirious and nearing insane. You jog over to the water, your boots sinking into the softened soil beneath the grass. You crouch down, allowing Remy to hop off of your back.

Remy is happy to abandon you, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his jeans before limping as fast as his wounded legs allow him into the inviting water. He may be young, but he grew up in Four, same as you. The water beckons him like kin, widened arms offering to hug him with gentle waves of invitation. He walks out until the lake laps around his shoulders, just below his collarbone. He sighs, relieved, before tipping his hair back into the water.

You’re quick to follow suit, unlacing your boots.

“What’re you doing?” Ellie asks from behind you, something similar to trepidation hanging in the back of her throat.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You reply, shooting her an odd look. You kick off your left shoe before moving to the right one. “It’s way too fucking hot to not go in the water.”

There’s a small amount of trees surrounding the lake, though not much. From here, you can see everything. Behind you, the forest tweets and chirps with creatures within. Across the vast field to the West is the cornucopia, empty and abandoned, just like the city that resides North of here. It’s all so much to take in. You see where the forest meets the city, where the chain link fence separates the two. Of course, you can’t see the fence, but you know it’s there.

Remy is floating on his back, having forgotten to remove his tank top—which is now drenched. You can’t blame him, though. You’re growing impatient yourself and you haven’t even removed your jeans yet.

“Well,” Ellie muses, “Is now a bad time to tell you I can’t swim?”

Your thoughts suddenly cease, head snapping up to her. “What?”

“I wasn’t raised in the fishing District!” She’s quick to defend herself. “I learned to hunt and chop wood, not flail around in the water.”

“You knew we were coming to the lake.” You sigh as your fingers undo the button of your jeans. “You didn’t think to tell me this before we arrived?”

“I didn’t know we were gonna swim.”

“It’s a lake.”

“We were coming for water, not relaxation.”

You shoot her a look as you begin to wiggle your pants down your thighs. Her eyes remain expertly trained on your face, though the skin under her freckles are tinted pink. You ignore it. “Fine then. You can go ahead and fill up the bottle, but I am going for a swim.”

“Hey, it’s not like I chose to never be taught.”

“Do you want to be taught?”

“Well,” Her viridescent eyes flick to the shimmering lake over your shoulder. “It seems like it’d be rather useful at the moment, so…”

“M’kay.” You say, kicking the pants off your ankles. “Strip.”

The pink of her cheeks turns into a deep crimson. “Excuse me?”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes. “If you’d prefer to learn how to swim in jeans, be my guest.”

She frowns. “Sorry I’m not as accustomed to being naked around people as you are.”

Your mind instantly trails to Ruben and his reputation among Capitolites—his body having been exploited before he’d even turned eighteen. Irritation flares in your chest, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What?” She blinks, genuine confusion etched into her features. “I mean you’re a higher District than me so you’re more used to this kind of shit.”

“Whatever.”

You turn away from her before pulling your tank top over your head. Everyone in the arena was assigned the same uniform and that means the same undergarments. A plain white bra and granny panties. They’re quite flattering, all things considered.

Despite nudity making logical sense to you—even though you’re not fully naked—you can understand Ellie’s wariness. In the Capitol, being completely nude isn’t uncommon. Even in formal settings, lack of clothes isn’t deemed improper, it’s normalized. Much like in art, clothing is an unlikely option. It might be shocking for a moment, but it doesn’t truly affect people there. However, as the Districts get farther and farther from the Capitol, that normalization is less prominent—which would explain Ellie’s puritan ideals.

You walk over to the edge of the water, slowly entering its opened arms. The cool temperature instantly soothes your aching body, drawing a pleasureful hum from your chest. You walk deeper and deeper until you can no longer touch the bottom. You dive underwater, staying submerged for a few moments. The coolness of the water feels like the touch of a god as it caresses your bruised eye and the dried blood on your shoulders. You stay under until your lungs begin to ache. You resurface with a soft gasp of air, relishing in the way droplets paint your skin in diamonds.

Remy spots you and grins widely, his gapped teeth flashing under the sunlight. “There you are!”

