#thg AU

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

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

summary. our tributes are to be rounded up, judged by the gamemakers, and ranked 1-12 on skill. what with all that took place the night prior, this should be fun!

content warnings. graphic depictions of abuse (memories), lack of communication, complex emotions (neither of these girls can process their feelings wtf)

total wc. 10,190

notes!! i've got nothing to say here. i talked a LOT in the post-notes tho! so be sure to check those out! anyway,,, once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

09:30.

TRAINING CENTER, GROUND LEVEL.

Echoes of desolation ring throughout the training room. Hardly anyone showed up today, deeming it more salient to practice for the ratings at noon. See, following lunch, everyone will be called by District to the Observation room. Within it will reside the Gamemakers—those responsible for the brutality for the Games each year. There, the tributes will show off their skills and earn a score that ranges from one to twelve. To be given a one is the lowest possible rating, deeming the tribute to be menial; to be given a twelve is, well, unheard of. Nobody has scored a twelve. To earn higher than even an eight is considered incredible.

Anyway, due to today’s peculiarity, most tributes have dedicated the day to rest, not wishing to waste their energy prior to the ratings. Only six people are here, seven with Ellie appended—everyone else having opted for absence. Including you.

Among those present are Sam and Henry, which is unsurprising as they spend every second possible within the training room. As well as Dahlia Hart, the young girl from Eleven, who has yet to venture away from the animal station, a large book clutched in her small hands as she reads about random creatures of her interest. Elliot Delcan from Nine is here as well, too caught up in his own interests to care much for his surroundings. Anthea Solace from One is immersed in a deep conversation with the trainer who teaches tributes to make fishing hooks and nets, though they both seem to have long since abandoned the actuality of their situation. Remy Wilson, your District partner, is present as well, struggling to build a shelter out of sticks and moss.

Ellie is currently being lectured on how to tie a knot. The trainer was stoical for the first twenty minutes, though he’s seemed to lose that sense of patience. But Ellie’s stupid rope won’t bend the way his does, the fibers all frayed and twisted.

“Under, Williams.” The man repeats for the hundredth time. He holds the rope out as he easily ties a bowline knot, forming a perfect circle. His hands move too fast for her to grasp his exact motions. He raises his brows. “See?”

Fuck this. Ellie heaves a heavy sigh, throwing the rope onto the tiled floor before pushing to her feet and storming off. 

As she heads over to a random station across the gym, someone blocks her path. Ellie nearly trips over them, their frame far too small to be jumping out at people like that. She looks down, already irritated. Two feet shorter than her in height, Dahlia Hart’s big brown eyes stare up at her. Ellie’s anger dissipates instantly at the sight of the young girl. There are so many kids in the Games this year. Too many.

“Can I talk to you?” Dahlia asks, tilting a head of coily hair. Her voice is so small, yet her tone remains direct and terse.

“Uh, yeah.” Ellie forces herself to push down any prior—and unrelated—feelings of vexation as she agrees to speak with the girl. She follows Dahlia over to a secluded area of the gym, the two of them partially hidden behind a rack of weaponry. “What’s up?”

“Your ear.” Dahlia speaks lowly, pointing to the gauze that it’s currently wrapped in. 

Ellie had attempted to cover the bandages with her hair this morning, even asking Tilly for some help with a better way to style it, though she couldn’t do much. She simply situated the auburn strands more deliberately before coating her entire scalp in some kind of hairspray that left it feeling oddly solidified in place. 

“What about it?” She attempts to sound casual as she raises a brow at the child. 

“I saw.” She whispers as though they’re sharing some horrible secret. They might be. “Nolan attacked you yesterday. He threw a spear at your head and Y/n defended you. She hit him for breaking the rules and she’s the one being punished.”

The mention of you protecting Ellie sends a shiver down her spine, especially after everything from last night—which she’s been doing a good job at trying not to think about. Thanks a lot, Dahlia.

“She’s a L/n, nothing’ll happen to her.” Ellie assures her shortly, wanting to get out of this conversation as soon as possible.

Dahlia frowns. “I thought you guys were friends.”

Friends. 

What a strange word. It entails so much, yet so little. It describes two people who have known one another their entire life, yet can also describe two people who have spoken thrice. So much room for interpretation. So much room to fuck it all up. 

Ellie thinks of you, though the word doesn’t embody your enigmatic relationship with accuracy. Moonlight on soft skin, smoke in chilled night air, pillowy lips joining of idiotic impulse. Such gentility. But there are other memories as well; a duality. Sharp gazes across crowded rooms, words cryptic when shared in publicity, fists finding purchase in the other’s body during practice.

After you, she thinks of Riley. A friend for life, naught else. Their laughter rang true, the same sound trailing all the way back to their shared youth. To have grown with someone is a special feat that not many are lucky enough to experience. She’s watched Riley’s jaw set with age, her teeth fall out and regrow over the years, her voice roughen with puberty. But now, when she needs that seemingly impenetrable bond most, there’s nothing. A voyage from splendor to oblivion, from brilliance to shadowy nihility. 

Friends. What a joke.

Ellie looks down at Dahlia’s curious eyes and can’t bring herself to get mad at her. It’s not the child’s fault that the world is so cruel, so faulty. She’s yet to be exposed to such torment, and she likely never will. Not after she was Reaped. Not after you inevitably steal the victor’s crown from the hands of twenty-three innocent tributes.

“There can’t be friends in the Hunger Games, Dahlia.” Ellie says solemnly, gaze softening.

“Yes there can.” She speaks as though there's not a doubt in her mind. Perhaps there’s not. Perhaps the purity of youth is all anyone can cling to for a sense of clarity in a world such as this. Dahlia presses her lips together, mouth twisting to the side. “Friends can be made anywhere, my mom said. So long as you’re willing to maintain them.”

“Your mom must be a very wise woman.” 

“Oh, she is. She’s a preschool teacher back in Eleven.” Dahlia says proudly. “She’s had hundreds of kids and she’s never wrong.”

“I suppose teachers rarely are, huh?”

She nods. “They’re the bravest of us all, I think. Nobody else is fearless enough to tolerate such unruly kids, daily.”

“Yeah,” Ellie chuckles.

She’s not exactly the best person to have the conversation with. The entire reason she and Riley met was because they happened to be sneaking out of school at the same time. Ellie was fleeing the concrete building when she spotted Riley scaling the fence, just barely out of sight from the Peacekeepers that patrolled the campus.

Point is, she’s feeling a bit on edge at the moment—speaking to a child about the morality of professors, knowing damn well she was the most disrespectful student any of hers had the displeasure of teaching. Despite this, she manages to maintain a rather monotonous conversation with Dahlia about this, happy to indulge the girl enough to keep her attention away from the initial reason behind their meeting here. She’d withhold this small talk all day, if she needed to.

Anything to keep her mind off of you.

However, the comfortability of the dull discussion is cut off when Dahlia somehow manages to loop the topic right back to Ellie’s ear. And she does it so seamlessly that it’s almost impressive, as if she’d planned it all along.

“Another thing my mom always talks about,” She says, “Is honesty. How good people shouldn’t be punished for bad peoples’ misdeeds.”

The look she gives Ellie’s ear is enough to make her swallow harshly, unable to form a good response to the accusation.

“Y/n is a good person, right? Why is she getting all the effects caused by Nolan’s badness?” Dahlia sounds more like she’s simply thinking aloud rather than speaking to Ellie. “It doesn’t make sense. You should be honest, tell everyone that he hurt you and she was being a good person by defending you.”

“Sorry, kid.” Ellie sighs. “But it’s far more complicated than that.”

“How?” Dahlia shoots back.

Too many ways. First of all, Nolan is a career tribute despite being Reaped from District Ten. He’s trained for brutality and expects to be shown respect. Ellie, albeit unintentionally, dismounted this by fooling him. He’s a victim to the Games just as everyone else is. Second, you weren’t technically defending Ellie. You pushed him for her, sure, but you hit him because of what he’d said about your family. And if that were to be revealed to the Capitol, they’d likely have Nolan turned into an Avox for speaking ill of the L/ns—which is terribly dramatic and unfair on their part. Lastly, Ellie would be seen as weak for needing to be protected. Plus, considering all that’s happened between the two of you, she doesn’t much wish to see you praised for saving her.

“How about this,” Ellie proposes, “Why don’t we go ask Remy what to do? He’d be good friends with Y/n because they’re from the same district, wouldn’t you think?”

“Hmm,” Dahlia hums in thought, “Maybe…”

She places her hands on each of Dahlia’s shoulders and begins to lead her out from behind the weaponry, bringing her back into the gym area with everyone else. She quickly gazes around the room until she spots where Remy remains at the shelter-making station, patiently picking up a stick that’s fallen from the shabby roof. 

He looks up as Dahlia and Ellie approach, his eyes widening.

Ellie hasn’t spoken to Remy, only having seen him in passing. He seems to be far more shy than Dahlia—who is quite outspoken and, as it turns out, unafraid to confront people. His build is far smaller than any of the other kids, appearing to be three years younger than he actually is. His body is thin, topped with a head of curly brown hair and big eyes filled with wonder. 

“Dahlia, meet Remy.” Ellie says, hoping this will manage to get her out of the accusatory conversation regarding her wounded ear. “Remy, meet Dahlia.”

Remy doesn’t have the chance to speak before Dahlia is jumping right to the point. “Your partner, Y/n, did you notice anything odd about her last night?”

Ellie is a bit impressed, as well as grateful, that she’d refrained from blurting out the entire situation to him. She knew there was a high chance someone had witnessed the entire scene, though she was far more caught up in other issues to care much for possibilities such as that. Dahlia’s refrain is a good sign that she won’t go around telling random people.

“She–” Remy blinks, his brown eyes flicking between Ellie and Dahlia repeatedly. His hands begin to fiddle with the stick he’s still holding onto. He makes an expression of discomfort, revealing his crooked teeth with gaps between each one. “I– uh, I don’t talk to her much. She was in her room all last night, I think. I didn’t see her. Not– She didn’t show up to dinner, I don’t think.”

“Did she talk to your mentor about anything related to Nolan?” Dahlia interrogates him, leaning closer with wide eyes. Remy looks terrified as he takes a careful step away from her. 

“Nolan?”

“Yeah.” Dahlia nods. “He’s the buff guy from Ten. Did they mention him?”

“I–I don’t know what they talk about.” He tells her shakily. “They don’t talk much. If they do, it’s private. Or– Well, sometimes they argue? I dunno. They’re weird.”

Ellie frowns, thinking of the things you’d told her about your brother—you two were best friends as kids until he was Reaped. It vaguely reminds her of Riley and herself. She imagines a small child watching them in the suite. Having to bear witness to the tension and unspoken words. That must be a heavyweight on his shoulder, on all of your shoulders.

She pats Dahlia on the head before she can interrogate him further. “Alrighty. Let’s leave him alone for now, yeah?”

“But–”

“C’mon,” She says, “You can show me what animals you were reading about.”

This seems to excite the girl, brown eyes lighting up. She grabs Ellie by the wrist and tugs her toward the animal station. As she’s pulled away from Remy, she casts a glance over her shoulder just in time to see his frown. He’s twisting the stick in his hands as he stares at the floor, expression saddened. He’s never looked smaller.

Dahlia sits Ellie down on the wooden bench and begins telling her all about the random creatures in her book. She nods along to what she’s saying, though her mind is elsewhere. On Remy, on you.

Is Remy disheartened because of Dahlia's pushiness to know about you? Or is it about the Games in general? If it’s to be the former, Ellie wonders why. Nothing too bad could happen within the suite considering the abundance of cameras around the center. Does he have issues back home that plague his mind, or is it just you? Ellie wishes desperately that she could see all that’s happened within the fourth floor. Just for a few moments. Just for a few answers.

Not only to uncover the root to Remy’s despondency but also for her own selfishness. A beastly feeling that rears its head in your proximity. The desire to know more, more, more about you. It sickens her to know that this is what the entire Capitol feels—an insatiable yearning to become acquainted with the L/ns. She’s nothing more than one of them, yet another poor soul to have fallen in the trap of your lineage.

But, worse than that, she can’t seem to hate you for it. She’d gotten to know you quite well in the past few days. Even if it were all a trick of your own concoction, she can’t stop thinking of those words you’d shared in regards to Cat. 

“We weren’t much of anything before we were nothing.” Ellie had said.

“Yet you were still something.” You pointed out. “That’s what matters.”

Perhaps there’s a common denominator here, and it’s Ellie. She’d been with women before, and plenty of them. Her first relationship was when she was in year six, having dated a girl for two days before they broke up over something childish and dumb. Then, in highschool, she dated Riley for half of a year, though they eventually came to realize that they work best as friends. Then there was Cat—a girl she met at the Hob while selling her quarry. They were sleeping together on and off for two years before the Reaping, never having assigned the title of girlfriend to their relationship. 

Ellie has no idea what your dating history looks like, but she’s certain it’s not as pathetic as her own. She’d never been with anyone seriously. Even when she was with Riley, they didn’t do anything more than hold hands and kiss. And Cat hardly counts in actuality—though the emotional effects remain prominent despite the lack of acknowledgement. 

She’s annoyed that you left her, yes, but there had to be something more. You kissed her as though you were just as desirous as she. Plus, the look of fear in your eyes when you pulled away pointed to something other than a mere change of heart.

Her hopes were to talk to you today, to sort through everything that's happened. But you didn’t show up to training, which she should have expected. Maybe she’ll be able to catch you in the halls or something. As long as it takes place before the Games, she hardly minds the circumstantial location. Because as soon as you’re all placed into the arena, there’s no possibility that she’ll be able to have a conversation with you. And, even if you two miraculously ran into each other, your words would have to be cryptic due to the cameras.

It might be pathetic, but Ellie doesn’t even care what happens. Regardless of whether you scream at her or hug her, the ending will be the same—her dead in the arena as you exit as a Diamond. She just wants closure before she’s killed. Because this has been driving her insane all day. She slept a total of thirty minutes last night, actually.

“-–And this is a tree-rat.” Dahlia says as Ellie turns back into her words. “They’re Capitol made, I believe. Look at their snouts, that’s not evolutionarily induced.”

Ellie nods, humming as Dahlia points to the photograph on the laminated page before she begins reading out the paragraph below it that explains the animal’s function. Her voice is so soft, her fingers so thin. It’s absolutely monstrous that she’s expected to fight to the death in the arena. Especially when the ages this year stretch so high. 

After a conversion with Joel last night over dinner, Ellie found out that the tributes from Twelve are in their late forties. Due to the lack of children in their District, middle-aged citizens took up the majority of the slips of paper. In Twelve, hundreds of kids die everyday due to starvation. Even if a child were to be Reaped, they’d likely have killed themself upon seeing the food on the train—accidentally filling their bellies too full.

The men seemed ominous when Ellie saw them during prior training days, looming over the other tributes creepily. Joel informed her that their names were David and James. David has a red nose and grey hair parted in the side. James is always wearing a beanie over his greasy hair, sticking to David like glue.

Ellie looks across the room at Remy’s crooked smile as he finally finishes creating a shelter. A few stations down, Sam is getting better at creating a fire, Henry cheering loudly whenever he manages to create a spark. She then gazes down at Dahlia’s expression of excitement as she goes on about a random fish. These kids are so innocent, so undeserving of this fate. There’s also Cooper Whitlock from Eleven and Lev from Two. 

Never, in the history of the Games, have so many children been Reaped. This year’s arena must be especially brutal.

10:42.

TRAINING CENTER, FLOOR 4.

You’ve hardly left your room today, seeking the comfort of privacy. You’d lowered the temperature last night so the air is freezing, causing you to burrow under your heavy blankets with heightened vehemency. Plus, the metallic machine built into the wall beside your door can materialize food, so there’s really no reason to leave. You have everything you need.

You’ve fallen in and out of slumber all morning, your dreams filled with distorted images of various people in your life—Ruben, your mother, Remy, Ellie, Alice. It’s disturbing, the malformity. Each dream ends the same, causing you to wake with a jolt every time. It ends with a very distinct sound. Your mother’s cane slamming against tiled flooring. The word ‘again’ ringing through your ears in a gravelly voice that sounds like a mix of everyone’s. Over time, as you’ve experienced this over and over, the sound starts to remind you of something else. Of a lighter falling from a pocket.

“Again.” The mangled voice croons, hot breath tickling the back of your neck. You oblige, body fatigued with overexertion. You try your hardest to train without fault, to be perfectly flawless in each move you make. But, as always, you misstep. Right beside your ear, a loud clacking sound is heard. It’s so loud, reverberating through your skull as the floor shatters beneath your feet.

You jolt awake, chest heaving as you sit up in your bed. Despite the cold air of your room, you’re coated in sweat. Just like each time prior to this, you have to look around to remind yourself that the dream wasn’t real. 

A half-eaten plate of food sits on your nightstand, thin rays of sunlight struggling to squeeze between your closed curtains. On your desk resides an abandoned notebook with a minimum of twenty pages torn from the spine. It wasn’t real. It was a dream. Again.

Just as you begin to burrow down into the bed, a knocking is heard at the door. Knuckles on wood, wood on metal, metal on tile. It all sounds the same. Knocking, clacking, clanging. A fist, a cane, a lighter. With a deep breath, you sit upright and attempt to straighten out your hair.

