wc. 3 547

⊹ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⊹

southern!butch ellie thoughts nobody asked me for.

a little context: fem!reader is friendly neighbors with ellie but they aren’t really together in these. ellie obviously has a crush, though. no warnings for this just cute stuff. i missed writing for her:(

𐚁 wears boots, obviously. steel toes aren’t just for the grueling hours out in the texan sun, but also a steady platform for a pretty girl’s heels. within her journals are rough sketches of another woman’s feet resting atop hers, towering over her despite the extra inches her thrift store ariats provide. she doesn’t mind one bit. eventually, the sketches transform from a woman who doesn’t exist to a familiar set of feet: sketches of her neighbor’s belle pumps. the ones she only catches you wearing when it’s a special occasion, but she has them memorized in impressive detail.

𐚁 always a bit awkward and clings to the corner of the social gatherings, but if you ask her to open a beer bottle for you, she’ll give you a show of kicking that cap off with her belt buckle. she gets real embarrassed when the bitter foam leaks down the zipper of her jeans, especially when she catches your gaze falling down. it’s exactly what she pulled that move for, and yet she can’t help but feel her face heat up when it actually works. she hastily hands the bottle back to you.

𐚁 no AC in the ‘95 ford Joel forcefully passed down to her, so wherever she goes, it’s windows down or she arrives in a sheen of sweat. anyone who borrows the truck insists she get it fixed up, but southern!butch ellie is a bit of a cheapskate. at least she is when it comes to spending money on herself.

𐚁 the job she landed as a welder just a couple miles from her home pays her well enough that she can live comfortably, so you’ll be shocked when you see the state of her fridge. a bowl of leftover box mac n cheese, a half-empty milk carton that expired yesterday, questionable lunch meat, and miracle whip are the current contents simply because the hour and a half drive to the supermarket never seems all that worth it. she puts in more effort to come up with a suitable excuse to eat at your house at least once a week, anyway.

𐚁 she comes off as mean and reclusive to most, but ellie is quite reliable when you’re in a situation. she has general knowledge of car parts, so when you’re running late with a flat tire on the side of the highway, she doesn’t hesitate to pull out a jack and lug wrench from the bed of her truck. she also doesn’t say a word about the tears you wipe away when you see her pull over behind you. doesn’t ask for shit in return, either. if you ever bring it up again, she’ll give you an embarrassed groan to work with and insist,

“no, really. it’s not a big deal. just.. shut up about it.”

𐚁 still, ellie doesn’t want you ever stranded on the road without help. she doesn’t admit that the thought of you alone and found by the wrong person keeps her up at night sometimes. the one day off she gets, she spends it showing you how to change a tire amongst a couple other simple things. her rough hands guide yours with the wrench. you try not to think too hard about the way her freckles shimmer in the sunlight at just the right angle or the strain her jeans over her thighs as she slides under your car.

“you needa stop drivin’ this piece of shit all the way out to the city.” she tells you, though she’s all bark and no bark when it comes to her scolding. she’s more annoyed that she gets worried about you, and you don’t seem to notice the hints. “i told you already, you can borrow my truck. she breaks down once in a blue moon. that can’t be said for your heap of junk. fuckin’ hell, i told you not to get the shit off facebook marketplace.”

𐚁 what does she do with the money that she refuses to put toward actual groceries? well, a good chunk goes toward shimmer. horses are quite expensive, but she likes them more than she likes people. they’re quiet besides the comforting knickers and occasional neighs. they’re soft and worth every penny. they’re also worth you walking down to her land to pet shimmer through the fence. ellie knows she’d be sour if shimmer liked anyone else more than her since she spends a hefty amount to spoil, but she doesn’t mind it half as much when it’s you. it also gives her the perfect chance to be near you, even if she doesn’t know what to say to you. it’s a certain type of peaceful silence that comes when the both of you are petting on shimmer, glancing at each other when you think the other isn’t looking.

𐚁 she isn’t embarrassed to admit some of the extra cash also goes to her friends and you. ellie has never been one for expensive shit, but she finds herself silently annoyed when someone else gets to the bill first at the bar or a nearby diner. don’t even try to pay it. she’ll make another jab about how you should be saving up for a better car so she doesn’t have to pull over for you, even though she knows she doesn’t mind it one bit. rather her than anyone else.

𐚁 though she claims to only watch movies when Joel puts on an 80’s action film, ellie has a strong obsession with the space genre. you happened to mention watching interstellar and it spiraled from there into her own lesser-known, older favorites.

“you like them space movies too, huh? they’re okay, i guess. i got a few burned into dvds if yer ever lookin’ to borrow. don’t make it into a thing, please.”

𐚁 taking compliments isn’t her strong suit. when you catch her truck parked out by her mailbox, sifting through junkmail before she leaves to get a few drinks with Jesse at the bar in town, you say something about her old flannel button-up, to which she groans to play off the smile that she can’t ever seem to hide around you.

“it’s just some old shit. i wear this like, everyday.” yeah. you notice every single time, but you especially noticed today because she now has it unbuttoned, a black, thin tank-top clinging to her beneath it. “thanks, though.” she mumbles in the soft voice reserved for the times she can’t not show a little vulnerability.

how it feels telling people u write without telling them its fanfiction

wc. 8 886

⊹ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⊹

✿۫⠀ 𑂁 ฺ

autistic!reader x gf!ellie hcs

pls note i wrote this with my own experience with autism in mind + very much written to cope while on holiday 😭 not gonna be perfect at all

♡ ellie researched your disability when you had timidly told her you were autistic, n she had decided then and there she would do the best she could to take care of you and provide a space where you can be yourself

♡ ellie knows your nervousness when it comes to dinners with friends n always makes sure to pack a safe food for you. whenever you need it, ellie assures you “hey, its okay, its okay. nobodys getting mad at you, you do whatever your comfortable with.”

♡ whenever you have a hyperfixation on an interest, ellies always the one there to be listening. asking you questions n being there to rant to, always patient and letting you take your time when your explaining. learning more about it in her own time to ask you about it later. making you trinkets of it/buying you merch of it and bringing it up whenever she feels like you need a gateway to talk about it when you get too scared to ask so yourself

♡ double & triple checks ur headphones to make sure its charged before going out. the two of you have a shared playlist that you listen to, it reminds you that ellies here n makes being in public less of an isolating experience

♡ takes note of what textures you do n dont like very precisely. your preferences are the main factors that ellie takes into account of when shes buying new bed sheets, clothes, blankets etc.

♡ has grown to notice the small details to look out for when your overstimulated. especially when your out, she makes sure to be checking up on you if you need anything at all

♡ drops everything when she notices your overstimulated. she gets you into a space with no prying eyes so you dont have to keep masking n rubs circles into your back. you take all the time you need, being around ellie doesnt make you feel like a burden

♡ takes charge whenever the both of you interact with unfamiliar people. ellie has the ability to make conversation while also including you if she notices your feeling left out, driving questions n facts your way. otherwise, ellie simply keeps the conversation going without you having to deal with it if you dont want to.

♡ with time, you began to feel comfortable enough to unmask around ellie. creating a space where you felt like you could speak your mind without having to worry about sounding rude or coming off as “weird.”

☆ # starry nights

angst angst angst

TW : death, light gore, poorly written 😳

—

“wait- you want me to take you outside of jackson??”

ellie looked at MG, who was nodding excitedly. it wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the limp on MG’s right leg. a long scar from her ankle up to her knee from an accident long before she found jackson.

“jesse told me the stars were really pretty outside on patrol, and you like stars, so we could look together!” MG beamed, as ellie fidgeted with her ring and pinky fingers.