You turn toward his voice to see him slowly paddling over to you. You grin, holding out your hands. He grabs them, using you as a place to rest for a moment. He’s much lighter in the water and you suddenly have never been more grateful for gravitational buoyancy.

At the waterline, Ellie can be seen slowly acclimatizing to the water. She’s up to her knees, expression pinched. She discarded her pants and shirt, having tossed them aside in a pile next to the supplies. Her body is battered in cuts, bruises, and more than a few burn marks. You wade toward her, Remy hanging off your arm.

“It’s fucking freezing.” She says.

“Better than the heat.”

“Debatable.”

In spite of her complaints, Ellie continues to walk deeper into the water. She does well until the water touches her chin, that's when she becomes more fearful of the water’s cruelty. She instantly shuffles backward so as to be more shallow. She stops once it’s lapping around her ribs.

You tilt your head. “You’ve gotta come deeper if you want me to teach you.”

“Teach her what?” Remy asks.

“How to swim.”

“Nothing.” Ellie says at the same time as you.

Remy’s mouth falls open, eyes widening. “You can’t swim?”

Ellie shoots you a scowl and you shrug. “It wasn’t much of a secret. I mean, technically, the whole country knows now.”

“Don’t remind me.” She groans, slowly inching deeper.

Remy releases you to do a few backstrokes. They’re perfect. His arms arching back with mature precision. After swimming about two yards away, he does a flip underwater before backstroking back over to the two of you.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Show off.”

“It’s easy.” He replies with a giggle.

She continues to walk until the water is up to her collarbones. At the same time, Remy is paddling back to the shallow. He exits the lake, shaking out his hair before plopping down in the grass. You turn your gaze to Ellie, who’s standing a bit uncomfortably in the water.

Up close, you can see the fine details of her face that you’d never seen before. Back at the Training Center, it’d always been night when you two met up. And, since the interviews, you’d been doing your best at not paying close attention to her. Right now, though, you can’t help it. Not when she’s so close and bare.

Thin freckles dot her skin—which is a bit red from the heat. And, in her right eyebrow, a scar runs diagonally through the hair. Her eyes flick to yours, an entire forest residing within the multitude of hues lying within her irises. No wonder she’s so drawn to the forest. She is one herself.

“What do I do first?” She whispers.

“Lie back.” You say, your voice is a bit softer than you’d intended.

She nods, sucking in a breath before slowly leaning back. You slip your arms under her body, one across her shoulder blades while the other rests under her knees. Her skin is warm. Solid. The weight of her body carries a sense of solace, though you tell yourself it’s only because it’s been so long since you’ve had human contact with anyone aside from Remy.

He’s comforting, yes, but it’s not the same. Not necessarily bad, just different. His youth alleviates a portion of the distress that accompanies being in the arena. He provides you with something to focus on that’s not your own survival. But with someone your age, it’s mutual. Instead of giving, giving, and giving to a child who’s unable to return it, you’re able to exchange rather than confer. Not with Ellie in particular, considering the strained relationship between the two of you, but with anyone who’s capable of holding their own. All that to say, it’s nice to have someone. Even if that someone is nearing intolerable.

“Feel the way the water’s holding you?” You ask.

She lets out an airy chuckle. “You’re doing most of the holding.”

You roll your eyes, though it lacks the usual rancor. “No. I mean the way your body feels light. The way it’s floating.” She nods. “That’s called buoyancy and it’s one of the most important parts about learning to swim.”

“Buoyancy.” She nods again. “Got it.”

Your fingertips lightly graze her skin as you pull your hands out from under her. She sucks in a breath, but she remains at the top of the water. You lift a hand to her thigh, hovering your palm over her skin as you trail down the length of her leg. Once you reach her ankle, you shover it underwater. Instantly, her stability falters and she slips under the surface.

She stands up, pushing wet hair from her face. She huffs, instantly irritated. Why did nobody tell you how hard it is to teach someone who hates your guts? Ellie wipes at her eyes, brows furrowing. “What the hell was that for?”

“Balance,” You say, “Is another important factor to take into consideration.”

She frowns, “You could’ve said that without nearly drowning me.”

