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vxsellie · 3 months ago

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‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

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

summary. As the Gamemakers grow bored with the show, they begin to stir chaos among the tributes. Separation, suicide, and slaughter.

content warnings. descriptions of blood and gore. graphic depictions of murder. intrusive, violent thoughts. more death. implications of grief and loss. mentions of an impending war. descriptions of suicide !!!

total wc. 5,602

notes!! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

DAY SIX.

THE ARENA.

Bolts of fire tear through your muscles, sending sparks of pain up your legs. The forest whizzes past you, hues of browns and greens blurring together in your peripheral. You hop over roots and weave between trees, having no destination in mind so long as it’s away from the cave.

Still, despite all of which that invades your thoughts, the faces of two people remain scorched into the marrow of your skull. Ellie and Remy. They’re the reason you’re doing this—putting your own life in danger for the safety of theirs. It’s stupid. It’s so, so fucking stupid. And yet, here you are.

You wonder what your mother would say.

“There!” Nolan shouts. He’s roughly seven yards away.

Mere seconds later, a neon arrow slices the side of your thigh. You suck in a sharp breath, then duck behind a nearby tree, using its overlarge trunk to your advantage. You press your back into the bark, looking down at the gash across your skin. It tore a hole through your jeans and stained the denim red with your shed blood. You just washed these pants.

You silently bend down to scoop up a bit of soil before smearing it over the open wound, allowing the sediment to clot the blood. It’s nasty and might even lead to an infection, but it’s the best you can do for now.

“Come out, come out,” Thalia drawls in a sing-song tone. You can practically hear the sadistic smile in her voice. “You can’t hide forever, Y/n, you’re smart enough to know that much.”

Your jaw tightens on its hinges, irritation flaring up in your chest. You can’t keep running like this, not with your legs and lungs aching as they have been.

Your hand finds the hilt of your sword, the rough material having become a rather comforting one—which is rather funny because, in all honesty, you were never the biggest fan of swords before the arena. You had thought them to be too big and to have taken too much time to draw from their scabbard. Though, when put in taxing circumstances such as this, your opinion turned out to not be as solidified as you’d once thought.

Metal sings against its sheath as you draw your weapon, taking only a few moments to adjust it in your hands before appearing from behind your tree. Thalia, Nolan, and Ashley all stand at a safe distance, three sets of eyes already pinned onto you. Ashley’s gaze flicks down to your sword, her expression hardening within an instant. Concomitantly, Thalia and Nolan closely watch your every move.

Like three lions hunting their prey. You’ve all been reduced to caged animals who’re sent to attack one another. Untamed, beastly, savage animals.

And the Capitol watches from home, eyes wide and chest aflutter. It’s fucking sadistic and you wish, more than anything, that there was a way out of this. But there’s not. There never is and never will be. Cruelty such as this is a fact of life in the arena—kill or be killed. Simple as that. And, unsure of their intentions, you don’t particularly wish to die.

Four quick steps forward and your sword is arcing through the air. It finds purchase in Nolan’s ribs, then slices sharply across his stomach. He lets out a guttural scream, certainly drawing the attention of any surrounding clickers. He catches Thalia’s attention as well. She comes barreling toward you, axe clutched tight in her hand.

You backpedal, putting distance between Thalia and yourself. Then, with a tightened grip on your sword, you spin on your heel and take off into the woods.

Thalia gives chase easily, falling victim to your plan of separating the trio.

Only one sound can be heard within the forest and it’s the rage of a woman bested twice; the rage of Thalia Thatcher. Raised by a Peacekeeper father and a Gamemaker mother, her wrath won’t be so easily evaded. On top of this, you’re rather certain that the viewers are loving every second of your guys’ encounters—especially considering Thea and Ruben are both Victors and both Mentors and both fighting for your lives.

You continue to run and run and run, allowing the heat of the world to weigh upon your shoulders and your skin. Your thigh pains you, as do your lungs and your ankle. Still, you push on. Your ears ring with the sound of Thalia’s threats and your own heavy breathing. This atmosphere only breaks when two cannons, only seconds apart, slice through the arena.

Two cannons; two tributes; two bodies; two graves; two dead.

Two faces pierce through your mind.

Your attention falters. Only for a second.

Still, a second is long enough for the Gamemakers to yank a root into your path. It snags the toe of your shoe, sending you sprawling toward the ground. Your sword is ejected from your palm, flying in the opposite direction. You groan, pushing up on your hands.

“Haha!” Thalia’s laughter rings through your aching skull, pulling your gaze toward the platinum haired woman stalking toward you with an axe swinging from her fingers. Two axes were put in the Cornucopia. One for Riley, one for Ellie. And yet, Thalia is the one who holds it.

You hurriedly crawl toward your sword, hands and knees absorbing the soil beneath you. Your fingers just begin to graze the hilt when Thalia stomps her heel into the small of your back. Your stomach is shoved into the ground, all the air punching from your lungs in an instant. She then crouches down to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head backward. Your head snaps up, chest heaving.

“Ready to surrender, miss Diamond?” She inquires in a tone sickeningly sweet.

In a hoarse voice, you manage to grunt out two words. “Fuck. You.”

She tuts before lifting her foot so as to slam it back down even harder than the first time. She centers the brunt of her heel into your spine, shooting a bolt of pain through your body. Then, with her hand still in your hair, she slams your face into the dirt. Your mouth is instantly filled with Earth, sediment and blood splaying across your tongue.

