A Ballad for Annie

"The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it's over."

[gamesmakers]

Bedtime Rituals

“Mommy, I need some water.”

“You just had a glass of water. Come on, it’s bedtime.” Oh dear, there was the bottom lip. Had he not learned yet that that trick didn’t work on her? His dad might be an easy touch, but at four (and a half, he’d be sure to remind her), Ronan should really understand what was likely to work with which parent. “Nope, bedtime.”

“Ple-e-ease?” he stretched the word out as far as he could. Good strategy, since it made for an extra few seconds before lights-off.

Annie shook her head.

“But Maggie got a glass of water!”

“And so did you, right after you brushed your teeth. If you drink any more, you’re going to have to get up during the night to go potty.” When had words like ‘potty’ reentered her vocabulary? She and Finnick had decided before Ronan was born that they weren’t going to use baby talk. No, their children would grow up using the correct words, giving them a head start on school compared to less-devoted parents’ children. Needless to say, that (as well as many of their other pre-baby decisions, including not using pacifiers and never ever swearing in front of the children) had disappeared within weeks.

Meh. They seemed to be turning out fine anyway, at least so far. And fuck was that at least so far terrifying.

Yes, but not the focus of this conversation. “I want to make sure you get a good night’s sleep so you can have lots of fun at preschool tomorrow.”

“But I’m not tired.” Such exasperation. She was amazed such a little body could fit all of it. Though, really, Ronan wasn’t all that little anymore. He’d definitely taken after Finnick in the height category, the lucky kid.

“Sometimes, we don’t realize we’re tired until we try really hard to go to sleep.” Annie should feel ashamed of herself for telling complete and utter lies, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care that much.

He blinked and pursed his lips, and she managed to stop herself from laughing. “But I already know I’m not tired.”

“Give it another try. ‘Night.” She kissed his forehead and started out of his room.

“Will you tell me a story?”

She and Finnick had also made a commitment not to ignore their child when they spoke, as it had bugged the heck out of both of them when their own parents had done it. Naturally, that had been one of the few they’d actually stuck to (though Annie knew she’d broken it a few times, and she would bet just about anything that Finnick had too). “Not tonight, sweetie.”

Ronan tried the puppy dog eyes again. “What about the one where you and Daddy meet?”

“That’s a long story.” She didn’t realize until the words were out of her mouth that there was an implicit agreement to tell a shorter story in there. Wouldn’t it be handy to be able to rewind the world five, ten seconds and kick yourself before you do something stupid?

“Yeah.” Oh good, maybe he hadn’t picked up on it.

“And it’s one best left for another day.” She blew a kiss to him this time, because getting anywhere close to that bed would result in being stuck for another half hour’s-worth of questions, complaints, and requests. Then she flicked the lights off and retreated into the hallway and downstairs to the family room.

Finnick looked up from his book as she entered. “Was Ronan being difficult?”

“You know how he is about bedtime these days,” she said, sitting down next to him. “What’re you reading?”

He showed her the cover. “He’s a little stinker, isn’t he?”

“I wonder where he gets it from.” Upstairs, she heard little feet, and she turned to Finnick with a sickly-sweet smile. “Y’know, sweetie, I think someone might need your help. Maybe some water, or to check under the bed for monsters, or…”

“He’s been trying to get to sleep for hours,” Finnick replied in mock-seriousness. He sighed. “You want me to cover this one?”

“If you want to still have a son after tonight, I think it’d be a good idea.”

[gamesmakers]

A/N: For some reason, I really felt like this needed a bonus scene.

Finnick leaned against the doorway. “So,” he began, “I heard you’re having a hard time falling asleep.”

Ronan nodded, very serious for a four-year-old. “I’m not tired.”

“Good. I should have an easy time of this then.” He navigated his way to the bed. “Scoot over.”

“What’s gonna be easy?” Despite his questions, Ronan scooted over so Finnick could lie down next to him. The bed would have been snug for Finnick by himself, but with the two of them together, it passed well into cramped territory.  “Dad, what’s happening?”

“We’re having a race.”

His son’s face lit up at that one.

“We’re going to see who can fall asleep first.”