“No. You needed to feel it.” You hold out a hand, splaying your fingers across the surface of the water without breaking its tension. “Water is delicate, but it’s strong; it’s calm, but it’s ferocious; it’s shallow, but it’s deep. Everything related to the element is a duality.”

“It’s balanced.” She mutters.

“Yes.” You grin, glad to see it’s getting through to her. “If you’re moving your arms, you need to move your legs. Otherwise, you’ll sink. Simple as that. Maintain your equilibrium and you’ll stay above the surface. Or, if all else fails, stay still and suck in a deep breath. The added air in your body will cause you to float.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is.”

She tuts. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the story about your first time learning to swim. What were your exact words again? You looked like a fish out of water and thought you were dying?”

“I was four.” You state. “I was allowed to be shitty at it.”

She rolls her eyes, though a smile tugs at her lips. “Whatever.”

DAY FOUR.

THE ARENA.

The lake, as it turns out, hadn’t been all that imprudent of an idea. As Ellie stretches her legs, flattening the lush grass beneath her, she is no longer being baked by the sun. Instead, the rays of its vibrance caress her skin gently, like a kiss. Paired with the softness of the sunshine, the pad of her index finger traces the wooden material of your lended bow, familiarity laced within its burl.

She lifts her head, eyes narrowing against the sun’s insistence to be gazed upon. Her unoccupied hand comes to her brow, shielding its refulgence from her pupils. Water trickles down her back, residual droplets still clinging to the auburn strands of her hair.

You’re in a similar state, she notices. Her eyes narrow even further as she takes in the sight of your silhouette perched at the edge of the lake, your bare feet sinking into the marshy soil that surrounds it. Beside you, in the muddy grass, resides Ellie’s refilled water bottle. And, in your hands, you’re currently filling your own canteen, your eyes pinned to the opening as the lake water pools inside.

You’ve yet to dress back into your clothing, crouched down in naught but your assigned undergarments. The sight made Ellie uncomfortable at first, though she’d grown used to it by now—your bare skin. Your body is covered in scars, both old and new. Had the two of you not built a mutual loathing for one another, Ellie supposes she’d have loved to inquire about them. Not that such a thing is possible now. Not in regards to the old ones, at least.

Your back is facing her, the small circle in your left shoulder blade catching her eye. Ellie drops her hand to the Earth, leaning back on her palm.

“So…” Ellie drawls. Your head instantly turns toward the sound of her voice, peering over your shoulder. She raises a brow. “Arrow wound, huh?”

You huff a laugh, though it sounds more like a scoff. “Yep.”

“From Nolan, right?” She asks. You nod, turning back to the water though remaining in the conversation. “What pissed him off badly enough to fire it?”

“The usual.” Ellie watches the taut skin around the wound stretch as you shrug. “Tried killing the Careers in their sleep. Didn’t work.”

“Unfortunately, I know you well enough to know you didn’t take that well.” She says. “Did let them get off easy, did you?”

“‘Course not.” You chuckle, pulling the canteen out of the water before screwing the lid on. You turn to face her fully. “Thalia’s lucky to have her head still attached to her neck, and Nolan won’t be walking straight for a few days.”

Ellie’s brow furrows. “What’d you do?”

“Sliced Thalia’s neck and stabbed Nolan in the stomach.”

“Yikes.”

You’d spoken the words casually enough, but Ellie doesn’t fail to notice the glance you cast toward the lake—where Remy resides. He’s wearing a blindingly wide smile as he plays in the water, swimming around as though he could control the element himself. His curly hair drips down his pale face, his shoulders red and peeling from a day spent under the sun. Not that it matters to him. Not now. Not when he’s finally able to relax, to play, to be a kid.

“What about you?” Your voice drags Ellie’s attention away from the lake, pinning it back onto you. You’re standing now, shifting your hips as you pull your jeans up your thighs. She looks away, casually turning her gaze back out at Remy so as to avoid the awkwardness of watching you dress. Not that you’d give a shit. In fact, you don’t seem to notice as you continue to speak. “Those cuts and bruises of yours don’t look too pretty.”

“Ah,” Ellie muses, nodding in singularity. “Fell down a hill on the first day. Right after vacating the cornucopia.”

