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vxsellie · 14 days ago

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‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

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

summary. to give a final goodbye to someone you love is generally the last thing anyone would ever wish to do. though, when being shipped off to your death, it's the equivalent to being given a final meal whilst on death row.

content warnings. abuse, mentions of death, implications of murder, and (the worst of all) a lesbian breakup

total wc. 5,225

notes!! here she is! i wrote this in one sitting on the night before christmas, literally up until two am bc my thoughts wouldn't stop flowing (ive had writers block for the past few months so you couldn't pry my keyboard from my cold dead hands). anyway here she is! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

14:45.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“What were you thinking?”

Despite how loud Marlene’s voice is, it sounds rather muffled. Ellie’s thoughts all jumble together into a plethora of unintelligible abstraction. This results in outside noises becoming equally as cryptic.

After the Reaping, both tributes were escorted into the Justice Building and forced into separate rooms. Having grown up amid the Games, Ellie’s aware that this is the part where she’s supposed to say her final goodbyes to her loved ones — an hour of time allotted to these farewells. And, despite knowing that all twenty-three other tributes are going through the same thing, Ellie couldn’t feel more alone. There’s a sickening sense of finality to this. Like she’s cattle bred and born to await death. Like there’s nothing more to her life aside from this — being Reaped to never return.

And, with the time given, Marlene has opted to use the entirety of her visit reprimanding Ellie for how she’d acted on stage. Not that she doesn’t deserve to be chastised, she knows she does, but it’s still fucked up.

See, after her name had been drawn, Ellie’s entire world fell out from under her feet. She knew there was a possibility of her name being drawn, she’d be a fool not to at least acknowledge that fact. But to look that fate in the eye and have no way of revoking it? That’s an entirely different pill to swallow. As she stood atop that stage, the escort’s piping voice ringing through her ears, Ellie simply could not seem to comprehend it. But then she felt a weight in her hand, a warmth. She turned to see Riley, her jaw set and her eyes darkened. She grabbed Ellie’s hand and hoisted it into the air.

To Ellie, it was a rather odd thing to do. But, as Marlene is pointing out presently, it was an act of defiance against the Capitol itself. Ellie had no idea. Not that she doubts it, what with Riley’s outward distaste for the government, but it just hadn’t dawned on her that the mere act of holding a friend’s hand would piss off the Capitol. It’s kinda funny.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Marlene groans, her pacing coming to a halt as she whips around to face Ellie. Her expression isn’t one of rage, as initially expected. Instead, it’s one of genuine panic. Well shit, apparently holding hands really is treason.

Ellie doesn’t respond, her face dropping instantly. She pins her gaze to the floor, staring at the same rusted nail she’s been looking at for the past ten minutes. In fact, she’d been so zoned out that she hadn’t picked up a single thing that Marlene was trying to say. Usually, this would amuse her. But now, with her impending doom so leering, she can’t help but feel ashamed. She may never see Marlene again. And then what? Her last memory of the girl she’d raised from infantry would be of her zoned out whilst curled into a ball on a dilapidated sofa. That’s rather pathetic, is it not?

She shudders, pulling her knees even closer to her chest at the thought. She doesn’t yet know who was Reaped from the other Districts, but she’s sure they aren’t all pouting on their couches like children. Still, she can’t seem to remove herself from this position — one of self comfort.

Something touches her knee and she flinches, tearing her gaze from the floor. She looks up to see Marlene sitting beside her on the couch, her gaze softened. Ellie hadn’t even noticed her approach. Fuck. See, this is the exact thing she’s worried about. If she were to zone out like this in the arena, she'd be dead within minutes.

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” Marlene asks with a sigh. A wave of guilt washes over Ellie’s body before she nods, admittedly having heard nothing. “I was saying I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout at you like this, especially considering the situation. I’m only lecturing you because I’m worried. I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.”

Ellie shakes her head, though the act is faraway. “The Capitol can’t kill us now that we’re tributes. To do so would only result in more defiance from the viewers. They’re anticipating a show, to kill off the characters would be antiprogressive.”

“No, but they can surely make your time in the arena worse.” Marlene points out.

Ellie thins her lips at this, but ultimately says nothing. This is not what she wants to hear right before being sent to her death. She wants consolation and comfort, not reminders of how little control she has in her own life. But that’s just how Marlene is — she gets stressed and rambles. Most of the time, it's a harmless habit. Right now, though, it’s proving to be rather taxing.

“Look,” She sighs, “I’m not good at this whole thing, talking. Everyone knows that. It’s– Well, it’s the entire reason I never had any kids of my own.” She sighs again trying desperately to make sense of her thoughts and word them in a way that doesn’t sound like an insult. “I never wanted children, but raising you was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Losing you would thereby be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I only shouted at you because your safety means everything. But— you’re strong, Ellie, and so very brave. If you put your mind to it, you can make it out of that arena. I believe in you. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

Ellie is certain that’s the most Marlene has ever spoken in one go without shouting or giving up halfway through. And for that, she’s grateful. Ellie swallows harshly, her throat suddenly feeling too big for her neck. She leans forward.