“…but your leg-“ MG cut ellie off.

“it’s fine, really! i’ll bring my crutch if i really need it.”

ellie thought for a sec, biting back a smile as she finally nodded. “we’ll leave tonight. we’ll sneak you out before maria finds out, ok?”

. . .

the two walked down the path, an already familiar route for ellie. MG looked around, her eyes wide as her arm wrapped around ellie’s. ellie slowed her pace down to match MG’s, who was limping away beside ellie. ellie kept her eyes on the road ahead, keeping her mind on anything but MG’s arm against hers. “so, tell me why maria’s so-“ she gestured awkwardly with her hands. “helicopter parent over you?”

MG smiled, as if excited to tell the story. “maria and my mom were close. my mom loved baking and maria loved trying them. after my mom and dad… y’know, maria sorta took care of me.”

ellie listened, her head nodding. “that makes more sense.” she didn’t want to mention MG’s limp, or suggest that maria knew MG would die outside of jackson.

MG put down a blanket in a little clearing—a spot in between the trees where the moon shined and the stars glowed. the two looked up at the stars, the way they twinkled differently without the light pollution from the city. though, ellie found herself looking away to glance at MG.

as MG’s finger mindlessly caressed the swell of ellie’s chemical burn, ellie’s breath hitched. she knew MG wouldn’t care, knew that if she told her the truth about her immunity, she wouldn’t tell anyone. ellie’s eyes locked with MG, who was already looking at her.

“..ellie, thank you for bringing me out here.. the stars are so pretty.” she smiled, but she knew the stars were the last thing on her mind.

“yeah, anytime maf, really.” ellie couldn’t look away, her hands itching to run through MG’s hair. if she were to kiss her right now, ellie wouldn’t mind it. after kat, she knew she couldn’t spread the virus, and MG would be safe.

the stars were long forgotten about as MG’s hand trailed down to intertwine with ellie’s, their eyes talking for them. “…why’re you so quiet?” ellie asked, her voice low. she knew MG knew the emotions were in the air, but both of them were too scared to do anything.

“…just.. thinking.” MG whispered, her eyes averted and locking on their hands.

“thinking of..?” ellie tilted her head, hiding her blush when she saw MG’s eyes flickering down to her lips.

“…us- i guess.” she mumbled as her thumb mindlessly caressed ellie’s hand.

“there’s an us now?” ellie asked quietly, almost teasingly.

“..you know what i mean.” MG groaned, hiding her face in ellie’s shoulder. ellie was quiet, not wanting to push. even now, she needed MG to say it out loud what she felt about ellie.

“….i was thinking, your eyes look really- really pretty in the moonlight.”

ellie froze, not expecting MG to speak up all of a sudden. ellie’s hands reached up, finding the confidence to play with MG’s hair. “..yeah? yours too.”

“….ellie?”

“yeah?”

“…can- can we..”

suddenly, a rustle. the two of them go silent, when the deafening sounds of clicking came behind them. MG could feel her heartbeat in her head, her body tingling as she remembered. she remembered how her father pushed her out of the way, remembered the shouts for her to run. she didn’t want to run again.

MG shoved ellie quickly as the clicker pinned her to the ground. ellie shot once, twice, thrice, until the mag was empty. the clicker was already dead by the fifth bullet, but ellie was acting impulsively. even with her military training, she couldn’t shoot away the reality.

there MG was, her eyes wide as she gripped the bites on her neck, her breath raspy and leaking from the wounds. “maf! maf! no no no..! fuck! hey- it’s- it’s okay.. it’s okay.. shit- fuck, why’d you push me out of the way dumbass..?!”

“ell… el…” MG gurgled, her lip quivering. even as ellie’s hands gripped MG’s neck, she could feel her slipping away. “don’t speak- don’t-… fuck..!” her voice was a raspy, desperate beg, her eyes locked on the girl so full of life just a minute ago.

MG’s hands weakly gripped ellie’s, her eyes locked on the stars. “i… i..” MG trailed off, her quivering coming to a stop as her hand slipped from ellie’s. ellie cradled the girl, her hands desperately trying to wipe away the blood on her face.

she can’t forget the walk back to jackson. the way MG’s body was cold in her arms and her head was pressed against ellie’s. none of it felt the way it used to. the stars wouldn’t glow the way they used to.

—

@wannabegyu

why's it so hard to find a good ellie fic nowadays !! 😓

wc. 9 352

⊹ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⊹

09:39.

THE CAPITOL.

For every resonant decision, there is an equally great ramification. For crime, it is arrest. For fame, it is fortune. And for love, it is grief. The more two people love one another, the deeper the wound will be when the inevitable ramification comes along to serve as consequence.

Ellie loved Joel—so much so that it drove her into a state nearing madness. She threw herself away, laying waste to each logical thought which crossed her mind. Grief plunged itself into her veins like a drug and drained away every last drop of humanity until she was empty and hollow. 

You cannot remember the time very well, but your body recalls the feeling of being left behind by her. She, who you thought would never leave. She, who left anyway.

Dina loved Jesse—so much so that it has driven her into silence. As much as you fail to recall the precise details of your strained relationship with Dina, you remember her vibrance. You think of her and you see a shiny gem flaunting all its worth through noise. When her tributes were killed, one after the other, year after year, she did not fear voicing the cruelty of the Games, despite how dearly they were loved by the Capitol. In grief, her mouth has remained almost entirely shut ever since Jesse took his last breath.

Stephen loved Cecil—so much so that it drove him to suicide. A man who has never wanted for anything so long as his lover stood indelibly at his side, killed himself.  It’s unimaginable: turning a corner to find your world shattered and bloody on the ground. Watching the man who you poured anything into get ripped to shreds. How many times did Stephen listen to Cecil’s voice and smile to himself at its beauty? And now, how many times did Stephen have to watch as Cecil’s vocal chords were torn from his throat? How many times did he have to watch that lovely ichor of love pool around the chin of a monster? Only once. But once was enough. Once was enough.

You’ve experienced grief, you know you have, and yet you cannot empathize with these people. You lost a boy who you deemed a son; you lost a man who you saw as a parent. And yet it is impossible for you now to fathom such immense grief. 

You’re standing beside Thea as soil is piled atop the bodies of Cecil and Stephen. You watch as their agape mouths and eyes are filled with dirt. You wonder if it stings. If they were to feel anything at all, would they be in pain during this process, or would it be akin to being tucked into bed? Someone took the time to clean the dried blood from Cecil’s skin, but it did naught to hide the atrocity of his demise. You can still see each severed artery, though the blood has long since ceased its flow. 

Solethia is sniffling quietly as she beckons goodbye two men she hardly knew. Ivellen, too, appears rather distraught—althought that could be due to the level of gore which he’d never before had to witness in person. Isolde is nowhere to be seen, having vanished after vomiting during the initial scene. 

You look around at the group, gauging each person’s reaction. The people who died alongside Jesse could easily be passed as a horrible accident: a casualty of having taken such a risk in coming on this mission. But now that there have been two occurrences causing the death of this team’s members, everyone is starting to realize just how dangerous this feat may truly prove to be. Some people appear horrified, but the vast majority are not surprised. Tommy, in particular, seems to be carrying an air of finality with him, as though he were preparing for this the entire time—preparing for Marlene to throw his entire team to the wolves. 

Across the grave, your gaze colliding with Ellie’s. She does not shy away from your stare, but instead seems to relish in it. Even after you’ve thinned your eyes into a glower, she does not turn away. Your skin begins to feel itchy all over, as though ants have begun to crawl up your limbs and across the cage of your heart. In the end, you’re the one who looks away. In fact, you turn and leave the crowd altogether.