“Come in.” You call out, though your fingers continue to battle with the tangled strands.

The door creaks open and Ruben’s head pokes through the crack. His expression is soft as he speaks harshly, “It’s almost noon, get off your ass.”

You lift your head, recognizing the look in his eye. He doesn’t mean his words, they’re forged by the Capitol. He’s unable to speak his mind, even in the privacy of your assigned bedroom. But this isn’t your bedroom, is it? It’s the equivalent to a pigpen where animals for slaughter are kept prior to their death. There’s nothing comforting about that.

You kick the blanket from your body, suddenly feeling disgusted by it all. 

Ruben continues to watch you from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest to paint a facade of impatience. He sighs, “You look horrible.” 

This statement is actually true. You’ve yet to take a shower or brush your hair, still wearing the outfit that you’d worn while watching a movie with him last night. The ratings are in an hour and a half, just enough time for you to clean yourself up.

“I’ll take a shower then come down for lunch.” You say, feigning obedience.

“Good.” Ruben speaks harshly before turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. That was a nice touch, you ought to admit.

You remain in your bed for a few moments even after he’s left, staring at the wall as your mind reels. You’ve yet to give yourself time to process things—anything. Whenever your brain begun to stray, you’d simply fallen back asleep. Now that that’s no longer an option, you feel as though you’re drowning in your own thoughts. Good thing you’re from Four, you’re rather skilled at staying afloat.

With a deep inhale, you stand from the bed. Cold air licks down your spine, tracing goosebumps along the entirety of your skin. Shivering, you walk over to the thermostat and reset the temperature back to a normal setting. You then enter the bathroom and strip out of your nightclothes.

The warm water is heavenly in contrast to the biting air outside of the bathroom. Your body visibly relaxes under the heat, allowing the shower to rain down as you stand there, unmoving.

It reminds you of the sea from Four. Despite only having visited a few times—due to your parents prohibiting any unnecessary expeditions from home—you’d come to love it. The endlessness of the horizon, the sound of crashing waves, the scent of salt. Oh, if you were to live in your ideal oasis, it’d be the ocean. Such tranquility for something deemed to be evil. The ocean is a woman, always has been and always will be. And that in itself is enough to make you fond of her.

You can easily recall the days you and Ruben were brave enough to sneak to the beach. Sand squished beneath your toes as Ruben splashed around in the waves. He’d pick you up by the arms over each comber. You giggled as he hauled you into the air, your eyes shut and mouth wide with delight. 

I mean, it was so close to your home. You needed only to walk three minutes South and you were in the surf. Plus, contradictory to your parents’ beliefs, nobody even noticed the two of you. Until they did.

One time, when your parents were called to the Capitol for a few days for some kind of Diamond party, you and Ruben snuck down to the beach. You had begged him to take you, pleading as he continuously refused. Eventually, however, he gave in—as he always did when it came to you. It was noon when you’d reached the sandy dunes, wind whipping through your hair. You giggled and ran through the hot sediment toward the surf. Ruben, carrying all your belongings, clambered after you with a heavy sigh. You were seven, he was twelve. You were both so blissfully unaware of the calamity that would evoke in the year to follow.

Ruben set up the umbrella and chairs as you darted straight for the water, laughing the whole way down. The waves were rough, stretching far higher than normal. Not that you paid much mind. By the time Ruben joined you in the water, you were deep into the ocean—enough so that your feet came off the ground when the waves rolled in.

“You’re too far out, Y/n, c’mon.” He said, grabbing your wrist as he began to tug you toward the shore. You groaned, though you allowed yourself to be led away. You floated on your back as he gently pulled you through the rippled water.

He stopped once the water was shallow enough to have reached his knees and your belly button. You frowned, “I wanna go deeper, Ru.”

His lips thinned, casting a glance out at the horizon. The waves were huge, white-capping as they curled into themselves. A few, out deeper, even reached three feet in height. Ruben turned back to you with a pointed expression. “Maybe later. It’s too windy right now.”

“Fine.” You huffed, though you weren’t entirely swayed into conduct. 

The two of you ended up having lots of fun, notwithstanding your prior complaints. He taught you the names of different fish, though the ones you were able to see were only varieties of different minnows. He also showed you how to read the tides, explaining the way the moon’s gravity pulls the water like a rope. You didn’t understand it, but appreciated the lesson. As he pointed out at the horizon, moving on to explain the underwater currents, something deep in your chest yearned to venture forth. Like a tether tied you to the deep blue. You ignored it, knowing it’d be best to obey your brother’s orders. He knows best, after all.

The sun moved along its coast through the sky, inching lower as the hours ticked by. By the time pink clouds were beginning to feather through the vacant blueness, Ruben decided it was time to eat something. He’d packed the ingredients to make fish sandwiches, stored away in his green bag that sat by the umbrella. 

“Can I swim for a little while longer?” You asked him. 

“Fine.” He gave in instantly. “But only while I prepare the food. Once it’s done, you’re eating with me, okay?”

“Okay!” You agreed, nodding with a wide smile.

He kissed you on the head before wading through the water back to the sand. You watched him go, salty water trickling down his scarred legs as he crouched into the sand. He dug through the bag, his back facing you.

You turned toward the water, cupping your hands around your eyes as you looked for the fish he’d taught you about. You see a school of shiners and a few fatheads. Then, a large shadow catches your gaze. Childish curiosity filled you as the huge fish swam through the seagrass. Eyes still downcast, you began to follow it. As the fish sped up, so did you. Giggling, you wandered deeper into the water as the fish swam out to sea. Before you knew it, the waves were washing over your head.

A particularly large wave swiped your feet out from under you, causing your entire body to be pulled under the wash. You resurfaced a few feet away from where you’d just been, the current having tugged you away like a puppet. You coughed, throat burning with salt as you treaded water. 

“Ru?” You called out in a rough voice. You spun in a circle only to find water on all sides of you. The waves kept coming, washing you under the surface. Panic gripped you by the neck as your legs kicked in the water. You began to cry. “Ruben!”

Another wave, another shout. You began to see the sand in the troughs of the waves, golden  and glistening like a beacon. Your arms were getting tired, the current only pulling you farther and farther from shore. Suddenly, someone was grabbing your wrist. Young, alone, and taught to trust nobody, you instantly kicked them in the breastbone. 

Cursing under their breath, the person released you. It was a stranger, a middle aged woman who was big enough to touch the ground with her feet. You breathed hard, tears streaking your salty face. She sputtered, looking up at you with a worried expression. It quickly faded to astonishment as her eyes widened in recognition. “You’re Y/n L/n.”

You continued to stare at her, still treading water and still crying. You called for Ruben again, which only confirmed her suspicion. 

“I can take you to him.” She claimed, holding out her hand.

A mixture of youthful naivety and lack of choices caused you to take her hand. She held you on her hip as she walked through the water. You continued to cry as she attempted to make conversation—asking about your family and what you’re doing all alone. You didn’t answer her, uninterested in such small talk.

By the time you reached the shore, Ruben was already running over to you. The moment you saw him, you kicked the woman hard in the side and caused her to drop you into the sand. You quickly pushed to your feet and ran to your brother, sobbing incoherent apologies. He ran his fingers through your hair, pressing kisses to your head as he assured you that everything was fine now that he knew you were okay.

That night, word got back to your parents in the Capitol. Word of their children causing quite the scene at a beach. You two had made headlines within a few hours—’Little Y/n L/n, lost at sea, saved by a kind passerby who she’d repaid with violence. Sounds like she’s already an innate victor with such instinctive barbarity.’

Your parents came home earlier than planned, having stormed into the house in the middle of the night. You’d been curled up against Ruben when they slammed open the bedroom door and flipped on the light. You had barely rubbed the sleep from your eyes when your father clamped his hands around your ankles and tore you from the bed. You slammed against the floor, instantly woken.

He held out a crumpled newspaper, “What the fuck is this?”

“I–” Your eyes were wide as a bruise already began to form on your back where you’d smacked the hardwood floor. “I don’t know what–” “I told her it was a good idea.” Ruben spoke up from the bed, voice quiet and shaky. You were taken aback by the blatant lie, though he didn’t back down. “I knew you guys would be gone for two days and– Well, I’d always wanted to go to the beach, so…”

That did it. That was enough for your parents to redirect the blame. 

You’d so rarely seen your father. He was always holed up in his home within the victor’s village. But he was beckoned to the Capitol alongside your mother and so they likely heard the news in unison. As such, they decided to act on their unanimous rage together.

As a child as young as you were, it’s expected to have missed your father. Even in knowing of his faults and abusiveness, you still yearned for his being in your life. This night erased that with entirety.

You spent the rest of that night sobbing in your bed. You trembled under your blankets, your pillow clutched to cover your ears from the sounds of your brother’s screams. You could hear the noises of impact before another scream left him. Or, more worryingly, you wouldn’t hear him getting hit. Just the screams.

Needless to say, that was your last visit to the beach.

And the last time your parents ever trusted you guys enough to leave you home alone.

As the warm water washes over your body, relaxing your tensed muscles, you can’t help but feel that same sense of guilt that you had all those years ago. Lying in your bed, cold and alone, naught but shame crept up your throat.

That same sense of self depreciation embodies you now. For what, however, you’re nescient. It could be for causing Ruben to put on a facade of hatred for the Capitol; it could be for having left Ellie last night due to your own past misery. But both are lucid, right? Ruben knows you hit Nolan for a reason and admitted to having forgiven you. And Ellie is one of the most understanding people you know. Tonight, when the two of you meet on the roof, you’ll explain everything. She’ll listen, as she always does. She’ll forgive you, because that’s the type of person she is.

You didn’t attend training today because you couldn’t seem to pull yourself from bed. 

Last night, after the events on the roof, you snuck into Ruben’s bedroom in the dark of night. Just as you’d promised. The two of you watched a movie, just as you had as kids. It was awkward at first—sitting a few feet away from each other and not speaking a word. But, as time passed, that familiar sense of comfortability overtook you both. This wasn’t Ruben, the morphling Capitol Diamond. This was Ru, your big brother.

You turn off the faucet and wrap yourself in a towel, dripping water onto the tiled floor. The bathroom is huge, stretching to be at least thirty feet long and ten feet wide. The mirrors are fogged and you wipe your hand across the glass to see your reflection. There are bags under your eyes. Part of you wants to cover every inch of your skin in makeup to conceal the lack of sleep you’d gotten. But another, more satisfying, part of you wishes to show up to the Observation room a mess. The Gamemakers love your brother for his beauty. They’re likely itching to get their eyes on you, praying to the heavens that you’ll be just as easily exploited. 

“Hurry up!” Ruben calls through the door. “Your outfit is sitting on the bed.”

Every tribute is to wear an identical outfit so as to not flaunt individuality. To the Capitol, the tributes are no more important to them than a blade of grass crushed beneath their boots. For them to showcase their personalities and feelings would be to make themselves personified, human.

You leave the bathroom, dress into your assigned clothing, and head to the living room. Everyone is already waiting there. Alice is crouched down, fiddling with Remy’s messy curls. Ruben is leaned against the wall, watching. When he spots you, his lips tug upward in fondness. He’s quick to hide it, but not quick enough for it to have gone unnoticed. Not by you at least, perhaps by the cameras though.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbles.

You shoot him a look just as feigned. “I just couldn’t get enough of Capitolistic delicacies. Their showers here are wonderful.”

Ruben has to look away to avoid laughing at your evident sarcasm. Alice looks up, appearing pleased by your display of appreciation, unaware of its insincerity. She stands to her feet, brushing her hands on her frilly skirt. “That’s good to hear, Y/n, I’m glad you’re finding comfort here.”

“As am I.” You smile.

Ruben falls into a coughing fit. You know him well enough to recognize this as a way to hide his laughter—a trick you’d both abused at the dinner table with your parents. When he’d make a comment that went over your father’s head or when you’d make a face to mock your mother. Coughing was always a good way to shield humor.

Once he’s managed to regain sanity and Alice has finished tampering with Remy’s mused curls, the four of you head down to the cafeteria. In the elevator, Ruben turns to you.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He says.

“It’s just an evaluation,” You roll your eyes at him, “I think I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a pointed look. “I know you. I know you’ll be tempted to do something foolish. All I’m asking is that you don’t act on impulse.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The elevator doors open to reveal a bustling hallway. Tributes, mentors, and escorts walk around. Mentors give their final pieces of advice, escorts attempt to tidy up appearance, and tributes try not to puke from nerves. 

You try to pick out the people you recognize. Nora Harris, the mentor for District Eight, speaks gently with a nervous Raven Hansley. You hardly remember Raven from training because all she did was study plants and animals, never practicing any sort of combat. A few feet down the hall from them, Dina Woodward is braiding Dahlia’s hair. She speaks soothingly to the child, her hands moving with gentility. Even farther down, Abigail Anderson is speaking with Owen Moore—the mentor for District Ten—in a hushed voice. 

Mentors and escorts are prohibited entry into the Observation room. They’re not even allowed into the cafeteria where you’ll wait for your name to be called. They have the choice to either head back to their suite or wait in the hall for their tributes to return. Seems like most of them have yet to enter the cafeteria, even. 

It takes less than a minute before Ruben is pulled into a conversation with another mentor. You turn and recognize her to be Thea Thatcher—Thalia’s older sister. She won the 68th Games. Thea starts small talk with Ruben, which he returns kindly. You find the conversation a bore, though you remain at his side, scowling at her silently. Remy doesn’t dare stray far either, practically clinging to Alice as she starts a conversation with Tilly down the hall. You turn in her direction, squinting. But you don’t see Joel—or Ellie—anywhere. She must already be inside waiting.

Slowly, the crowd begins to disperse. The tributes enter the cafeteria and the mentors either take their leave or remain in wait. You see that Abigail and Owen both leave once their tributes have entered, though Dina stands in the hallway to wait for her youthful tributes’ return. She’ll be waiting a while, though, seeing as they’re from Eleven.

You make a mental note of all the mentors you didn’t see. The ones that likely arrived earlier than everyone else. Teresa Servopoulos from Three, Maria and Joel Miller from Five and Seven, Bill from Nine, and Stephen Lawrence from Twelve. Everyone else, you spotted in the hallway at least once. These are the people who, either don’t give a shit about formalities and didn’t care to show up, or care a lot arrived prematurely.

“C’mon, then.” Ruben says once Thea has long since left. “I think Alice already walked Remy inside, I don’t see either of them.”

You nod in agreement, walking with him down to the cafeteria. You pass Dina, Thea, Nora, and Jordan who have all decided to wait for their tributes. Thea, you can understand, because Thalia is her sister and she’ll return sooner than anyone else seeing as she’s from One. Going back to the suite would be pointless, really. Dina, you know, is big hearted and is waiting because of how young her tributes are. You don’t know much about Nora, but you know one of her tributes is Deaf, so perhaps that’s a reason behind why she’s waiting. You respect Ashley though, you don’t pity her. She’s strong, more so than a lot of the other tributes. You’re sure she’ll make it far in the Games. And Jordan, who is the mentor for Roland and Archie—the lovers from Six—you’re completely unsure of why he’s waiting.

“You’re so nosey.” Ruben says, nudging you along as he notices your staring.

“I’m just observant.” You reply. “It’s a good habit to have.”

“I suppose.” He shrugs before pushing the cafeteria door open for you. Just before you’re able to walk through, he places a hand on your shoulder. You turn to him. “Remember what I said about your impulsiveness. Don’t be reckless.”

You shrug his hand away, giving him an expression of reassurance. “I got it, Ru, don’t worry.”

He nods, though it’s clear that you did little to ease his nervosity. The doors shut behind him and you enter the cafeteria. Large, circular tables are spread across the room. Most people have paired up by District, sitting with their partners from the Reaping. There’s also the Careers, who have already formed their group prior to the Games.

You see where Ellie sits beside Riley. Dahlia has also joined them, appearing to be talking Riley’s ear off. Brows furrowed, you look around for her District partner, Cooper Whitlock. Then you see him and oh. Oh, that poor boy. He’s joined up with the Careers. 

You turn back to where Dahlia sits, only to find that Ellie’s eyes are pinned on you. The hairs on your neck rise at the feel of her gaze piercing straight through you. You know exactly what she’s communicating. With a twitch of her brow, you know. She has no clue why you left last night. Yet you’re both aware that you’re doomed. From the very start, you’re doomed.

You consider walking over there and explaining it. Saying everything that begins to bubble in your throat. But then you catch another sight in your peripheral. Remy. He’s sitting all alone at a small metal table, his leg bouncing with nerves. With one last apologetic glance shot Ellie’s way, you turn on your heel and head toward him.

She’ll understand. She’s kind and compassionate and she will. She will understand when you explain everything tonight. When you explain that your mother’s ghost still haunts you; when you explain that the kiss you shared was rapture incarnate; when you explain that, despite the perfection of the moment, it can never happen again; when you explain that the Games are a wall built to keep the two of you separate, that’s how it is and that’s how it forever will remain. She’ll understand because she’s Ellie and she’s never done anything wrong.