She doesn’t hug Marlene, not necessarily. She simply flops into her, thumping her forehead onto her shoulder. Her body is stiff and her jaw is clenched tight, but the act of the touch still carries a sense of sentimentality to it. Especially considering she and Marlene never hug. In fact, she thinks she only ever hugged her once in her whole life. Again, it’s not anything to pity her for, it’s just their relationship. A fact of life. Some people are touchy, others aren't. And Marlene is definitely among those who are not.

She rubs a hand up and down Ellie’s back, though it’s more so to do something with her hands rather than to comfort her.

They remain like that for a long time, sitting in silence because neither of them are skilled at voicing their emotions. Ellie’s mind continues to move at a million thoughts per second, though it slows a little in the absence of Marlene’s shouting.

Roughly twenty minutes go by before Marlene pulls away. She has a hand on each of Ellie’s shoulders, a foot between their faces. She stares at her, brown eyes flicking across each one of her features, as though to memorize her before departure. Ellie mimics her, taking in the sight of the woman who raised her — from the slope of her nose to the arc of her brows. Afterall, this might be her last time to do so. No matter how hard she believes in herself.

“I ought to go visit Riley.” Marlene says with an awkward cough, standing from the couch. “She doesn’t have any family aside from you and I.”

It’s true. Riley’s family is rather complicated seeing as she doesn’t have any. It took seven years of being Riley’s friend before she confided in Ellie about her past. And, after hearing it, she couldn’t blame her for her hesitance.

Her father was a rebel. He hated the Capitol and everything related to it. He wasn’t married to Riley’s mother when she got pregnant, hadn’t even been dating. They simply had a fling and moved on — hence his oblivion to the fact that she’d been a Peacekeeper. Riley’s dad lived a life of tranquil solitude, aside from frequent whippings as punishment for opposing the Capitol so vocally. Truly, he’d been lucky to not be assassinated on the spot for his insubordination. The entirety of Seven knew him for his rebellious nature.

So, when Riley’s mother came forth with an infant in her arms, he was shocked. He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten pregnant. Though, more importantly, he couldn’t believe she was a fucking Peacekeeper. He tried to keep his calm, civilly agreeing to partial custody over their daughter.

But, when Riley was about four years old, their refined consensus came to an abrupt end. They got into an argument. And a bad one, at that. Nobody knows the exact details to its origin or entailments, but it’s widely known how it ended — Riley’s mother dead and her father as an Avox for the Capitol. His punishment for her murder.

Riley subsequently grew up in an orphanage, though she inherited her father’s rebellious nature and oftentimes escaped over the fence. She’d spent more time in the woods than she had in the decelit building — chopping wood and climbing trees and visiting the Hob. She’d grown rather skilled at it, the illegality of escaping. She met Ellie in elementary. She’d been scaling the fence, intending to flee the school. Ellie had caught her and insisted she teach her how to do it. Begrudgingly, Riley agreed. From there, with many details gone unmentioned, they became friends. Now look at them Reaped for the Hunger Games together. Ugly ending to a beautiful story.

“Yeah.” Ellie agrees curtly to Marlene’s suggestion. “Yeah, she’d appreciate that, I think.”

Marlene nods in agreement prior to turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Ellie sits alone for a few minutes, returning to her humiliating fetal position. She hugs her legs to her chest, dirty shoes on the cushion of the couch. Though the sofa isn’t in the best shape considering the prodding springs and frayed stuffing. She rests her chin on her knee, staring at the rusty nail she’s grown so fond of.

She’s not sure how long she sits like that before a knock is heard at the door. She groggily tells them to enter, causing the door to creak on its hinges. A face pokes inside prior to the body attached. Cat.

Her black hair is done up, pinned into a purposefully messy bun, bangs cut shorter than usual. It looks put together, but in that I-woke-up-like-this way. Her eyelids are colored in a shiny crimson, her lips in the same glossy tint. Her skin looks inhumanly smooth, her eyebrows impossibly thin. She’s wearing a strapless baby pink dress that’s uncomfortably close to the shade of her skin, coming to her midthigh. Her shoes are the same red as her eyes and lips, clicking against the wooden floor as she walks. She looks like a Capitolite in the way her features are accentuated, though human enough for Ellie to still find her attractive

She instantly straightens, confused. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a train to the Capitol?”

“Well,” Cat begins, shutting the door softly behind her as she walks over to the couch Ellie is curled atop. She sits down beside her, the cushion dipping under her weight, which instinctively pulls Ellie toward her. “I caused a bit of a scene, insisting I had to see you. And, considering it’s a hassle to find another stylist so late into the Games, I simply dared them to fire me. They didn’t, of course, and instead opted to just give me time to see you, albeit minimal.”

