𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!!
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ! hungergamesau!
Prologue
Ch1: The Reaping
Ch2: The Dinner Table
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Show & Tell
Claire Keane

Kaledo Art
taylor price
sheepfilms
trying on a metaphor

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Game of Thrones Daily

Origami Around

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Acquired Stardust
hello vonnie

Product Placement

Kiana Khansmith
art blog(derogatory)

Discoholic 🪩
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@poppycomplex
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!!
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ! hungergamesau!
Prologue
Ch1: The Reaping
Ch2: The Dinner Table
easy, white chocolate.......🫦
oh my god she’s gonna call reader!
I was then shot 57 times
each time i re-read collide this part HURTS
NEW CHAPTER OF UNSCRIPTED NEW CHAPTER OF UNSCRIPTED
@valeisaslut
‧₊˚┊simple living things !
❛ LIKE A COBRA ❜⌇𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔵𝔵𝔳
summary. “Know your place, little victor, before you get squashed. [...] I’ve noticed you’ve taken a liking to insects, have you not?” / “Your technique is like a cobra’s. Fast and hard and unrelenting. But I’ll have you know, even a cobra can be killed by an insect.”
warnings. hard core yearning from el willy, descriptions of violence & blood, mentions of past deaths, depictions of a panic attack, descriptions of fighting, implications of death threats, descriptions of bones breaking, even more yearning from el willy, depictions of PTSD responses, mentions of past addiction
wc. 7 742
⊹ series masterlist ⊹ playlist ⊹ ao3 ⊹
how WE (yes we) look like waiting for that next chapter of unscripted.
i miss mother
‧₊˚┊simple living things !
❛ ALETHEIA ❜⌇𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔵𝔵𝔦
summary. like a moth to a flame, like a moon to a star, you and ellie cannot seem to remain separated for too long.
warnings. graphic depictions of grief, implications of nudity (non-sexual), descriptions of homesickness, mentions of addiction, depictions of drunkeness, descriptions of past suicide & alcoholism
wc. 6 269
⊹ series masterlist ⊹ playlist ⊹ ao3 ⊹
AHHH
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝑰𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈
hungergames!au elliewilliamsxreader
Chapter Two- The dinner table.
Chapter One>>>Chapter Three
They put you in a waiting room with high-backed chairs and a silver tea set you didn’t dare touch. The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to make you restless.
Then the door opened, and your mother came in. Not walking — running. Her arms wrapped around you so tightly you could feel the tremble in her hands. She didn’t say your name, just breathed it out like it was both a prayer and a curse.
“Mom—”
“You’re not afraid,” she said quickly, almost desperately, as if she could will it to be true. “I know you. You don’t break. Not for anyone.”
You swallowed hard. “I’m… not afraid,” you lied.
Her face softened, but her grip didn’t loosen. “Do you remember when you were little, and those factory boys tried to take your lunch? You bloodied that one boy’s nose so bad—”
You huffed a short laugh. “You told me I should’ve gone for the bigger one.”
“I told you to pick your battles,” she corrected, a faint smile tugging at her mouth before it vanished. Her eyes were shining now. “This is one you can’t run from. So you fight. And if you see a chance to get out alive—” Her voice broke. She pressed her forehead to yours. “—you take it, even if it means breaking every rule in the Capitol’s stupid book.”
You pulled back just enough to look at her. “I’m not promising anything I can’t keep.”
“You better,” she whispered. “You promised me once you’d always come home.”
The knock at the door was sharp, and the Peacekeepers didn’t wait before stepping in. Your mother’s hands lingered on your face until the very last second, sliding away as if the air itself was pulling her from you.
⸻
The Justice Building in Twelve wasn’t marble and polish — it was all faded paint and creaking floors, smelling faintly of dust and coal ash. Ellie stood stiff in the middle of a dim room, shifting her weight from one foot to the other until the door opened.
Joel walked in, looking older than she remembered that morning, shoulders heavier. He shut the door behind him and took a moment just to look at her.
“You didn’t cry,” he said finally, like it was a fact that needed stating.
Ellie gave a quick smirk. “Not my style.”
Joel’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. “You always were too damn stubborn for your own good.”
“Guess that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Lucky me.”
He stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders, heavy but grounding. “Ellie… you’re gonna see things in there. Things I wish I could keep from you. But you can’t let them change you. You hear me? You don’t let them take away the part that’s yours.”