“Thalia Thatcher from District One.” A scratchy voice calls over the intercom. Immediately, the girl stands from her table and walks over to the Observation room with a high held chin. Her hair is platinum blonde and perfectly straight as she walks past your table, brown eyes contorted into a sharp glare. Okay, then. Fuck her too.

It’s twenty minutes before the next name is called. Anthea Solace from One. She spends thirty minutes in the room before Lev from Two is called. Then Yara. Each tribute takes between twenty to forty minutes during evaluation. Throughout it all, the cafeteria is completely silent, waiting for the next name to be announced. This evaluation is the make or break of a tribute’s reputation. It’s the only way to show off your skills prior to the Games. The only way to show the sponsors your skill via the rating you’re given. Nobody will know what happens within the Observation room, but everyone will see the score. It’s imperative that it’s high.

Ellie’s eyes remain pinned on you for the entire two and a half hours that you wait for your name. The whole time, you refuse to look in her direction. You sit beside Remy, your back straightened. His knee has yet to cease its bouncing, eyes blown wide in anxiety. The tension in the room is so high that you’re almost glad to hear your name called.

You stand from the table, the entire cafeteria silent as you walk over to the double doors that lead to the hallway. You push them open and walk down to the Observation room. The door is heavy, though you find that the air within hangs even heavier.

The floors are concrete, walls lined with various weapons to choose from. There are targets for archery and knife throwing, dummies for spears and swords. High above, a small room overlooks the gym. Within it resides the Gamemakers. They sit on plush couches with tables full of warm foods and bubbly drinks. They live in luxury, haphazardly giving scores to tributes without much care. Without thinking of how this can end someone’s life.

They stare down at you with anticipation, expressions ranging from greed to hunger to lust. Your stomach churns as you look up at them. They’re excited. They’re leaning forward to watch you with wide eyes, itching to see what you do. You’re your father’s son, your brother’s sister. You’re bound for greatness and they cannot fucking wait to see you in the arena. Can’t wait to see how you fight to survive. How you look when you’re hungry, when you’re killing someone, when you’re bathing.

What weapon will you grab? How long will you take? What score will you get?

Overcome with disgust and rage for the Capitol, you make an impulsive decision. You hadn’t known, at first, what Ruben meant by recklessness. It was just an evaluation. You walk in, throw a few knives, and leave. But now? Under their beady-eyed appetency? You know exactly what he was telling you not to do. And you do it.

With a scoff, you turn on your heel and exit the room. You won’t give them a show. You don’t feed their yearning stomachs. You won’t provide them with anything they can use against you. You won’t play their Games.

14:32.

TRAINING CENTER, CAFETERIA.

You only spent a minute in the Observation room. The next name is called almost immediately after you. Ellie’s brow creases in confusion. Everyone else spent roughly half an hour each. And yet, here you are, always managing to stand out.

It irks her.

Yesterday, she’d have been overcome with piqued interest and wide eyes. But not now. Not after you left her last night, didn’t show up to training, and blatantly ignored her in the cafeteria. She knew it would happen. She knew you wouldn’t be able to speak to her. But, for some reason, it still pisses her off to know that you value your reputation above her.

And she knows it’s stupid. You two have only known each other for three days and spent the majority of our time together illegally smoking. But still. And she’s even more angry at herself for being angry in the first place.

Another hour passes before Riley’s name is called. She doesn’t say a word, standing from the table and leaving silently. They’ve still yet to speak. And that adds yet another weight on Ellie’s chest. It’s too much all at once and she thinks the tonnage might crush her like an insect. 

“Are you nervous?” Dahlia’s voice is below a whisper as she speaks.

Ellie gives her a small smile. “Everyone is.”

“Even the strong people over there?” She nods toward the Careers—Lev, Yara, Nolan, Thalia, Violetta, Ashley, and little Cooper. Ellie has no idea why they allowed Cooper into their group, but it can’t be good. Whatever it means, it’ll lead to his demise in the end.

“Yes.” Ellie confirms. “Even them.” Dahlia nods, attempting to ground herself. Just then, the intercom clicks on and a distorted voice comes through the buzzing speaker. “Ellie Williams from District Seven.” She pats Dahlia on the shoulder before standing to her feet. 

Riley spent thirty four minutes in the Observation room. Ellie wishes they still spoke because she’s dying to know what she did. She wishes they could sneak into each other’s room and share their respective stories from the evaluation. But that’s not possible, not now. She enters the room with a sigh.

She doesn’t even look at the Gamemakers before she walks over to the bows and arrows. She can hear their chatter, but pays them no mind. She stands on the white line painted a few yards away from the target. Bow in hand, she holds it out in front of her. She shuts one eye, pulling the arrow back. With a grin at knowing it’ll land perfectly, she lets it fly. Just as anticipated, the point of the arrow lands right on the target. Perfect aim.

Her heart beats fast in her chest. Maybe she’ll get a high score. She looks up at the Gamemaker’s room only to see they’re not even looking at her. They’re getting drunk, talking and laughing together over hearsay. Anger traces through her body, igniting within her bones.

Not a single one watched her.

There’s a fancy lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on a thin chain. It’s the only source of light in their little room. Without thinking, she grabs a second arrow and aims it upward. Urged by vexation alone, she pulls it back as far as it’ll go before releasing it.

The arrow wizzes through the air before the point collides with the thin chain, snapping it easily.

The bulb falls to the floor, glass shattering all around the room. The Gamemakers fall silent within the blackened room. With shock, their heads turn toward the tribute of cause. They hadn’t even been keeping up with who was in the room. But here she is. Ellie Williams. 

She scowls at them deeply for a moment before slamming the wooden bow onto the floor and storming out of the room without dismissal. She slams the door behind her loud enough to cause the mentors waiting in the hall to jolt. They all appear annoyed. Except for Dina Woodward, who looks more amused than irritated. Ellie hates her. 

Well, that was dramatic. She doesn’t have Dina. She hates everything. The residual anger in her body is so overwhelmingly vast that it clouds her vision and tightens her throat. She can hear the muffled announcement of Raven Hansley’s name being called as she enters the elevator. She punches the number seven button. When the doors slide open, her anger hasn’t so much as inched lower. If anything, it seems to be growing. Her hands are shaking and she can’t puzzle out why.

“How was it?” Tilly asks as soon as she enters the suite. She’d barely had time to fucking breathe before the woman is on her. 

Ellie shoots her a glare. “You’ll find out along with everyone else when the scores are revealed.”

“Oh,” Tilly frowns, “Well, then.”

Ellie brushes past her. Joel and Riley are in the sitting room, likely talking about how her evaluation went. Normally, Ellie would rush to join them as she’s eager to hear about Riley’s experience. But not now. Not when her emotions are swallowing her whole.

She enters her room, accidentally slamming the door behind her. She tears the outfit off her body, the high neckline feeling as though it’s choking her. She changes into something more comfortable, opting to spend the next few hours in her bedroom until she has to watch the scores be announced.

She sits at her desk, sketching random items. But nothing looks right. The lines are too choppy, the lighting is completely abstract. She ends up balling up twenty pages before she gives up.

Why is she so mad? It’s no shock, really, that the Gamemakers weren’t paying her any mind. She halfway expected it. There wasn’t that high of a chance that they'd be anticipating her arrival. That they’d give a damn about tributes like her—tributes that weren’t you. She wonders how your evaluation went. Did you walk in, give them a charming smile, and leave? She wouldn’t put it past you. The Capitolites would eat that up. You’d easily earn a fucking twelve for flashing them a grin.

That’s when it registers.

She’s not mad, she’s overwhelmed. All the shit from these past few days is finally coming crashing down on her. That would explain that shaky hands and ragged breathing. She tries a different approach. Instead of forcing herself to sit still and draw something, she lies on her bed and allows her mind to swarm.

Marlene. What was the first thing that she thought when she heard Ellie’s name called? Did her breath hitch? Did her eyes water? Did she feel like her child was being ripped away? Or did she just avert her gaze, not wishing to witness the effects of the Capitol infiltrate into her personal life?

Riley. What the hell is going on inside her head? For the majority of Ellie’s life, she could easily read what she was thinking. She could decipher each and every thought that brushed through her mind. To have been stripped of that, to have a security blanket torn from her? She feels bare and vulnerable. She doesn’t have her best friend to run to, she doesn’t have anyone to confide in.

Which is likely why she found such comfort in you. From the moment she got on that train in Seven, she was advised to stay as far away from you as possible. She was told that you were from a family of murderers and had such blood in your veins. Yet, she refused to heed that warning. She met up with you in secret, smoking illegally with the cigarettes Joel was kind enough to lend her. She confided in you because she was dumb enough to think you’d done the same. But who’s to say you weren’t spouting complete lies? Nobody knows anything about you. Each word that left your mouth could have been untrue and Ellie would have absolutely no way of knowing. Despite this, she kissed you. Or you kissed her. Whatever the small details may be, your lips met nonetheless. 

Which brings her to Cat. For the first time, she allows herself to truly contemplate all that happened regarding her. Sure, the relationship itself was never set in stone. Yes, everything they shared was built on sand. And yes, she ended up slipping right through Ellie’s fingers. But it still felt real. She still cared for her and loved her. Cat explained everything in the Justice Building, Ellie simply hadn't been listening. She was blinded by her own sorrow to recognize that Cat was acting for her. She was acting out of love. She ended things with Ellie because she knew that continuing would only add more layers of  complication. Ellie would go into the arena with a lover back home. No. Not back home. Here, in the Capitol. A stylist. Her stylist. God, how fucked up is that? If anyone were to figure that out, they could both be arrested. Turned into enslaved, muted Avoxes. 

Cat did what she did for Ellie. And she returned the favor by kissing you. By abandoning what they had for you—someone who doesn’t give a single damn about her. Someone who plans on killing her as soon as you’re put into the arena together. How stupid could she be? She needs to get her head screwed on right. She needs to stop evading her feelings to chase momentary bliss. 

A knock at her door grounds her.

Good. 

She needs to explain everything to Joel and Alice. She needs to tell them that she’d just fucked up any chance she had at obtaining sponsors. The Gamemakers are sure to give her a low rank. They might even punish Ellie by killing Marlene—as a way to show that defying the Capitol never ends well. She needs to tell Joel. Maybe he can do something. He’s good at this stuff, right?

Ellie opens her door to see Joel in the doorway. 

“Perfect.” She speaks.

He raises a brow. “What’re you on about?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“I dunno how much time we’ve got.” He rubs the back of his neck, unsure. “They’re ‘bout to air the evaluation scores. I was supposed t’ come get’cha.”

“I’ll be quick.” She promises.

And then she tells him about the evaluation. How she shot an arrow right at the Gamemakers, successfully shattering the lightbulb. Joel looks absolutely appalled, so she hurries to continue speaking before he has the chance. She explains her relationship with Marlene—how she’d raised her, but isn’t technically her mother—and asks him if he thinks the Capitol will punish her for what Ellie did today. 

Once she’s finished, Joel just stares at her for a few seconds. “God, kiddo, you sure know how t’ get into an assload o’ trouble.”

“Answer the question.” She says. “Will they do anything to her?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, plunging his hands in the front pockets of his worn out jeans. “They ain’t gonna kill your ma. They won’t do anythin’ to her unless ya win. If you die in the Games, there’s no point in hurtin’ her. All it’ll do is cost ‘em money. If ya win, though, they can punish her. But I doubt they will. ‘Specially if they end up likin’ you.”

“Well.” Ellie frowns. “I doubt I’ll be winning this year.”

“‘N’ why’s that?”

“There’s no hope for anyone who’s put into an arena with a L/n.” She says. “You know that.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’ve got some good news for ya then.” She raises a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard from a few o’ the other mentors that Y/n did absolutely terrible on her evaluation.” He tells her, voice lowered, like they’re sharing a secret. It reminds her of Dahlia. That girl is always saying things she shouldn't. “They say that she walked in, stood there for a sec’, then walked right on out.”

“Hm.” Ellie thinks on this for a moment.

She knows you went in for less than a minute because she heard how fast they called for the next tribute. But she didn’t wonder if you’d somehow fucked up, she just always assumed that everything you did was genius and intentional.

“C’mon, kiddo.” Joel says, patting her shoulder. “Tilly ‘n’ Riley are dyin’ to see the scores.”

She nods, following him down the hall to the sitting room. Surely enough, they’re both already on the couch waiting for Joel to have fetched Ellie. Riley is in an armchair talking to Tilly, who is sitting on the long couch. Joel takes the other armchair, forcing Ellie to sit beside Tilly.

On the screen, a news reporter is talking about the tributes, working up the audience’s excitement levels. His hair is bright green, just like all the other Capitol people she’s seen thus far. Such an odd fashion trend, vibrancy.

“—And, without further ado, here are the scores.”

The screen travels in order, scrolling down to show each tribute. It has a picture of their face on the right, their name and score placed on the left. Thalia earns an eight, Anthea earns a four. Lev and Yara both get the same score, a nine. Sam receives a six, Henry a seven. Then there’s you. 

“What!?” Tilly blurts out as she sees your score, her upside down eyes blown wide in shock. Even Riley looks taken aback by the number. Joel just chuckles, leaning back with a small grin.

A one. You earned a one. 

The lowest score anyone could possibly obtain and you, a L/n, has managed to get it. The commentator even sounds unsure on what to say, happy to continue scrolling through the tributes. He moves down a bit quicker, trying to get your appalling number off the screen. Remy earned a five, which the news reporter is more than glad to offer comments on. 

Joel must’ve been right. You walked in there and did nothing. Ellie would usually be amused by this, impressed even. But instead, she’s just irritated. You seriously thought you could just waltz in there and get an astonishingly high number. Fucking ego.

Ariadne got a nine, Selene got an eight. Archie earned a five and Roland earned a six. 

And then there’s Riley. She got an eight. Tilly compliments her, grinning widely at the high score. Joel says something kind as well, though he gives Ellie a strange look. Perhaps he’s recalling what she did, knowing her score is next. It’s a bit comforting to know she won’t get lower than you. That’d be impossible. At least she did something.

Her picture comes on the screen alongside her name. Then her number.

An Eleven!

[post] notes!! Okokok idk if I explained any of that well. At all. 😣 Their emotions are so hard to write because THEY don't even know wtf is going on. If u already get the gist of their inner monologue u can skip this, if not I'm gonna give a brief rundown to try & explain a bit better without their mental bias:: Yn is easier to explain so I'll be doing hers first. She thinks that Ellie is an absolute saint - which we all know is #FALSE, but since she's been thru so much as a kid and was so blatantly neglected of attention & love, she instinctively clings to whoever provides her with that (hence her attachment to Ruben and her unknowingly forming attachment to Ellie). Since she and Ellie spent so much time together (it was literally 2 days & a total of like 3 hrs MAX), and she grew to trust her enough to confide in her, she now deems her to be, as I said, a SAINT. Which is why, in her POV, we see her brushing off Ellie's staring & everything bc she's under the impression that Ellie will understand her if she explains. Ellie, on the other hand, is far more complex than merely thinking "omg shes so awesome I trust her, she'll understand! woohoo!". No, Ellie is torn - which was hard to write bc she's unaware of her own division. She trusts and cares for Yn, as anyone in her position would. I mean, shit, we saw the way she literally SWOONED over everything that girl did. But, due to her instantaneous attraction to her, Ellie has now been let down even more harshly. Or, in relation to her Icarus metaphor, "the higher you fly, the farther you fall" and needless to say Ellie flew really high really fast. Which was 100% her fault, but she's under so much pressure that she takes out all the built up frustration induced by Riley, Marlene, the Games, the Evaluation, EVERYTHING, on Yn. Well,, mentally. She's yet to do anything outward. So yeah. Yn thinks Ellie is a perfect angel & Ellie thinks Yn is the devil who's to fault for all things bad. But neither of them know what the other is thinking. YAY! So excited to see how they (healthily) handle this!! ☺️

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[maidragoste]

Chapter Three: He ruined it

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader

Chapter One Chapter Two

A/N: I'm happy to bring you a new chapter of this series, sorry for the delay in publishing and I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments or reblogs. Thank you for reading 🥰🥰💖💖

My inbox is open so I’m always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions 🤭💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes

The elevator ride takes less than a minute since the training rooms are below the floor of your floor, but Jacaerys could still feel the tension in the air. He doesn't know if it's because you're nervous like him about seeing who they'll have to face in a few days or if, like him, you're upset because Larys told you two to spend all your time in public close to each other. Jace doesn't understand the reason behind his uncle's instructions, first, he made you two hold hands at the parade and now it seemed as if he wanted you to become friends while training. Jace doesn't like this, he doesn't want to get attached to you. That would only make things more difficult in the arena, but when he complained his uncle reminded him that he had already promised that he would do whatever he told him. He had to do it if he wanted to return home to Lucerys and Joffrey.

When they both get out of the elevator they find a giant gym full of weapons and obstacle courses. It's not even ten o'clock, yet you two are the last to arrive. The rest of the tributes are gathered in a tense circle, each one has a piece of cloth attached to their shirt with the number of their respective district. While they give his number, Jacaerys in a quick assessment realizes that you two are the only ones who are dressed alike. Was it another way to appear like a united front to others?