You heave a cough, reaching your hands up blindly toward Thalia’s face. She easily leans out of reach, laughing again. “C’mon now, Y/n. Where’s that little girl who fought for her brother at the beach all those years ago? Everyone loved her.”

“She got lost.” You crane your head to the side, peering up at her through a combination of fatigue and rage. “You could ask your sister, though. She knows all about gettin’ lost, huh? Not that she got out o’that maze on her own—“

Your words are cut off by Thalia slamming your head into the ground again, causing blood to accumulate from your newly split lip. Her voice nearly trembles with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s funny.” You rasp. “I’m quite certain that you’re th’only person who still believes Thea didn’t cheat her Games.”

“My sister isn’t a cheater!” Thalia shouts. Despite the certainty in her tone, you don’t miss the way her hand tightens against your scalp. Almost as though she’s desperate to believe her own words. Seeking a new topic, Thalia searches her mind for a way to turn this around. “Thea used the cards she was dealt. You can’t judge her for that, either, can you? You used Ellie and Remy for your own gain. Used them to get yourself sponsors.”

It takes only a split second for the past tense of her words to invoke a deep sense of anger within you. They’re not dead. They’re not. And yet Thalia speaks as though they are, for she knew that doing so would elicit this exact reaction—which is proven by the grin that works its way into her lips.

Fueled by anger, you jerk your head backward. The back of your skull slams into her nose, causing her hands to fly to her face. She lets out a groan of pain, noticing the thin stream of blood trickling from her nose.

You’re quick to use this moment of weakness to your advantage. You twist your torso around, wrapping your legs around her body and forcing her beneath you. You mock the same position Selene had one held you in, pinning her wrists with your knees and her neck with your hand.

“They’re gone,” She grunts out, grinning up at you despite the blood that coats her teeth. “They’re gone and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

Your grip on her neck tightens, “They're fine.”

“Really?” She leans up, uncaring for the way your hand prevents airflow. Thalia’s voice is a hoarse rasp when she speaks next. “Where d’ya think Cooper is?”

Your expression drops in an instant, all the blood draining from your face at the thought. Cooper—the small boy that the Careers took a liking to during training; he had a tiny frame but a willpower strong enough to counteract it—is he even capable of murder? Of killing two people who, even together, can barely walk?

The image flashes through your mind. Cooper, bloody and trembling as he stares down at the two bodies at his feet. Remy, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, ashy hair painted crimson. Ellie, dulled green eyes and clipped wings.

Using your free hand, you reach down to your thigh holster—which once matched Ellie’s—and you draw the dagger from its leather pocket. Then, before Thalia can even think to utter another word, you retract your hand and drag the blade across her neck. Fully, this time. Warm liquid soaks your skin, sticky and grotesque. You then shove her limp head into the ground before pushing to your feet, leaving the woman there to choke on her fate.

You’d just slipped the dagger back into your holster when the cannon goes off. At the sound, clickers begin to stir. They croak and shriek, running around like headless chickens in search of the sound’s source. You walk silently toward your sword as the zombies tear through the foliage aimlessly.

Lake, You think to yourself, Get to the lake. They’ll be there. They’ll be there.

14:51.

SAINT MARY’S HALL.

They’re alive.

God, the Gamemakers have truly outdone themselves today. Not only do they have the viewers hooked on your encounter with the Careers, but they’re balancing between many other tributes—Nolan and Ashley as they try to patch up Nolan’s wound with leaves and sticks; Lev and Yara as they struggle to keep the clickers out of their makeshift shelter; Sam and Henry, who are wounded and also being chased by mutts; Ellie as she attempts to keep Remy alive and away from David.

Those two cannons hadn’t been who you believed them to be. In place of Ellie and Remy, it’d been Roland and Archie.

Although Ruben knows this, you don’t. Nor does Ellie. It’s rather evident that you’re both fearful of the other’s death. Ruben thinks it’s tragic to watch, but everyone else in the Hall seems enraptured by the romance story, leaning forward in anticipation. It’s rather sickening, the way the Capitolites watch the two of you with wide eyes and even wider smiles. Can’t they not see that this is torture?

Roland and Archie once provided the audience with their romantic entertainment. Though, now that they’re dead, you and Ellie are all they have left in terms of romance. Only last year, romance was a foreign notion within the arena. This year, it is all anyone cares for. Well, aside from Thea—who has yet to stop crying. Ruben feels pity for her, though that emotion is well overweighed by the relief he feels regarding your survival. Even if it means Thalia’s death.

Archie was the first to die.

He’d been bit by a mutt—which means the Gamemakers had a hand in his demise. They likely did it for you, too, in hopes that it’d draw out the love story they’re playing on. They’re fools, all of them, as they remain blissfully unaware that it’s all an act.

Roland grieved him greatly. In fact, it reminded Ruben of an old Greek myth his mother read to him when he was a kid. The story of Achilles. Not the beginning, though, but the end. The grief of his best friend, Patroclus. He’d loved the story when he was a child. He read every retelling and ogled at every painting. He, personally, had deemed them lovers rather than friends—though his mother said it was a preposterous idea. It’s not, though. Not when Homer had written, “Patroclus has fallen—he whom I valued more than all others, and love as dearly as my own life?” Yeah, they were lovers. And their souls were trapped within two fallen tributes.