You are well aware that many people will have judged you for vacating the premises during such a crucial and humane moment. But you cannot, in good conscience, watch Cecil and Stephen be buried. Not while knowing that Marlene is watching as well—through you. A burial should be a solemn ceremony. It should be a private affair shared amongst those who meant most to the body being covered. For Marlene to bear witness is to disrupt the sanctity of their lives entirely. 

There are no tents set up, and no supplies unpacked. This burial is all the formality which can be provided, as the group must continue on this mission as soon as possible. The quicker they complete their itinerary, the quicker they may return home.

Turning a corner, you happen upon Isolde. She is sat on the edge of a fractured sidewalk, her knees pulled against her chest as though to shield herself from the harshness of this world. She is staring blankly at the cracked asphalt in front of her. You consider leaving: pretending to have not seen her so that you might avoid the discomfort which accompanies socializing. But instead, you find yourself sitting down beside her. The concrete is cold and damp beneath you.

“If you are here to chastise me, I would prefer that you didn’t.” Isolde’s voice is rough, as if her throat has gone raw from screaming. She does not even look at you. But you’re sure most people don’t need to look in order to know who you are. You make yourself known through the awkward distance you keep from her, and the way your movements are all perfectly accounted for. She does not need to look because your flaws are recognizable enough. 

“I don’t chastise.” 

“Right,” Isolde scoffs, loud and ugly. She finally turns toward you, and suddenly you can see the bloodshot nature of her eyes and the splotchy pinkness of her cheeks. Perhaps she has been screaming. She scowls at you, as if the rage within her soul can be purged through a mere glance. If only it worked like that. “So you’ve come to console me, then? Is that what I’m meant to think?”

“I don’t care what you think.” You tell her, because it’s true. This, again, makes her scoff. She turns away and you curse yourself for having already fucked up so terribly—and so easily. You wish you were better at this. You wish you knew what to say. You wish you knew why you even sat down in the first place.

Silence stretches between you for a long time. An uncomfortably long time. Isolde stares at the asphalt, her eyes burning and teary. You stare at the side of her face, trying to figure out what to say to help this helpless situation. You imagine yourself as Thea, and you try to imagine what she would say if she were in your shoes. But it does not help, because Thea is just as socially inept as you are. So instead you think of Ellie. But this does not help, either, because you no longer know Ellie well enough to know what she would say. 

“Can I tell you something?” Isolde blurts.

You turn to her, shocked. “Uh, sure.”

“I don’t believe in love.” She admits, shamelessly. “When I was eleven, I fell in love with a guy. I never thought love was something that could happen to me. It always felt so magical, so far away. There was no way something like that would ever come to me. But it did. Or at least I thought it did. We shared everything together, he and I, and I loved him. I really, truly did. But when we were fifteen, I found out that he’d been cheating on me the entire time with a prettier, wealthier girl. She was my friend. Well, sort of. I knew her and she knew me, but we never really hung out. So, I guess we weren’t really friends, but we were close enough that I never thought she would do something so vile. But my anger wasn’t directed at her. It was directed at him. He, who taught me to love and be loved in turn. He, who kissed me gently and held me tight. He, who I thought would spend forever with me.

“After that, I gave up on all notions of love. It does not exist; it never did. I faced the retribution of my stupidity with a broken heart. You can call me fifteen and overly dramatic and, well, you might be right. But that doesn’t change the fact that love was erased from my life after that. I focused entirely on my work—on climbing to the Capitol and building a life for myself. Because I didn’t need anyone else. I had my family and I had my friends. There was no point in chasing a fantasy meant for brainless children.

“Then you and Ellie came along. You two entered the arena and completely dismantled it from within. Your love for each other is what brought the country to its knees. The Districts adored you and the president feared you. There was nothing in this world more powerful than the two of you working together. Fedra quivered at the mention of the two victors from the 74th Hunger Games. And so did I. After the initial broadcasting, I rewatched the Games at least five times. I was looking for flaws in your ploy, looking for unsteadiness in the foundation of your relationship. But everywhere I looked, you two stood firm and indisputable together. Suddenly, my world was turned upside down—again. The love that leashed Fedra was no ploy; it was real. It was real and that meant love was real. That meant my entire perspective of the world was fractured. Love was not a fable, it was an all-consuming beast that feasted on the weak. But it was also magical. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly, but I didn’t want to be heartbroken again. So I watched the Games again and again, analyzing the fine details of your relationship with Ellie until I knew them by heart. 

“Then the Quell came around and my perspective became rocky again. Every time I thought I knew something, it was ripped up by the roots and burned. You and Ellie were the picturesque couple in the beginning: newlyweds who could not stand to be apart. But then Joel died and she discarded you like waste. I suddenly had someone who I could empathize with. You were heartbroken just as I was. You felt what I felt. You had the same rage in your heart that seared within mine. And still, you returned to her and forgave her. 

“Then you were taken by the Capitol. You turned over for them, and allowed yourself to be dismantled and ruined. And now here you are, yet another victim to their schemes and plots. Another soul for Fedra to feast on.” She is glaring at you again. “When I was ruined, you built me up into someone faithful again. And when I was at my peak, you came along and tore me to shreds again. What am I meant to think of you now? How am I meant to act around you?”

You don’t know what to say. So, for a long time, you say nothing. You allow the message of her story to sit between you like a heavy stone on a damp towel, threatening to tear but holding up nonetheless. You stare at her—at her clenched hands and tight jaw, at her furrowed brows and bloodshot eyes.

Then it dawns on you, like a horrible disease beginning to set in. 

“How old was this guy that you fell in love with?” 

She blinks at you, seemingly confused as to why it matters. “Forty-two.”

“And you were eleven.” 

“Yes.” She says plainly, still puzzled. Then she scowls again after recognizing the pity nestled into your expression. “Don’t look at me like that. Age gaps are normal in the Capitol. Encouraged, even.”

You frown at her. “Right.”

11:55.

THE CAPITOL.

Ellie feels as though she’s been spending more time in her head than in the physical world lately. Ever since her arrow pierced the mutt through its neck, she hasn’t been able to think of anything else. The way it gurgled—so human-like—before dropping to the ground. The way Cecil’s flesh was still embedded between its rotted teeth. 

But that’s not what she’s been thinking of all day. It’s crossed her mind more than she’d care to admit, but the majority of her pondering regards you. There’s no surprise there, she supposes, and yet she can never bring voice to these contemplations. Most of them are repetitive, to be honest: ‘do you miss her? Do you remember her? Do you love her?’.  She knows the answer, of course, which makes it all the more agonizing when she refuses to accept it. 

Each time she thought she’d been making progress with you, each time she thought there was a spark of fondness in your eyes, it vanished as quickly as it’d come. The way you’d clung to her before she left Thirteen for this mission: vanished. The way you’d confided in her whenever it came to Oakley: vanished. The way you’d grown comfortable sleeping in her proximity: vanished. Everything that has given her hope: fucking vanished. Like it never existed at all.

But isn’t that what the past is, when it comes down to it? A moment in time suddenly gone? Memories are intangible and therefore non-existent in the material world. If people did not remember their lives, what proof is there that they’d ever existed at all? Memories are all that exist of the past, and now there is only hers to prove your guys’ love. Without her, who’s to say that your relationship was anything more than a ploy? Without her, who’s to deny that it was all merely a beautiful dream?

“I know what you’re thinking.”