Ellie laughs, though the sound is hollow. This draws a tight expression from Cat as she takes in the sight of the girl before her. Ellie suddenly feels self conscious, wearing a wrinkled linen shirt while Cat looks like a literal fucking deity. Not to mention the pathetic way she’s presenting herself — small and weak. She sits upright, swallowing as she runs her hands down her shirt in a futile attempt at flattening it.

Cat stops her, placing a hand on her wrist. Ellie looks at the place where she touches her, taking in the sight of her perfectly done nails. Baby pink with crimson colored accents. God, every single detail of her is altered for the Capitol’s preference.

“I got you something.” Cat whispers, removing her hand from her wrist to reach into the purse Ellie hadn’t even noticed she carried with her. She holds out her hand, a small piece of metal resting in the center of her palm. A ring, in the shape of a moth. The body is the centerpiece, the wings made to wrap around the finger. “Here,” Cat grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling it forward before slipping the ring onto her index.

“I love it,” Ellie breathes, holding her hand out in front of her to admire the ring.

“I made it myself.” Cat says. Ellie should have guessed. She knew Cat enjoyed making jewelry, using spoons and other random hunks of metal to concoct something ugly into something pretty. She’s spoken of the hobby before, though she’s never revealed any of the end products. This is Ellie’s first time seeing one of them.

She suddenly recalls the rule that tributes are permitted to bring one token into the arena from home. One thing to remind them of their identities — which are sure to be lost in the Games. Ellie had completely forgotten about the rule, it never having crossed her mind. But looking at this ring now, she’s certain this is the perfect thing to bring. A reminder of home. Not of a place, but of a person. Of Cat.

“I love it.” Ellie repeats more furtively, turning to kiss her.

However, before their mouths are able to touch, Cat lifts her hand to Ellie’s chest. She pushes her away. And, though the act is as gentle as possible, Ellie still feels as though she’d been shoved. She leans back. Cat’s expression is pained, not at all matching the cheerful makeup she wears.

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I love you, Ellie. Truly. A part of me likely forever will. But– to be in love with you would only end in causing us both an insurmountable quantity of pain. I can’t consciously do that to you. Even our current relationship is deteriorating your mental health. You’re too dependent on what we have, too afraid to lose it. To allow you to continue down this road would be wrong of me. To even have begun it was wrong. And now that you’re going into the arena, I just– adding yet another burden to your shoulder would be wholly immoral.”

Ellie doesn’t know when, but amid that confession, she’d begun crying. Not just due to the breakup, though, if she could even consider it that. But due to everything. Riley distancing herself recently, the Reaping, Marlene’s shouting, Marlene’s halfhearted farewell, and now this? On top of it all?

“So you’re breaking up with me to ease your own fucking conscience?” Ellie snaps. She doesn't mean to say it. She doesn’t. It’s just all become so much for her to carry. And it’s so easy to drop it on Cat after what she’d just done.

“No.” She insists, nigh pleading in her denial. “Ellie, no, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why even give me this?” She asks, holding out her hand with the ring on it. “For me to bring a reminder of your absence into the arena?”

“No, no.” Cat continues to deny Ellie’s accusations. “Not to remind you that I left, but to remind you why I left.”

Ellie scoffs, “Now you’re just saying shit. You’re not even trying to make sense.”

“Moths, Ellie.” She says, grabbing her hand in desperation for her to just fucking listen. “They’re attracted to the light. No matter where they go or– or what environment they’re placed in, they find a light. Something to always keep them going. Something to fight for. Something to reach. I’m holding you back, don’t you see? I don’t want you to fight to get home. I want you to fight because you know you’re worth it. You’re worth living for, even without me or Riley or Marlene. For you. Be your own moth, your own light.”

Ellie wipes roughly at her face, fists scrubbing at her eyes painfully. She wishes she had something clever to say. Something smart that would make Cat rethink everything. But all she can muster is a mumbled, “Moths are fucking ugly.”

14:45.

DISTRICT FOUR.

Your ears are ringing, a loud chiming sound that makes your head swim. Despite this, you keep your chin high as your mother shouts orders at you. You’ve long since tuned her out, which is something you’d never had dared to do prior to the Reaping. But you’re being sent to the arena — you’ll either die in there and never see her again, or you’ll come back a victor and thereby be of higher status than her. Whatever you do now matters naught.

She’s rambling on about something regarding orders to return home. Not because she cares for your wellbeing, but because it’d shame the entire family if you were to die on live television.

She’s standing across the room from you, her pale blue dress somehow perfectly cleaned despite the journey she made across the grassy courtyard to the Justice Building. Her wrinkled face is contorted into an unreadable expression, the illegibility irritating you. Her golden cane is perched under her clasped hands. God, the woman is the embodiment of power despite having earned none.