“Pfft–”

Her eyes snap over to your face, scowling at your expression of amusement. You’re currently straightening your tank top, jeans still unbuttoned around your waist. She scoffs. “Shut the hell up, don’t laugh at me. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Obviously.” You giggle.

“The roots are unnaturally large.” She defends herself. “Seven isn’t like this.”

“Well,” Your head tips to the side, “This isn’t Seven.”

Ellie huffs. “Don’t remind me.”

You laugh, walking over to where she sits by the supplies. You plop down in the grass beside her, your canteen and her bottle falling into your lap. You stretch your legs with a grunt, mimicking her position as you lean back on your palms.

Your jeans are coated in blood, dirt, and grime as the button remains undone, the waistband folded a bit as the low part of your abdomen shows. Your white tank top clings to your wet skin, the outline of your bra showing through the thin material. Ellie looks away, the sunshine suddenly feeling unbearably warm against her cheeks.

She looks out at the lake, watching as Remy spins in little circles, giggling to himself.

“What is Seven like, anyway?” You ask in a quieter voice. “Aside from its lack of roots.”

“Perfect.” Ellie sighs, head tipping back as she looks up at the artificial clouds. They hang low in the bright blue sky, feathery and light. “Everyone knows everyone there, like we’re all one big family.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was.”

The use of past tense makes Ellie’s heart sink. She’s become so accepting of her own fate within this arena that she’d used it without a second thought. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice. That, or you pity her enough to ignore it.

“Have you…” You trail off, lips thinning. “Have you received any gifts?”

She turns her head to face you, staring at your side profile. Her pupils trace the tip of your nose down to the curve of your chin. Still, casually as ever, she says, “Nope.”

“That’s odd.” You turn and Ellie instantly looks away. “It’s not like Joel to keep gifts from you. I mean, I’m sure he has a reason, but—I wonder what it is.”

“Maybe I just don’t have any sponsors.” She shrugs.

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.” She insists. “Who knows what the Gamemakers are and aren’t showing? They have all the power, you know. They could easily make even Selene look like a complete asshole.”

“True.” You agree. “But still, most of the sponsors go to Saint Mary’s Hall. They watch everything in real time, completely unfiltered. And, despite how much I might hate to admit it, you’re an easy person to take pity on.”

Ellie bristles at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your eyes widen in realization. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you meant.” She huffs, scooting away from you.

“Seriously?” Your brows furrow in irritation. “God, are you always like this? You just hear what you want to hear?”

“I don’t—”

Her words are cut off by a high pitched scream sounding from a few yards away.

Ellie’s head snaps toward the sound by the time you’re already sprinting toward the water. You must’ve recognized the voice to be Remy’s, not hesitating to rush to his aid.

There, roughly fifteen feet into the lake, his arms are flailing around as his face only briefly breaks the surface, just long enough to suck in a small gasp of air before being tugged right back under.

Ellie pushes to her feet, worry gripping her by the throat as you run into the water. Remy's shouts die out as his arms cease their flailing. You reach him just as his head goes back under again. Grabbing him around the torso, Remy’s eyes are shut as you pull him through the water back to the shallow.

You wade through the lake, though doing so appears to take much more strain than typically used. You reach the shoreline, hauling Remy into the muddy grass. He lands with a thud, but doesn’t stir. You breathe heavily, mind fogged with dread.

Ellie rushes forward, crouching down beside him. She presses her ear to his chest. His heartbeat continues to thump under his ribs, albeit faintly. Ellie pulls away, looking at his face. He’s not breathing. She blinks and his features contort into another’s. Into Riley’s. Her breath hitches and she staggers backward a few feet.

“What?” You snap, expression laced with the fear of something happening to Remy. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just—” She shakes her head, swallowing harshly. “He’s gonna need CPR.”

“That’s not nothing!” You shout, kneeling beside his body. Ellie wants to shout back at you, defense tracing through her arteries. But she knows your words are induced by naught aside from trepidation, something that’s impossible to blame you for.