She turns to find Abigail suddenly at her side, like their proximity doesn't disrupt some foundational fact of the universe. Ellie and Abby are supposed to loathe one another; they’re supposed to tear each other’s throats out and feast on fear. What they’re not supposed to do is walk side-by-side as though an acquaintance is within their grasp. 

But the universe has already stolen so much from Ellie that she no longer cares whether or not things are supposed to happen. She’d happily rip every foundational fact from the ground if it meant acquiring some kind of relief. 

So instead of pulling away from Abigail or side-stepping her attempt at conversation, Ellie continues to walk beside her with her gaze pinned forward, as if she’d never noticed her at all. The outer city looms over them, still clean and pristine despite having been evacuated a few days prior. It’s a ghost town in all but name. What better place for Ellie and Abigail to face the ghosts they’d sowed?

“I know what you’re thinking.” Abigail repeats herself, because of course she does. “You miss her like a severed limb. Maybe even worse than that: you miss her like a gouged eye or carved heart. I don’t blame you. There’s something about her that– that pulls people in. Something that makes it impossible to leave once you’ve gotten to know her. And, trust me, I’ve gotten to know her. Not in the way that you have, obviously, but in a way nonetheless. While you got to know her comfort and kisses and love, I got to know her screams and pain and fear. I don’t envy you, Ellie, because I know how horrible it must be to have all of that ripped away. I know how you must be mourning.”

Ellie bites the inside of her cheek to stop from lashing out. She bites down harder and harder as Abigail continues to talk about things of which she knows nothing. Harder and harder until she can taste blood and feel a hole in her skin where there’d once been solidity. She tastes the chunk of flesh and thinks, instantly, of the mutt she’d killed—the mutt that’d had flesh in its own teeth, too.

She imagines her skull, cracked and sprouting rot. She imagines her teeth diving into someone’s lover’s throat. She imagines the mutt replica that you’d had to face in the Quell. She imagines how you’d decided to saw off its arms and jaw, not to kill it but to have it near you without threat of being eaten.

Before she can stop herself, Ellie is hunching over and vomiting right onto the Capitol’s pristine sidewalk. She breathes heavily, hands on her knees. Her eyes are watery and her mouth tastes of bile. She feels around with her tongue until she can pinpoint the exact spot in her cheek that’s been torn. She can feel the acid burning the wound, but she is okay because she can no longer taste the chunk of flesh. It’s gone. Vanished.

12:48.

THE CAPITOL.

There is a creature living within the cavern of your chest. It howls and gnaws at your ribs, scratching to be released. It paces and paces and paces. You can feel its allure as it tries to convince you into letting it free. But something in you—deep down—knows better than to give in; something in you knows that it would be a detrimental mistake. 

The creature has always been there. Perhaps it formed in the womb before you even did. Something about its existence is ancient and visceral. When you first arrived in Thirteen, it ran wild around your consciousness. It drove you to violence and bestiality and madness. Of late, you’ve learned to keep it caged. So much so that it’s laid mostly dormant—save for when Marlene threatened your son. 

When you listened to Isolde’s story this morning, the creature took shape. Its conceptual air gained solidity and sway over your mind. Since then, you’ve been on-edge: quick to flinch and even quicker to lash out. 

Thea had been telling a story, to which you didn’t listen. Upon noticing your lack of heed, she grabbed your wrist to beckon your attention. The creature pounced and, as such, you snapped your hand away from her and reached for your nearest weapon. Thankfully, you didn’t go through with the attack, but you know deep in your bones that you would have, had her expression not been so shocked that it took you aback.

And, just an hour or so ago, the group dithered when Ellie suddenly buckled over and vomited. You’d not paid much mind to the situation. You’ve been eating poorly cooked meat and canned vegetables since you arrived—sickness and nausea is unsurprising. But when Yamin laughed under her breath and murmured something along the lines of ‘what, is she pregnant or something?’ the creature teemed with ire. Since then, you’ve been struggling to keep it leashed.

You’re not sure what exactly you’re feeling. When the anger in your chest boils into rage, it’s not directed at Yasmin nor Ellie. It’s directed at Abigail: the one who caused the vomit in the first place. It’s nonsensical. Are you mad that someone disturbed Ellie so much that her body had a physical reaction; or are you mad that you’d never been able to elicit such an instinctive reaction from her? Regardless, it makes no sense. Being angry with Abigail because she made Ellie vomit is so fucking idiotic that it makes you even more frustrated with yourself than with anyone else.

“You’re mad at me,” your body tenses at the sound of your brother’s voice, “but I know that look.”

“What look?”

His footsteps are uneven, like a half-finished canvas. One clomps as a normal foot, the other clacks as a chunk of broken metal. You expect the fractured noise to bother you but instead, it’s oddly comforting. A familiar sort of comfort despite hardly having known Ruben with his prosthetic.

“Doctor Fulmer mentioned our family’s impulsivity, I’m sure.” He says, to which you nod. “So you know that our family tree is deeply rooted in a foundation of anger, yes? We flock toward it like moths to the sun.” Again, you nod. “I’m sure he also treated you like you were special. I don’t need confirmation of that, I know it’s true. Because you are special. Our grandma, Penelope, was always quick to anger and so was our aunt, Yasmin. But Dad wasn’t the same, nor was his brother, Theodore. They were more angry than the average person, sure, but not so much as Penelope and Yasmin were. This means that it’s not every person in the family who inherits such an intuitive level of rage. When we were born, there was a fifty-fifty chance on how we’d end up. I was born average, like Dad and Theo. You were born vengeful, like Penelope and Yasmin. No one truly knows how to handle the rage. You’ve tried smothering it, you’ve tried freeing it. Nothing helps, really. Nothing but sanctity. Only when you were living with Ellie and Oakley in Seven did your anger lull a bit. Only then did you find peace.”

“I already know most of this.” You tell him.

“I know.” He offers you a small smile, and you have to look away to avoid crying. “I wanted to tell you myself, though, so you know that I understand. I’ve not endured the same irate ache that you have, but I’ve watched you struggle with it all your life. I know how to handle it, if you ever need someone to lean on.”

You consider taking him up on the offer. You consider untying the creature’s leash, letting it free, and leaning on your brother as your mind tears itself apart with hereditary fury. But, despite your guys’ ongoing issues, you still love Ruben too much to make him bear such a feat. You’ll deal with this the same way you’ve dealt with everything before: alone.

“Thanks.” You say, because you mean it and because he deserves to hear it. “But I think it’ll be fine.”

Ruben does not appear convinced, but he accepts your decision nonetheless. 

He clops and clacks away, catching up with Tommy and Maria to discuss something you’d probably become bored listening to. You watch the backs of their heads as they lead the group through the outer city. 

You’re not yet in the heart of the Capitol, but you’re close enough that things are starting to feel ominous. If you thought you were being watched before, you’re definitely being watched now. Every corner you turn, your skin itches with the feeling of someone’s eyes on you—eyes that don’t belong to Ellie. The buildings are in perfectly straight lines, like soldiers in formation. The grass is perfectly green and trimmed despite having been abandoned only a few days prior. The roads and sidewalks are all perfectly cleaned and rid of any cracks or moss. It’s disturbing, the quiet tranquility of such a cruel place.

The creature continues to prowl, waiting and waiting for something to happen.

Thea is walking beside you again, after having left respectfully when Ruben approached. You never asked her to do this, but she’s begun doing it nonetheless. Whenever someone comes up to you for a seemingly private conversation, she takes her leave. You always tell her about it afterward so it really doesn’t matter whether or not she’s present, but she still does it, claiming that it’s ‘the right thing to do’ to offer privacy. 