Once you and Jacaerys join the circle the head trainer steps forward and introduces herself as Atala and then begins to explain the training schedule, how each position has an expert in the skill in question, that some positions teach tactics survival and other fighting techniques. She also warns that it is prohibited to perform combat exercises with another tribute and that if someone wants to practice with a partner, there are assistants.

“We don't have to be together all the time if you don't want to,” you whispered to him, once Atala finished reading the list of skills and gave them the freedom to start training.

“But Larys said”

“Larys isn't here,” you interrupted, making him frown. “He's not going to know if we don't follow what he tells us one hundred percent.”

“If you don't want to train with me just say it” he snapped, feeling annoyed although it made no sense because he should be happy that you don't want to train with him either after all Jacaerys wanted to avoid spending as much time with you as possible.

“I'm not the one who complained at breakfast,” you reminded him, making him blush and feel ashamed of himself for his attitude. If he weren't so impulsive he would have at least waited for you to go to your room before complaining to his uncle.

“I'm sorry about that,” he apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you shrugged, downplaying it, but even so, your district partner still felt like a fool because of his attitude. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let's tie some knots,” Jacaerys responded, thinking that his uncle had said not to attract attention so he was forbidden to take a bow at least until the private session with the gamemakers. Besides, Jace had no desire to be around the professional tributes, who had gone straight to the weapons that looked more deadly and handled them without difficulty, nor the trembling tributes who received their first class of knives or axes.

The stall is empty so the coach seems excited when the two approach. When he realizes that Jacaerys knows something about traps, he teaches them how to make a simple trap that would leave another tribute hanging from a tree by their leg. They practice for an hour until they both master the technique well and then move on to the camouflage station. Jacaerys notices that you seem more excited in this position as you mix mud, clay, and berry juice on your skin. It also seems easy for you to braid costumes out of vines and leaves. The coach for this position is excited about your work.

"I make the cakes" you blurt out of nowhere.

"The cakes?" He had been concentrating on watching Royce Baratheon swing a mace directly into the chest of a mannequin.

"Those from the bakery. I make the decorations"

Jacaerys remembers those cakes, which are on display in the shop window, with flowers and other pretty designs on the icing. Before he went to live with Uncle Larys he was never able to eat one of those but since they lived with him there was always cake for special occasions like birthdays and New Year's. Every time they went to buy the cake Joffrey and Lucerys always argued about which one looked the best before choosing which one to take. If he came home he didn't think he would be able to accompany them back to the bakery. He couldn't see your father and brothers in the face again. Nor could he see the disappointment in his brothers' eyes when they saw that the cakes were no longer as pretty as before.

"They're cute, but you won't be able to glaze someone to death," he hadn't meant to sound so scathing but thinking about your death, your family, and his siblings put him in a bad mood.

"You never know what might be in the arena what if…?"

"Let's continue with another position" he interrupts you, he wasn't in the mood for some joke.

"Okay, go ahead with whatever you want, I'll stay here a little longer. I'll catch up with you later" you responded.

The smile on your face had disappeared and Jacaerys felt a tightness in his stomach but he decided to ignore it, he just nodded and went to the fire-making station. He is so focused on the coach's instructions and getting the technique right that he doesn't even realize that he has spent so much time there until they announce that it is time for lunch. Jacaerys looks at you with the idea of telling you to have lunch together. He frowns when he sees that you are no longer alone but are talking to Jason Mallister, the thirteen-year-old boy from District 4. What were you doing? Larys said not to attract attention and you found yourself talking to one of the professional tributes, of course, that would attract attention.

Annoyed, Jacaerys went to the carts that had been brought with food and began to serve himself and then sat alone at one of the tables. Professional tributes gathered around a table. They were loud, unlike the rest they seemed carefree, as if they were not afraid.

A few minutes later you sit next to him. Jacaerys can't hold his curiosity for long so he asks you.

“Why were you talking to him?”

“Stop frowning, we're supposed to be friends,” you scold him in a whisper and he struggles to put on a friendlier face. “He reminds me of Joffrey,” you admit.

“My brother is nothing like him,” the brunette denies instantly. He wouldn't tell you but when you two saw the District 4 reaping he also thought about his brother when Jason appeared on screen. But he couldn't allow himself to see his brother in one of his opponents, that would only hurt him in the arena, so he instantly forced himself to push that thought away from him. The only thing in common between the two of them was that they are both thirteen years old, he just repeated to himself.

"I just showed Jason how I made my camouflage and I remembered when I tried to teach Joffrey how to frost a cookie." Jace must have made some funny face in his surprise because you were smiling again. "He made a mess, I don't know how he ended up with frosting on his hair and face, the only reason my mother didn't get mad is because Joffrey bought the cookies he ruined. If you ask me, he didn't ruin them, he just took artistic liberties" You said the last thing as if you were telling him a big secret, leaning towards him and putting your hand a few centimeters from your face, hiding it from the other tributes, as if you didn't want to they will try to read your lips. At your antics and the image of his younger brother covered in icing, Jacaerys can't help but laugh.

"I didn't know Joffrey spent so much time at the bakery."

"And with you", he added in his head. He couldn't help but wonder why his brother never told him. Although he shouldn't be surprised because at home there is always some bread or cookie from the bakery, but he always thought that the one who was going to buy it was Uncle Larys. He might have missed some things by spending so much time in the forest and the Hob with Baela.

"Your brother is addicted to sugar so he usually comes often after school to buy something. He says he deserves a treat after spending hours locked up in hell."

Jacaerys notices the affection with which you speak of his brother and he can't help but feel warm. He has the feeling that you have even more stories to tell about his brothers and he wants to hear them all.

"Yeah, that sounds like Joffrey," he agrees with a smile.

During the rest of the days of training, Jacaerys feels a whole mix of emotions fighting within him. You two continue training together in some positions such as setting up shelters, recognizing edible plants, and throwing knives and spears, but at some point, you always end up separated by your decision because you want to train with a partner so you look for one of the assistants. In those moments Jace can't help but distrust you because for a while he sees you fighting with the assistant but then the next time he sees you you are in the same section as the professionals, he never sees you talking to one of them but he still can't avoid feeling restless. On the other hand, he can't continue denying that something is forming between the two of you; it's impossible not to form a kind of friendship after sharing so many anecdotes during lunch. At first, you were the one who did most of the talking, telling him more about Joffrey's visits to the bakery, but then Jace wants to know about you and starts asking you more about you and your brothers. And before he least realizes it, he is also sharing his own stories. He tells you how Uncle Larys once made them believe his house was haunted only to make them stop wandering around at night because they wouldn't let him sleep. You laugh when he tells you how he once challenged a bear to fight in the woods to keep a beehive and how his father had never scolded him so much.

On the second day of training before you go to train with an assistant you whisper to Jacaerys that he has a shadow. When he turns to see Rue, the little girl from District 11 spying on them, you encourage him to talk to her but Jace refuses because he has no idea what to say to her and also because he is afraid of meeting her and she will remind him of his brothers or Baela's little sisters.

When the private sessions arrive with the gamemakers it is evident that both you and Jacaerys are nervous because neither of you tries to have a conversation while waiting your turn or even when the two of you are alone after Rue enters.

"Good luck," Jacaerys wishes you as he stands up when he is called. He couldn't tell you later because once a tribute finishes the session he has to go to his apartment "Try throwing the weights, impress them."

"Thank you" It is evident that you were not expecting his words because you keep looking at him impressed "Lucky for you too. Remember to shoot well" you smile at him.

He nods and starts walking towards the door.

He ruined it. What the hell was he thinking? No, he didn't think about it. He just let his anger get the best of him, he was outraged that the guards had stopped paying attention to him after he missed his first shot, he was furious that he could die within a few days and they wouldn't deign to watch his entire performance, so he took the arrow and shot at the gamemakers' table. Of course, he didn't shoot any of them, his arrow hit right where he wanted it, in the apple that the pig had in its mouth. When all eyes were on him he sarcastically thanked them for their time while bowing. He didn't wait to be fired, he stormed out of the training room still feeling his blood boil. Only when he was alone in the elevator did he feel the weight of what he did, he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest and his throat was burning. He ruined it. He hadn't tried to kill any of the gamemakers but maybe someone would think that. He was sure he must be the first tribute to do something like that. He lost any chance he had of winning the games. But what scares him the most is that because of his attitude, they will now punish his brothers. He would never forgive himself if something happened to them because of him.

When the elevator doors opened, tears had already begun to roll down Jacaerys's cheeks. He ignored the questions from Effie, who was waiting for him in the hallway, and locked himself straight into his room. It didn't take long for knocks to sound on his door and the woman's voice asking him to come out but he didn't move from the bed. When silence came he thought that he had finally given up and they would leave him alone. But minutes later he heard the cold voice of his uncle:

"Jacaerys, open the door. Stop acting like a child."

Jacaerys was about to ignore him but then he realized that the only one who could help him protect his brothers was his uncle. So he took courage and got out of his pile of blankets. He unlatched the door and nervously opened the door. For a moment he thought he saw something different in his uncle's eyes. He couldn't figure out exactly what but that only made him more nervous. Without saying anything he went to sit on the edge of the bed while he watched Larys enter and close the door again. Surprising him, did his uncle think that he would try to escape in the middle of the conversation?

Larys took the chair that was at the desk placed it in front of the bed and then sat down.

"I ruined it," said Jacaerys, his voice breaking when he saw that his uncle did not seem willing to start the conversation. "They are going to punish Luke and Joff because of me." The teenager's desperation was clear by how he tugged at his curls as he spoke."You have to do something, uncle, please. It's my fault, let them punish me."

"What did you do?" the victor demanded to know.

Then Jace told him everything, how the gamemakers were drunk and how after he missed his first shot they stopped paying attention to him, missing the circuit he made and how he hit the center in the rest of his shots, that he didn't think about his actions, that he got carried away with anger and shot at the apple that was in the mouth of the pig that the gamemakers were about to eat, gaining their attention again and how he left the training room without waiting to be fired but not before thanking them sarcastically for their attention. As Jacaerys continued speaking Larys's hand turned white from the strength with which he gripped his staff.

"I told you that you won't attract attention" his uncle's biting tone only made Jacaerys' discomfort increase and he couldn't help but take one of the blankets again and wrap himself in it. It's not like he expected Larys to comfort him but he also shouldn't have been surprised that the first thing he did was scold him. "But you can rest assured, they're not going to punish your brothers." There was that strange look in his eyes again.

"Are you sure?" The uncertainty in his voice was clear, he wanted to trust his uncle but at the same time, he couldn't help but think that Larys would tell him any lie as long as he kept concentrating on the games.

"If they are going to punish Lucerys and Joffrey, they would have to tell what you did in the entertainment center so that it has some effect on the districts, but they won't because it's secret," Larys explained with a little more patience. "The only one you hurt with your actions it's you"

Upon hearing that nothing would happen to his brothers, Jacaerys felt that part of his discomfort disappeared. He still had to worry because surely the gamemakers would now make his life miserable in the arena but at least he knew that his brothers would be safe.

"I know, the gamemakers will make my life miserable in the arena" he stated "And today they will give me the worst score so I won't have any sponsors" he sighed thinking that now it would be even more difficult for him to survive in the arena without sponsors, the food wouldn't be a big problem because he knew how to hunt but if he got hurt then he would need medicine.

"Don't worry about the sponsors, I'll take care of that," Larys promises and this time Jacaerys doesn't doubt his uncle because he looks too confident. "Well, it's done, it's not something we can change. Stop getting depressed and let's go have dinner before they give the scores."

During dinner, Jace barely joins the conversation and feels your worried gaze the entire time. It seems that Effy told you about the state he arrived in after his private session.

In the middle of dinner, Effy can't stand his curiosity anymore so he asks them both how it went. Jacaerys wasn't going to say anything until he heard you speak.

"I don't think I impressed them, some paid attention to me but others were more focused on whatever was on the table," you said resignedly.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry" he apologized, feeling guilty because apparently he had also harmed your private session.

"How is it your fault?" Cinna asked curiously.

"I shot them an arrow," Jace replied.

At first, he ignored Effy's indignation and the rest of the team's questions, focusing more on your reaction. You still looked at him with concern. He was relieved to not see you angry. The truth is, he couldn't blame you if you got angry with him after all his act had attracted the attention of the gamemakers when it was essential for you to have a better score.

"I actually shot an arrow at the pig's apple they were about to eat. They were drunk and I got angry because they weren't paying attention to me."

"And what did they tell you?" You asked anxiously and looked at the doors as if you were expecting that at any moment the peace officers would come in to look for him.

"I don't know. I left"

"Did you leave without permission?" Effie asked to see if she understood correctly.

"I gave it to myself" Jace replied and a laugh escaped your mouth, you quickly stifled it with your hand before Effie's gaze. Jacaerys was pleased to see the worry disappear from your face.

"Larys, aren't you going to say anything about it?" Effie questioned evidently expecting the victor to side with her and scold them.

"It's done, Effie. There's nothing we can do," he responded boredly as he buttered a piece of bread.

"What was their face?" you asked, looking at him curiously.

"They seemed terrified. A man stumbled backward and fell into a punch bowl." At the time Jacaerys had been so angry that he couldn't enjoy the watchman making a fool of himself but now he remembered it with fun.

Everyone laughed, except for Effie but she seemed to hold back a smile so Jace didn't take it the wrong way.

“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” you said with a smile. If Jacaerys hadn't been so focused on you then he would have noticed that his uncle seemed to be studying the two of you.

Once everyone finishes dinner they go to sit in the living room to watch the scores announced on television. How every year a photo of the tribute appears while Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith announce the score. What is striking with the group of professionals is that this year not everyone has a score between eight and ten like previous years, but the boy from District 4 gets a seven. The same score that Rue gets, Jace can't help but wonder how she managed to get that score. But any thoughts of the little girl from District 11 disappear and are replaced by euphoria when he hears Caesar announce his score. An eleven.

Applause and congratulations filled the room. Jacaerys smiles until he realizes that his uncle is quiet and doesn't look as excited as the rest about his eleven. He starts to feel the anxiety in his body and he wants to ask his uncle what the problem is but he doesn't want to have this conversation in front of everyone.

“Good” is the only thing Larys says after they also announce your eight. And Jace feels stupid for worrying so much, surely his uncle didn't say anything before because he was still hanging on to your score after all he wasn't the only tribute Larys had in charge. “You should go to sleep, you have a long day tomorrow” he ordered them while motioning to the avox to bring him more wine.

You and Jacaerys say goodbye to the entire team and head toward the hallway where your rooms are.

“Tell me, what does it feel like to break the bad streak of twelve and go down in history?” you said while leaning on your door.

“You're exaggerating,” Jace said, trying to sound exasperated by rolling his eyes, but there was no annoyance in his tone.

“I'm not,” you shook your head, smiling. You just beat the score of the professionals, I think it's impressive” you said while crossing your arms. “Surely the entire Capitol is talking about you and you are going to monopolize all my sponsors.”

Your last words brought Jace back to his senses. You two were in a competition and his live were at stake. He couldn't keep joking with you. He should be focused on making a good impression on Caesar and the people at the Capitol tomorrow.

“We should go to sleep,” he said abruptly, resting his hand on the handle of his door, trying not to feel guilty as he saw how the spark in your eyes seemed to go out at his tone. “Have a good night,” he didn’t even wait for you to respond before walking into his room and closing the door. His father would be disappointed in his treatment of you.

a/n: I'm grieving because I had to delete the scene I had with Larys and Sea Dragon bc if I left it, then there were going to be things in Cathing Fire that didn't make sense 😫

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as I always say the comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

thg taglist: @agqrtz @cookielovesbook-akie @klara-lily @husherstan @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @hanversace @xmagik @crazylokonugget @Illzarr @faesspace @lolabelle14 @wa801 @allyium @woodandwaxwings @multiversemayhemme @justanotherkpopstanlol @roseazura @matthiashelvarswaffles

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If you want to be part of my taglist

hotd masterlist

[andorerso]

rebelcaptain + the hunger games au

When Jyn Erso was eight years old, her mother died and her father left to become a gamemaker for the Hunger Games. Adopted by Saw Gerrera, her mother's friend, she became Jyn Gerrera and was forbidden from ever revealing her true identity to anyone. Ten years later, it's Jyn's last reaping. Saw, the forgotten victor of the 32nd Hunger Games, had rejected every reward the Empire offered him, preferring to live as a recluse at the edge of the forest in District 12, as opposed to the luxury in the Victors' Village. It's been decades since anyone in the district even recalled that Saw was once a victor himself, but he had made sure to teach Jyn all he knew of self-defense and combat training. It's the only thing she has of him left since his passing two years ago. Now, Jyn just wants to get through her last reaping and survive. But when she hears the name of the young girl she trades with sometimes, Jyn doesn't hesitate to volunteer in her place. She has nothing to lose, except her life, and every reason to believe that with Saw's training, she has a chance at winning the games. A chance that 12-year-old Kerri Andor wouldn't have. Things get a little more complicated when Kerri's brother is picked as the other tribute. Jyn is good at surviving, but Cassian, with his quiet cunning and surprising talent with a bow and arrow, could be a threat. Not to mention that Jyn knows he's the sole provider for his young sister and aging mother; a family who needs him. Who may die without him. Nobody is waiting for Jyn back home. When their mentor's plan to make them seem like star-crossed lovers triples the attention and sponsors they receive, Jyn is forced to play along with the scheme and pretend she has feelings for Cassian. Worst of all? She's not sure where pretending ends and where genuine feelings begin. The gamemakers say they can both go home if they're the last two tributes standing, but Jyn knows better than to believe the pretty promises of the Empire. Soon, she'll have to make a choice. Will she do anything to survive? Or will she let Cassian Andor go home to his family - even at the cost of her own life?