“I get it.” You cut her off, tone just as sharpened as hers, almost as though you’d spent years honing it into a blade serrated enough to challenge her. “I’ll come back. If not, you’ll be embarrassed. Poor you, right?”

The expression of shock on her face is almost worth the punishment — which ends up being hit by the end of her cane. Had it been the usual wood, the pain would be tolerable. But it’s pure gold, causing your mouth to fill with blood. You spit onto the floor and she begins to reprimand you for doing that, deeming it to be improper. You ignore her, massaging your newly bruised face.

The punishment for your statement would likely have been far more severe if you weren’t destined to be put on camera for the country to gawk at. A wound on your face would be shameful. A bruise, though? Your prep team can surely cover that up with a bit of makeup.

She finishes her castigation, seeming to have worn herself out. She then turns and storms out of the room. You almost didn’t notice her swift exit, as she’d made no effort to say goodbye or wish you luck. Just ten minutes of shouting prior to causing a splitting headache and a bruise to the jaw, uncaring to hear you utter a single syllable. Best mom ever.

See, most people deem this event as emotional — an hour allotted to parting ways with your loved ones. But your mother doesn't see this as a parting. She expects to irrefutably see you again. And very shortly, at that.

You’re alone in the room for only a few seconds before a shy knock is heard at the door. You’re confused by this, unsure of who else could be here to see you. “Come in.” You call out, moving to stand over the stain of blood you’d left on the shiny hardwood floor. Thankfully, your dress is long enough that the skirts cover up the space beneath you.

The door opens and a wrinkly old man pops inside. Your lips part at the sight of mister Alden entering the room. You rush forward, offering your aid in his walking. He takes it, looping his arm around the crease of yours.

There’s a small couch with two cushions in the corner of the room. You walk him over to it, easing him onto the sofa before sitting next to him. You cross your legs, “What are you doing here? I know it’s a far journey from where you live.”

He sighs, “You’re like a daughter to me, Y/n. And, though neither of us are willing to address that aloud, we’re both well aware of it. I’ve known you since you were three years old and just learning how to walk. In fact, I can vividly recall the very day I’d met you — you were asleep on your brother’s back, clinging to him like a sloth as he made the trek down to the docks. You were such a small thing, then. Chubby little face and a diaper that didn’t fit.” He smiles fondly, looking at you as though he still views you that way, a baby. “The point is, to not visit you would be cruel. And I’m not a cruel man.”

Your eyes burn as you listen to him. He’s right. You both know it. You and Ruben are like children to him. And he is definitely not a cruel man. You wonder if he’d visited Ruben when he was Reaped. Probably. But you don’t dare ask, not wanting to speak of your brother any more than necessary.

“Oh!” He jolts as though he’d just remembered something vitally important.

You watch as mister Alden reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a dainty necklace. A white pearl resides in the center, acting as a pendant to the thin silver chain. Your gaze softens as you look at it hanging between his shaky fingers.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him.

“I want you to have it, to take it into the arena.” He says. “You remember my granddaughter, the one who was facing her first Reaping today? She made it for herself, and planned to wear it into the arena had her name been drawn. She spent weeks searching for the perfect pearl, then another few weeks saving up money to buy the chain.”

Your chest twists at hearing this. You could easily buy something like this from a small shop down by the beaches. It wouldn’t even cost you a day’s allowance. You shake your head. “I can’t take this from her. It’s too special.”

“I insist.” Says he. “When she heard your name called, she instantly turned to me, slipped the necklace into my pocket, and demanded that I bring it to you.” He lets out a light chuckle. “Her ferocity reminds me of you, actually. I don’t even remember telling her about my visits to your house. No shock she found out, though, she’s so bright for her age.”

With a grunt, he pushes to his feet. You rush to do the same, standing beside him in case he needs assistance. Instead of asking for aid, he tells you to turn around. Without hesitation, you oblige. You then feel something cold wrap around your neck. You look down to see the thin necklace now placed across your collarbones. It’s absolutely stunning. Mister Alden fumbles with the clasp, his shaky hands struggling to work the tiny thing.

When he finally gets it on, you turn around to see that he has tears in his eyes. He takes in the sight of the pearl necklace paired with the navy dress, the silver chain matching the silver diamonds adorning it. He nods, wiping roughly at his eyes. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman.”

You swallow the lump in your throat before pulling him into a hug, having to hunch over a bit due to his lack of height. He hugs you back, sniffling. It’s rather telling that the random stranger that you buy your seafood from is more caring than anyone in your family. But he’s not a stranger, is he?

After a few minutes of sentimental embrace, he finally parts from you and leaves. On the way out, you catch a glimpse of a tear rolling down his cheek, the droplet catching the light for a split second.