You’ve told Thea everything, since your guys’ heart-to-heart. You’ve told her that Ellie feels warm, even when your mind screams at you to hate her. You’ve told her that you’re unsure how to act around Ruben now that your relationship is skewed. You’ve told her that Oakley is your main reason to keep going, now that the world seems to have burned away into ash. The only thing you’ve not told her is that Marlene is nestled like a worm against your vest, watching and listening from afar. 

You don’t know whether Marlene simply added the device to your vest, then left it to fester in your mind as a tactic to scare you, or if she is actually sitting at her desk analyzing every action you take. Regardless, you’d rather be safe than sorry. So you don’t talk to Ellie about anything too personal because, for some reason, that’s where you draw the line. You don’t care if Marlene sees you complain about your rocky relationship with Ruben, or if she sees your friendship with Thea begin to leave the ground. But when it comes to Ellie, you get defensive. As though if Marlene were to see you guys interact, you’d be laying your bleeding heart in front of her to bring ruin to. Something about it feels too vulnerable to name.

An explosion goes off.

You’re flung into the air before landing on the ground a few yards away. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Your bones ache all over, your head pounding. You push yourself onto your hands and knees, groaning with the effort it takes to lift yourself even that small amount.

Someone is yelling your name—screaming your name. You turn toward the sound, acting entirely on instinct while your mind is too hazy to stop you. 

Dust clouds your surroundings so that you can only see a few feet in front of you before the air is too ashen to make sense of. There are vague shapes in the distance: people rising to their feet, people coughing into their elbows, people shouting for their loved ones. You can see the outlines of bodies you should recognize but are ultimately too far-off to decipher.

There is a man, shouting a three-syllable name into his cupped hands. Your ears are still ringing too much to know which name it is, but you know it ends in the sound ‘uh’. There is a woman on her knees, crying into her hands as though the world is too vicious for her to lay witness to. Then, out of nowhere, there is a silhouette running across the horizon, hair blown back from the speed with which she sprints aimlessly around the dusty area. The man—the one from the beginning yelling that two-syllable name—shouts at her to stop. She doesn’t listen.

The retribution for that resonant decision is being blown to bits by a landmine.

Pieces of the woman’s body fly into the air before landing all around like a gruesome sort of rain. Hunks of flesh fall onto the ground in front of you. You look at the bloody parts and try not to heave. You press your hands against your mouth, squeeze your eyes shut, and try not to move. Every nerve in your body is twitching and tingling, screaming at you to run. It is saying ‘there is danger, you idiot, run!’ and still, you silence it.

Instead of focusing on the impending sense of doom, you recite in your mind all of the facts you know for certain. You recite your name, your home, where you are, and what you’re doing here. 

I am from District Four. I have an older brother named Ruben. I fought in the seventy-fourth Hunger Games and won, alongside Ellie Williams. I fought in the Quarter Quell and got taken by the president. I was tortured for a year. I am currently in the Capitol fighting a war that I want no part in. I am doing this to keep my son, Oakley, safe. Two people are dead. I do not know who. Two people are dead. One of them might be Ruben; one of them might be Ellie.

You attempt standing, but your legs are in such agony that you cannot. You look down at them through cracked eyes to find that most of your body is coated in blood. You’re not sure how much is your own, and how much came from the sky. You press the heel of your palm against your temple, trying to think through your pain. 

“No one moves!”

Thin rays of light can be seen piercing through the dust. You blink at them, trying to make sense of their being here. Then one of the lights comes too close and you see where it is coming from: the barrel of a white gun.

The Peacekeeper hardly has any time to react before you’re letting the creature in your chest loose. It pounces and you lunge. You exchange a series of hits, making far too much noise for someone who doesn’t want any of the other Peacekeepers to hear. In the end, you manage to snap his neck to the side and lay his limp body silently on the ground. 

You examine the gun as you remove it from his person, assessing how it works and how you’re supposed to hold it. Then you remove the mask from the corpse’s head and slip it over your own. It reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke. You can see much better through the visor than you could through your bare eyes. With the combination of a stolen gun and mask, it’d be almost foolish not to make a hasty escape. But you now know that there are landmines everywhere. You now know better than to act on foolishness.

You feel around the Peacekeeper’s chest until you find a slip of parchment the size of your hand. You unfold it to reveal a map of the Capitol with little red dots strewn across it. You sit criss-cross, deciphering all the annotations and trying to find your current location. It takes a long time—during which another Peacekeeper comes over to investigate the prior sounds you’d made during your fight. The soldier’s curiosity earns them a bullet to the chest, eliciting a cloud of crimson to bloom across their pristine suit.

Once you start to understand the map and its layout, you spend a while memorizing its contents. When you finally glance up, it’s to find that the dust is much clearer than it had once been. You can now see ten feet in front of you rather than a mere two feet. 

You tuck the map into your back pocket before hobbling straight into the dust. You know where each mine is, and you know how to skillfully evade them. You end up finding Tommy, Robert, Dina, and Solethia before seeking shelter in one of the nearby buildings. Each time, they tried to attack you when they saw the gun and mask. And, each time, you were able to dissuade them enough to prevent any injuries.

The building you end up crowding into is an abandoned apartment building. Solethia drops herself onto the nearest sofa in the lobby, her teal hair almost entirely seared away. Her face is coated in soot and blood, her entire body trembling with fear. Beside her, Dina lowers onto the cushion to her left. She is in a similar state, only that her eyes are bloodshot from having sobbed. You wonder if she was the woman you saw crying earlier. Tommy and Robert, still buzzing with adrenaline, begin to plan amongst themselves on how to approach this situation. They’re whispering furtively, almost drunkenly.

“Both of you, shut up!” You shout, drawing them both into a stunned silence. “Listen to me. I’ve memorized the layout of the landmines and they’re everywhere. Okay? No matter where we go from here, we’ll be blown up. I can try to teach you the layout, but it’d be impossible to trek through an entire city in this state.”

“So what do you suggest?” Robert asks, somewhere between frustrated and desperate. 

“I don’t know.” You admit quietly, rubbing at your temple before remembering that your face is still shielded behind a dead man’s mask. You grimace, lowering your hand back to your side. “I’ll go back out there and try to recover everyone I can, but–”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.” Tommy scoffs. “Ya ain’t goin’ out there. No way.”

“Would you rather I leave them all to die?” You snap. “I have the best chance at survival. So it’s either we leave them to get blown up and shot, or I go out and try to save them.”

In the end, the decision was no decision at all. There was no other option than for you to go back. Not when Tommy’s own wife was out there all alone in the fading dust with armed Peacekeepers. Not when your own brother was in the same situation. There was no world in which you didn’t go back—with Tommy’s approval or otherwise.

The dust has cleared so that you can see almost the entire street. There is still a slight haze to the air, but you can see the buildings across from the apartment, as well as the Peacekeepers lurking around with their weapons cocked and ready. 

You suddenly wish you’d stolen the entire outfit off the corpse so that you could better blend in. Instead, you’re seen as an enemy from both sides. With your black outfit and obvious rebel vest, the Peacekeepers will shoot on sight. And with the pure white mask and gun, the rebels will attack with everything they’ve got. Now that the dust has cleared, you shed the mask from your face, dropping it into a bush, before stalking around the street in search of wherever the rest of the group has hidden.

You peek through fogged windows, only for the lights to be off and the buildings completely empty. You glance down alleyways, only for the space to be entirely vacated. 