Well, that excitement ended quickly. “That’s not a real race.”

“You think so? Well, what if I told you that I’m the reigning champion?” He could feel Ronan starting to warm to the idea. “When I say ‘go’, we’re both going to try our hardet to fall asleep. Whichever one falls asleep first wins. Get it?” A nod and no complaints. Excellent. “Go.”

Ronan clamped his eyes shut immediately. Finnick went the more subtle route. He waited a minute or two to before he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Hey, this bed was pretty comfy. It wouldn’t be hard to drift off and…

“You’re not really sleeping. You snore when you sleep.”

“I don’t snore. Your mom snores and then blames it on me.” That left only the main accusation to be addressed. “And you’re right, I’m not asleep yet, but I am pretty close.”

“I’m closer.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see how this turns out, won’t we?”

Annie slipped in a bookmark – Finnick always dog-eared the pages, which drove her nuts – before setting Plutarch’s new history of Panem aside. It wasn’t going to turn her into a history buff, but at least so far, it did have interesting tidbits here and there. Finnick would probably enjoy it more than she did.

He’d been upstairs for quite a while, hadn’t he? She glanced at the clock, but quickly gave up. It was too late for mental math. He’d probably just gone to bed early. Annie turned off all the lights before trudging back upstairs.

She always checked on the kids before she went to sleep. It wasn’t necessary; she knew that Ronan and Maggie would be just fine no matter what. Still, she liked to check. Maggie slept with her thumb in her mouth, red hair all tangled up around her face. It’d be a mess to work out the knots in the morning, but Annie had grown used to it. Annie was surprised her daughter had managed to stay asleep with the noise coming from next door.

The snoring only intensified when she opened the door to Ronan’s room. Usually, when Finnick snored, she nudged him until he rolled over into a quieter position. Tonight, she refused to disturb the adorableness before her. Father and son had adopted the same position – on their back, right arm under the head, leaning to the left – and she considered going downstairs to grab the camera. Instead, she stood and watched for a moment more before blowing them both a kiss and shutting the door behind her, hoping it would be enough to block out the snoring.

[gamesmakers]

Within You, Without You

They really ought to fix this road sometime. True, she, the milkman, and the mailwoman were the only ones who used it with any kind of regularity, but they should still do something about it. The potholes were nuts on this stretch. Annie grimaced at one, two, three bumps, but they hadn’t gotten to the big one yet. And… there it was. She felt the bump in the road all the way up her back, and judging by the pacifier that flew past her seat, Ronan felt it as well. His wail filled up the car, and Annie found herself digging around the floor around her seat for his pacifier. She didn’t usually like to drive while distracted like this, but a screaming seven-month-old was far more of a distraction than taking her eyes off the road for a couple seconds. She had done it so many times before, and there was never anybody way out here, and it should have been fine.

Annie screamed as the front bumper hit something. The wheel jerked under her hands, and they were sent careening off-road. Her first instinct was to reach back towards Ronan and make sure his car seat stayed safely in place. Her second, and in many ways, probably worse, instinct was to overcorrect and pull the steering wheel as far to the left as she could. An instant later, she slammed down on the brakes.

But it was too little, too late, and the car, driver, baby, and all, slammed straight into a tree. The airbag and seatbelt did their job, keeping her in her seat and stopping her from hitting the windshield, but a terrible, slicing pain cut at her back all the same.

Ronan screamed bloody murder from his car seat, and her entire body was shaking too much for her to comfort him. He can scream. He’s alive. It’ll be okay. Annie repeated this mantra over and over again in her mind as she wiped most of her tears away with the back of her hand. “Ronan, sweetie, are you okay?” Her voice shook, and she took another few seconds to calm herself a bit more before she climbed out of her seat to check that he was all right. The car seat was still in the right place. No cuts, no bruises. All in all, that they were both alive and in relatively good condition had to be a bona fide miracle. She’d have to give him a closer look later, set up a doctor’s appointment for him… all the other things that a good mother would do. Because she shouldbe a good mother. It couldn’t be that difficult. Thousands, no, millions of mothers all over Panem managed to do so well with their children, and here she was, off the road because she’d been driving like an idiot and putting her baby in terrible danger. What the hell had she been thinking? That was the key right there. She hadn’t been. Of course she hadn’t. She probably didn’t even care about –

Oh no. She’d hit something – or someone.