You tip his head to the side, planting your palms between his ribs before pushing on his chest repeatedly. Your eyes are pinned to his face, desperate for any sign of life. There hasn’t been a cannon though, which must count for something. You don’t seem to care about the designs of the arena, relying completely on Remy himself rather than the world around you.

Ellie watches, though the scene feels far away from her hazed mind. She tries to count the compressions, but she struggles to keep the numbers straight. Her brain flashes images of Riley—eyes dead, neck slit.

Suddenly, the sound of coughing slices through the air like an axe through skin. Ellie blinks, back straightening. Remy begins coughing up water, his face pained as he turns onto his hands and knees. You don’t move away from him, tilting your head as you watch every one of his movements.

He eventually stops coughing and sits up straighter, chest still heaving. As soon as he’s regained his senses, you surge forward, pulling him into a hug. His eyes widen, shocked by the sudden sentiment, but he doesn’t push you away. He wraps his small arms around your shoulders, relaxing into you as you run a hand through his hair, eyes squeezed shut. Ellie, from this distance, is unable to hear the exact words but she can see that you’re whispering frantic words into his ear.

Ellie pushes to her feet, shaking her head as she walks over to the supplies. She grabs her bag, swinging it over each of her shoulders before reaching down for your bow and quiver. By the time she’s gathered her belongings, you’ve finally pulled away from Remy, allowing the boy some space to breathe.

He sits at the edge of the water, eating a bit of cattail that he’d found around the shore. You stand, walking over to Ellie. Your jeans are now drenched in water, your hair sopping wet.

“What was that?” She asks as you lean over to grab your own things—which is a much higher quantity than hers. You raise a brow at her while strapping two holsters to your thighs. “That. Him drowning. You struggling to walk through the water. What was that?”

You slip a dagger into the left thigh holster, the right one remaining vacant due to Ellie having taken it from the scene of Violetta’s murder. She can feel the weight of it in her boot, the metal cool against her sweaty skin.

“The Gamemakers.” You say while slipping your sword into its sheath. “They turned the bottom of the lake into fucking quicksand. Pulled him right under. I struggled to walk through the water, yes, but I don’t know why I was able to walk through it at all. It should’ve pulled me just the same as him.”

Ellie hums, processing the information. She gazes out at the lake and its glistening surface. It looks so bright, so welcoming. It’d be impossible to guess that within it, at the bottom, resides a death trap. At the edge of it, Remy stares out with such longing that it’s almost palpable. Despite almost having been killed by its deception, his love for the water is undeterred.

“I think it’s time we leave then,” She says, “Don’t you?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Your expression is distant, like your mind can’t quite grasp everything that just happened—sitting calmly in the grass under the sun, getting into a heated argument with Ellie, Remy’s gut wrenching screams, conducting CPR on his unconscious body, and now this? A casual conversation about moving on with the journey? Anyone in your position would be dizzied by the sudden changes of emotion. Bliss, rage, fear, desperation.

Ellie is about to turn on her heel back to the forest when you speak again.

“Wait,” She turns around at the sound of your voice to see you’re crouched down, reaching for something in the grass. You stand back upright, holding her bottled water. You move to the side, slipping it into the side pocket of her bag. Your movements pause, expression softening. “What are these?”

“Hm?” She tilts her head to the side, craning her neck to see what you’re referring to. Between your fingers resides a wilted flower you’d gently removed from the pocket. Ellie’s face drops.

Your brows twitch. “I can put it back, if these are important or—”

“No.” She interrupts, turning to face forward. She pins her eyes to a faraway cypress tree. “No, I don’t need them.”

“As you sure? They’re really pretty.”

“I’m sure.” She says harshly. “I don’t want them.”

“Okay.” You whisper.

Ellie keeps her gaze pinned to the tree in the distance, raking up and down its thin frame and vibrantly green leaves. She can hear you shuffling around behind her as you remove the flowers from her bag, but she doesn’t dare turn. She can’t bear to watch as the last remnants of Riley are scattered around without care. But she knows this is for the best. It’s what Riley would prefer.

For Ellie to grieve her for days would be a waste of time. If she makes it out of the arena, she can grieve then. If not, she’ll join her in the unknown abyss of death. Either way, now is not the time for meaningless sorrow or flowers that flake petals of sentiment.