Roland and Archie refused to give the Capitol a show. No kisses, no hugs, no lingering stares. They simply survived together—curling up only for warmth, sharing food only for sustenance, speaking words only when necessary. Still, Capitolites crowded their screens as they waited for something to happen, waited for one of them to give in. Only did that happen, though, when Death knocked on their door.

They trekked through the city, Archie following behind Roland as rubble shifted under their boots. Their gazes were pinned forward, silence enveloping them both in a tight squeeze. Archie had been susceptible to getting lost in his own mind, always thinking and never fully present. It was endearing, Ruben thought, but it inevitably led to his own demise.

Neither of them heard the clicker.

Archie, too lost in his own head; Roland, too far in walking ahead. Only when its teeth sank into Archie’s neck did they notice its presence. At the sound of his lover’s scream, Roland was instantly dropping everything in order to be by his side.

The Hall was completely silent as Capitolites and mentors alike pinned their wide eyes to the screen, interested in the boys finally showing a sign of their love.

Archie thudded against the ground at the same time as the mutt—which now had Roland’s sickle sticking out of its rotted cranium. Archie stared up at the sky, eyes dull and teary. Roland was suddenly on his knees beside him, lips parted as his breath came quicker and quicker with each passing second. Archie lifted a hand, though it only moved a few inches before falling back to his side. Roland pressed a palm over Archie’s wound, attempting to stop the blood flow.

But they were smart. They both knew it was too late. They both knew nothing could be done.

“Ro–” Archie’s voice was barely a whisper, everything in his body struggling to fit his lips around the syllables of his lover’s name.

“Shh,” Roland sounded, casting a bloodied hand through Archie’s hair. He swallowed harshly, blinking down at the dying boy before him. “Shh, shh.”

Archie opened his mouth again but, this time, no words escaped him. Roland removed his hands from Archie’s body. His eyes remained pinned to him as he reached behind himself, fingers wrapping around a chunk of rubble. A sharp rock.

“You deserve rest,” Roland murmured, “Rest, love. Rest.”

The Capitolites adored the scene, crying and mourning alongside Roland as they watched Archie slowly vacate the world. Well, until the cannon went off. Not because the sound made them regret it, but because it wasn’t three seconds later that Roland slammed the rock against his own skull. It was once, twice, thrice before he slumped against the ground. Then came the second cannon. Saint Mary’s Hall was deathly silent after having witnessed Roland’s suicide.

The screen shifted back to you, zooming in on the fear that worked its way onto your features. And, just like that, the Capitolites no longer cared for the tragedy that is Roland and Archie. They, instead, focused back on you and Thalia, thirsty for more, more, more violence.

The Gamemakers were quick to cause mayhem after that, for they needed to add as much action as possible in order to draw the viewers’ attention away from the death of Roland. They sent mutts toward the tributes who needed it the least—you, who was already wounded and struggling; Lev, who was taking care of his amputee sister; Henry, who was carrying a sleeping Sam on his back; Ellie, who was trying to subtly put as much distance between Remy and David as possible.

Needless to say, their tactic worked. The Capitolites were quick to focus on this new distraction as everyone on the screen struggled to keep themselves safe from the man-eating corpses.

Not Thea, though, who is now walking up to Ruben’s table.

She pulls out the chair across from him, settling down into it with a clenched jaw and lidded eyes. Her platinum hair is slightly mused and small bits of mascara are smeared under her icy eyes. She leans her elbows on the table.

“My baby sister is dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Thea.” He replies with an expression of sorrow. “Truly, I—”

“Don’t.” She demands. His mouth snaps shut and he leans back in his chair, nodding for her to speak. Her eyes slide shut and she exhales a deep breath before reopening them. “You have been a Victor since you were thirteen, yes?” He nods. “Due to this, you should know how the Capitol works by now. You should know of how they purposely pit people against one another so as to create entertainment for themselves. And you should know that they won’t refrain from murdering children in order to do so. Is this correct?”

Ruben remains silent. In his entire life, he has only shared a few short conversations with Thea and none of them have ever been as weighty as this one. For her to so much as mention the cruelty of the Capitol could get her hanged for schemes of conducting treason. Is this a plan of hers to get him arrested? Or is she speaking with genuinity? Not to mention the cryptic conversation he had with Cat the other day about the Fireflies. There’s a rebellion forming and speaking of things like this can jeopardize the entire country.

Thea narrows her eyes at him, amusement flashing behind her irises. “I ask this not to villainize you, Ruben, but to know which side of the war you plan to be on.”

His heart stops in his chest.

“War?”

DAY SIX.

THE ARENA.

Three cannons.

Three cannons have gone off in the past half hour and Ellie has every reason to believe one of them belonged to you. She trusts your strength and everything, sure, but she has had such terrible luck up until this point that she genuinely disbelieves you to have survived. She’s not lucky enough to see your face again.

She still doesn’t trust you. Not fully, anyway. She’s unsure that she will ever trust someone with her entire being again. She’ll trust them with her belongings, her confidence, her life even. But not the way she trusted Riley. Not in totality.

Ellie still sees her, sometimes. In the dark of night when the rays of moonlight seem to form a figure of silver; in the birth of morning, when birds are singing hymns of loss and love. She sees her now, too, when clickers begin to crowd the lake at the sound of the cannons. They’re on edge, searching aimlessly for its source with wide mouths and twitching limbs.