[thatsillything]

More hg au, but now it's Pre-Games Snily

[egglantine23]

So I really like the popular fanon of the hunger games being a memoir that Katniss wrote and published. But recently I came across an analysis here on tumblr (don’t remember by who) about how Katniss writing and publishing the hunger games is out of character for canon Katniss. That got me thinking about how in the real world people close to and especially the children or parents of a famous person will write or edit a diary of a loved one after they have died.

So here’s the idea what if Katniss wrote down her experiences in a journal in order to process her trauma perhaps around the time of the epilogue. Fast forward years into the future and Katniss and Peeta have died of old age, while going through all their parents stuff the toast babies find the journals and decide to read them.

Together they would publish the journals maybe as a way to preserve their parents story or their might be some misleading rumors they want to stop. Ether way the toast babies publish the books and Katniss stays in character.

[fujiblackthorne]

au where coriolanus stayed in district 12 and continued his relationship with lucy gray. by the end of his 2nd year in d12 lucy gray became pregnant and even though they were overjoyed, they were stressing about their unfortunate circumstances.

coriolanus tried his best to be present for lucy gray during her multiple pregnancies, but there was only so much he could do while he still had his peacekeeper duties. he had to work very hard to keep his hands to himself whenever he would hear murmurs from the people of 12 when they would call lucy gray distasteful names or speculate about the father of her children. as their kids kept growing up it became harder to pretend like he didn’t know them. seeing them at the market trailing after lucy gray tugged at his heart strings, especially since the kiddos had been taught to pretend like they didn’t see their father.

however, when their children were 2 and 3 years old an incident happened: they had been walking around with their mama when some drunkard had reached for them and since coriolanus had been patrolling around, all hell broke loose. coriolanus had beat the man into a pulp and had to be separated by his partners. when he reached the commander’s office he received a stern talking to and was reprimanded, but as he was leaving his commander stopped him. “you know i’m not an idiot right? those kids couldn’t look anymore like you. i have been suspecting for some time, but seeing them up close today confirms all my suspicions. you’ve done a great job here, it would feel almost unfair of me to deny you the chance to have more off days to be with your family. maybe by next year you’ll get your own quarters and you could settle in with them if you behave and don’t pull some shit like what you did today again. take this opportunity i’m giving you and don’t fuck it up. you’re dismissed.” coriolanus couldn’t believe what he had just heard; had the commander grown a heart? he quickly shook that thought out of his head. he was too excited, he had to tell his little family the great news. ❄️🕊️

this au/headcanon promt was brought up by a few snowbaird shippers in the discord server, so all credits to them for the idea! 🫶🏽🩷

message @burntblueberrywaffles if you’d like to join the server! 💘

[ahreej]

the hunger games arcane au!

please give it a try and lmk if u like it :)

[millennium-queen]

… Who are you?

It’s officially Mermay!! I’m officially pushing myself out of numerous slumps!! And I’m starting with this little Mermaid Katniss … I wonder who ever she could be talking to?

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

― ᴏғғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ !

∿ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ !

∿ sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ !

― 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 ⬎

𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒. 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒: 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟: 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠): 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑥 (ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠): 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

[kald-dal-art]

D3 x odesta it’s gotta be done

D3: Mermaid x Human

Didn’t know which of them I was going to have be the mermaid, but then I remembered Sam Calfin was in POTC in a storyline I was obsessed with as a kid so yeah 😭

[pinetree-tbb]

tagging @fionas-frenzy @strrawberrywaffles

Lula the Cat

I made her a cat in my TBBxHunger Games AU :D

(more info about her under the cut)

Wrecker saved her from drowning when she was little

Is best friends with the Gonky, likes to ride on him while he walks around

Also best friends with Batcher

Buttercup often has beef with her when she comes to close to his territory

The first time that happened Buttercup ripped her a big piece of fur off, resolving that she now has a patch of missing fur behind her right ear (based on the patch of different cloth sewn on the back of doll Lula‘s head)

Crosshair had concluded his buisness on the market and was on his way home when he heard a cat screech, he recognized Lula and ran after the noise.

The moment he stepped out of the alley he was met by a big lump of fur rolling around in the dirt, he recognized the dark gray coat and muddy red paws of Lula, fighting viciously against a much bigger cat with a muddy-yellow coat.

He broke the fight up and gently pushed the strange cat away with his foot while taking Lula up in his arms. As he told the cat to go away a little blonde girl ran towards them and picked the big cat up. She apologized and told Buttercup to behave, he just let out a low growl and stared down Lula who hissed back. Crosshair told the kid, who assumingly was a year or two younger than Omega, that it‘s no big deal and that the’re just cats being cats.

At home she was treated and made a full recovery.

Catches mice in the workshop

loves to curl up next to Batcher at the oven in the winter or night

(I may or may not do a repainting of this pic xD I am not entirely satisfied with it)

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

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

summary. reaping day. something ellie is rather indifferent towards, wanting only to return back to the warm embrace of nature. meanwhile you're the complete opposite, today being one that'll determine your fate, as well as your placement in your family. this chapter follows the alternate experiences that the two of you go through.

content warnings. depictions of dead animals, domestic abuse, implications of slavery (avoxes). if you see anything else that i missed, pls let me know!

total wc. 10,815

notes!! she's here!!! chapter one of this beauty!!! i've proofread this at least fifty times and i'm still not happy with it, but! here's the reminder that this fic is formatted and meant for ao3, not tumblr (hence why it's so goddamn long). anyway, i advise you read it there rather than here for that reason. it's updated sooner and i actually make sure that it's intelligible. the link is right here ↓

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

11:46.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“Again?” Ellie’s groggy cavil is muffled against the crook of Cat’s neck. Her freckled face is buried into the warmth of the woman’s bare skin, chasing the comfort her proximity provides.

Cat huffs an airy laugh, her fingers absentmindedly running along an auburn scalp. “We’ve gone over this.”

“Yeah, but,” Ellie props up on her elbows to frown at her, “You went last year.”

“It’s a good thing if they’re asking me to attend again, Ellie.” Cat reminds her as she’s done at least fifty times by now. Despite her dwindling patience, Cat’s eyes are filled with naught but fondness as they clash with a pair of viridescent irises. Ellie continues to frown at her, adamant in her show of defiance. Cat continues to fiddle with her choppy hair as she speaks. “The Capitol is extremely picky with their stylists. It’s an honor to work for them, not to mention being chosen by them.”

Ellie has to swallow back the words that crawl up her throat and threaten to spill. Words of which vocalize her personal repugnance for the Capitol. She and Cat have gotten into plenty of fights regarding this topic and she refuses to cause another — especially considering the news she’s been trying to avoid facing all morning.

“I won’t see you for, like, a month.” Ellie grumbles before flopping back down onto Cat’s chest. She turns her head so her ear is pressed against her ribs, the gentle thudding of Cat’s heartbeat almost soothing enough to distract her from the world that envelops them.

Their bare bodies are pressed flush together as Ellie continues to listen to the repetition of her palpitating organ. She can feel Cat’s fingers toying with her hair, the soft caresses providing a sense of calamity. Her chest rises and falls, Ellie’s head shifting alongside each breath she takes. The intimacy it takes for to be near someone in this way — especially for Ellie — is oftentimes overlooked and seen only as crude or lustrous. However, in this case, they’re simply enjoying one another’s presence. Nothing vulgar about it.

Oh how Ellie wishes she could stay like this forever. In this little oasis of solace she’s founded for herself. Waking with Cat in her bed whilst morning sunlight filters through the window and casts golden hues over hardwood flooring. It’s nigh impossible to imagine that in only a few hours they’ll be separated for an indefinite epoch as Cat is escorted off to the Capitol while Ellie remains here.

She shuts her eyes, arms tightening around Cat’s waist as she wishes to cherish what little time she has left with her. Cat doesn’t dare cease playing with her hair, delicate fingers toying with the strands. 

Comfortability, domesticity, safety. That’s what Ellie feels when she’s near Cat — like nothing in the whole world could reach her. Like they’ve left the horrors of their District and are now floating through the cosmos all alone. Just the two of them. Though she knows better than to voice that to Cat, having found out the hard way that she doesn’t feel the same.

What they have is impermanent, said Cat when Ellie questioned her on fidelity, it has to be, she’d said. Even now, Ellie is unsure what that was supposed to mean. But she didn’t pry any further, for fear of damaging the fragility of what relationship, or lack thereof, they’d formed. Ever since, Ellie has learned to keep her feelings locked away in a hidden corner of her mind, making sure they never come forth to have the dust blown away. 

“Ellie!”

They both jolt to attention as the bedroom door flies open, doorknob slamming against the thick wooden wall behind it. Ellie sits up and narrows her eyes at the perpetrator, only to roll them once she comes to realize who it is.

“What do you want, Riley?” Ellie grumbles, flopping back against Cat as Riley enters the room. 

“I want to know why you’re still in bed.” Riley responds, stepping over the clothes on the floor with an upturned lip. Half of them are Cat’s from the night prior. Riley seems to instantly realize this, likely because she’s known Ellie well enough to know that she doesn’t wear Capitol-made dresses. Riley puts her hands on her hips, frowning at her best friend who remains cuddled up against her– Cat. “The Reaping is today and you’re still in bed.”

“It’s in two hours.” Ellie is quick to point out.

“I don’t care if it’s in twenty hours, you’re getting out of bed.” She says, picking up Ellie’s discarded clothes from the floor and tossing them at her. They land where her legs are tangled with Cat’s underneath the thin plaid blanket that’s draped lazily atop them. Riley begins to walk out of the room with a pointed expression before calling over her shoulder, “Oh. And these are Marlene’s orders, by the way.” Then she shuts the door.

Ellie sighs heavily, not yet ready to get up. If anything, she cozies even closer against Cat’s bare chest as she once again listens to the comforting thumps of her heart.

“God, she’s so demanding.” Cat scoffs. “I don’t understand how you put up with her.”

“I barely can.” She responds, causing Cat’s eyes to widen at the unexpected concurrence. “But she’s taken care of me since I was a baby, I owe it to her.”

Cat’s initial shock instantly dissipates. “I don’t mean Marlene, Ellie. I’m talking about Riley.”

Ellie sighs once more, her lips thinning. She knows that Cat and Riley don’t exactly get along. Well. Okay, that’s a major understatement. They literally despise each other. In every aspect that Cat admires the Capitol, Riley loathes it. They butt heads all the time, only ever speaking when it’s absolutely necessary and, even then, it oftentimes ends up in fighting. Ellie tries her hardest to keep them as far apart as possible, hating when they speak ill of the other.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” She mutters, having to force herself to sit up. The plaid blanket falls from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. The cool air chills her and goosebumps instantly begin to adorn her fair skin. She quickly reaches to the foot of the bed to grab the clothes Riley had tossed her way. Cat remains in bed as Ellie stands to get dressed, pulling on a frayed hoodie and worn jeans. “I just don’t want to have to choose between you two, that’s all.”

As she laces her shoes, it’s hard not to take notice of Cat’s lack of response. Ellie lifts her head to see the frown that’s plastered onto her features, the sight of it causing her to sigh. She walks over to the bed, shoes lightly padding across the old wooden floor. She leans one hand on the mattress beside Cat’s head, her other coming up to lift her jaw. She presses a kiss to her lips.

“You know where I keep the key.” Ellie whispers, pulling back only slightly as her hand remains on Cat’s chin. “You can get back to sleep and leave whenever you want, yeah? You need rest.” 

Cat nods, “Okay.”

With one final kiss goodbye, Ellie leaves. On her way out the door, she grabs her backpack from under her desk, swinging it over her shoulder before shutting the door gently behind her. Not yet ready to part ways with Cat, she stands in the hall for a few long minutes, using this time to straighten out her thoughts. 

After the Reaping, Cat will be gone for an indefinite duration as the stylists are taken to the Training Center alongside the two tributes. Not to mention, if the opportunity is provided, she knows Cat wouldn’t hesitate to stay to live in the Capitol forever. And everyone knows how much they love her there. It’s truly a matter of time before she’s promoted to a full-time Capitolite. The mere thought sends a chill down her spine.

Ellie heaves a sigh, mentally cursing anything and everything that relates to their fucked up government before she turns to walk down the hall. Her shoes thud against the floor as she attempts to calm herself, the repetition of her stride mocking that of Cat’s heartbeat. Nigh tauntingly. 

Turning a corner, she spots Riley standing in the kitchen. Her back is facing her as she peers out the window at the passerbyers that straggle down the street. District seven isn’t usually this busy, most citizens at work by now. But it’s Reaping Day and therefore one of the few days of the year that everyone gets off work. Parents cater to their kids, teens get into mischief with their friends, pets are walked through the neighborhood. Though, regardless of how one’s morning is spent, everyone will be amassed in town square by two o’clock. If not, they’re to be imprisoned.

Ellie slows her movements, footsteps now inaudible before she jumps out at Riley, causing the other girl to shriek. She nearly drops the glass in her hands as she whips around to scowl at Ellie. “You scared me!” She reprimands her, frowning.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughs, “That was the whole point?”

Riley rolls her eyes at this. “Whatever.”

She leans forward to set the glass back on the counter, a light clink sounding throughout the space as she does so. Ellie had expected it to be a glass of water or some other form of drink. Instead, it’s a vase holding an array of flowers that Ellie has built the habit of collecting on their daily outings. At first, it annoyed Riley the way Ellie would stop whatever she was doing to pick a flower and stuff it between the pages of her journal. It would interrupt the flow of their expedition. Though, with time, she’s grown used to it and even finds herself taking notice of pretty flowers in Ellie’s absence.

“Are you finally ready to go?” Riley asks, turning back around to face her friend with her eyebrows raised. Ellie gestures down to herself — dressed and obviously ready. Riley chuckles, rolling her eyes fondly before brushing past her.

The two of them exit the small wooden home and begin their journey toward the treeline. Four buildings down, they pass Riley’s house. After graduation, they’d chosen this neighborhood due to its proximity to the woods and the fact that two houses were simultaneously for sale closeby. And here they are, three years later, still fleeing to the foliage every morning.

The low hum of conversation isn’t foreign to District seven, but it’s rather uncommon way out here. To get this type of commotion, you’d usually have to be closer to town where the markets are. That’s where most people spend their time, trading supplies. The circumstances aren’t nearly as dire as in District twelve, but they’re certainly not as wealthy as the Capitol. Starving to death here is rare, but not at all impossible. 

“So,” Riley speaks up after a few minutes of comfortable silence before turning to Ellie with a regaled expression, “You’re sleeping with Cat again?”

“I never stopped sleeping with her.” Ellie says pointedly. 

What she doesn’t say is, It’s just grown more common as you’ve grown more distant from me.

She sighs. “I’m not gonna give you shit for it because you already know how I feel about her. But I want to know, is she going to be a stylist again in this year's Games?”

“Ugh,” Ellie groans, “You know I’m not allowed to go around telling people. She’s technically not even supposed to tell me. We could be arrested for disclosing information about the Games prior to their airing. We could be made into Avox for it. And, I don’t know about you, but I quite like my tongue.”

“Yeah, so does Cat.” Riley adds with a disgusted expression.

Ellie laughs, slapping her in the arm. “Gross!”

“What’s gross is walking in on your best friend naked on top of some Capitolite.” She grumbles. 

“We weren’t even doing anything!” 

“Yeah, luckily!” She replies with a laugh before another repulsive thought dawns on her. “Oh, and you didn’t even lock the door!”

To that, Ellie has no excuse. “Well– Okay yeah, fine. That’s definitely on me.”

Riley grins at her victoriously as they continue down the sidewalk. The air is practically buzzing with activity. With naught else to occupy their time, the people of the lumber District naturally swarm toward the woods. It’s in their blood. Even more so for Ellie and Riley, who spend their mornings in the woods even when they should technically be applying for jobs.

Yeah, the two of them have received that lecture from Marlene more times than anyone could count — that they’re adults and should therefore be forming some sort of a career path before they’re rendered undesirably old to any future employers. But, unbeknownst to Marlene, the two of them do have a job. Perhaps not a formal one, but it’s enough to keep the bills paid and water running. And, to a pair of girls in their early twenties, that’s more than they could ask for.

See, Riley and Ellie have built a routine. One where they awake at dawn, meet up at Ellie’s house for breakfast, then walk to the woods and spend the following few hours there. They cut trees, chop wood, hunt animals, etc. Then, at noon, they head toward what’s known as the Hob — basically a black market for those desperate enough to trade their hard earned quarry for a bit of cash. It’s located inside an abandoned paper mill, packed full with hundreds of buyers meandering about the derelict space. Every District has their own version of a Hob, well, perhaps not the richer Districts, but twelve is sure to have a huge one that would make seven’s dull in comparison. That thought alone is enough to ease Ellie’s conscience whenever she feels guilty for the illegality behind her line of work. If any of the Peacekeepers in her District found out about the Hob, all participants are sure to be hanged or, at bare minimum, given a whipping — both of which would be public as to make an example of the persecutors. To imagine Ellie hanging from a noose or tied to a pole whilst everyone else watched, while Marlene watched? It makes her stomach churn. So, habitually, she simply ignores the lack of validity to her actions. Plus, there's no malice to her intentions. She’s just a young woman who wants to put food on the table. Is that so much to ask for? She thinks not.