You ask yourself, more times than you can count, where you would flee to in this situation. But you’d go to the apartment building—it has the highest ground as well as the most rooms to hide in. But you can’t think in terms of where you would go; you must think in terms of where they would go. Where would Maria Miller, Ellie Williams, Thea Thatcher, Abigail Anderson, and three L/ns hide?

It would perhaps be an easy question to answer, if your memories were intact. Alas, you hardly know these people and thereby haven’t a clue where to even start. 

14:11.

THE CAPITOL.

There are no woods to seek shelter in; no foliage to conceal herself. So instead, she has utilized another means for obscuration: stealth. 

At first, the dust had created a perfect way to remain hidden. For a long time, she used this. She stood in place—too scared to move for fear of being blown up—and wedged an arrow in the chest of any Peacekeeper who dared to come too close. She managed to kill three men before the dust cleared so much that she was no longer able to use it to her advantage.

And now she is using a botanical hedge, her entire body engulfed within the thorny bush. From here, she manages to shoot an additional four Peacekeepers. Each time, they fall silently, their heart stopping before they can scream. She watches their comrades look around furtively, trying to find the source from which the arrow emerged. And, each time, they are still just as clueless as before.

She would run if she knew where everyone else was. But you could be anywhere. Here, in her hedge, Ellie has a perfectly hidden space to keep an eye out for allies while simultaneously holding a higher advantage over her enemies. So far, she has only seen one of her friends, and that was Penelope. Ellie would have rushed to her aid, but Penelope was doing really well on her own. Her face was crusted with blood, her eyes manic. She entered Ellie’s peripheral as quickly as she left it, so caught up in her wrath that Ellie knew better than to leap in front of her. Benign or not, Penelope would have killed any moving target on-sight. 

Ellie watches through the leaves and twigs, sitting perfectly still despite the sting of thorns that have pierced through her clothes. She aches all over. One of her arms is still throbbing from the impact of the initial explosion. Her head feels light and dizzy. Even still, she has hunted in worse conditions than this. 

An arrow sits poised and ready against the bow string. She watches two Peacekeepers enter an abandoned building before exiting it a few moments later. They speak interchangeably into their respective walkies, their voices muffled but assertive from afar. She tracks them as they prowl around the street, peering through windows and glancing into doorways. She waits and waits. Then, once they’ve paused their prowl to speak to one another in low voices, she lets the arrow loose. 

The Peacekeeper on the right falls to the ground, clutching at his chest. Then, before his mouth can form around a word or cry of pain, he’s fallen dead and motionless at his comrade’s feet. 

Ellie already has a second arrow ready as the second Peacekeeper spins in a circle, searching for the archer. There’s no doubt that he knows it’s her—no doubt he recalls her from the arena. He moves in weird patterns, knowing how difficult his erratic movements will make it for her to shoot him. Still, she waits and watches and waits some more. She narrows her eyes, pulls the arrow back, then lets it loose. 

Someone jumps forward. 

They tackle the Peacekeeper to the ground, Ellie’s arrow nicking them in the shoulder before finding purchase in the wall behind them. She watches the duo scuffle, watches the fight break out. Instantly, she recognizes your movements. She knows how you fight, and she knows it well. Before she’s even fully left the hedge, you snap the Peacekeeper’s neck. She rushes forward as you press your palm against your bloodied shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Ellie curses as she swings her bow over her shoulder before pressing both hands against your wound. Your blood is warm against her skin, seeping through her fingers. Her heart is pounding. “I didn’t mean to– shit! I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

“Stop it.” You step away, out of her reach, before pressing your own hand back against the injury. Your gaze pins her in place, addictively sharp. “It’s just a scratch. The blood makes it look worse than it is.”

“Yeah, but still, it was my fault that you–”

“Ellie, stop.” You come closer to her, so close that she can smell the soot and blood clung to your skin and embedded in your hair. She tries not to let her emotions show but, even if they did, she doubts you’d care. You watch her closely, your eyes flicking all across her face and shoulders—like an animal assessing its prey. Then you scowl at her, stepping back again. “Everyone else has already sought shelter in the apartment building down the street. You were the last one. So don’t waste our time fretting over stupid shit when we should be getting back.”

She bites her tongue to avoid saying more ‘stupid shit’. 

You lead her down the street, ducking into alleys and behind walls when Peacekeepers come into view. Your reaction time is scarily quick. More than once, you yank her into an alley before she even notices that there’s someone coming. 

You shove her back against a wall, your hand over her mouth as you wait for the Peacekeeper to pass. She tries not to like it, but the stark proximity is almost too much to bear. It’s been so long since you’ve been so close to her—on your own accord. Then there’s a moment, brief as it is, where you hesitate in breaking away from her. Your eyes flit across her face, your fingers twitch against her chin, and you hesitate. But then, just as quickly as it’d come, it’s gone.

When the two of you enter the apartment building, Ellie is taken aback by the fact that you hadn’t been lying: everyone is already here. 

Then, before Ellie can even make a mental note of where everyone is, Thea comes surging toward you. She engulfs you in such an enormous hug that Ellie is certain you’ll push her away. But you don’t. Instead, you rest your chin on her shoulder, subtly making sure that the gun in your hand is on safety. 

Ellie turns away to avoid the enormity of her shameless jealousy. She casts her eyes around the room, assessing it in order to give her mind something to do rather than seethe. Solethia is hyperventilating on a dusty sofa, Dina rubbing her back soothingly. Abigail is sitting on the floor, her hunched spine pressed against the wall behind her. Penelope and Yasmin are speaking in furtive tones, still reeling from the adrenaline of the attack. Ruben is discussing something of equal significance with Robert and Maria. Behind them, no more than three feet away, Tommy is pacing. And, boy, is he restless. 

Tommy’s footsteps are the loudest noise in the room, moving at uneven measure as he paces and paces and paces. He is gnawing at the side of his left thumb nail as he paces and paces and paces. His eyebrows are creased in deep thought as he paces and paces and paces. 

Ellie takes one single step toward him before everything descends into calamity—again.

Bullets shatter the windows and lodge themselves all over the lobby. Vases explode, desks crumble, and people bite back their screams. Ellie ducks for cover, her head nearly cracking against Penelope’s as they dive for the same spot. Neither of them have the time to acknowledge the other, far too busy covering their heads and hoping for the best possible outcome: a quick death.

She realizes with a jolt that they’ve cornered themselves. To Fedra and his Peacekeepers, the golden group is little more than easy targets. They pose no threat to the Capitol so long as they’re locked away and trapped within this crowded building. While in the hedge, she’d been wondering why the Peacekeepers were not acting with their utmost devotion to killing the group. She assumed they were as dazed from the explosion as everyone else—an unlikely case, but the only one she could think of. Alas, it was because their goal was never to shoot the enemy on sight, it was to trap them somewhere then shoot. Think about it: why would they waste their time searching the dust for survivors when they could kill them all in one big sweep?

As if having read her mind, the Peacekeepers launch fire through the newly-broken window panes. The lobby begins to swell with flames. Ellie presses her hands over her nose and mouth but it’s no use. She starts to cough regardless, her chest heaving with effort against the smoke.

A hand wraps around her wrist and Ellie pries her eyes open to find that Penelope is tugging her in the direction of a nearby window. She can just barely decipher the shape of human silhouettes through the smoke. They’re climbing through the window and making their escape. She and Penelope both crawl toward the opening. 

More than once, however, Ellie must pause in order to give Penelope enough time to catch up with her pace. It’s so easy to forget that Penelope is old. What with her surgeries and incredible strength, it’s so easy to view her as another young adult amongst the group. Alas, in this moment, all the senility secretly embedded within your great-grandmother is made apparent. 