“Okay,” You speak softly, “It’s done.”

Ellie’s jaw tightens. “Great.”

She walks ahead, entering the forest before sitting down on one of the large roots that split from the soil. She’s covered by the heaviness of the tree, though she remains in close enough proximity to see you and Remy.

You walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you with wide eyes, squinting against the sun that beams from over your shoulder. You say something to him and he nods, casting one last glance out at the lake before standing to his feet. He sways a bit, the gash in his leg still aching despite being treated. It’ll be a day or two before he can walk on it with confidence.

You crouch in front of him and he hops onto your back. You shuffle his weight a bit before walking over to where your bag remains in the grass next to the metal canteen you’d abandoned as soon as you heard Remy’s screams. You toss the canteen into the bag before zipping it and passing it over your shoulder to Remy, who then situates it on his shoulders.

The two of you have become so used to this process, so accustomed to the comfort of the other’s presence that trust is almost second nature. Ellie’s not sure she could ever trust someone like that again. Not after Riley.

DAY FOUR.

THE ARENA.

Your body is aching again, your thighs burning in exertion as your shoulders burn from sun exposure. Both fiery and both agonizing.

Remy is fast asleep on your back, exhaling soft breaths against your neck as he remains engulfed in the same peaceful slumber that’s inundated him for the past hour or so. The bag has slipped partially down his arms and you’re dreading the inevitability of it falling completely off.

Ellie walks a few feet away from you, eyes narrowed as she takes in the sight of the forest. You can tell her mind is buzzing with life, though she refuses to utter a word and you refuse to indulge her. It’s almost as agonizing as the pain in your limbs, this silence. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t memorized the curve of her lips when she smiles or felt the desirous pawing of her hands against your waist. Yeah. If that weren’t the case, this would not be nearly as difficult to endure.

Her fingers pluck at the string of her bow, toying with it as she walks. Her eyes match the chlorophyll of the leaves and the blades of grass, just as the bow’s riser matches the bark of the trees and the jaggedness of the roots. She might not see it now, but Ellie Williams is the forest. Mother nature carried her in her womb and birthed her atop a bed of dewy moss. She yearns for Seven, unknowing that she holds its entirety upon her shoulders.

You continue to walk alongside her, turning your gaze forward as Remy snores in your ear. His arms are no longer holding onto you, lazily draped around your neck. He’s slumped over, his chin resting against your shoulder, curly brown hair ticking your cheek. You’re holding his entire body weight now that he’s not holding on, only further fueling the fire of your fatigue.

“Shh, shh.” Ellie stops walking, holding up a hand.

You follow suit, instantly ceasing your pace. Remy stirs at the sudden stop, humming as he shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. You watch as Ellie looks around, having sensed something you were unable to. She crouches low, hand still in the air to signal you to stay put. You oblige, still clueless as to what startled her.

She nocks an arrow, pointing it to the ground as she slowly makes her way toward whatever the fuck she’s pursuing. You watch her until you can’t anymore. She turns, creeping around the trunk of a huge tree. You can no longer see her nor hear her, but you remain in place.

You want to set Remy down so as to rest your body, but you decide against it, not wanting to wake him. Especially considering the day he’s had thus far. During your guys’ walk through the forest, he’d complained that his lungs burned and his body was sore. You explained to him that his lungs hurt due to intaking so much water and that his body was sore from swimming for an hour straight. He accepted this answer, though it was evident he was still in pain. You told him to rest, said he was allowed to sleep for a while if he needed it. He nodded, relaxed some, then was passed out within minutes.

It’s been five minutes and Ellie has yet to return. You’re beginning to grow worried, though you know she’s not dead considering the lack of a cannon. You tighten your grip on Remy, walking over to a tree. You bring him around you so he’s hugging your front, then you lean your back against the bark of the tree, sighing in relief as a bit of weight is removed from your legs.

Click, click, groan, click.

Your head snaps to the left, following the sound of the clicker. You push off the tree, holding Remy under the thighs with your right arm as your left hand reaches for the hilt of your sword. Remy stirs a bit, finally waking up. He rubs at his eyes, though they’re quickly rid of drowsiness when he recognizes the sounds and the rigidity of your body. Fear traces through him, causing his arms to grow tighter around your neck.