Alone in the room with about ten minutes remaining, you walk over to the window. You look at your reflection in the shined glass, taking in the sight of the necklace. Knowing how long it’d taken to create only adds to its beauty. The dresses your mother has fitted for you are paltry; replaceable. But this? Nobody could recreate the months spent making it, nor could they recreate the small hands that did so.

The sound of footsteps entering the room draws you from your thoughts. You catch his reflection in the window before he’s even fully through the door. Your entire body tenses, something shifting in the air at his presence. Something deep, deep inside you. Like the atoms that make up your very being have been furtively yearning for this moment. For his proximity.

You turn to face him fully.

Ruben.

You’ve seen him around, of course. You’d seen him less than an hour ago. Everyone has seen him, what with the Capitol flashing him around nigh as much as the country’s flag. He’s their brightest diamond and their largest star — the abnormal mixture of UY Scuti with Sirius, creating something impossible to tear one's eyes away from.

You two have spoken as well, albeit in short increments and only when mandatory. So, truly, you’re not sure if it counts in terms of conversation.

He shuts the door slowly, facing you with an unreadable expression. No– that can’t be right. You could always read him, you could always understand him. But right now, not a single word comes to mind as you look at him. He’s a closed book that you’d once memorized every page of.

He stares at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the bruise forming on your cheek. You wonder if you should hide it or not. But he likely knows exactly how it was induced — knowing the feel of your mother’s cane all too well, as he’d grown up taking hits for you daily. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually tears his eyes from your face and looks around the room, looking at the intricate ceiling or the swaying chandelier.

“Been a while, huh?” He huffs a laugh, though it’s dry and lacking any scrap of genuine humor.

You think about this, about what he said. It’s been a while. The world’s biggest understatement, that is. You’re suddenly filled with an immeasurable amount of rage. It’s been eleven fucking years. And he has the nerve to say it’s been a while?

Eleven years since he was Reaped. Eleven years since he was the one in this room. Eleven years since you came to visit him, sobbing and begging him not to go to the arena. Eleven years since Ruben returned from the arena. Eleven years since your brother never returned. Eleven years since the boy who raised you, who protected you, who taught you to walk and talk and eat, vanished.

You say nothing to him, not trusting yourself to speak without either screaming or crying. Or, most likely, both. So, insead, you remain silent.

Ruben sighs, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms. Something about that action makes you visibly wince. He’s so confident. The Ruben you knew was an awkward young boy, made complete with lanky limbs and oversized eyes. Strange little habits — like the way he didn’t ever know what to do with his arms, or the way he always tapped his left foot when he was nervous — made him human. But not anymore. He now knows exactly what to do with his arms and he wouldn’t dare show when he’s nervous. His humanity is just another thing the Capitol stripped him of.

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” Says Ruben. He then inhales deeply, his jaw set and eyes piercing; a Capitolite in all but name. “This is the last time we won’t be monitored. After leaving this room, everything will be tracked and recorded and analyzed — the train, the center, the arena. From here, you’re never alone. Even in the bathrooms, privacy doesn’t exist.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “So you’re saying you need to tell me something the Capitol can’t hear?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “Exactly.”

“Okay, so what is?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Of course that’s what he’s here for. Not to wish you well or say goodbye — though he likely also expects you to win; he was raised by the same monsters, after all — but, instead, to warn you. To make sure you survive the arena so as to not penetrate the family name.

“Something is wrong with this year’s Reapings.” He explains. “Districts Two and Three both had a pair of siblings Reaped – Lev and Yara from Two, Sam and Henry from Three. Then, if that weren’t enough proof as is, Districts Five and Seven both Reaped a set of best friends — Selene Jones and Ariande Evans from Five, Riley Abel and Ellie Williams from Seven. Not to mention the pair of lovers that were Reaped from Six — Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot.”

You take in what Ruben is saying, thinking hard about it. You were Reaped alongside a small child, a little boy who you’d never seen before in your life. That doesn't seem rigged, but there ought to be some kind of intentional malice behind it.

“How do you know all of this?” You ask, though you know the answer. “The Reapings haven’t aired yet.”

“I know people.” He says rather ashamedly, as though he’s already aware of the kind of reaction this will draw from you.

Anger sparks up once more at the mention of his ties to the Capitol. Not only is he using the Capitol to help you in the games — a perk no other tribute has — but he’s managed to fucking memorize every name name of importance. You don’t want to be treated as some sort of celebrity. You were Reaped with equally poor luck as Lev, Henry, or Ellie; or whatever their names were. You should therefore be held to the same expectations, not given hints into the Games. Which, by the way, is highly illegal. Not like Ruben would be punished. He could probably murder a Peacekeeper on stage and manage to get away with it.

It makes you sick.