Annie scrambled out of her car. At first glance, she saw nothing, for she’d somehow managed to turn the car a full one hundred and eighty degrees around before she hit the tree. But it did not take long to notice the unmoving heap at the center of the road. “Are you all right?” she yelled as she ran towards it. “I’m so sorry, are you all right? I didn’t mean to –”

From here, she could see what the mass had to be: a person, and they definitely weren’t moving. Oh gods, please let her not have… Annie bent down next to them. “Are you all right?” she repeated. When she still received no response, she grabbed the person, a woman, she would guess, by the shoulders and gave them a gentle shake. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Still nothing. Annie tried to think back to Training, those elementary first aid classes they’d been forced to take, but she couldn’t remember what they’d said to do with an unresponsive person. Praying that she wasn’t going to make anything worse, Annie gingerly rolled the woman over. “Ma'am? Are you –”

Her breath caught in her throat, and Annie pulled her hand away from the woman’s. Her first steps back were awkward, disjointed, for she couldn’t begin to understand what she had just seen. Annie hurried back to her car, grabbing Ronan from his car seat. She swore at the restraints as she struggled with them, her hands clumsy and fumbling with the clasps. Every few seconds, she looked back, over her shoulder, expecting to see too-pale hands mangled into claws and a bloody almost-smile behind her. Once she had him out and safely tucked her baby to her chest, she bent down to grab a piece of shattered glass from her broken windshield, keeping it clutched against her as she raced back towards town.

It’s a feeling she had not experienced since her time in the Arena, but the sense of being followed, stalked, had never been far from her mind since.

Once one has been hunted, they never want to be prey again.

“There’s nothing out there, ma'am. We looked all around the area, even up in the Victors Village proper, and we didn’t see anybody or anything that looked like it’d been hit.”

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[gamesmakers]

The accident left her shaken, but it's not content with just that. After a car wreck that forces more questions than it reveals answers, Annie is forced to contemplate just how alone she truly is.

Rated: T

Chapters: 1/1

Length: 6,855 words

They really ought to fix this road sometime. True, she, the milkman, and the mailwoman were the only ones who used it with any kind of regularity, but they should still do something about it. The potholes were nuts on this stretch. Annie grimaced at one, two, three bumps, but they hadn’t gotten to the big one yet. And… there it was. She felt the bump in the road all the way up her back, and judging by the pacifier that flew past her seat, Ronan felt it as well. His wail filled up the car, and Annie found herself digging around the floor around her seat for his pacifier. She didn’t usually like to drive while distracted like this, but a screaming seven-month-old was far more of a distraction than taking her eyes off the road for a couple seconds. She had done it so many times before, and there was never anybody way out here, and it should have been fine.

Annie screamed as the front bumper hit something. The wheel jerked under her hands, and they were sent careening off-road. Her first instinct was to reach back towards Ronan and make sure his car seat stayed safely in place. Her second, and in many ways, probably worse, instinct was to overcorrect and pull the steering wheel as far to the left as she could. An instant later, she slammed down on the brakes.

But it was too little, too late, and the car, driver, baby, and all, slammed straight into a tree. The airbag and seatbelt did their job, keeping her in her seat and stopping her from hitting the windshield, but a terrible, slicing pain cut at her back all the same.

Ronan screamed bloody murder from his car seat, and her entire body was shaking too much for her to comfort him. He can scream. He’s alive. It’ll be okay. Annie repeated this mantra over and over again in her mind as she wiped most of her tears away with the back of her hand. “Ronan, sweetie, are you okay?” Her voice shook, and she took another few seconds to calm herself a bit more before she climbed out of her seat to check that he was all right. The car seat was still in the right place. No cuts, no bruises. All in all, that they were both alive and in relatively good condition had to be a bona fide miracle. She’d have to give him a closer look later, set up a doctor’s appointment for him… all the other things that a good mother would do. Because she should be a good mother. It couldn’t be that difficult. Thousands, no, millions of mothers all over Panem managed to do so well with their children, and here she was, off the road because she’d been driving like an idiot and putting her baby in terrible danger. What the hell had she been thinking? That was the key right there. She hadn’t been. Of course she hadn’t. She probably didn’t even care about –

Oh no. She’d hit something – or someone.