Once they both reach the window and Ellie is attempting to help Penelope to her feet, she buckles over and begins to wheeze. She brings a shaky, wrinkled hand to her throat as she gasps for air. Ellie pats her back, still trying to urge her through the window despite the delay. Outside, the rest of the group is awaiting their arrival. They can all see what’s happening—what’s inevitable. 

“Leave me.” She manages between coughs. 

Ellie shakes her head, though even she knows that it’s no use. “I couldn’t–”

“Leave me.” Penelope lifts her gaze just enough to meet Ellie’s. And, despite the calamity which is ensuing around them and the evident weakness which has overcome the old woman’s body, her gaze is still strong enough to kill. Strong enough, at least, to convince Ellie into doing whatever she asks. 

Shards of glass slice her thighs and shoulders on the way through the window, but she manages to make it out mostly unscathed. She lands on the ground with a grunt, her entire body aching from exertion. Before she even has the chance to catch her breath, she’s being pulled to her feet by Tommy and beckoned onward. She joins the rest of the group in the little alley behind the apartments. 

This is where she is beckoned unground. It reeks of sewage and waste, every nerve in her nose suddenly exploding with disgust. She can hear Solethia gagging as she descends the makeshift ladder and drops onto the benching. The entire space is made of concrete. The walls and ceiling arch into a gaping mouth, through which the excreta flows. Thankfully, however, the Capitol is opulent everywhere—even within manholes. There are walkways which overhang the muck, a metal barrier preventing the group from falling off the edge. There are even torches illuminating the various directions they can go in.

“There ain’t gonna any landmines or mutts down here.” Tommy says, once the entire group has descended into the chamber. “This is the safest place for us, no matter how badly it stinks.”

Everyone nods in agreement, even Solethia—who’s still gagging into the back of her hand. 

They walk a few yards into the sewer before everyone comes to an unspoken agreement to rest. They all sit down on the stained concrete overhang, the only sound being the gushing waters beneath them and muffled gunshots from above. You and Thea sit side-by-side, your shoulders practically glued together in a seam. Ruben stands beside Ellie, though he cannot sit without further irritating his leg. Then she sees Yasmin: all alone, tucked in a ball of fury and grief. If the woman weren’t so utterly terrifying, Ellie would attempt to comfort her. But she would much rather remain alive than be murdered by your aunt.

“So it was Ivellen and Isolde who were killed by the landmines?” Robert’s voice is uncharacteristically shaky as he asks for confirmation of the deaths. “And it was Penelope who died in the fire?”

“Yes.” Is Tommy’s only response.

Robert nods in acknowledgement, scribbling something into his notepad before shutting it and tucking it safely away into his vest. Ellie watches as he sets his pen down beside him, then watches as he accidentally kicks it over the ledge. He hasn’t yet noticed. She doubts he’ll notice its absence until he needs it next, anyway.

Silence envelopes the group again as they search themselves for wounds, gauging their severity. Ellie hadn’t anything too serious going on. The worst pain she’s experiencing is the throbbing of her head—which is most likely due to dehydration more than anything else. Not needing to assess her own injuries, she watches from afar as Thea assesses yours. She makes a mental note of each little nick on your body. The scrapes on the heels of your palms which have dried blood all down your wrists; the deep gash in your outer thigh, likely caused by either flying debris or a stray bullet; the slice in your shoulder, undoubtedly caused by Ellie’s own arrow.

Upon seeing the wound, Thea’s gaze turns toward Ellie’s. Their eyes meet, but there is no bad intent to be found there. It’s all mutual understanding and a silent agreement to make sure that you’re cared for—regardless of who’s doing the caring. When Thea looks away and turns back toward you, Ellie looks away in the other direction. Watching the two of you interact brings her nothing but pain.

She sees that Abigail and Maria were both hit by stray bullets right before the fire, when the Peacekeepers were shooting blindly through the windows. Abigail’s injury is minor, a graze across her torso. It will need stitches, but almost everyone is in need of those at the moment. Maria’s injury, however, is much more severe. The bullet landed right above her knee, and it’s still in there. She insists multiple times that she’s fine—that she can hardly feel it—but Tommy refuses to accept that. He pulls out a spare first-aid kit and gets to work at removing the damned thing. 

As he does this, everyone else comes to another unspoken agreement. This time, it’s to talk about strategies in order to distract Maria from the pain. War strategies were always her favorite topic, after all.

“What should our next move be?” Robert asks no one in particular. “Do we continue with the mission we were assigned by Marlene to complete, or do we abandon it just as she abandoned us?”

“I’m not sitting around taking any more fucking propaganda videos.” Dina says. Her voice is rough with disuse, but just as passionate and fierce as ever. “We should join the actual war efforts and fight on the front lines, anything else is a waste. No one else will die for nothing. We should be fighting for our freedom, not acting as another useless president’s puppet.”

“I agree.” Says Thea.

“I don’t–” Solethia glances around the group, visibly unsure. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. I mean, isn’t the squad useless now that we are broken in half? N-now that eleven people have died, would it not make more sense to just go home, where it is safe?”

Yasmin rolls her eyes at this, scoffing loud enough for them all to turn toward her. “District Thirteen is no home of mine. So long as a tyrant rules as president, there is no place in this entire country that is safe.”

A gasp escaping your lips snags Ellie’s attention. She turns toward you to find that you’re frantically patting at your chest, feeling around your vest as though you’ve suddenly lost something important. You jump to your feet—injury be damned—and continue to search for whatever it is that you’ve lost. Ellie’s eyes instantly go to your index finger, but the ring is still there. 

“What are you looking for?” Thea asks.

You ignore her and continue to search, pushing through the group to retrace your steps all the way back to the makeshift ladder you descended from. You begin to climb. Ruben, being the only one already standing, is the first to stop you. He rests a hand on your arm, only for it to be slapped away in favor of continuing to climb. Robert pulls you down, pinning your arms to your torso and keeping you in place. Once your feet are once again on the floor, he releases you. As though all your strings have been cut, you sink to the floor and begin to sob.

It’s nonsensical. Ellie has never seen you in such a disheveled state—at least, not for good reason.

She approaches you, unsure whether you’d even acknowledge her presence. Nonetheless, if there’s even a fracture of a possibility that she could help, she must try it. She crouches to the floor in front of you, ignoring the stinging miasma that emanates from the concrete. 

“Hey, hey,” she whispers, “you’re okay. Look at me, you’re fine.”

You shake your head, inconsolable. You’re hyperventilating, a hand pressed against your chest as though trying to clutch at your heaving lungs. Your other hand is pressed to the floor as a means to ground yourself in reality. With no clue on what else to do, Ellie reaches forward and grabs your face, forcing you to look at her. You blink, your eyes bloodshot and your cheeks smeared with tears. 

“Just tell us what you’ve lost, maybe we can help you search.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, leaning against her palm. Ellie watches as a small tear slips from your eye and seeps into her skin, warm as your love had once been. For a long time, you sit just like that, trying to catch your breath. Even after ten minutes, you’ve hardly made any progress in attempting to calm down.

Then, in a whisper that Ellie has to strain to hear, you say: “I’ve killed Oakley.”

16:00.

THE CAPITOL.

Ellie yanks away from you so quickly that your head lulls forward at the suddenly empty space. She is staring at you as though you just killed her son—which, in a sense, you suppose you have.

“What?” She demands. 