“This way!” David suddenly grabs Ellie by the wrist and begins to tug her North.

She yanks her wrist from his hold, brows creasing. “We’re not following you.”

“Yeah.” Remy chimes in despite the light trembling to his voice. She can't blame him for that, though. Not when the clickers are getting closer with every passing second. “I’m waiting for Y/n.”

“What you’re doin’ is suicide.” David snaps.

He steps toward Remy and Ellie instantly tears her dagger from its holster. The point of the blade is pressing into David’s chest within seconds. She takes a step forward, pressing it deeper into his skin. “Do not talk to him like that.”

David holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just bein’ honest.”

“You’re bein’ a dick.”

“Call me what ya want, but there’s no way we’ll survive another five minutes at this lake.” He tells her, lowering his voice so Remy can’t hear. “If you truly have that boy’s best interest at heart, you’ll come with me.”

Her gaze flicks to Remy—with his bandaged calf and his wide eyes—before drifting back to David—with his machete and his beady eyes. Ellie’s lips thin in suspicion. “Where would you be taking us?”

“To safety.” A grin works its way onto David’s chapped mouth.

Ellie presses the dagger deeper into his chest. “Don’t fuck with me, old man.”

“Fine.” He gives in easily. “I’d be takin’ ya’ll to a building I found in the city. It ain’t too far from here, just over the fence.”

Ellie looks over his shoulder toward the direction he’d tried to pull her toward. She can see the fence from here—chain link and only a football field or two away.

She wants to stay here and wait for you, she does. But, firstly, she’s not even certain you’re still alive and, secondly, she does have Remy’s best interest at heart. And for him to stay here would be a death sentence for sure.

Not only that, but the clickers are getting closer and she’s still not good under pressure.

“Fine.” She says, removing the dagger from David’s chest. “Take us there.”

Remy’s head snaps toward Ellie at the sound of those words. “What?! We can’t leave Y/n!”

“We’re not negotiating.” She grumbles, grabbing his hand.

“No!” He staggers backward to get away from her. “I’m not leaving!”

“Quit being difficult!” She shouts. “This is what she would want!”

“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere without her!”

Ellie shoves her dagger into her thigh holster before crouching down and wrapping her arms around his hips. She hoists him into the air before shoving his back into David’s chest. “If you want to make yourself useful, carry him.”

“Sure thing.” David grins before wrapping his arms around the boy and pinning his body against him.

Ellie might not trust David a single bit, but she’s not stupid enough to deny his help. Especially considering the stab wound in her gut—which makes her rather useless when it comes to carrying Remy or walking long distances. Despite this, the three of them take off toward the fence in the distance.

David is fast.

Too fast for someone with a fatal injury to keep up with, at least. His haste causes her feet to stumble beneath her body, her boots catching on the wet soil and heightened roots. And, a few yards back, clickers tear through the foliage in search of prey.

She doesn’t have a good feeling about David—his smile is too wide, his laugh is too forced, and his eyes don’t glint in the sun. It’s almost as if the sunlight simply cannot reach him at all, like he’s too dark of a figure to be illuminated by its brilliance.

And, in Ellie’s humble opinion, that is more than enough evidence for her to loathe his very being. Not necessarily for her own pride, though, but for Remy’s safety. Because it didn’t evade her notice the way David eyed the boy when he first laid eyes on the pair at the lake. The mere thought of what David could be planning draws Ellie’s fingers to her dagger.

Remy acted like a complete asshole on their way to the lake, but she knows better than to blame him. Especially considering all he’s been through in these past few days—he nearly drowned in the only body of water in the arena, he had to stand aside while you almost bled to death, he beared witness to Dahlia being killed by someone she trusted, and now he’s forced to be with Ellie whilst they both worry for the loss of your soul. If he wants to be an ass, so be it. She wasn’t that good of a kid at his age, either.

Clickers continue to swarm the terrain as David leads Ellie behind him. Running like this causes pure agony to shoot through her body with every step, though she doesn’t dare utter a word of complaint for fear that David will use any knowledge of her injury against her.

Suddenly, the chain link fence comes into view. It resides just at the cusp of the thin woods that embody the lake. On the other side, the city, safety.

“Here,” David releases Remy and presses his spine against the fence. He crouches down, bringing his hands together between his hips. He looks at her expectantly.

“I’m fine.” She tells him with a sharpened scowl. He accepts this, turning his gaze to Remy instead. Again, she denies him. “I’ll help Remy over.”

David nods kindly, though she’s quick to notice the little twitch to his jaw as he steps away from the fence. He accepted her demand easily, but Ellie knows it’s due only to the fact that he already knows the reason—she doesn’t want him lying a finger on Remy. With this in mind, she takes David’s place against the metal. She crouches down and clasps her hands in front of her. Remy comes forward without question, bracing a hand on each of her shoulders before stepping a foot into her palms. She hauls him upward and he hooks his hands onto the top of the fence, swaying there for a moment before managing to wedge his feet between the chain links.

From there, he climbs. His breathing grows a bit faster and his movements become hesitant. Ellie begins to worry if he has a fear of heights that she hadn’t been made aware of. However, before she’s able to ask him anything about it, he lands on the other side with a grunt. He winces a bit as his feet hit the ground, the ointment on his calf long since having worn off.