[gamesmakers]

So, I read on of your one shots in which Finnick and Annie are essentially friends with benefits, until Finn admits that he loves her. Could you expand on that, and write about the moment he becomes discontent with the way their undefined relationship is going? I suppose, the moment he realizes he wants more?

I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to get this written, anon. Thanks for the prompt!

He isn’t sure what possessed him to kiss her. Yes, you are, that little voice he neverquite managed to shut up whispered. It’sthe same reason you always ‘happen to be passing by’ when she’s sitting out onthe dock, the same reason you invited her tonight.

To his surprise, she doesn’t push him away. Rather theopposite, actually. It must be the breakup, or the sunset, or even the generalgood will that a glass and a half of red wine provides, but he won’t argue.

Annie gives him another, shorter kiss before she pulls away,her hand never leaving his cheek. “More?” she asks, her eyes searching his forany sign of hesitation.

He answers wordlessly, leaning in for another. Her lips aresoft, her breath warm, and nimble fingers wander from his cheek to trace thecontours of his neck, shoulders, arms. She traces a circle around his shirt’stop button, and he undoes it, their lips separating as she her eyes and fingertipsfollow the path of skin he exposes as button after button slips from its hole.

“We should take this upstairs,” she says, and she’s right.His porch is a beautiful place to sit and watch the sunset, but it’s also infull view of anyone walking along the beach. They walk hand in hand to hisbedroom. They talk during the act, of course, but it’s all logistics, none ofthe tender words he longs for.

After, she runs her fingers through her dark hair, nowbeautifully disheveled, and smiles at him. “That’s low, Odair. Waiting until Ibreak up with him to make your move? I’m disappointed.”

It’s not real disappointment, of course it’s not, she’ssmiling, but he flinches all the same. And then that Finnick, the one heprefers to leave in the Capitol, emerges. He tucks a piece of hair behind herear. “And how else was I supposed to seduce you?” His voice is smooth and rich,and he hates everything about it.

“Could’ve gone for the real challenge and tried when I washappily dating. Or were you not sure you could’ve managed that one?”

“You were never really going to be happy with him when I wasaround.” It’s presented as a joke, one she can take or leave, but he prays she’llnotice the hope shining through underneath.

Annie snorts. “Yeah, Odair. You know how us women are.Seagulls, each and every one of us. Can’t focus on anything else when there’s ashiny, pretty boy like you about.”

“Well, I can’t say that I blame you. I am ratherdistracting.” He runs his fingers over her back, and she arches into his touch.Perhaps, just perhaps, there is something beyond the physical there. He knowsbetter than to bet on it.

“That you are.” Annie kisses the tip of his nose, and it’s certainlystrange, but also feather-light and sweet in a way that leaves him grinninglike an idiot. “So,” she says, “Are we going to do this again?”

“Now?”

He can’t help but notice that her breasts shake just a bitwhen she laughs. “Let’s say that I’m willing to be the semi-on call, friendlyneighborhood vagina if you’re willing to be the semi-on call, friendlyneighborhood dick.”

“And here I was, assuming you already thought of me as theneighborhood dick.”

“Your assumptions are pretty good. So, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds really good.” If he wants to addanything, now’s the time, but as he always does, he lets the moment andopportunity slip away to the land of could have beens.

“Great.” She turns away from him to look outside, wherenight has completely overtaken the sunset. “I should probably get going.” Hetastes regret in her words, and it would be so easy to ask her to stay, butneither of them is ready for that.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“It’s two houses away. I think I can manage.” She gets up tograb her clothes, which are scattered around the room. He puts on his pantsafter she tosses them at him. “Don’t worry, the window’s open. If anyone triesto jump me, you’ll hear the screams.”

“Theirs. Not yours.”