Ellie blinked, her throat tight. “What part’s that?”
He started, voice low but steady. “The part of you that makes you care when you shouldn’t. It’s what’s gonna make people want to keep you alive.”
She let out a scoff, looking down. “Soft spots don’t exactly win the Hunger Games.”
“No,” Joel said, giving her shoulders a light squeeze, “but it might help you find someone worth fighting with. And that’s the only way you make it out.”
Ellie’s jaw clenched. “You mean worth fighting for.”
He didn’t argue. He just pulled her into a brief, rough hug — the kind that left no room for goodbye speeches. “Stay alive, kiddo.”
By the time the Peacekeepers came, Joel was already out the door, leaving Ellie with the echo of his words pressing heavy against her ribs.
—
The train platform was loud with steam and metal. The Capitol’s train looked like something from another world — polished chrome sides reflecting the gray sky, doors opening with a hiss that sounded like a living thing.
Haymitch Abernathy was already inside, sprawled in a seat like he’d claimed it for life. His hair stuck out at angles, his shirt half-buttoned, and he was nursing a glass of something amber.
“Sit down,” he said without looking at you or Cato.
You slid into a seat across from him, Cato following with wide-eyed hesitation. The cushions sank under your weight — too soft for your body to trust.
“Alright,” Haymitch began, swirling his drink lazily, “here’s the deal. Don’t die in the bloodbath. Don’t eat anything you can’t name. Don’t trust anyone you don’t have to. Simple.”
“That’s it?” you asked, brows raised.
“That’s it,” he replied, taking a sip. “People try to get fancy. They die faster.”
You glanced at Cato, who was staring at the untouched platter of bread on the table. You grabbed a roll and pushed it toward him. “Eat. Your hands aren’t gonna stop shaking if you’re starving.”
Haymitch’s eyes flicked toward you, just for a second. “You’re tougher than you look.”
“Good,” you said. “That’s the point.”
⸻
The train felt like stepping into a Capitol dream — all gleaming wood, velvet cushions, and food stacked so high it looked fake. Ellie didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a plate and piled it with roast meat and bread, dropping into a seat without waiting for permission.
Thomas sat across from her, posture straight, carefully unfolding his napkin like this was a dinner party instead of a death sentence.
Their escort chattered about schedules and interviews until the door at the far end slid open and a tall man stepped in. His hair was silver at the temples, his jaw set like stone, and his eyes — sharp and calculating — swept over them in a single glance.
“Name’s Ampert,” he said, voice low but firm. “District Twelve victor. Year Twenty-Two.”
Ellie leaned back in her chair. “Guessing you’re the one who’s supposed to keep us alive.”
“I’m the one who can tell you how to stay alive,” Ampert corrected. “Whether you listen is up to you.”
Thomas nodded quickly. “We’ll listen.”
Ellie smirked. “Depends what you’ve got to say.”
Ampert’s gaze lingered on her, assessing. “You look like the kind of tribute who’ll pick a fight just to prove a point. Let me be clear — the arena doesn’t reward ego. It rewards the ones who know when to strike and when to disappear.”
Ellie didn’t look away. “Good thing I know both.”
His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We’ll see.”
⸻
The countryside blurred past in streaks of green, brown, and gold, broken by the occasional gray smudge of a district town.
—
In District 8’s carriage, you leaned your forehead against the glass, the rhythmic hum of the wheels almost lulling you into forgetting where you were going. Haymitch’s voice cut through your thoughts.
“You got a plan?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Get one,” he said simply. “And make it something that keeps you alive without making the whole arena hate you.”
—
In District 12’s carriage, Ampert leaned back in his seat, arms folded.
“First thing you need to understand,” he said, looking between Ellie and Thomas, “is that the Capitol doesn’t just watch you fight. They watch you be. They’ll judge every word, every look, every kill. Make them want to see more of you.”
Ellie snorted. “And how exactly do I do that?”
“By showing them just enough of yourself to make them curious,” Ampert replied. “Not everything. Not yet. The less they know, the more they’ll want to know.”
Ellie tapped her fingers against the table, her mind already working. She wasn’t sure she liked him — but she was sure she could learn something from him.