“Ladies first.” David says slyly, holding his arms out in a mock curtsy. Ellie brushes past him without a word, clearly unamused by his attempt at humor.

She removes the backpack from her sunburnt shoulders—which she’d taken from Remy as soon as she spotted David at the lake, just in case they’d have to run—and hoists it over the fence. The strain it takes to do so elicits a nearly unbearable pain in her stomach, the skin around her wound tearing like paper. She places a hand atop it but remains perfectly silent, though an abundance of crude words dance through her mind.

“You alright?” David asks, craning his neck a bit forward to peer at Ellie’s face as he awaits her reply. His beady eyes drill holes into the side of her skull. He only looks away when she turns and shoots him a sharp look.

Ellie grabs onto the thin metal links and begins to pull herself upward, slotting her feet into place. She climbs it with practiced ease and, for a second—albeit miniscule—she glances over her shoulder in hopes of finding Riley. Her heart sinks when she finds David standing in her place.

See, they used to do this all the time—hop fences. They’d do it to skip school almost every day, slipping past the Peacekeepers and entering the woods. Riley would keep watch while Ellie hauled their bags and their bodies over the barrier. Now, though, she’s coming to realize that’s a situation in which she’ll never be lucky enough to experience again.

Rubble shifts under her boots as she lands in the gravel beside Remy. He gives her a small smile, kind yet reluctant. She returns it with a curt nod before scooping the bag up from the ground. She swings it over her shoulder and, while David is distracted with the arduous task of getting his old ass over the fence, she unzips it. What she finds inside, however, isn’t what she’d expected.

“Remy.” She mutters to the boy, who turns with a frown of curiosity. She levels him a look, jabbing a finger at the contents of the backpack. “This is the wrong bag.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” He whispers back in self-defense. “Y/n took the other one and, seeing as it had the ointment, I didn’t think to question it.”

Ellie groans at his insolence. “It’s pretty fucking obvious which bag is which when hers is stuffed with a sleeping bag.”

“Just use her stuff, then. Quit complaining.” He waves a hand with such dismissiveness that it reminds her of you. Just then, David lands on the ground, but she’s long since lost interest in anything that pertains to that man.

Ellie scoffs, turning her attention back to the bag. She begins to dig through the supplies, feeling around in search of the salve. However, as her fingers skim along the bottom of the pack, an odd texture meets her palm—almost like a leaf. She shifts the bag to her front, peering inside. Her eyes narrow at the darkened interior, struggling to make out what resides within. Carefully, she pulls the leafy item into the outside air.

Her heart catches in her throat.

A smushed, wilted daisy. She recognizes it in an instant to be one of the flowers that Riley had picked for Ellie; one of the flowers Ellie demanded you remove from her bag; one of the flowers that carry such pressing weight with them that her chest begins to ache.

You kept them.

“Alrighty, kids,” David says while brushing off his hands, tone deepened as though he holds any form of authority over the two of them. “I think it’s about time we get out of here.”

DAY SIX.

THE ARENA.

You’re running again. And it’s beginning to feel like that’s all you do anymore—run and bleed and fight. The gash in your thigh is beginning to grow unbearable, sending jolts of pain down the length of your leg. But you need to get to the lake; you need to be sure they’re alive.

Somewhere along the way, the Gamemakers formulated a raincloud and the gentle drizzle gave way to a heavy downpour. You can barely see where you’re going with the amount of water in your eyes. Not only that, but you’ve slipped and fallen more times than you care to admit.

Your boots squelch in the mud with each step, making it nearly impossible to evade any heightened roots. And, for the sixth time, one of them grabs your ankle and sends you flying toward the ground. You groan, pushing up onto your knees. Then, without a moment’s waste, you lift to your feet and resume your sprint toward the lake.

One hand holds your sword while the other wipes a muddy hand across your eyes in an attempt to clear them of water, but you only succeed in causing a burning sensation to jab at your retinas. You blink repeatedly, tipping your head upward so the rain might wash the dirt from your eyes.

Instead, you result in slamming your chest into something solid. You stop in your tracks and snap your head downward to face the something in question. A human figure. You can’t quite make out who it is, but the glint of a weapon catches the light as they lift it up in defense. Their hands are shaking.

You take a step forward, holding your empty hand out. Your eyes squint as you try to identify the person to be friend or foe. “Calm down, okay? Let’s just—”

At the sight of your nearing proximity, they lash out. They slash their weapon across your arm, sending searing pain up your arm. You stagger backward as blood spits from your forearm. You curse under your breath.

Your head is already spinning.

With thoughts of Ellie’s unburied corpse. Thoughts of Remy’s mourning parents. Thoughts of the infection that’s certain to have spread through your thigh. Thoughts of Thalia’s sister watching you kill her. Thoughts of your newly sliced wrist.

In a haze of dizziness and pain, you swing your sword. It arcs across their neck, drawing their hands upward in an aimless attempt to stop the bleeding. Then they fall to their knees and choke on their fate. You step forward, grab them by the chin, and lean closer to get a good look at their face.

Oh.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

You release his face and stumble backward. Your eyes begin to burn and you blame it on the residual dirt, but you know that’s not true. You know it’s the consequence of murdering a child, a kid.

Cooper Whitlock’s lifeless corpse remains wide-eyed and bloodied as he bears witness to your instantaneous self loathing.