“Naturally.” Annie checks the room once more, making certainshe hasn’t forgotten anything. She waves when she’s ready. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight, love.” It’s as close as he’ll let himself get.

[itcouldbendoritcouldbreak-deact]

Screams From A Thousand Miles Away

“No!  No, Finnick, please!  Make them stop, Finnick, please make them stop,”

The stark hospital sheets crinkle as they tangle around my legs and waist.  These aren’t the comforters and these aren’t the mounds of blankets that Annie piles on top of our bed, and that’s what fully brings me into reality.  If this were a normal night back home, Annie would pull me back down, straighten the blankets, maybe ask about the nightmare if it seemed necessary, then drape herself over my chest as if her body, so small in comparison, could protect me from whatever inhabited my dreams that night.  Ridiculously enough, with Annie’s breath against my collarbones and her slender fingers stroking my arm, I did feel protected, even if the Peacekeepers were raiding through houses just a village away or if my trip to the Capitol was to take place the following morning.  In our home in Four we were vulnerable to the Capitol just like we always would be, but after coming back to Annie after every nightmare, there wasn’t anything that could scare us into feeling that vulnerability.

District Thirteen is an underground fortress armed with bombs and launchers concealed up above ground.  Security as tight as the “disoriented” bracelet around my wrist.  But here is where I’m vulnerable, because I can feel the way the steel and stone above me trap me in this place like a tomb, creating a wall between Annie and I that she can’t break into and I can’t break out of.  Too many times I’ve imagined Annie somehow escaping only to find sealed doors and no way in to Thirteen, to me.  Although that’s completely wrong.  Annie couldn’t break away from the Capitol’s crushing, iron grip on her own.  I know.  I tried for too long and that only ended with this, which still isn’t freedom.  Not even close, although Plutarch called it that until I screamed at him to stop.

I used to have dreams about her dying, back when there were enough limits between us to keep her a house away.  They’d be persistent during those days, and after I’d wake up and convince myself not to call her, or even worse, run over to her house to physically see for myself that she was safe, I’d wonder why it was her in my nightmares and not Capitol clients and tributes in the arena.  Probably because she was the only thing left for me.  They’d taken the innocence of my soul in the arena by using human beings as obstacles in the way of a crown, and then they took the innocence of my body by using me as a gift, a trophy, a perk of having mountains of jewels locked away in a cold, unyielding safe.  And me, well, I think I shut down my own heart after that.  There wasn’t much left to protect- just the fact that I was still breathing- but I shut it down anyway.  Survivor skills.  But then Annie came and everything came back.  I could feel my soul again when her laughter shook her little shoulders and I forgot how corrupted my body was the first time I held her close enough to feel her heart beating against my chest and I knew with every sideways glance at the way her eyelashes framed her face so beautifully that my heart was falling completely, almost desperately, in love with her.

In the end, those nightmares, for the most part, were forgotten.  It was easy to keep those nightmares away once we’d learned that the best way to fall asleep was with our bodies packed together in the middle of the bed, a shoulder or a cheek or an ear never too far away to be kissed.

The thin, almost papery sheets that felt so cold hours before, when the nurses told me I was in shock and everything would be fixed with a good night’s sleep, suddenly feel like they’re burning me alive.  I push them aside, standing on legs that somehow still feel numb, even though I know days must’ve passed since I heard the news that made my legs crumble.  I don’t care, I don’t care.  It’s the earliest hours of the morning, and this may be my only chance to slip out of the hospital unnoticed.

When I came home from my first Capitol excursion, my legs felt the same way they do now.  The added pain, exhaustion, and weight of a future life made up off of those days in hell made me too stiff to get out of bed.

I have no way of knowing what they’re doing to her.

Yes, you do.

The dim lights from the surrounding hospital rooms are blaring in my eyes like those stage lights always would.  Everywhere, everywhere.  For a moment I’m completely still, unable to continue with the sounds of people screaming my name in wild chants…Annie screaming my name in the arena.  They weren’t real, those screams.  Even after Katniss had calmed down enough and accepted that her loved ones weren’t being tortured Beetee would slip up by my side every moment or so and launch into another detailed description of how to manipulate sounds through numerous devices, just to solidify that Annie could very well be safe.  They weren’t real, those screams, but miles away she’s screaming until her throat is raw and there’s layers and layers of rocks keeping me away from her.