——————————————————
The train pulled into the Capitol at midday, the world outside your window turning into something unrecognizable. Towers rose like crystal spires, too tall to be real, their surfaces catching the sunlight in a kaleidoscope of color. Bridges arched in impossible curves, vehicles zipped along without horses or coal smoke, and everywhere — everywhere — there were people dressed like works of art.
You’d seen dyed cloth in District 8, but nothing like this: skin painted metallic silver, lashes tipped with jewels, hair sculpted into shapes that defied gravity. They leaned over the barriers, shrieking, cameras flashing like lightning as the Peacekeepers led you off the train.
Haymitch muttered under his breath, “Keep your head up. They love a pretty tribute who looks like they’re not afraid to be seen.”
You weren’t sure if it was advice or mockery, but you lifted your chin anyway.
⸻
The Capitol station was a blur of light and noise. Flashbulbs popped like fireworks, the crowd pressed against the barriers, their painted faces stretched into smiles too wide to be human. You lifted your chin, as Haymitch had told you, but your stomach churned like you were standing at the edge of a cliff.
Once you’d arrived,your prep team wasted no time on you, sculpting your hair, painting your face,three hands on you at once.
When they were finished, the girl staring back at you was not the girl who used to mend seams at her mother’s workbench.
The dress shimmered as you moved, silk dyed a deep rose-pink that caught in the light like liquid. Its sleeves hung off your shoulders, brushing against your arms like whispers, and a narrow golden belt cinched the waist. Your hair was braided into a crown, pins glinting like threads of fire. Matching slippers muffled your steps across the marble.
You felt delicate, but not weak — more like a garment stitched too fine, one tug away from unraveling.
⸻
Ellie’s prep team had tried the same routine, but she’d pushed their hands away whenever she could, jaw tight as they fussed.
When they were done, she stepped out into the corridor scowling, tugging at the collar of the black suit they’d stuffed her into.
The jacket was sharp, cut to her frame, with a deep green tie that picked up her eyes. Her boots shone black, polished so well they reflected the floor. Her hair was slicked back, though a few strands had already slipped loose.
“You look like trouble,” Ampert muttered beside her.
Ellie smirked, hands shoved into her pockets. “Good.”
She hated the Capitol’s game of dress-up, but she had to admit one thing: she looked dangerous in their costume, and that was a weapon she could use.
By the time you entered the dining hall, it felt less like you were walking and more like you were being displayed.
—
The dining hall glittered like a jewel box, chandeliers dripping with crystals, walls lined with velvet so soft you could sink into it. A long polished table stretched down the center, already laden with food that steamed and glittered — meats roasted golden, fruit piled in towers, drinks fizzing like liquid stars.
Tributes filed in district by district, each pair a portrait of contrast.
• District 1: Cassia, a tall blonde with eyes like sharpened glass, draped in a silver gown that glittered with every movement; Dorian, her partner, a boy with smooth dark skin and a smile that looked rehearsed, dressed in a pale silk jacket. They looked like royalty.
• District 2: Marcellus, broad-shouldered, in gray leather armor trimmed with steel, his posture daring anyone to challenge him; Valeria, his partner, a stern-faced girl in a blood-red gown, every braid in her hair a blade. The Careers radiated danger.
• District 3: Lin, a wiry boy with restless hands, adjusting the cuffs of his electric-blue suit; Cira, his partner, a freckled girl with copper hair tied in a bun, wearing a metallic dress that sparked faintly under the light. Nervous but clever.
• District 4: Kai, a broad-shouldered boy with sea-green eyes, dressed in a tunic patterned like scales; Selene, his partner, her black hair spilling down over a gown threaded with pearls and netting. Beautiful, dangerous.
• District 5: Iris, a slim girl in a sharp white jumpsuit marked with circuit-like patterns, eyes darting everywhere; Ren, her partner, dark-haired and lanky, his suit plain but his stare unblinking. Quiet, calculating.
• District 6: Calla, small and delicate, pale skin painted with pastel swirls, her gown flimsy, like paper-thin wings; Orin, her partner, thin to the point of sickly, tugging nervously at his sleeves. Fragile.
• District 7: Rowan, broad and muscular, his shirt cut rough, smelling faintly of sap and sawdust; Elara, his partner, hair braided down her back like a rope, her dress stitched from dark green fabric resembling pine needles. Steady, grounded.