Anyway. Riley and Ellie basically run that place. Everyone knows them there, recognizing the two women the instant they enter the mill. They always have the good shit — perfectly chopped wood alongside undamaged game — and are willing to be paid less than others because they tend to have a higher quantity and manage to amass a large sum in spite of their lowered payment. However, seeing as everyone is off work today, it’s rather awkward to see the people of the Hob out on the streets. Because they all know better than to acknowledge the illegal trading they participate in religiously. 

Ellie walks silently beside Riley, the unspoken tension in the air doubling in size whenever they recognize someone. The Peacekeepers are large in aggregate today as well, managing to make this impossibly more nerve wracking. The town square is packed full with Capitolites who are setting up for the Reaping, hence everyone now on this side of the District as they look for something to busy themselves with. And, as said before, the woods are evidently everyone’s collective first choice.

“You nervous?” Riley asks as they enter the woods, the familiar scent of pine and dirt wafting toward them. The air is chilly, yet not unbearably so. It’s a nice medium that Ellie finds herself enjoying. She turns, raising a brow in inquiry. Riley digresses, “For the Reaping.”

She shrugs, “Not really. The Hunger Games are morbid, yeah, but they’re a fact of life. If I get Reaped, what good will it do to have worried about it that morning? I feel that fate is predetermined. Whatever happens, you can’t change it so you might as well live regularly until it’s foisted upon you.”

“Um, wow?” Riley gives her a peculiar look. “Since when did you get all philosophical?”

Ellie huffs a laugh, “I’m just saying.”

“I agree that the Games are morbid.” Riley shakes her head with a sigh, dry leaves crunching under their feet as they trek further into the woods. “But why should we have to live in fear while those in the Capitol live in ignorant bliss? It’s immoral and dehumanizing.”

Ellie agrees with her, of course, though she finds herself glancing over their shoulder fretfully before turning to frown at her friend. “Be quiet, Riley. Peacekeepers are fucking everywhere today.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She huffs. “But I mean it.”

“Yes, I know you mean it.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “And I mean it when I say I don’t want to see you punished for your brutal honesty. Truly, it’ll be the death of you.”

Riley laughs before they fall into another comfortable silence. 

Despite the wordlessness being one of easement, it’s foreign to them both. As of late, Riley has been progressively growing more and more distant, causing an awkward rift between the pair. They still go about their usual routines each day and share moments of fond laughter, but it’s different. Only a few months ago, there’d not be a single second of silence as the two would oftentimes end up talking over the other in a coveted rush to share random information. Even after a day’s work had finished, they’d frequently wind up at one of their houses for the night — watching television, feasting on game, or just sharing the space. It got to the point where it was more rare to be without the other than with them.

But now, Ellie feels as though they spend more time in silence than in conversation. Take present for example. Had this happened in July, one of them would undoubtedly be rambling on about something. Though, as it turns out, that’s not currently the case.

Ellie has yet to bring it up to Riley, fearing she’ll say something she’s not ready to hear. She hasn’t even a guess in her mind what could have brought this upon them, but whatever it is, it’s drastic. Hence why she’s recently been hanging around Cat more often, using the woman to both distract herself from her childlike friendship issues as well as make herself feel better. Because Cat always knows how to comfort Ellie, even when she’s not entirely aware of what the problem is.

They continue to walk through the woods, their footsteps nigh inaudible as they’ve grown skilled at adapting to nature. After a few minutes of trekking through the foliage, Riley stops and turns around expectantly. Ellie instantly removes her backpack and crouches to the ground as she sifts through it. She pulls out an axe — which barely even fits inside the bag — and passes it to Riley, who takes it gratefully. Ellie then hands the bag to Riley, who positions it on her back with a few shoulder shrugs.

Where they stopped wasn’t randomized, though. Not entirely. Because, a few yards away is a fallen tree, hollowed out in the center to create a tunnel-like log. They walk over to it, Riley tossing the axe back and forth between her hands. Ellie crouches down and reaches into the log, feeling around the dampened bark until her fingers brush against the coveted items. She pulls out a bow and quiver, adding them to her newly emptied shoulders. 

See, they can’t exactly be caught carrying weapons through the District or the Peacekeepers will know they’re hunting illegally. So, as an alternative, they hide the weapons deep in the woods where nobody else would think to look. Fairly smart on their part, Ellie thinks.

“So,” Ellie muses as they begin walking through the woods once more, “This morning, you said you woke me under Marlene’s orders. What exactly did she say?”

“I talked to her last night.” She explains, swinging the axe back and forth. Had Ellie not done this with her a million times before, she’d likely be fearing for her life. But that axe is quite literally an extension of Riley’s arm, moving as though it’s a part of her. It's, admittedly, rather impressive. “She told me to make sure you’re awake at least an hour prior to the Reaping.”

“Ugh, she doesn’t trust me to do anything.”

“Can you blame her?” She laughs. “You were nearly late to the Reaping last year. Had you arrived less than five minutes after you had, the Peacekeepers would have placed you under arrest.”

“I think my timing was impeccable.” Ellie argues, pointing her chin up in an act of superiority. 

As she does, something in the trees catches her eye and she suddenly stops in her tracks, Riley quick to do the same. She nocks an arrow, the head instantly pointed in the direction of the movement. After a few seconds of tense silence, a squirrel chitters before ignorantly traipsing across the branch. She releases the arrow and it lands right in its eye, so as not to damage the meat. It hits the ground with a thud. Ellie grins widely as she walks to retrieve the corpse as well as the arrow.

“Talk about timing.” Riley whistles, following close behind.

“What did I say?” She responds, positioning the squirrel to hang from her belt. “Impeccable.”

“Yeah, maybe in terms of your aim, but not in your vigilance.” Riley points out.

“Whatever.” Ellie waves her hand to dismiss the accusation. “Shut up and go chop your wood.”

Riley laughs but obliges, turning to leave the scene. Ellie can’t even listen to her footsteps depart, as she’s rather adept at masking their boistry. But she can tell when she’s gone, though, because the atmosphere alters — shifting from one shared between lifelong friends to one of solitude in the middle of nowhere. And yet, despite the latter being far less preferred by many, Ellie relishes in it. The lack of eyes on her is comforting rather than eerie. 

She treks through the trees until she finds a slightly elevated patch of land, allowing her to look down on the forest below her — though, only by a couple feet. But any altitude is better than nothing. She crouches behind a bush and nocks a second arrow, waiting for something to pass by.

Ellie manages to shoot a few more squirrels and a couple of rabbits throughout the following hour they spend in the woods. She then lets out a three-note whistle as she stands to her feet. She’s brushing off her jeans when the same whistles tune is repeated back to her a few hundred yards to the East. Riley. 

They’d come up with this tactic a few years back, where once one of them had finished up for the day, they let out a whistle to let the other know of their completion. Then, if the sound reaches the other, they’ll return it.

They split up like this because Ellie requires quiet in order to hunt whereas Riley tends to make quite a bit of ruckus during her wood-chopping. Ellie’s still gathering her things when a twig snaps a few feet away. She doesn't need to look up to know who it is.

“What’d you catch?” Riley asks as she approaches her from behind.

“Nothing good.” She admits. “Just squirrels and rabbits.”

“That’s not bad, though.” 

“Yeah, animals are so scarce today due to all the people’s proximity to the treeline. I could sometimes catch the sound of their talking. Even from way out here.” Ellie says as she finishes packing up and turns to face Riley, who’s holding an armful of chopped wood. “Here, turn around.”

Without question, Riley does. Ellie unzips the bag and holds out a hand for a piece of wood. Riley passes it back to her and she loads the wood one-by-one into the pack. She then adds the axe and zips it — well, partially. A few inches of the handle remains sticking out, though it’s doubtful anyone will question the contents of the bag. Not when so much is going on today.

They head back to the mouth of the woods, making sure to return the bow and quiver into the hollowed log on their way by. In minutes, they’re emerging from the trees and walking back through the streets, which appear to have grown even busier in their absence. They’d walked in silence the entire way.

“Welp.” Riley says once they’ve reached Ellie’s porch and she’s returned the bag — which has tripled in weight with the addition of the axe and wood. “See you at the Reaping?”

She sighs dramatically, “I guess so. Not like I want to go anyway.”

“Marlene would fucking kill you.” Riley laughs and Ellie joins in, imagining the enraged expression on Marlene’s face had she not shown up. She couldn't get away with it regardless, though. Riley was right when she said the Peacekeepers would either imprison or hang her. It’s happened to someone before — an old man ripped from his home and put in an icy cold cell for the rest of his short life. He’d apparently used the excuse of saying he was in a wheelchair, but that wasn't enough for the District’s law enforcement as they claimed he could easily be wheeled to the square. So, yeah, maybe the jokes of Ellie not showing up shouldn’t be pondered on but so much.

Once Riley has left, Ellie grabs her key from the top of a nearby windowsill. She notices that it’d moved a few inches to the left. Cat. She unlocks the door and enters her home, almost screaming to see the silhouette of a woman standing in her kitchen. Though she quickly regains normalcy when she recognizes the person’s frame.

“Fuck, Marlene.” She curses, putting a hand to her chest as she — as subtly as possible — slips the bag from her shoulders and places it on the floor next to the door. “You scared me.”

Marlene is wearing a dress, a nice one. The neck is in a deep V shape that shows off her collarbones and shoulders. The sleeves come to her elbows, the skirt to her mid-calves. It’s a soft maroon color, complimenting her dark skin and brown eyes beautifully. Ellie would accolade her for it had she not known it was for the Reaping and thereby the Capitol. However, being aware of that fact rather mars the beauty of her accentuated appearance.

Marlene turns to face her with a frown, “What were you two doing?”

“Seriously?” Ellie groans, walking over to grab a glass cup from the cabinet over Marlene’s head, having to shift around her to do so. “I was hanging out with my best friend before we witness two people being shipped off to die. Do I truly have to walk you step-by-step through everything I do?”

“Yes.” She begins filling the cup with faucet water, Marlene looming like a shadow over her shoulder. When Ellie doesn’t respond, she frowns. “Whatever. I don’t even care what you guys were doing, I just seek the consolation of knowing it was safe.”

“I’m an adult, Marlene. When will you–”

“Was it safe, Ellie?” She repeats, tone growing more agitated. 

“Yes.” She replies, the lie coming easy to her now. After all this time of being untruthful, it’s nearly second nature to withhold the truth from her mother-figure whenever she’s pestered on this recurring topic. She has a great poker face, too.

 She raises her brows as she takes a sip from her glass, peering at her from over the rim.

“Was it legal?” She questions and Ellie nearly spits out her water. Marlene scoffs at her reaction. “Okay, so I got my answer.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to!” She crosses her arms and gives Ellie that disapproving mom expression that could make anybody feel remorse. Ellie places her glass on the counter and holds her gaze, trying her hardest not to falter under it. “I assume you saw how many Peacekeepers are here, Ellie.”

“I’d be an idiot to not notice them.” She grumbles defiantly, sounding far more childlike than she’d care to admit. Marlene always manages to bring this side out of her — a scorned child who has no choice but to agree with everything she says. Despite how hard she tries to be mature and release herself from Marlene’s iron fist, it’s so far been proven impossible.

“So what were you thinking? I don’t care for the details of what you guys go out doing everyday so long as it’s legal.” She says. “You know that. It’s one of my only rules for you.”

The acknowledgement of their daily repetition is enough for Ellie to stiffen, not having realised Marlene even noticed their outings. However, now that she’s thinking of it, it makes sense. They've been doing this same routine for three years now. You’d have to be a fool to not notice. And Marlene is no fool.

“I know, I just–”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, cutting Ellie off with a sigh. “Just go wash up. I don’t want you smelling like a dead animal for the Reaping.”

The closeness in her comparison of the miasma to a corpse is nigh to laughable. Except it’s not. Because Marlene is unnerving. She cares for Ellie more than anything, yes, but she’s absolutely terrifying in her vehement need to protect her. 

But Ellie is an adult now. She doesn’t need protection.

Despite this, she follows her orders and trudges off to the bathroom, making sure to scoop up her backpack on her way down the hall.

She discards the bag of wood and lays the dead squirrel and rabbit corpses out on her bedroom floor. Normally, she’d place them in the kitchen to ready them for gutting but that’s, clearly, not a viable option. If Marlene were to see the quarry from their expedition, she’d absolutely lose her head. First, she’d force Ellie and Riley to get a job, and likely a boring one. She’d forbid them from using the forest for income. And, in those two short acts of discipline, Ellie’s life would be over. The woods are her home; her place of solace. Without it, who is she?

She then heads into the bathroom and takes a bath, scrubbing all the dirt and grime from her skin before redressing into something a bit more fancy — though it’s definitely not Capitol material as everyone else typically aims for. She’s simply wearing a nicer pair of jeans and a flannel. The collar and buttons make it fancy. Kinda.

When she returns to the kitchen, she’s still drying her hair with the towel. Marlene looks her up and down and frowns, though she says nothing. 

See, if one is Reaped today, they’re taken to the Capitol. As such, they’re traditionally expected to wear their nicest clothes to the Reaping, just in case their name is drawn. But Ellie cares naught to make any lasting impressions on the Capitol, so she doesn’t give a shit what she wears. The sole reason she’s wearing even a button up is to please Marlene enough so she’s not forced into something else. 

Because, when she was fourteen, she tried to wear a t-shirt to the Reaping and was instantly reprimanded. As punishment, she had to wear something Marlene picked out. Needless to say, never again will she do that. Even now Riley laughs at her for the outfit, though Marlene insists it was the most distinguished Ellie had ever looked. She begs to differ.

“Okay, you ready?” Marlene asks.

Ellie shrugs, “Yeah.”

They head down to the square, the entirety of District seven doing the same. The waves of people grow larger and larger the closer they get to the square until it’s practically a tsunami of them. Once they reach their destination, they pause and turn to each other. Marlene looks down at Ellie, a glint of something unreadable behind her gaze, almost as though she wishes to say something to her prior to parting ways. But instead of voicing whatever it is that’s weighing on her, she just pats her shoulder and walks away.

The crowd is sorted by generation. Everyone between the ages of twelve and fifty are required to be within the crowd as their names are among those able to be Reaped. The younger kids are positioned closest to the stage whilst the older crowd is near the back. Ellie stands with her age group, picking at the peeling skin around her nails as she awaits the ceremony’s exordium. 

The stage before them has been added purely for the Reaping, as it’s not usually present. Atop it resides a podium, a table with a bowl of tiny slips of papers, and three chairs at the back of the stage — one for the District’s mayor, one for the escort, and one for the mentor of this year’s tributes. Camera crews are perched like buzzards atop the neighboring buildings, readying themselves to document the coming show. Each District is going through the exact same procedure. Tonight, each footage will be broadcasted across all televisions in the country.

About twenty more minutes pass, the square growing supplementarily crowded with each passing second. When the clock strikes twelve, three people are in their corresponding chairs. Ellie hadn’t even noticed their arrival. 

The mayor, whose name she doesn’t know despite having heard it repeated throughout her entire life, sits in the far right chair, his jaw set as he overlooks the citizens. The District escort resides in the center chair, a Capitol woman with bright blue hair and a smile that’s so pearly white that it’s almost inhuman — Ellie doesn’t know her name either. The only person whose name she’s sure of is the man sitting in the left chair. That’s Joel Miller. The victor of the 56th Games. Word is, he’s not a pleasant man. Though, Ellie supposes no sane victor would be. Returning from a murderous arena after all other twenty-three tributes have fallen must be the emptiest feeling known to man. She has a deep respect for Joel, despite never having properly met him.

The mayor steps up to the podium and begins reading off his script. The story of how their country came to be. Ellie tunes it out, instead glancing around the crowd for Cat. It takes her an embarrassingly long time before she remembers that she’s absent from the ceremony due to her being the District seven stylist this year. Ellie turns back to the stage just as the escort steps up to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Says she. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!” 

The slogan has grown old and worn out by now, everyone having heard it an indefinite quantity of times. Ellie wouldn’t be surprised if she mumbles it in her sleep. 

Once more, she finds herself tuning out the rest of the woman’s speech. Despite her lack of listening not resulting in anything beneficial, it makes her feel better. Like she’s showing the Capitol that they don’t control her. Not like the Capitol gives a fuck if one measley twenty-one year old is tuning out the speeches. But whatever. It makes her feel ameliorated and that’s all that matters.

“Here we go.” The escort says before diving her hand into the bowl of names. The glass sphere is packed full with slips of paper, each one reading a citizen’s name. The entire square is holding their breath as they await the name. The entire country is — as every District is being Reaped at the same time. The woman pulls a slip of paper from the bowl and reads it aloud with a grin. “Riley Abel.”