If my mind isn’t taking me back to the arena, the ideas constructed with a rope that only needs to be a few inches longer, all those nights of detaching myself from my own body because that was the only way I’d survive it, it’s going back to Annie.  Always Annie, and she’s hurting me worse than anyone ever could.

“That’s the way it works,”  Annie had said when I told her that all those weeks spent in the Capitol were weeks spent away from her and she didn’t deserve someone that did that to her.  "The person that gives you the most also takes the most away.  You just have to hope there’s no reason for things to change until they’re hurting you again.“

Reasons.  There’s fraying knots, hours of being on edge and knowing how close you were to falling straight off, days of wishing to be anywhere but where you are, little things becoming tainted by memories and connections to what you can’t think about anymore, falling asleep at the kitchen table because you haven’t slept in days, wanting to rip your hair out in frustration, wasting the day away wishing you could have the things that were ruled out years ago, feeling the weight of another body crush into you and having no comfort to give them.

Screams from a thousand miles away.  Reasons.

I realize, somewhat stupidly, that I’ve stopped walking, caught up in the useless connection of how rubbery your legs start to feel when you have nothing.  It takes some time, and it’s a miracle that I’m not caught and led back to my room by chiding nurses preparing drugs to put me under as they chatter noiselessly at me, but I make it out of the hospital wing.  If there’s one thing Thirteen isn’t lacking, it’s maps.  And schedules.  They’re everywhere, filling in all the gaps of blank walls.  I’ve even seen them inked onto citizen’s forearms.

Tattoos.  I wonder if I’ll have to get one.  I’ve always hated the idea of tattoos, even before they were seared into my mind as something from the Capitol.  After…well, sometimes there’ll be something as subtle as a pattern on a swath of fabric at the market or a certain color created by the shine from the sun that will make me reel back, terrified of what seems like yards of exposed, inked over skin.

I trace my finger along the map until I come to the Council Room.  If anyone here can get Annie to safety, it would be Coin.  All I’ve seen here since my arrival is order and solemn obedience.  Anyone that can contain people so dutifully can send a rescue mission and get them out.  I can feel reasons as to why they wouldn’t.  Dangers from the Capitol air defense, the possibility of casualties.  Reasons that fall short to what I need.

Selfish.  I’ve always been selfish.  Selfish enough to hide the truth of the rebellion from Annie, selfish enough to leave her behind because I was scared of what another arena could do to her, selfish enough to wriggle out of Snow’s grasp, knowing that people could die with one wrong word, one crack in my voice, selfish enough to kill innocent children because I could see a future of safety and luxury ahead of me.

Without even realizing it, I’ve been making my way towards the Council Room, the map clear in my mind.  If anyone were to find me wandering the halls like this anything I said would be disregarded.  I’m mentally disoriented.  They’ve been saying it since the moment I set foot in this dungeon.  "You’re just upset right now, Mr. Odair.  But it’s going to be okay.”  At this point I know that ‘okay’ means more blackout drugs and more therapy sessions that are just like the ones in the Capitol- someone that pretends to know suffering telling me that I can find safety in anything here.

Annie didn’t always know exactly what I was going through, but she’d spent enough nights in the corner of her bedroom, unable to sleep anywhere else because from that particular corner she could see everything in the room and distinguish everything as something harmless.  Sometimes I’d spend all night telling her the things that were there and real.  It’s just wood floors covered with your favorite rug, Annie.  Just the ceiling light that we picked out ourselves because the old one was the ugliest color of yellow.  Just the desk across the room where you wrote a shopping list earlier, remember?  Everything in this room is safe, Annie.  You can go back to sleep now.  I’ll protect you.

I’ll protect you.  If anything, I’d always be promising her that.  Maybe not always with words, but with kisses on the nose before bed and a Saturday spent playfully splashing her legs dangling off the dock with salt water.  Safety is what held us together, made us one.  Johanna used to tell me that if one day she ever felt safety with another human being, that’s when she’d fall in love.  And that’s what I felt with Annie, and what I made sure she felt with me.