• District 8: You — silk dark pink dress, gold belt at your waist, hair braided into a crown, delicate but strong. Cato, your district partner, a boy of thirteen, brown hair falling into his frightened eyes, dressed in the same pink but muted. He stayed close, as if you were his older sister.
• District 9: Maeve, skittish,with corn-colored hair, in a soft yellow dress that made her look younger than she was; Harlan, her partner, broad and stocky, jacket patched with wheat-like embroidery. Rural and solid.
• District 10: Jonas, rawboned, his boots still carrying the dust of his district, his jacket stiff brown leather; Mira, small and wide-eyed, hair curled neatly for the first time in her life, in a simple cream gown. Uneasy, but enduring.
• District 11: Asha, tall and elegant, her dark skin glowing under the Capitol lights, gown the green of fresh leaves; Taye, her partner, young and wiry, his suit marked with golden wheat-threads. Both carried themselves with quiet strength.
• District 12: Ellie, lean and sharp in her fitted black suit and green tie, boots polished but her posture rebellious, hands shoved in pockets. Thomas, neat and composed, hair slicked, his jacket gray with a green lining to match Ellie’s.
Twenty-four names. Twenty-four faces. Twenty-four lives waiting to end
———————————————————
You slid into your chair beside Cato. The silk fabric of your dress whispered as you moved, catching the light.
At the far end, Ellie dropped into her chair without ceremony, her smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth when Thomas elbowed her to sit straighter. She ignored him.
Your eyes found hers across the long polished table.
For a second, you thought she might look away. She didn’t.
Ellie’s gaze flicked over you deliberately, slow enough that you felt it. From the crown of your braided hair, to the delicate drape of silk over your shoulders, to the way your hand rested lightly on the table beside Cato’s smaller one.
And when her eyes came back to meet yours, there was something in them that wasn’t mockery — but wasn’t softness, either. Something like curiosity edged with steel.
You tried to look away, to focus on Haymitch murmuring something to Cato but your gaze kept being pulled back.
Ellie tipped her head slightly, like she was testing you.
You lifted your chin, meeting her stare unflinching.
The corner of her mouth curved — not quite a smile. More like recognition.
At her side, Ampert muttered, “Quit staring at Eight. She’s not your ally.”
Ellie’s voice was low, casual, her eyes still locked on you. “Maybe not. But she’s not easy to forget.”
You forced yourself to turn away, reaching for your glass, the fizz tickling your lips. But your chest felt strangely light, as though that single look had stitched something into place that hadn’t been there before.
Across the table, Ellie leaned back in her chair, finally breaking the stare, but the smirk never left her face, and neither did the feeling in her stomach.
A/N: first interaction with ellie and reader, kind of nervous. GUYSSSSS i’m getting so carried away with this as i literally have nothing else to do💔 BUT i thought id add in them having a dinner because i couldn’t think of a way they would interact before training so HERE IT ISSS! i hope you enjoyed!
Next chapter tomorrow!
Poppy<3
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝑰𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈
hungergames!au elliewilliamsxreader
Chapter One - The Reaping
Prologue >>> Chapter Two
District 8 always smelled faintly of damp cloth and boiled dye, the air heavy with tiny threads that clung to your clothes and hair. You’d grown up with the constant thrum of sewing machines, their rhythm almost like a second heartbeat. Your mother had taught you to sew before you could write your name — “If you can make yourself useful, you can keep yourself alive,” she used to say.
Useful, you learned, didn’t always mean gentle. You could handle yourself in an argument, knew how to keep the factory boys from pushing you around, and more than once, you’d pulled a friend out of a fight before Peacekeepers got involved. You weren’t afraid of raising your voice when you had to, but you also had a habit of giving away spare bread to the younger kids who lingered around the factory gates.
The Reaping had always been background noise in your life — an annual spectacle that took someone else’s children. You’d stood in the square year after year, your name folded into the glass bowl more times than you liked to think about. And each time, you’d walked away free, convincing yourself it would stay that way.
⸻
District 12 was nothing like the neat, crowded streets of 8. The Seam was a patchwork of coal dust, splintered fences, and half-collapsed houses. Ellie had been born into it and carried its grit in her bones.
She’d lost her parents before she was old enough to remember their faces — one to the mines, the other to the grief that followed. Joel, an old friend of her father’s, took her in. He’d taught her how to keep herself alive, how to handle a bow, how to move through the woods without being heard.