“Okay, great.” You bite. “You told me what you needed, you can leave now.” “No, Y/n, you’re not understanding.” He insists, taking a step forward. You take one backward, almost on instinct. A pained expression crosses his face, though it vanishes just as quick as it’d appeared. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “These tributes won’t be killing for the sake of winning, they’ll be killing to save themselves alongside their loved ones. Had you and I been in the arena together, our strength would have doubled. Just imagine that. For at least five other Districts, their wills to live are multiplied. And the—”

His words are cut off as the door slams open and Peacekeepers come filing into the room to rudely announce that your time is up. It’s time to board the train to the Capitol. To the Games.

[post] notes!! don't really have any (for once), i'm just so so so so excited for u guys to read this bc i write things way prior to posting bc i like to proofread like 50 time before releasing it. anyway yeah, u guys barely know abt this bad boy while im typing this

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo @kasqnxx @xlovla @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @shawangel @defnoteleonor @fatbootymuncher @autisticintr0vert

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here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can · 6 months ago

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admiring you from afar isn’t enough for me, let’s mend our souls together, it won’t ruin the friendship, i promise.

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candyvalentinne · 6 months ago

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#me #send anons #send asks #thick and curvy #talk tag #thick thighs #talk to me #thick #bi #bi girls #bi girl #gwlw #gwlg #wlw post #wlw #wwlw #lesbian #sappic

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sweetyluvs · 2 years ago

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𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

summary: jealousy is a nasty disease, especially when it’s ally is miscommunication.

warnings: drinking, swearing, mentions of sexual activity

a/n: was feeling a little bit mixed so… <3

the once sweet drink in Ellie’s hand has become unbearably bitter to the touch of her tongue.

all joy from the fun atmosphere of the party evaporated like ice under heat. her green eyes were following your every movement, brows furrowed agitatedly. you were smiling at a boy, laughing at whatever lame joke he had cracked. The grin on your face was wide, allowing him to lean closer and closer with you by every passing second.

“you okay there, Ellie?” Joel comments, following her deadly glaze to you. She flickered her eyes quickly away, sitting up in her chair and facing him.

“yeah, i’m fine.” she mumbled, taking a sip from her drink.

Joel didn’t say anything else, only leaning on the bar she sat at and sending her a knowing side glance.

Ellie fought the urge to look back to you when she heard the lovely sound of your laughter, and she could only imagine the grin on your face. something about the fact she wasn’t the one making you laugh like that made a spark of something bad burn in her chest.

her jaw clenched upon hearing you gasp, and let her urges consume her as she looked to you.

The man was leaning against you, whispering something in your ear when you playfully pushed him off, a big, happy grin painted your face when you said something she couldn’t decipher in return.

She only looks back to Joel when Maria calls his name, earning both her and said man to look. He sent her a nod before departing, smiling when his brother greeted him.

her green eyes looked to her drink, swaying it as pieces of her auburn hair filled her peripheral vision.

Ellie kept trying to deny the feeling that devoured her insides. the gut-wrenching, nauseating, body heating feeling of jealousy. It ate her alive.

She would never admit to it, not ever.

Her eyes trailed back to you again; wishing she was the one beside you, wanting to be the one making you laugh— needing to be the one so close.

your eyes looked up and locked with hers, the feeling that was life threatening consuming you both.

Your smile grew impossibly bigger, quickly excusing yourself from the boy you were speaking with and walking to ellie.

Your hair was up, neck and collar bones showing attractively, your shirt was unbuckled just enough to show a little more than wanted skin. Ellie snapped her eyes away from anywhere below your eyes, no smile on her face even after you got so close she could smell you.

“Hey, els. why are you here alone? where’s jesse and dina?” you question, brows furrowing in the way she loved too much.

“i dunno.” she responded dully, sipping her drink and looking away from you.

your lips shaped into a frown, bottom lip sticking out.

“Are you okay?”

“yeah. I’m great.” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes and slamming her jar down, pushing her chair out and grabbing her coat.

“ellie, where are you going?” you hurry after, pushing through the crowd of people in a desperate attempt to follow her. she shuffles her jacket on, brutally shoving people out of her way and successfully making it to the door— with you close behind.

The cold night hair blows into Ellie’s face, her hair flying up before falling out of place. She tried to ignore your voice, calling out to her from not too far away.

“wait up! why are you leaving already?” you pant once you finally reach her, blowing warm air into the palms of your hands to try and remain comfortable.

She didn’t reply, stuffing her hands in her pockets as you two walk side by side.

“ellie?”

“ugh— what? what do you want?” she snapped, stopping dead in her tracks.

“I just asked you, like, three times. why are you leaving?”

“Probably because I want to? it was a shit party, anyways.” she replied, eyes scanning you shortly before darting away. “You could’ve come to where I was. we were having fun, you would’ve liked it.” you remarked, crossing your arms.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes for the second time tonight. “and interrupt your little.. love affair? No thanks.”

your eyes widened at her comment, brows furrowing confusedly.