I can’t protect her against anything now.  Not needles or punches or forcefulness or mutilation.  Nothing.

I’ll protect you.

The Council Room is just out of reach, but I’m practically dragging myself towards it.  Once I have the doors open, I’m not surprised to find it empty.  The helpful schedule on the wall tells me that it’s currently Breakfast Hour.  I sink into a chair, relieved at first to not be exerting myself anymore, but then I remember how dangerous it is to be alone with my thoughts.  How could I forget?  There was a reason for Annie and I’s lists of things to keep us occupied after the worst days.

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[anniecrestaodairs]

Snow

Chapter: 8/?

Summary: Annie stops in the Capitol, and has an unwanted meeting

Warnings: ptsd, anxiety, descriptions of graphic violence

Find on: ao3, ff.net

Sequel to Annie’s Games

Previous chapter: Ivory

“And I run from wolves breathing heavily at my feet And I run from wolves tearing into me without teeth And you can follow you can follow me” -Wolves Without Teeth (Of Monsters and Men)

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[odestinedforgreatness]

Lyrics

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[itcouldbendoritcouldbreak-deact]

The Anonymous Lead

An audible crash sounded from the living room downstairs, and seconds later the slap of paper hitting the bedspread could be heard from the upstairs bedroom.  Banging doors and thundering feet followed and by the time the thundering feet hit the rug of the living room they’d been drowned out by hysterical sobs.

Finnick doesn’t have much time to take in the scene around him, but thankfully just enough to register that broken glass was littering the floor around Annie, who was hunched around herself with her hands over her ears.  This was a spontaneous attack seeing that the past few days had been lazy, let’s-sleep-in-till-noon days, but finding the trigger to the new panic attack wasn’t the priority yet.

It takes longer than usual for Annie to start registering things again.  She starts simple, like she always does after tougher bouts.  Colors: cream, maroon, gray, orange.  Objects: cream couch, Finnick’s maroon shirt, Annie’s gray sleeve, orange book cover.  Feelings: warm, rocking back and forth, heart beating against the outside of her arm, one leg curled at an awkward angle…readjust…everything feels fine.  Sounds: the stove from the kitchen making the weird clicking noise again, the wind occasionally bursting against the windows or the door, Finnick’s voice speaking steadily.

After she’s gone through the basics and established everything in the end as not the arena she can start comprehending things.  Finnick is reading from the book they’d been reading together.  They’d been alternating chapters over the past few weeks, but Annie recognizes the chapter that Finnick’s reading to be the safe chapter where all the characters are gathered around the kitchen table and having a good meal of potato soup.  No deaths, no villainous plots, no backstabbing.  Those come in the chapters that Finnick decided to ignore for the moment.  Repeating lines about bowls being warmed by thick, creamy soup was safest- the furthest thing in this book from the arena.

“Annie?”  Finnick sets the book down, noticing the change in her posture, the fidgeting of her limbs.

“I’m here,”  The statement didn’t come out as intended.  Annie could only hear a meek glimpse of her true voice in it.  Finnick knows her true voice, of course, but wouldn’t he someday get tired of the one that only reflected the timidness in her?

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks, knowing something pulled her straight down into the depths of that flood, or even worse, drowned her in the blood of Morroq, the tribute that died a few years prior.

“I don't…I don’t remember enough to really be sure how it happened,”  Annie says.  Her gaze lands on the side table, which is missing it’s lamp.  Leaning backwards on Finnick’s lap, she sees the shattered glass and twisted-up lamp shade and winces.  "I fell against your lamp,“

"The glass didn’t cut you or anything?”

“Can’t feel anything,”  Annie says, but her eyes are still glued to the broken lamp.  Somewhat shakily, she stands and picks up the larger shards of what once was Finnick’s lamp and starts fitting them back into place.  It’s a useless effort without glue, but she’s piecing them together almost fervently by the time Finnick speaks up.

“Don’t worry about that now, Annie.  I’ll clean it up later.  Come sit up here with me and relax for a while.” he says.