Ellie’s mouth was as quick as her aim. She didn’t make friends easily, didn’t see the point in sugarcoating her words. If someone was useless, she told them. If they were lying, she called them out. But there was a softer side buried deep — the part that still brought home extra meat for a family that had nothing, or patched up a neighbor’s fence without being asked.
Every year, the Reaping came and went. She’d stand in the square, arms crossed, pretending not to care. This year was no different — until it was.
⸻
The morning of the Reaping in District 8 felt like the air before a storm. You wore your best dress — pressed and clean, embroidered with blue flowers you’d sewn on yourself— and walked to the square with your mother, who held your hand tighter than she had in years.
“You keep your chin up,” she murmured as the Peacekeepers herded you toward the roped-off section.
“I always do,” you said, forcing a smirk.
The Capitol escort stepped forward in a cloud of perfume and sequins, her voice high and syrupy as she gave the same speech she gave every year. The glass bowl glimmered in the sunlight. Her manicured hand dipped in and pulled out a single slip of paper.
“Y/N L/N!”
The crowd seemed to pull away from you all at once. You heard your mother’s sharp inhale, the faint murmur of voices. You walked forward, each step deliberate, refusing to let your knees shake. On stage, you kept your head high. Your breathe quickened as you realised this wasn’t some nightmare. It was real. Too real.
The boy’s name was called next — Cato Bellamy, a wiry twelve-year-old with wide eyes and a thin frame. He stumbled up beside you, his breathing shallow. You leaned slightly toward him and put your hand on his his shoulder.
He flinched, but once he’d realized he wasn’t in any danger, sunk under your palms.
“Hey,” you said quietly. “We’ll be okay.”
He nodded, but didn’t answer.
He didn’t believe you, but neither did you.
You knew there was nothing you could do to save either of you.
⸻
In District 12, the sun was hotter, the air thick with coal dust. Ellie stood near the back of the crowd, hands shoved into her pockets, eyes fixed somewhere above the stage.
The mayor’s voice droned, the escort preened, and Ellie barely listened — until she heard her own name.
“Ellie Williams.”
She froze for half a heartbeat, then pushed forward, ignoring the whispers that rippled through the crowd. Joel’s face was unreadable in the audience, but she caught the faint tightening of his jaw. On stage, she stood straight, chin raised, daring the cameras to look away.
The boy’s name was drawn next — Thomas Greene, broad-shouldered and calm in a way that was almost unsettling. He gave Ellie a quick glance and the faintest nod, like they’d already made a pact without speaking.
⸻
In that moment, in two different districts, your lives shifted.
In District 8, you gripped Cato’s hand to steady him.
In District 12, Ellie squared her shoulders against the weight of a thousand Capitol eyes.
And far above, in the gleaming towers of the Capitol, someone was already pairing names and faces, deciding which stories to sell to the audience.
Yours and Ellie’s would be one of them.
A/N: I’ve been cooking this UPPP GUYS. It’s actually been sat in my drafts for hours. Anyway, i hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it, this is kind of just a little introduction to both characters before anything descriptive developes! Next chapter hopefully tomorrow!!
Poppy<3
𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝑰𝒏 𝑯𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈
elliewilliams x reader/hungergamesau!
You’ve threaded a thousand needles, mended a thousand seams, but nothing could prepare you for the cold bite of the Capitol’s lottery. District 8 smells of fabric dye and fear, and when your name is called, the threads of your quiet life unravel in an instant.
Far away in District 12, a girl with calloused hands and a stare as sharp as her arrows hears your name through a flickering screen. She doesn’t know why it sticks with her, why it makes her chest tighten — only that by the end of the Games, she’ll know your face. And in the Capitol’s arena, knowing someone can be the most dangerous thing of all…
AN: Hey guys!! i really hope this reaches the target audience because i’m SUPER excited to start writing this. I’ve just finished reading sotr and that shit has ruined me 💔But anyway i can’t wait to start this fic!
~Poppy <3
okay hear me out..hungergamesau! ellie williams x reader but i want to incorporate the whole royalty aspect……an arena thats palace grounds and the tributes either wear a dress or a suit thats coloured as their district 🙂↔️
this is the vibe i’m going for!