“what are you taking about?”

“you think I didn’t see the way you were looking at that guy?” she retorted, voice raising. “i’m not an idiot.”

“it wasn’t like that! he’s just my—”

“let me guess, your ‘friend’?”

“Yes! he is, I swear.” your voice sounded pleading, as if you needed her to believe you.

Ellie brushed you off when she began walking again, leaving you to follow after her a second time.

“Ellie! why are you so upset? he’s only my friend, I was just having a good time. is that not allowed anymore or something?” You grabbed her arm, making her stop just before she ripped it away from your grasp.

“God— you’re so annoying! just.. go back to the party and leave me alone.” she exclaimed, regretting it immediately upon seeing your face.

“What did I do? I’m not leaving until I can properly apologize,” you insisted, raising your own voice. “here’s what you did; you stared at that guy like you wanted to fuck him!” She shouted, watching as you flinched.

your mouth fell open, eyes widening as you stare up at her. “what? fuck Matt? Ellie, He’s gay!” you yelled angrily, exasperated by her ridiculous attitude. The widen of her green eyes told you just how little she knew.

“I.. I told you that. were you not even listening?” you whispered, licking your lips.

“and why the hell are you so upset, anyways? I can fuck whoever I want and it shouldn’t bother you, it’s none of your business.”

Your words seemed to make her more upset, her face flushing with anger.

“Whatever! You’re right! go fuck some 50 year old for all I care!”

You groaned loudly, slapping your hands over your face. “Don’t say that! Why would you say that! Why is everything I do such a problem for you, ellie? i thought we were friends, we’re supposed to be with each other, not against each other. what’s up with you?” uncovering your face, your eyes met her’s—and her expression was unreadable.

It was unlike any you’ve ever seen. It had so many words, so many emotions you didn’t know where to begin.

“..ellie..?”

her jaw clenched, eyes flickering down to your lips before she let out an angry sigh.

“fuck it— I love you, Okay? I’m— fucking in love with you.”

your jaw almost met the floor, cheeks heating up instantly. Your eyes were wide, and ellie was obviously embarrassed.

“You’re… in love with me?” you voiced aloud, eyes looking to the floor.

Ellie knew she shouldn’t have said it. Now not only did she lose the one she loves, she also most likely lost her best friend.

“fuck— i.. I shouldn’t have said anyth—”

She was cut off by a pair of soft lips on hers. Ellie’s eyes shot wide, you were kissing her, and it wasn’t a dream.

As if on instinct, she kissed you back. Hands subconsciously clutching your waist as her lips made a song with yours. It was desperate, it was needy. You were greedy as they moved in an indescribable rhythm, matching perfectly like puzzle pieces. You wrapped your arms around her neck, holding tightly.

ellie felt you push harder against her, so close she could feel your every curve.

she moved from your waist to your hips, gripping you in a bruising grip.

Hums of pleasure escapes you the longer the kiss continued, urging ellie to continue; to keep it going.

You pulled away, though. Gasping for air desperately, meeting her eyes.

“I.. I fucking love you too, Ellie.”

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spookie-bitch · 5 months ago

Text

Perfect To Me

Pairings: Lady Lesso x Fem!Reader Contains: Comfort, fluff TW: Age gap (legal ofc), perfectionism AN: Requests are open <3

You would've never considered yourself a perfectionist, or even an overachiever. You knew that nothing was perfect and that people made mistakes. Despite this, your subconscious seems to exclude you from said people, and your school work from said nothing.

Staring at the bird pecking in rankings, you’d usually be surprised that you went down a rank. However, today was different. You absolutely flunked the challenge in Professor Castor's class. You were so tired you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but stare in despair.

Your name next to the 2 felt like a punch to the gut. The first to lose. The longer you stared at the rank, the more it sunk in, and the worse you started to feel. Anxiety started to wrack its way through your mind.

“Did everyone know?” “They probably thought I was pathetic.”

You ran your fingers through your messy hair, your hands shaking. The sleepless nights spent studying are shown in your disheveled appearance. You might have normally cared, but right now, you had bigger problems.

As you walk to your dorm room, every hushed voice and whisper felt personal. They were talking about you. They thought you were a failure. You felt like a failure.

Closing the wooden door behind yourself, you feel tears of shame and irritation build in your eyes. You refused to let them fall—crying wouldn't fix it.You leaned your back against the door, sliding down until you were sitting on the cold floor. The room was silent, but your mind was anything but. A million thoughts raced through your head, each one louder than the last.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to steady your breathing. You couldn’t let this break you. You had to get up, keep going, prove that you weren’t a failure.

Pushing yourself up and off the floor, you grab one of the textbooks on your bedside dresser. As you plop down on the bed, you open the textbook to the page marked by your notes. You spend the whole night going over them. Hours tick by and the pages start to blur together into a heap of meaningless words. Despite your best efforts, you can't seem to retain a single thing you've read.