You shake your head, dizzy from a mix of blood loss and stress. You stand up and begin to pace, trying to explain but end up only talking in senseless circles. Ellie remains on the floor, her legs folded beneath her, as she watches you pace and pace and talk and talk.

“I– I didn’t mean to.” You say, words flying from your mouth too quick to catch. “It was Marlene, really, she– I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew he was at risk! I was just so pissed that she sent those guards, so I– I wasn’t thinking. And I couldn’t refuse her when she had him. So when she sent me here, I thought everything would be fine. I didn’t know the camera would break! I thought I could–”

“What camera?” Yasmin is now standing up as well, her jaw and hands shaking.

Ellie looks between the two of you, appearing unsure what to think.

“I don’t–” You run your hands down your face. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Start at the beginning.” Ellie suggests despite the fact that you began in the worst way imaginable. “If you need a few minutes to breathe, take them.”

You nod, leaning back against the railing. Everyone’s eyes are pinned to you, no longer caring whether it makes you uncomfortable. It’s oddly nice for people to act toward you without pity being their foremost emotion.

You take Ellie’s advice, sparing a few minutes to catch your breath and calm down enough to explain the story without making no sense. Then, once you’re well enough, you begin at the beginning: when the guards came in. Then you trace all the way through the day—from the man’s missing ear to the torture room within Marlene’s chambers—until you reach the end.

For a long time, no one speaks.

“Marlene would not dare touch you son, Y/n.” Maria assures her. “The whole world now thinks that we’re dead. There’s no way Fedra didn’t live broadcast the Peacekeepers lighting the apartments on fire. Now that you and Ellie are deemed martyrs, Marlene can’t kill Oakley or she’ll be seen as just as bad for eradicating the last living evidence of your guys’ love. And your love is what the war started fighting for.”

Dina nods. “She’s right. Oakley is Marlene’s last chance at swaying the people to her side, if they’re not already there.”

“You said that your real mission was to kill Fedra, right?” Yasmin inquires, leaning forward almost thirstily. “If you ask me, that is a much better mission than filming propaganda footage—especially now that the whole world thinks we are dead.”

People nod in agreement—more people than you’d have anticipated.

“So it’s settled, then.” Tommy announces, tweezers still burrowed deep inside his wife’s leg. “We’re movin’ through these sewers with a new goal in mind: killin’ the president.”

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basically readers getting some traumatic memories back from a bad storm. ellie wakes up from the sound of you sobbing and comforts you.

cw ; mentions of self-harm and trauma.

stormy night , hurt/with comfort , ellie gives you attention , ellies a sweetheart , sleepy ellie and reader cus i love soft moments where people are half-asleep and tired

no proof-reading yahoo

wc ; 1k

your chest pulsed hollow and empty in the way reality was. barbed thoughts invited themselves to prick your mind, prodding around to take root deep inside hardened cracks in the soil. it left you scraped out and alien to your own flesh. pathetic in how you lost control over your own body with the taste of bile teasing your tongue and the rush of tears pooling around your cheeks against a pillow. staining the cotton with the mark of your emotion, a humiliating reminder of yourself.

you’d given up trying to wipe them away. sloppy hands slipping against damp eyes, only for the tears to replace themself and leave you with a soggy mess. it made you want to dissolve. put something sharp against your skin and distil all your pain through comfort that stung. a breath left you on a shaky exhale.

a shift occurred beside you, followed by a sharp grunt. fuck. you tried to be as quiet as you could. it was late at night, sky outside rippling in waves of blue and white as a storm raged down. usually the small patter of rain as it tickled the windows would comfort you. not tonight. another clap of thunder roared outside, ferocious and alive. the sudden sound caused you to curl in on yourself with your arms draped your head. another wave of light struck. no. stop. thunderclap followed and echoed through the room.

the image resurfaced once more. a sickening reminder of another time that made your body weak with shivers and the effort of stifling the cracked sobs coming out of you.

shuffling in the mattress made your pulse spike. she must’ve heard. please go back to sleep.

you wiped your snotty, drenched face with a drag of your palm.

“mms…” ellie groaned, shifting closer to you in her grogginess. she placed a hand at your waist that felt like poison. you shuddered.

that caught her attention. ellies brain had begun kicking off as she shook her head and propped herself up on her elbow. already wired and attentive.

“you awake, baby?”

the hand she had on your waist mustve felt the fall of your heavier breathing as she then leaned in with worry written over her brows.

“hey, look at me.”

your stomach flipped. you didn’t even notice you caught your lip in your teeth, a habit you never split from. maybe you could play it off. maybe you could’ve around someone else. ellie? shes not gonna let this go. all her attention is on you. and she’s not gonna stop grilling you for an answer.

internal conflict continued to flare but the moment didn’t wait for you. you held your breath and turned over so you were facing ellie inches apart. light from the storm outside made it so you could see the faint freckles brushing her face. the silhouette of her face as her lips parted. and when you dared to look up, the sight of her eyes wide and sparkling in the low lit room added to all the other burning sensations in your body.

you caught the moment her gaze slid over your damp skin. blotched and tainted with wet streaks. her entire expression melted, drawing in on itself. you swear you saw her lip tremble just a bit.

“sweetheart… come here.”

ellie opened up her arms, offering an anchor to hold onto. one you gladly took. tentatively, as if afraid ellie was gonna vanish at any moment, your body attuned you to ellies until your face was at the crook of her neck.

“you poor little thing. you shouldve woken me up.”

ellies voice was steady, all for the raspy undertone she had with the remnants of sleep. her arms encased you into a blanket of warmth. her fingers gliding over your cheeks, wiping away the pain that drenched them.

“i didnt…” your own voice felt fractured. the feeble sound made you recoil. ellie rubbed patterns into your skin. you then took a breath that made some pressure on your chest loosen. “i was afraid to disturb you.”

ellies hands stalled. you felt your pulse spike as your voice lingered in the air like static. it made your stomach tighten into a deeper knot. should you not have said that?

ellie leaned back so she was looking at you fully, hand still cupping one of your cheeks. her eyes darted around yours as her attention was focused solely on you. it made you feel suddenly small under her glare. you looked straight back because you couldn’t keep your eyes off her. she slid her free hand into yours and clenched without leaving your face.

“im dedicated to you, baby. only you.”

you swallowed.

“if there’s anything, and by all fucks sakes, i mean it. you let me know.”

the sincerity in her voice hit you in the spot it hurt. you nodded since your voice seemed to have left you, and ellies body relaxed in your intertwined fingers.

a smile broke her lips. one that creased her eyes and had a dimple peeping through.

“i love you so much. you know that, right?”

more than you thought someone could ever love you, truthfully. the fact was lodged deep in your heart. it grew and sent pulses to you in small intervals with the knowing fact of it. each time it sent heat to your cheeks and tickled your ribs. even in painful moments like this where you feel most fragile, ellie finds ways to reach in and mend the cracks no matter how many times its been broken. your body trembles.

“i do. i love you too.”

your face dips deeper into her skin, chasing the contact. ellie sighs in content above you as she draws you in. this moment sat sacred between the two of you, uncharged and intimate. you let yourself drown in it. hurried breaths had synced with ellies pace, the ache in your limbs easing when it happened.

“g’night, sweetheart.”

ellie had cooed in your ear, breath tickling the lobe in a way that made your face flush. the fingers in your hair had begun to stroke in a softer rhythm, the gentleness of the movement lulling you to sleep.

div creds: @pixopix

i need to lock in (doesnt)

𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 ㅤꨄ︎

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wc. 10 543

⊹ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⊹

rip sure is one way to put it