You somehow end up on your knees, one hand on your stomach and the other pressing a palm into the mud. Then you vomit.

You should have expected this.

You should have known this would happen. All the rage and anger in your heart would eventually become too much, causing you to do something so disgustingly morbid that you can barely stomach the thought of yourself.

Ruben warned you of this. He warned you so many times, telling you to take life in small dosages and to not let your anger suffocate you.

Because people are willing to do horrible things to survive.

[post] notes!! i fear i haven't written for SLT in two weeks so if my writing seems off, that's why! i have a reason tho: i was writing a new fic—which will be coming out in (hopefully) may. if not, then the very beginning of june. i'm super excited for u guys to read that story bc i'm 1000% sure it'll make u cry !! 😚 anyway, special thanks to u guys bc i asked u guys to send me asks abt SLT & it rlly helped to boost my motivation for writing this. love u guys <3

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo. @ilovewomenfr. @zzombiegirl. @elliessweetheart. @shawangel. @defnoteleonor. @fatbootymuncher. @autisticintr0vert. @ellieslittleslutt

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rylem33 · 7 months ago

Text

Free Festival

Ashley trailed behind Rick, her older brother, through the front hallway of their house. His voice was casual but carried a hint of excitement.

“Come on, Ash. It’ll be fun,” Rick said, tossing his car keys into the air and catching them with a grin.

Ashley adjusted her glasses and frowned. “Define fun. Sweaty crowds, loud music, and overpriced drinks? Sounds amazing.”

Rick smirked. “You might surprise yourself. Besides, I got the tickets for free and dad said we both had to go. He thinks you need to ‘get out more.’”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Great. Another social experiment for Dad’s amusement.” She shifted the book in her arms, hugging it tighter. “I just… don’t get why you like these things so much. It’s not my style.”

Rick leaned against the doorframe, his grin softening into something kinder. “Look, just give it a chance, okay? You might have fun if you let yourself. Worst case, you’ll just have to put up with me for a few hours.”

Ashley gave him a skeptical look but sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

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The festival grounds were chaos. Neon lights blinked and strobed, flashing over crowds of people dressed in glitter, mesh, and barely-there outfits. Bass-heavy music thudded through the air, shaking the ground beneath Ashley’s feet.

She clutched her sweatshirt tightly, already feeling out of place in her sneakers and casual jeans. Around her, people were dancing wildly, laughing, and shouting to be heard over the music. She ducked as someone waved a glow stick a little too close to her head.

Rick, on the other hand, was in his element. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he turned to her. “Isn’t this great?”

“Not really,” Ashley muttered, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Rick rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, but you’ve got to try. Just… loosen up a little. Here, let’s get a drink. That’ll help.”

Ashley didn’t respond. Her gaze darted around the crowd, her unease growing by the second. The noise, the lights, the crush of bodies—it was all too much.

“I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly, already turning away.

Rick called after her. “Ashley, come on! Don’t be like that!”

But she was already weaving through the crowd, searching for the bathroom—or anywhere quieter.

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Ashley was halfway to the bathroom when she felt someone bump into her, a sharp elbow jabbing her arm.

“Hey!” Ashley said, turning in surprise.

The woman she’d run into didn’t look remotely apologetic. She had long, platinum blonde hair that gleamed in the neon lights, perfectly straight and framing her tanned face. Her glossy lips were curled into a smug smile, and her makeup was sharp and dramatic, with lashes so long they almost seemed fake.

She was dressed in a daring outfit that left little to the imagination. Her crop top barely covering her chest, and her black mini-skirt clinging to her hips. White knee-high boots completed the look, their towering heels making her seem even more intimidating.

Ashley immediately felt out of place in her casual clothes, but the woman’s piercing gaze made it worse.

The blonde scoffed, her painted nails brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. “What are you even doing here, babe?” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “You look like you got lost on the way to the library.”

Ashley bristled. “Excuse me?”

Instead of replying, the woman reached into a small pouch hanging from her wrist and pulled out a handful of glitter. With a flick of her wrist, she threw it right at Ashley’s face.

Ashley coughed, sputtering as the glitter rained down on her hair and shoulders. “Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?”

The woman smirked, tilting her head. “Relax, nerd. You needed a makeover anyway.”

Ashley furiously brushed at the glitter, but it clung stubbornly to her sweatshirt and hair. “You can’t just throw glitter on people!”

The woman gave a dramatic shrug, her smile widening. “Consider it a favor. You were practically invisible before.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Now? At least someone might notice you.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel, her long hair swishing behind her as she strutted off, her boots clicking against the pavement.

Ashley stood there, her face burning with embarrassment and frustration. She tugged at her sweatshirt, brushing at the glitter still clinging to her clothes. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, stomping off toward the bathroom.

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Inside the cramped bathroom stall, Ashley glared at her reflection in the scratched mirror. Glitter clung to her cheeks, her hair, and even the frames of her glasses.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, brushing at the stubborn flecks. But as she leaned closer to the mirror, she froze.

Her reflection was… changing.

Her messy bun unraveled on its own, the strands lengthening and darkening as they spilled over her shoulders in sleek, glossy waves. Her lips, usually pale and chapped, softened and plumped, taking on a natural, glossy sheen.

“What the…?” she whispered, reaching up to adjust her glasses. But they slid down her nose and fell into her hands. Her fingers stopped midair.

They weren’t her hands.