Your eyes grow heavy and begin to burn as the first rays of morning light shine through the window. You hear the soft hum of activity outside your dorm room as the campus starts to wake up. You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your forehead in a worthless attempt to soothe your oncoming headache.

You get up with a groan, putting your books back into your bag. You change into a fresh pair of clothes, not bothering to brush your hair or really do anything else. You were so drained that you didn't care how disheveled you looked.

“At least now I look how I feel,” you thought to yourself, glancing into the mirror.

A few minutes later, you make your way to your first class of the day, your mood only worsening by the looks cast in your direction. The day only got worse from there, if that was even possible at this point. By your fourth class, you were ready to quit.

“Let them turn me into a tea kettle,” you thought, “at least nobody would expect anything of me.”

You found the corner of the dimly lit hallway, your shoes clicking on the stone of the floor. You did not want to deal with Lesso today. You always felt weird around her and you didn't like it.

Sitting in your seat near the front of the class, you were almost sure she would comment on your appearance. She was blunt, and spoke her mind, but to your surprise, she said nothing. She merely glanced at you, something you couldn't recognize flickering behind her emotionless eyes.

“Probably disgust,” you thought to yourself, your eyes lingering on her for a moment longer.

Five minutes into the lesson you zoned out so hard you could no longer hear the clicking of Lesso’s cane as she paced around the front of the room. What you did hear, was the loud thwack of the cane hitting your desk, pulling you out of your daze.

“Pay attention, Miss y/n,” scolded Lesso, the only noticeable emotion detectable in her voice being mild annoyance. And then she went on with the lesson. You’d expected her to send you to the doom room or something, but you were let off with a gentle scolding.

You zoned out again, wondering why you hadn't gotten in more trouble. Lesso wasn't exactly known to be nice, or even lenient. You were more than sure she saw that you still weren't paying any attention, but she didn't acknowledge it.

You didn't hear when the wolves howled, signaling the start of your trek to your next class, too busy in your own head.

A quiet voice broke through the fog. “Shouldn’t you be heading to your next class?” You looked up, blinking as Professor Lesso stood before you, her gaze sharp yet strangely soft.

“Oh, I’m- I'm sorry professor, I-”

“Are you okay?” She cut your stuttered out sentence off with three words you never thought you'd hear from her lips. You could hear something alien in her voice—concern. It was faint, but it was there. You started to feel weird, her presence starting to fully register.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the question press down on you. Your chest tightened.

“I'm- I'm fine,” You finally said, your voice barely a whisper. It didn't sound believable, not even to your own ears.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone wasn't harsh, but it was firm. You could tell by the way she said it that she wasn't looking at you, but rather in you. It made your face flush, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable.

“I just…” you started, your voice wavering as you tried to find the right words. “I’m tired. I messed up. She knelt slightly, bringing herself closer to your level, her posture uncharacteristically open.

“You push yourself so hard, y/n. Too hard,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The way she spoke your name made your breath hitch. There was an unexpected protective edge in her tone that made your heart skip a beat.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. You found yourself wanting to lean into the touch, but you resisted the urge. Lesso’s thumb grazed your skin, and you could feel your pulse quicken. She was so close, closer than she’d ever been, and you could feel the tension between you, thick and electric.

Her touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though she was unsure if you’d let her in. The contact was soft, but charged with something unspoken.

“You don't have to be perfect,” she murmured, her thumb tracing gentle patterns along your cheek. You found yourself learning closer, pulled in by the intoxicating blend of strength and gentleness that made you feel both safe and unsteady all at once.

Her breath fanned softly against your skin, your heart pounding.

“Lesso…” you whispered. You weren't exactly sure what you were asking for, but the way she looked at you—like you were something precious and fragile—made you want it more. She didn't respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

You melted into her, your hands finding their way to her collar, pulling her closer. With her hand still on your cheek, she cups your jaw and tilts your head back ever so slightly, deepening the kiss. Her touch was gentle and soothing, so much so it brought tears to your eyes.

As Lesso's lips left yours, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, you felt a tear trickle down your face. Then another, and another. Lesso gently wiped the tears with her thumb, her face softening. With her other hand, she gently grabs your wrist and tenderly tugs you out of your seat, standing up straight.

She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into your hair, her voice gentle and reassuring. You let your tears fall, silently sobbing into her chest. After what felt like forever, but you were sure it was no longer than five minutes You sniffled, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You’re perfect to me,” Lesso whispered, her thumb grazing your cheek again. Her arms tightened around you, as if trying to shield you from everything. “You're enough, sweet girl.”

#Sge #school for good and evil #Lady lesso #lady lesso x reader #charlize theron #charlize theron x reader #tsfgae #sfgae #the school for good and evil #leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #Lady Leonora Lesso x reader #Charlize Theron character #sappic

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