Ellie’s heart drops to her stomach, body frozen in place as the name is spoken. The world feels far away as she watches Riley walk up the stage and stand beside the escort. Riley’s chin is held high, her eyes dullened; they lack the vibrancy that Ellie adores so much. She’s the epitome of strength, standing on that stage as she’s set to be broadcasted across the entire country. 

Ellie knows that expression though. Riley isn’t sad or mourning. She’s pissed.

Fuck. She should have done something. But it all happened so fast. And now the escort’s hand is diving right back into the bowl for a second tribute.

“Aaaand,” She sing-songs before lifting her head joyously, “Ellie Williams.”

11:46.

DISTRICT 4.

“Again.” Your mother’s tone is sharp as a dagger as she thumps the end of her cane against tiled flooring, demanding more, more, more from you. Her voice is tinny, filed through an intercom overhead. To your left is a one-way mirror that scales the entire 20ft wall, through which she pedantically watches your every movement. Though you’re unable to see her, she sees you. And that fact in itself is enough to make you vigilent.

Sweat coats your skin as you reposition yourself, squaring your shoulders and planting your feet in preparation. Your expression is hardened, purposefully so under your mother’s gaze. Her scrupulousness is nigh to tangible, made palpable by the heavy weight on your shoulders, the stiffness in your muscles, the tell-tale feel of her eyes scanning you. 

Then, in a flash of flickering blue, holographic opponents begin to charge at you. These humanoid figures are translucent in visibility, but their hits land just as genuinely in spite of their pellucidity. You’ve been fighting them all morning — another cause of the fatigue in your bones.

A few sessions prior, you’d been permitted the use of weapons. Your mother had instructed you to train with each one interchangeably. She wished to see which you were best and worst at — which ended up being throwing daggers and a trident, respectively. The daggers allow you close-combat, which you’re rather skilled at, as a product of these training sessions, whereas the trident’s weight is off balanced and leaves you fumbling with it for a few seconds prior to use. She soon grew bored with the weapons, though, and instructed you to fight bare handedly. Just to be sure you can. 

There are currently three holograms presented to you — one with a burly build, one with a dainty build, and one that resides between the two. 

The muscular opponent is the first to strike, swinging a right hook toward your jaw. You dodge it, ducking easily under its arm. Whilst straightening back up, the smaller figure grabs you by the hair. Your head is yanked backward. You whip around, snatching the figure by the wrist and throwing its body over your head onto the floor. It lands with a hard thud before you bring the heel of your boot down onto its throat. With a light puff of air, the hologram disintegrates.

One down, two left.

Without a moment’s pause, you spin around to face the other two diaphanous forms. The intermediate combatant surges forward, arm reeled back in preparation for a punch. You swerve out of its way, the figure staggering forward as it misses you by a mere three inches. You kick it in the back of the legs, sending the hologram on its knees. You’re positioned behind it, pulling it into a headlock. 

The sounds it makes is eerily human as it coughs and sputters, blue fingers grasping with desperation at your forearm. You’re used to this though, the cruel personification behind these lifeless things. You snap its neck with a deafening crack. It disappears.

Two down, one left.

When you turn around, the burly one is already behind you. It’s at least three times your size, but you’re undeterred. You stand upright and ready your fists. 

With a grunt, it charges toward you. You sidestep, but it anticipates this and turns in unison. You back away, putting yourself out of reach, your arms coming up to block your face. It swings and you duck subsequently. While crouched, you grab its left calf and pull, lifting the leg uncomfortably high. The oversized figure hops awkwardly on its right limb. You then hook your foot behind the ankle of the remaining leg it’s balancing on, sending it plummeting toward the ground. 

You’re quick to position yourself atop it, straddling the hologram’s chest. It thrashes beneath you, squirming around like a trapped insect. It’s only a matter of time before it throws you aside due to uneven weight advantages. But you had surprised it and therefore withhold the ascendancy. So, while you still have the upper hand, you lift your leg and drive your knees into its neck. With a gag, the hologram vanishes.

Done.

Your chest aches with exertion, lungs fighting for air as you pant. As such, you remain with your knees on the black matted floor in an attempt to catch your breath. You’ve been killing these things on repeat for the past three hours, your mother having woken you at seven in the morning to train. 

Frayed hair clings to dampened skin as sweat traces lines down your face. It drips from your chin onto the floor beneath you. Your pants and tank top are soaked, causing you to feel gross and sticky. You yearn for a shower.

You oftentimes have to remind yourself that your mother means well, that she’s pushing you so hard because she cares. But, at times like these — where your body is on the verge of collapse — you find yourself questioning her morality.

“You’re getting slow.” Comes her voice through the speaker system, as though on cue with your thoughts. A tap of her cane against the floor is heard prior to that singular word you dread so vehemently. 

“Again.”

It's truly no shock that you’re growing amble considering how long you’ve been at it. But to protest your mother’s orders would be a death wish. You’re still catching your breath as you push yourself to your feet, fully expecting another hoard of holograms to appear. 

Though, in their stead, a spear materializes before you. It’s equally as holographic as the figures you’re fighting, blue and crackling, but it kills them just as viable as you would.

As you lean over to pick it up, something kicks you hard in the base of your back. The force of impact sends you to the floor. Your elbows take the brunt of your fall, causing you to feel rather grateful for the mat. Still in a heap, you whip to face the perpetrator. A hologram; a singular female figure with a lean build. 

You should’ve known better than to let your guard down.

You glance at the spear concurrently, the weapon lying at a perfect distance between you two. Without vacillation, you hurriedly crawl toward it. The figure notices and kicks you hard in the face, its shoe slamming into the bridge of your nose. You land hard on your back as a wave of pain shoots through you, warm liquid tracing down your face. 

By the time you regain your sense, the hologram is thrusting the stolen weapon toward you. You roll out of its way, though the blade manages to slice your bicep. With a reverberated thud, the spearhead burrows into the mat where your head had just been.

You push to your feet, tugging the spear out of the cushioned floor. Now armed, you turn to the hologram. It doesn’t have a face but if it did, you’re sure it’d be glaring at you. The two of you circle one another like vultures, the hologram waiting for you to attack whilst you wait for the perfect angle. Then, once you’re positioned to your liking, you strike. You throw the spear at the diaphanous form. 

The blade whizzes through the air too fast for it to dodge, too fast for anyone to dodge. Your aim is undeniably precise as the point wedges right between your opponents eyes. With that, it disintegrates alongside the spear.

Even once the combatant has elapsed, you remain in that position — chest heaving, brows furrows, fists balled. A metallic taste fills your mouth as your nose continues to bleed down your face, getting past your lips. Your bicep mocks it, crimson tracing down your arm.

You await your mother’s reprimand via the intercom. Instead, you hear the door click open and her cane tap against the floor with every other step. She remains in the doorway, not wishing to enter the abhorrent room. She stands expectantly until you walk up to her.

“Your fatigue impairs your ability to fight.” She tuts, wrinkled lip upturned in distaste. You don’t respond, lowering your head as you wordlessly accept her criticism. “Had you been in the arena and those figures sentient, you’d likely have been long gone. Debility is no excuse for inadequacy. L/ns don’t lose.”

You nod, knowing better than to defend yourself.

She goes through each of your performances, telling you how every one was worse than the last. A few times, she mentions your brother, comparing the two of you in a way that makes your chest cave. Ruben wouldn’t have gotten his arm cut, Ruben wouldn’t have had his hair pulled, Ruben wouldn’t have hesitated when she added a child hologram into the mix.

Once she’s had her fill of castigation, she waves a hand to dismiss you. 

Your first course of action is to shower. Since your mother woke you so early, you were unable to change or eat prior to training. You enter the bathroom, peeling your sweaty clothes from your skin before stepping into the cool water. Your presence tints the liquid pink with blood as your arm and face stain its cleanliness.

You stand in the shower for a long time, relishing in the feel of the water as you allow your mind to roam. Though, despite how hard you try not to think of it, your thoughts continuously lapse back to your mother’s ceaseless mentions of your brother, her favored child.

See, Ruben won the 67th Hunger Games when he was only thirteen years old, becoming a legend in the Capitol and the light of your parents’ lives. He is the Capitol’s favorite victor, deemed the most attractive man in the country. Anyone would die to get a moment of his time, of his attention. People who the Capitol favor, idolize, and center their entire lives around are known as a ‘Capitol Diamond’. And Ruben is the shiniest of them all.

Your father won his Games two years prior to Ruben when you were only six, so you never knew him all that well. The memories you do have of him are rather bitter, invoking flashes of flailing fists and deafening shouts. Though, acting as a warm blanket to the chill of your father’s acerbity, Ruben appears in your memories like a deity. He’d cover your ears when your parents’ shouting bounced off the marble walls; he’d argue with your father whenever he’d hit you for breaking something trivial; he’d always take your side, even if you did technically break that vase. As a child, Ruben was an angel sent from above. But, now that you’re older, you know better than to deem him as such.

Anyway. Ruben and your father’s triumphs earned them both irrevocable places in the Capitol as diamonds as well as homes in District four’s Victor’s Village — leaving you and your mother to live alone in the house of which you were raised. In fact, your entire lineage is among the victors, aunts and uncles and cousins all diamonds of the Capitol and residents of the village. Well, most of them. Some of your relatives moved to higher Districts after their Games, seeking as much proximity to the Capitol as possible.

A L/n has never lost the Games, not in the entire seventy-three years they’ve been running. The mere thought of someone in your family failing to prevail is something unprecedented. 

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself into a towel, grabbing a suture kit from the cabinet under the sink. You pop it open and sit on the closed toilet seat before threading the needle. You’ve stitched yourself up plenty of times, the damned holograms annoyingly good at what they’re made to do — challenge you. 

By the time you’ve finished and your bicep is newly adorned in neat stitching, it’s one o’clock. You only have a short bit of time before the Reaping. As you put the kit back into the cabinet, a second thought dawns on you. 

Fuck! You think, eyes widening almost comically. Mister Alden will be here in ten minutes.

You tighten your towel around your body before padding down the hall to your bedroom. It’s overlarge, making you feel small. The walls are white with golden mouldings, the floors are made of marble tiles. To some, your family’s mansion would be a dream come true. Though, to you, it feels more like a prison than a home. It has ever since your brother left.

Your mother had an Avox lay your Reaping outfit out on your bed. It’s blue — as most clothing made for District Four is. It’s made of a deep navy satin, jewels embedded into the fabric. It’s absolutely gorgeous and you hate it.

Though, your personal thoughts on clothing matter naught. You once tried arguing with your mother on how extravagant your clothes were, saying it was ridiculous when people in lower Districts struggle for food. That comment earned you a week with minimal food. She said that if you pitied the peasants so greatly, she’d gladly treat you like one, claiming empathy to be far more valuable than sympathy. You’d never made another comment on your clothes again after that.

Though, you both knew her anger was rooted far deeper than your mere clothing preference. It was rooted in the underlying criticism you’d made in regards to the governing of your country — the unfair hierarchy of Districts. You never made a political comment after that, either. Not aloud anyway.

You pull the dress on, something symbolic always laced within the act of holding your tongue. 

Each curve and stitch is made specifically for your body, fitting perfectly. Trading fish in this gown will make for an odd sight, but you haven’t a choice. Mister Alden should be here any minute and the Reaping begins in less than an hour; multitasking is your only option.

The halls are just as pristine as your bedroom, walls decorated with fine art and the tile floor kept sparkling. Thanks to the unpaid Avoxes — which are former criminals whose punishments are to be made into servants for the Capitol. You live in the Districts, but your family is so cherished by Capitolites that you’re permitted to have an abundance of your own servants. Despite the fact that your mansion is tended to by over twenty Avoxes, you’ve never spoken to a single one. Not due to your own ignorance, but because their tongues are removed and they’re unable to speak.

One of them holds the door open for you on your journey out to the docks. You thank him shortly, though he doesn’t respond. 

Your house is beachfront, back porch providing a wooden path down to your own private piling dock. It’s unnecessarily fancy for your mother to inherit — who just happened to marry into a wealthy family — and you, who hasn’t even become a victor yet. And, if you’re never Reaped, you’ll have never deserved an ounce of what’s been given to you.

The path to the dock is a downward slope. Your house is built on a rocky cliff, hence the path’s existence. You hike your dress up as you rush down the wooden trail, though as soon as you do, you hear your mother’s past lectures ring through your head. “Never above the ankles!” She’d once said, slapping your hand with a stick to force you to drop the dress. Instinctively, you lower it.

You walk down to the dock, happy to see that it’s empty, Mister Alden not having yet arrived. Though, once you’ve reached the end of it, you hear the low hum of his boat’s motor putting through the salty water. He coasts up to the wooden structure. You reach out to catch him as the motor comes to a halt.

His boat is small, just big enough for one man to fit in. It’s made of metal with only one seat at the helm, situated beside the tilling outboard. 

Your family has bought from mister Alden all your life. When you were a kid and it was Ruben’s job to retrieve the fish, you would traipse behind him. You’d hobble behind him, small legs having to run in order to keep up with your elder brother's long gait. Then, once at the dock, you were rendered useless. You’d peer over mister Alden’s boat, nosily searching his belongings. You watched as Ruben would speak to mister Alden shortly, pay him graciously, hoist the net of seafood over his shoulder, then head back inside. Due to this, mister Alden watched you grow more than your own father had. And even though his presence is short and biweekly, you know the old man rather well.

Well enough to know that he has three grandkids and the oldest of them is a twelve year old girl whose first ever Reaping is today. 

“Oh, what a lovely outfit.” He smiles, crows feet creasing. He remains seated as you moor the boat to the cleats. The metal is so hot from endless days spent in the sun that it burns your hands at the touch. You don’t dare wince, knowing how fast mister Alden would rush to your aid. You’re sure he has enough on his plate what with his granddaughter. “I can carry the fish inside, if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you staining such a stunning dress.”

“It’s okay.” You’re quick to assure him, offering your hand to help him out of the boat once it’s tied off. He takes it, the man nigh senile in his old age. His hand shakes slightly as he steps onto the dock. “I can get the fish, mister Alden, I don’t mind.”

He smiles kindly, “You remind me so much of your brother.”

You don’t respond. You know he’s only saying that out of kindness, he has to be. Your mother ceaselessly reminds you of how different the two of you are. You try to ignore the comment as you lean over the boat to pull the huge net of fish from the creased hull. They’re blue in color, almost mimicking that of your dress, though their scales shine silver in the sunlight.

“Did you ever hear the story of Ruben’s first Reaping?” Mister Alden asks as you drop the net onto the dock, pausing to converse with him for a while despite knowing it’s a bad idea with your lack of time. “He only attended two Reapings, that poor boy. But his first one, I’ll never forget. It was the first time I met your mother, too, the nasty woman. He was out here retrieving fish, as our exchanges always seem to fall on Reaping Day. He was only twelve, but so determined to carry the fish all on his own. I offered my help at least a hundred times, to which he refused each one. He was strong, though, for his size. He managed to carry them all the way to the porch before the net caught on a twig and the fish fell all the way back down the pathway. Every single one.”

Your eyes widen. You recall this, though the memory is rather blurry to you as you were only seven at the time. That, and also because most of your memories with Ruben are tainted, not to be trusted in your bias. 

“What’d my mother do?” You ask, unable to help your childlike curiosity from rearing its head.

“Well,” He chuckles, though it lacks any sense of humor. “She wasn't happy, that’s for sure. Ruben instantly began to cry when he saw the effects of his mistake. I tried to assure him that it was okay and I could always deliver more fish, but he said that’s not why he was sad. He wasn’t mourning the loss of the fish. Instead, he was terrified of what your mother would do to him.” Mister Alden shakes his head, grey brows turned in an expression of dispirit. “No child that small should fear his own parent so vehemently.”

You frown. In every aspect where your mother lacks morality, mister Alden has a myriad of it. The old man is practically overflowing with sympathy at all times. He’d always treated you and Ruben as his own, offering comfort whenever you seek it and kind words whenever you forget they even exist.

Just as he’s about to continue his story, your mother’s voice is heard. It’s shrill as she shouts your name. Chills trace down your spine at the sound. Mister Alden gives you a pitying expression before you pass him a small pouch of coins for payment, lift the net over your shoulder, and begin the trek back up to your porch. The sound of his motor starting up carries through the air as you approach your mother.

She’s wearing a baby blue dress, just as fancy as yours — if not more. Her usual wooden cane has been swapped out for a fancier golden one. Her hair is done up in a neat braid, gold heeled shoes adorning her wrinkled feet. 

She shoots you a scowl before entering the house, dropping the door on you despite knowing you’re carrying a huge weight of seafood. It slams into your side, the corner of it landing on your stitched bicep. You wince, struggling for only a moment before an Avox rushes to your aid and holds it wide for you. You don’t dare thank her in front of your mother.

You enter the kitchen, placing the bag of fish onto the marble counter.

“We have less than twenty minutes before the Reaping!” She spits, rage evident in her tone as she watches you set it down. “Your feet are dirty and bare, your hair is matted, and you reek of fish!”

“I didn’t—” You begin, though you’re quick to stop yourself, remembering her order of not speaking unless asked to do so.