A clicker turns the corner and you unsheathe your sword. The sound of metal scraping draws its attention, as well as a few of its friends. Three clickers begin to limp toward you, groaning and screeching. You turn, placing Remy down on the ground. He looks up at you with a weary expression.

You cast his hair back. “Nothing will happen to you, Rem, I promise.”

To that, he nods, backing away from the action.

The clickers hear your voice and pick up their speed, rotted mouths open wide. You widen your stance before slicing your blade through the torso of the first mutt. It falls to the ground, organs splayed out in a painting of trounce. More and more zombies flood the area, drawn in by the screeching sounds emitted by their peers.

You gently push Remy backward away from them. He limps in the opposite direction, obliging by your wordless command. Now assured that he’s out of harm’s way, you continue the slaughter of these artificial beasts. You cut the throat of one, impale the heart of another. It’s like a dance, in a way, albeit a grotesque one.

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t necessarily take joy in gore like this. You may have been raised to be desensitized, but it’s still nauseating. The metallic miasma of blood sears your nostril as you continue to kill one mutt after the next. Some of their bodies disappear as the Gamemakers try to recycle them as soon as possible.

You’d run, but it’s impossible with Remy. You’d be too slow unless Ellie were to miraculously appear and shoot down the clickers in closest proximity. At the thought, anger courses through you. She just left! You stab another mutt through the torso, yanking your sword out of its body with such vigor that it makes a deafening crunch sound. As rage directed toward Ellie runs through your veins, your combat becomes much more heated, fueled by the fire of her shittiness.

You’re about to slice the throat of another zombie when you falter. This one’s face is familiar. A scratchy beard and an outfit that matches yours identically. Your eyes trail down to its neck, noticing a deep gash. One inflicted by you. One inflicted by this very sword.

James.

His mouth opens to reveal rotting teeth, green and yellow. He screeches loudly and you pierce your blade right through his mouth. It pokes out the other side of his head and you grimace as you yank it back out.

You knew the Gamemakers were reusing the bodies of mutts, but you hadn’t realized they’d be immoral enough to use the bodies of fallen tributes. That’s a new low.

“Is that—”

“Turn around!” You interrupt Remy’s question by spinning him around harshly to face the other direction, aware that nothing good would come from him witnessing this shit show. It’d traumatize him, perhaps even cause him to freeze up—which is the last thing you need.

You turn back to the zombies, cutting through them like the vines on a tree while slowly backing away from the growing horde. This is fucking impossible. There’s no way for you to escape this. You can’t run with Remy, you can’t kill them all while the Gamemakers are reviving them, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

You try to think of what Ruben would do, but your mind is blank. He’d never fought zombies while protecting a wounded child.

Your mind only stutters again when yet another clicker grabs your attention. Violetta. Her shirt is stained red by your display of lineage, right between her breasts. Your jaw clenches, eyes widening. You stagger backward, gripping your sword tightly.

You shouldn’t falter, you know you shouldn’t. But you do anyway. Because she trusted you, she accepted you as a member of her group, she laughed and smiled and. You saw her as a human. You saw her act as a normal person would. And now look at her. Reduced to nothing but a puppet used by the Gamemakers to mold your misery.

Just as you lift your sword, a whizzing sound slices through the air moments before the head of an arrow sticks out between her eyes. She thuds against the ground in front of your feet, her head bleeding out into the grass and onto your shoes.

“Ellie!” You shout, palpable rage laced within your tone. “Why the fuck—”

But when you lift your head, it’s not Ellie who stands before you. A few yards away isn’t a freckled girl with green eyes and auburn hair. Instead, she has jet black hair and amber eyes.

“Damn, Four.” Ariadne Evans chides. “I didn’t take you to be a damsel in distress.”

[post] notes!! the way ellie goes from "i don't need them" to "i don't want them" when talking abt the flowers ??? UGH I'M SIIICK (yes this will be mentioned again) and yes i purposely made u guys think ellie was back before snatching that right outta ur hands. love u tho <33

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