Her nails were longer now, perfectly shaped and painted a shimmering pale pink. Her hands looked more delicate, her fingers longer, like they belonged to someone who had never held a textbook or chewed nervously at her nails.

Her breath caught as she looked down at her sweatshirt. The thick cotton fabric was rippling, shifting, almost melting under her fingers. It shimmered faintly, then began to dissolve, replaced by a soft, sheer material that clung to her arms and torso.

“No… no, no, no!” she gasped, grabbing at the morphing fabric. She tried to tug it back into its familiar shape, but it was already transforming, becoming transparent and glittery. Beneath the changing fabric, her body was shifting too.

Her chest tightened, then swelled, her breasts expanding fuller and higher. She stumbled back as a faint pressure built in her hips, a deep, popping sensation echoing through her pelvis. “Ow!” she yelped, gripping the sides of the stall as her hips widened and rounded, the bones seeming to shift under her skin.

Her jeans were next. She stared in horror as the denim frayed and unraveled, leaving her legs bare. Her skin smoothed and glowed with a soft sun-kissed hue as glittering sheer shorts materialized where her jeans had been.

Ashley clutched the sides of the stall, her breathing ragged. Her legs lengthened, her thighs rounding and her calves gaining a subtle, sculpted tone. Her feet arched painfully, her toes curling as though forced into invisible heels. A delicate pair of sandals formed on her feet, the straps glinting with tiny stones.

The changes weren’t just surface-level. She could feel her body altering, her bones and muscles shifting into something unfamiliar. Her shoulders pulled back, her spine straightening until her posture exuded a confidence she didn’t feel. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.

Her tank top, now a barely-there sheer fabric, clung to her torso, revealing every new curve. The neckline dipped lower than she ever would have dared to wear, showcasing her now-exposed breasts. A green scarf fluttered into place around her neck.

Ashley’s trembling hand rose to her face, her fingers brushing against the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips. Her lashes, now long and thick, framed shimmering eyes that stared back at her in wide-eyed panic.

“No… this isn’t real,” she whispered, her voice softer, higher, almost unrecognizable.

Her gaze darted to the mirror again, and she barely recognized the girl staring back at her.

Her breathing grew shallow as her heart pounded. Her body felt alien, unfamiliar, like it wasn’t hers anymore. The press of the sheer fabric against her skin, the sway of her fuller hips, even the way her feet felt perched on the invisible heels. It was too much.

She stumbled back against the door, her knees weak.

“I—I can’t… I need to get out of here,” she stammered, shoving the door open.

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Ashley pushed the bathroom door open, stepping back into the chaos of the festival. The music hit her like a wave, vibrating through her chest and making her pause. She glanced down at her outfit, if you could even call it that, and tugged at the transparent fabric clinging to her body.

It didn’t help.

The sheer top hugged her figure, leaving little to the imagination, and the glittering shorts barely covered her thighs. Her hands kept fidgeting with the scarf draped over her shoulders, trying to pull it across her chest.

Her cheeks flushed as she kept her head down, weaving aimlessly through the crowd. She could feel the bass thudding, reverberating through her body.

As she walked, her body seemed to shift with the beat. Her shoulders rolled back, her spine straightened, and her hips swayed in time with the music.

The bass thumped harder, and Ashley realized she didn’t hate it. The harsh, pounding beat that had grated on her earlier now seemed… hypnotic. It pulsed in her veins, syncing with her heartbeat, drawing her forward.

She looked up for the first time since leaving the bathroom and caught a glimpse of a group of guys watching her. She froze for a second, her instinct telling her to turn away. But their stares didn’t feel hostile or mocking. They were… interested.

Her stomach fluttered.

Ashley blinked, taking a hesitant step forward. Her movements felt looser, her body responding to the music in a way she didn’t fully understand. She glanced down at herself again. The fabric sparkled under the flashing lights, her legs catching the glow as the glitter on her skin shimmered with every step.

When she glanced back at the group, one of them gave her a crooked smile.

And this time, she smiled back.

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She wandered deeper into the festival where the crowd was thicker. The music pulled at her mind and her feet found the rhythm almost on their own. Ashley’s hips started to sway, slow at first, barely noticeable, but the movement felt natural, effortless. She let her arms lift, her fingers tracing lazy patterns in the air as the beat guided her.

She didn’t realize people were watching her until she caught a glimpse of someone pointing her out to a friend, their smiles wide and approving. Her initial instinct was to shrink back, but the music drowned out the nervousness in her chest.

Instead, she leaned into it.

Her hips rolled with the beat as she took a step forward, her hair swaying around her shoulders. The glitter on her skin caught the lights, and she caught the eyes of another onlooker—a girl this time, her grin wide and encouraging as she danced nearby. Ashley gave a small laugh, the sound surprising even her, and kept moving.

The crowd around her seemed to shift, making space as she danced. She tossed her head back, her hair spilling behind her as her movements grew.

The music took over, and she let it.

She found herself on the edge of a massive dance pit, surrounded by a sea of bodies moving as one.

The energy was magnetic, pulling her in before she could even think about stopping.

She stepped into the crowd, the beat coursing through her as she moved. Her arms swayed above her head, her body moved in time with the music as she became part of the pulse of the crowd.

Her hands seductively brushed over her hips as she spun in place. She could feel the eyes on her again, but this time, she welcomed them. She felt sexy. She felt like she belonged.