A sharp pain shoots through your cheek as she slaps you across the face for having spoken out of turn. You lower your head, mouth now sealed shut. She turns to give orders to the Avoxes — instructing two of them to put your hair up, one to put your shoes on, and three to gut and clean the fish prior to your return from the Reaping.

They’re quick to do so, rushing around to oblige.

You’re directed to a stool, two servants doing your hair into some intricate design whilst another crouches in front of you to slip on your shoes. They’re a pair of silver heels that match the jewels on your dress. In record time, the other two complete the updo, holding out a hand mirror for you to examine the design. Two thin braids wrap around the crown of your head, a neat bun resting at the nape of your neck. It’s beautiful considering how little time they had.

“I love it.” You whisper, quiet enough only they can hear it.

Your mother approaches you, thankfully not having heard your words of thanks. She circles around you, looking at the hairdo before she tuts, “It’ll do.”

The journey to the town square is only a few minutes. Though, as you walk beside your mother in deafening silence, it feels like an eternity. Everyone knows who the two of you are, the entirety of the Capitol fond of your family lineage. Their eyes are wide as they watch you and your mother pass through the streets. See, due to your partnership with mister Alden and your large quantity of Avoxes, neither of you ever leave the house unless it’s mandatory, which only adds to the peoples’ astonishment. Not to mention your unnecessarily extravagant clothing. Most people are only wearing plain gowns or linen shirts whereas you two look like you’re about to meet a monarch. It’s humiliating.

Your mother loves the attention, basking in it. You, on the other hand, feel as though it’s rather embarrassing.

You reach the square and part ways with her, wordlessly joining your respective age groups.

Your shoulders are set and your chin is raised as you know everyone is staring. Their gazes feel like spiders crawling all over your body. You fucking hate it, the prestige. Especially since you didn’t do anything to deserve it. You were just born into the family. To you, nothing makes you any different from the people living in the hovels of your District. Even in other Districts. The only thing that separates you from a starving child in Twelve is chance.

Mayor Marriott steps up to the podium and she tells the story of your country’s origin. You already know it by heart, having been taught by your father to memorize it at a young age. Her hair is platinum blonde, younger than most District mayors, though she’s just as strict. Her father was the mayor before her, causing her to take over the career. You oftentimes wonder if she hates lineage inheritance just as much as you do. You doubt it.

Following her speech comes the District escort. You know her by name, you know everyone in the Capitol by name. That’s Alice Reymond. Her hair is bigger than her head, her eyes adorned by lashes longer than her fingers. Capitolites are fucking weird, looking more like disfigured abstract pieces than human beings.

“Happy Hunger Games!” Exclaims Alice Reymond. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

She goes on to tell a speech on how much of an honor it is to serve as this District’s escort. Though every escort says that, you’re sure she means it more so than any others. Escorts are paid based on how many victors their District is able to produce. And, what with your family’s abundance of them, you’re sure she’s swimming in more cash than even District One’s escort is. However, more importantly, the bragging rights must be immeasurable.

Behind the podium of which she stands, mayor Marriott watches with a piercing gaze. Her blue eyes are intimidatingly sharp as she overlooks the crown. Though, the man sitting in the mentor’s chair has a gaze even sharper than she. 

Ruben. Your brother.

He’s tasked with training and keeping the tributes alive each year. He’s rather good at it. And, even when he fails, nobody blames him. How could they when he’s so perfect? You tune out Alice Reymond’s speech, taking in the sight of your brother after having not seen him in years. The closest you’ve gotten to talking to him is watching interviews on the television. 

His features are almost a perfect copy of yours — the same nose shape, same hair and eye color, same lips. But he’s got a certain look to him that erases any sort of similarities you two happen to share. A certain Capitolistic look. His eyes are highlighted with golden eyeliner, all the wrinkles in his face surgically removed. The brother you’d cherished all those years ago no longer exists. In his place sits the shell of a man. A Capitolite and thereby not your brother.

“Here we go!” Alice Reymond grins, yanking your thoughts back to the Reaping. She then begins digging her inhumanly long fingers through the bowl of names. She pulls out a slip of paper and smiles widely before calling it out. “Remy Wilson!”

The crowd murmurs lowly, looking around for the owner of the name. A pause. Nobody steps forward. Then, two Peacekeepers suddenly storm into the crowd and rip a little boy from his parents. The boy, Remy, is frozen in place, unmoving. The Peacekeepers pull him up to the stage. He’s crying, as he stands on the elevated space, trembling under the gazes of the District. Of the country.

He can’t be older than twelve. His cheeks are rounded, his big brown eyes even rounder. His skin is pale with a rosy nose, his wavy hair is an ashy brown that forms a messy crown of innocence around his head. Ruben is watching the boy closely, likely examining whether or not he’ll survive the arena. The answer is obvious, though. This child won’t be making it out.

“And for our second tribute,” Continues Alice Reymond. She pulls another paper from the bowl, her eyes widening slightly as she reads it. A great, pearly smile splits across her face before her spider-like eyes land on you. Your heart sinks.

You already know what she’s going to say when she calls out your name.

[post] notes!! While dual POV will be in this story, this is the only time I'll be showing two perspectives of the same event. This chapter followed Ellie and the reader both experiencing the reaping. It was needed for the plot but grew repetitive at the end, I promise this is the only time that'll happen 🤞 Also, this was a shit ton of exposition & I apologize for that, but the backstory of both characters are very needed. You def needed to see Ellie's relationship w everyone around her as well as have explanatory bg with the reader's family and everything. Also x2, I hope the amount of dialogue in Ellie's pov made up for the lack thereof in the reader's pov. I hate reading huge paragraphs of straight monologue so I try to refrain from writing it, but sometimes it's unavoidable (bc reader literally has nobody to talk to) Anyway, hope you enjoyed!!

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

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[maidragoste]

Chapter One: The Reaping

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader (I labeled it that even though Jace's backstory is different from Katniss's but he and Reader will be the star-crossed lovers of district 12)

Chapter Two Chapter Three

I really hope you like it because I'm so excited to write this au!

Please let me know what you think in the comments, as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated too 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Jacaerys entered the Victors' Village, not that he was a victor. In fact, his name had never come up in the reaping. But he and his brothers lived there since his uncle Larys took care of them after his father died in the middle of an explosion in the mines while working.

The teenager quickly quickened his pace while adjusting his grip on the only two squirrels he had brought from all the ones he had hunted during the morning with Baela, his best friend. He may not have needed to hunt for food anymore but he was one of the few people in District 12 who knew how to hunt. Some people had depended on bartering with his father to bring a plate of food to his table. His father would not have wanted him to leave those people abandoned, so every day he sneaks into the forest with Baela to look for deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, fish, or any type of edible vegetable or fruit. He always gave the best goods to Baela, after all, she had more mouths to feed with her mother, her twin sister, and her two little brothers. But the rest he exchanged with the merchants or even sometimes he practically ended up giving away his merchandise due to the low price that he was willing to accept from the families that he knew did not have enough to eat to prevent them from ending up asking for more tesserae. Uncle Larys had never told him but Jacaerys knew that he thought he was a fool for doing that.

Jacaerys hated the silence in the village but it was no surprise considering that of the twelve houses there, the only house that was being inhabited was his uncle's. Of the seventy-three Hunger Games that have been held so far, there have only been two victors from District 12 and the only one still alive is Larys Strong.

Jace hurried into the house trying to ignore the heaviness in his stomach.

“I told you Luke would throw up again this year! You owe me!” was the first thing Joffrey, his youngest brother, said when he saw him.

Lucerys, or Luke as his dad had nicknamed him, was the middle brother, and every year he had the worst time during Repairing; which was the moment when the District escort went up to the podium and then took a random piece of paper from each glass urn, one containing the names of all the boys between twelve and eighteen years old and another with the names of the girls. This was how the tributes were chosen for each Hunger Games. Like any coherent person in District 12 Luke feared being chosen as a tribute and unlike Jacaerys he could not hide his fear.

“Take this to the kitchen,” the oldest of the brothers asked, handing the squirrels to Joffrey before running to the bathroom.

When Jacaerys entered he found Luke hunched over, holding the toilet bowl. Ignoring the smell of vomit he hurried to his brother's side and with one hand began to rub soothing circles on Luke's back while the other brushed the hair from his face. He doesn't know how many minutes they stayed like this until the youngest finally stopped vomiting.

"I'm sorry, Jace" Luke apologized with a broken voice and tears on his cheeks, clearly feeling ashamed for being in the same position for another year. "I really tried."

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for," Jacaerys denied as he helped him up from the floor. "It's okay to be afraid. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid."

"Joffrey is not afraid," the youngest murmured after cleaning his face.

Joffrey must have been the only thirteen-year-old in District 12 who wasn't horrified at the thought of his name coming up in the Reaping. Jacaerys believed it was because Joff thought he would be able to win the games just by being a relative of a victor. Also, of the three, Joff seemed to want Uncle Larys's validation and attention the most. In these three years living with him he had never told them that he loved them but Jace thought that he should at least care a little about them because otherwise he could have let the authorities take them to the community orphanage instead of taking care of them.

"I told you, an idiot," Jace said, managing to get a small laugh out of Lucerys. "Listen, Luke. Everything will be fine. You never asked for a tessera so your name is only on four pieces of paper."

In the first year when you started to be part of the Reaping, they put your name only once in the bowl. But every time you have a birthday they add another paper with your name on it. If you do not ask for any tessera then it is assumed that you will reach the age of eighteen with only seven papers.

Jacaerys always tried to reassure his brother, and also himself, saying that the chances of his name coming up were low compared to all the people who had to ask for tesserae to be able to eat.

"Lucerys, Jacaerys, start getting ready for the Reaping" Larys ordered from below. There was no need for him to shout as the house was silent.

"Take a bath, you stink" Jacaerys mocked, ruffling Lucerys's hair before leaving him in the bathroom.

"Happy Hunger Games! and may the odds be ever in your favor!" greeted Effie Trinket, the District 12 companion, with the same excitement as in previous years.

While Effie gives a speech about what an honor it is for her to be there as a companion, Jacaerys's eyes meet Baela's. She smiles at him and he struggles to return it. Baela is so brave, he doesn't know how she isn't trembling with fear knowing that her name is at least twenty times. Maybe in recent years she was no longer asking for tesserae but before Jacaerys moved in with his uncle she had.

"Ladies first!" said Effie announcing that it was time for the drawing. She approaches the urn with the girls' names and then reaches deep inside and takes out a piece of paper. You can feel the tension in the air and for a moment everyone seems to hold their breath until Effie opens the paper and I read it "Y/n Y/l!"

Shit. Jacaerys knew you. He had seen you more than once at the bakery when he went to buy or exchange his merchandise with your father. Not only that but you two share classes together at school. You weren't friends. But you were still there for his brothers when he was too devastated by the death of his father to care about anyone else. You were the one who stopped some idiots from bothering Luke at school, you were the one who helped Joffrey with his homework to prevent him from repeating a grade, and you, in the only conversation you ever shared, reminded him that he was important to the District, that his brothers needed him, that he could not abandon them, that his father would not have wanted to see him as a ghost in life, that he would have wanted him to help the people of the District.

Jace had to go say goodbye to you, his gratitude may be three years late but he needed to thank you for taking care of his brothers when he had failed them and remind him that he had a purpose.

Jacaerys watches you move towards the stage. Your posture is straight, your chin up and your steps are firm but he can see the uncertainty in your eyes. You still look pretty in your pink dress, it wasn't glamorous at all—no one in the district wears glamorous clothes—but in his eyes, you stood out. It's probably because, unlike other girls in the district, your clothes didn't hang off and your bones didn't show, you didn't look like someone who was malnourished.

Maybe with your beauty and if you had a good interview you could get lucky and captivate a sponsor, he thought. He hoped that this year his uncle would try even harder to bring home a winner.

Once you are on stage Effie asks for volunteers. Of course, no one offers.

“Now it's time to meet our male tribute!” Effie announces, rushing to the boys' urn and pulling out the first piece of paper she sees, “Lucerys Strong!”

This must be a nightmare, Jacaerys thought. They were supposed to be safe, they had never asked for tesserae. He was snapped out of his stupor by hearing Joffrey's desperate cries calling for Luke as his brother began to walk with fear and tears in his eyes to the stage. Jace didn't even think about it, he broke out of his formation and started running after Lucerys.

“I'm a volunteer!” he shouted when the peacekeepers grabbed him, wanting to take him away from Lucerys. “I volunteered as a tribute!” he repeated, standing up straight, once they released him.

"Magnificent!" Effie exclaimed, happy because there was finally some action in the District. "But you are supposed to present the winner of the reaping first and then ask for volunteers…"

"Just let him up," the mayor interrupted her sharply, clearly upset by the situation. He knew Jacaerys because he always bought strawberries from him and Baela.

“No, Jace!” Lucerys said with a trembling voice, still shaking her head. “You can't!”

“Go to Joffrey” the eldest brother ordered firmly, he wanted to hug Luke but he was afraid that if he did he would also start crying and he couldn't do it knowing that the cameras were filming everything. He couldn't appear weak. “Go,” he repeated, pushing him aside and heading to the stage without looking back.

Jacaerys' brown eyes meet yours and the heaviness in his stomach increases. He would have to kill you if he wanted to come home, you, the person who pushed him to move forward after her father's death. He had never thanked you and much less would he do so now knowing that in a few days, he may be the one who ended up killing you. Obviously, luck was not on his side but if you died he really hoped that it would be another of the tributes who would end up taking your life. If it became him and he managed to win the games, Jacaerys was sure that there would not be a day in which he would not think of you.

"Wonderful!" Effie exclaimed once the young man finished climbing the stairs. "What's your name?"

"Jacaerys Strong," he answered.

"I'll bet my shoes he was your brother. You didn't want him to steal your glory, did you?" The companion's smile disappeared before the furious looks of the victor and the tributes. "Good! Let's give a big round of applause to our new tribute!"

But no one applauds. The entire District demonstrates its disagreement with its silence. Not only that, but many people begin to bring the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and then point them at Jacaerys. He looks shocked as they give him that gesture. It was not a common thing to be used in the District but every once in a while, someone would do it during funerals. It was a gesture of giving thanks, of admiration, of farewell to a loved one. The same gesture they had made at his father's funeral. Jacaerys feels a lump form in his throat. He can't help but look at you, this was thanks to you, if you hadn't reminded him that the District needed him like they needed his dad then maybe he would have continued in silence staring into nothingness, living mechanically instead of starting to help people like his dad used to do.

The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason. Once he finishes he instructs you and Jace to shake hands. Jacaerys notices that your hand is a little smaller than his and he feels warm against hiss. You catch him off guard when you squeeze his hand as if to encourage him. He returns the gesture even though he knows he shouldn't, it wasn't the time to become friends.

Tag: @valeskafics @agqrtz

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[hexsdexs]

More from my thg reread, mockingjay edition

The dialogue is UNHINGED. It's so unhinged that it's funny.

I think it shouldve been in the movies just how uncomfortable katniss was the entire time she was in 13. It makes much more sense.

When she finds her prep team and they removed their physical additions. Katniss describes them as an inflated balloon. When she sees a drain in the cell.

Gale is the worst. And not because of the love triangle manipulation. Because: Absolutely no regard for any civilians. Thinks katniss cares too much about her prep team. Effectively implying they deserve being imprisoned and katniss has to spell it out for him that it is over a PIECE OF BREAD?? Thinks katniss is causing trouble by asking for the victors to be pardoned. Wants to kill DISTRICT CIVILIANS in the nut in 2. Wants to kill capitol civilians. He's like actually a war criminal.

Katniss doesn't trust any of them except the other victors.

It's a significant moment that katniss and finnick see peeta's propo together in the hospital, where peeta tells her not to trust the rebels. Finnick then tells her to pretend they never saw it, and then they keep it from them for days. They don't even tell them. Katniss is the one to confront gale about it.

Katniss takes annie to 12 to pick from dresses, then upon describing how weird annie is on the plane, decides she loves her based soley on the fact that finnick loves her and katniss trusts him. It's slightly funny how she spend the entirety of cf thinking of ways to kill finnick and now he's her best friend.

Haymitch is katniss' dad. That scene when he tells her he will surgically implant her with an earpiece if she takes it off again?? 😭😭

It's significant that haymitch repeatedly calls katniss and peeta "the girl", "the boy". Effectively reminding everyone that these are CHILDREN

Katniss making johanna the pines because she doesn't have any possessions. 😭😭😭😭

Most importantly. Katniss and peeta, through and through, are what they wished they never would become. From the first chapter of thg to the last one in mockingjay, they are both pieces in a game. Once in the capitol's game in the original book, again in catching fire when they are the only ones kept in the dark about the rebels. And each in 13's games in mockingjay. Peeta is snow's piece against katniss, katniss is not useful to the revolution except as a pretty girl. She's a showgirl. Not part of the fight. She doesn't even want to be the mockingjay at all.

[thatsillything]

It's the last design for Thg au. I want to start finally writing some plot for it

[leulahart]

your everlark art is so cute! per your last post, here's a request: would you consider….modern au, famous singer katniss? maybe the Mockingjay being her stage name

I typically don't read any type of modern au's but this was fun!! A variety of outfits because I couldn't for the life of me figure out what kind of music she would make