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Rick pushed his way through the crowd, craning his neck to look over the sea of people. The music thumped in his chest, and the swirling lights made it harder to focus. Ashley had been gone way too long, and his concern was starting to outweigh his irritation.

“Come on, Ash,” he muttered under his breath, scanning the festival grounds. “Where the hell are you?”

He had checked the food trucks, the bathrooms, even the quieter corners of the festival where she might’ve been hiding with her book. But she was nowhere to be found.

Rick sighed and turned toward the massive dance pit, reluctantly heading into the thick of the crowd. If she wasn’t hiding, maybe she had wandered closer to the stage—or worse, gotten lost.

As he moved deeper into the throng of dancers, his eyes caught on someone.

The girl was breathtaking.

Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, gleaming under the flashing lights, and her sheer outfit sparkled with every step. The fabric clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, as she moved to the music.

Rick stopped in his tracks, watching as the girl threw her head back, laughing as she twirled into the arms of a guy nearby. The guy’s hands hovered at her waist, hesitant, and she teased him with a grin before spinning away. She found her way into a group of girls next, linking arms with one of them and swaying in unison.

The crowd seemed to revolve around her, drawn to her energy.

“Damn,” Rick muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped looking for Ashley.

The girl spun again, her hips rolling as she moved closer to the center of the pit. She laughed, brushing her hair back with one hand as another guy stepped in to dance with her. She let him, for a moment, before pulling away with a playful glance.

The girl’s eyes suddenly locked on his, her grin widening. She tilted her head, her hips swaying as she took a slow, deliberate step toward him.

Rick’s breath hitched. “Uh…”

“Rick!” she called, her voice carrying over the music, light and teasing.

Rick’s heart stopped. “What?”

She closed the distance between them with a few quick steps, stopping just a breath away. Her smile was radiant, her eyes shimmering with amusement.

“Don’t you recognize me, big brother?” she said, her voice dripping with playful condescension.

Rick’s jaw dropped. “Ashley?!”

Rick’s stared at her, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Ashley?!” he said again, louder this time, his voice tinged with disbelief.

She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she leaned in, her green scarf brushing against his arm. “Yes, Rick. Stop shouting, everyone’s staring.”

“Everyone’s staring because you’re…” He waved a hand at her, struggling for words. “What the hell happened to you?!”

Ashley smirked, rolling her eyes playfully. “Gee, thanks. Nice to see you too.” She reached out, giving his arm a light squeeze. “Relax, big bro. I’m fine. Actually, I’m better than fine.”

Rick blinked, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. Her hair, her skin, her clothes. It was all so… not Ashley. Just a couple of hours ago, she was sulking in her sweatshirt and sneakers, and now she looked like the star of a music video.

“You look…” He paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say. What happened while you were gone? Did someone… do something to you?” His voice dipped into concern as he glanced around, his protective instincts kicking in.

Ashley laughed again, the sound light and unbothered. She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “No one did anything to me, Rick. I just…” She paused, her grin softening into something genuine. “I don’t know. I guess I finally decided to have some fun.”

Rick stared at her, still skeptical. “But…your hair, your clothes…”

“Okay, yeah, it’s a little different,” she admitted, shrugging as she twirled in place, her sheer outfit catching the light. “But come on, don’t I look great?”

Rick opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss.

“Don’t overthink it,” Ashley teased, grabbing his hand. “Come on! Dance with me!”

“Dance?” Rick said, blinking. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” she replied, pulling him toward the edge of the pit. “You dragged me here, remember? You said I needed to loosen up, and guess what? I did. Now it’s your turn.”

Rick hesitated, glancing around at the crowd. “I don’t know, Ash…”

Ashley rolled her eyes, tugging him harder. “Oh, stop being such a dad. You’re the one who told me to have fun! Now you’re acting all stiff.” She grinned, stepping closer and poking his chest. “What are you afraid of? That I’m having more fun than you?”

Rick snorted despite himself. “Okay, that’s not happening.”

“Prove it!” she challenged, spinning away from him and twirling back into the center of the dance pit. She beckoned him with a crooked finger, her grin mischievous.

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping into the pit after her.

Within minutes, they were both laughing and moving to the beat, Rick’s earlier confusion melting away. Ashley twirled around him, her energy contagious as she pulled him further into the rhythm of the music.

“See? This isn’t so bad!” she shouted over the bass, her grin wide.

Rick shook his head, still grinning. “I can’t believe this. You’re like a whole new person.”

Ashley leaned in, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe..but I like it.”

Rick raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He couldn’t deny that she looked happy. Happier than he’d seen her in a long time.

They danced together, laughing and joking as the crowd around them swayed to the music. Ashley was effortlessly the center of attention, drawing glances and smiles from everyone nearby, but she didn’t seem to care.

As the song faded and another began, Rick leaned closer, still catching his breath. “So… how exactly are we going to explain this to Dad?”

Ashley threw her head back and laughed, the sound ringing out above the music. “Oh, we’re not explaining anything.”

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, he’s gonna lose it.”

“Let him,” Ashley replied with a smirk, brushing glitter off her arm. “He wanted me to loosen up, didn’t he?”

Rick grinned. “Well, mission accomplished.”

They both burst out laughing, their voices blending into the festival noise as the music thumped around them.

#f2f transformation #personality change #slutification

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