Finnick knows just as well as any victor would that flashbacks or any attacks that take a person back to the arena are draining, and the lamp is the least of his concerns at the moment.  Annie needs to release the iron grip on her body and fully remember her own safety before anything else.  But she’s shaking her head, muttering some frustrated phrase about how once it’s fixed you’ll still be able to see the cracks in it.

“That doesn’t matter.  Let’s keep reading our book.”  Finnick persists.  He pulls the blanket off the backside of the couch and settles it over his legs as if that will sway her a little more.  She loves wrapping up in blankets.

“I’m fixing the lamp.”  Annie says stubbornly, scooping up the pieces that had practically turned to dust and staring at them in frustration.

“Don’t cut yourself, love, that old lamp’s not worth it.”  Finnick says as she reaches for a particularly jagged piece.

Careful, the coffee’s still hot.  I just washed the floor; it’s probably still slippery.  Watch out for those roots; they’re ankle-twisters for sure.  It’s too cold out for a dress, love, take my coat.  Endearing, if not overprotective phrases filter through Annie’s mind.  He’s always concerned for her safety, even over little things, and while on almost all days she finds his concerns sweet, today it only adds to the pit in her stomach and the consuming thought in her head: useless Annie.  Useless, terrified, fragile Annie.

“Annie.”  Now Finnick’s standing, crossing over to her as she’s trying to smooth out the crooked lamp shade.  "Please.  Let me just take care of you for a while and make sure you’re feeling better.“

Useless, terrified, fragile, needy, dependent, trouble-causing Annie.  "I broke your lamp.”  Her exasperation only grew when her voice came out small and defeated.

“I don’t care about the lamp, darling.”  Finnick offered her his hand, which she took after it remained there for several seconds.  "Always thought it was ugly.  Didn’t fit with the rest of the room.  It was too big and it used weird kinds of light bulbs.“

Maybe it wasn’t the lamp.  Maybe it was the way he always swept his hand through her hair when she was feeling anxious or maybe it was how he always tried to hide it if he was afraid while her fears rushed out of her or maybe it was how there were somedays when Annie felt like she was only waking up because she knew he’d be beside her.  Annie stared at the lamp with an expression of torment on her face.

It doesn’t seem to matter whether she can pin it all on the lamp anyway because Finnick is tugging her back over to the couch.  "Let’s read the next chapter,” he says, folding the blanket over the both of them.  But after a moment of consideration, he closed the book and set it aside.  "Actually, Annie, I’ve been thinking.  Maybe I don’t want to be a fisherman.“

Annie knew where this was going, at least vaguely.  Each time Finnick saw something that sparked an interest in him or something he found amusing, he’d let her know that he was considering a career change that was always fake.  "What are you going to be?”

“A storyteller.”

“Oh?”

“Can I practice them on you?  I have a great one in my head right now.”

                              Keep Reading

[gamesmakers]

Bedtime Rituals

“Mommy, I need some water.”

“You just had a glass of water. Come on, it’s bedtime.” Oh dear, there was the bottom lip. Had he not learned yet that that trick didn’t work on her? His dad might be an easy touch, but at four (and a half, he’d be sure to remind her), Ronan should really understand what was likely to work with which parent. “Nope, bedtime.”

“Ple-e-ease?” he stretched the word out as far as he could. Good strategy, since it made for an extra few seconds before lights-off.

Annie shook her head.

“But Maggie got a glass of water!”

“And so did you, right after you brushed your teeth. If you drink any more, you’re going to have to get up during the night to go potty.” When had words like ‘potty’ reentered her vocabulary? She and Finnick had decided before Ronan was born that they weren’t going to use baby talk. No, their children would grow up using the correct words, giving them a head start on school compared to less-devoted parents’ children. Needless to say, that (as well as many of their other pre-baby decisions, including not using pacifiers and never ever swearing in front of the children) had disappeared within weeks.

Meh. They seemed to be turning out fine anyway, at least so far. And fuck was that at least so far terrifying.

Yes, but not the focus of this conversation. “I want to make sure you get a good night’s sleep so you can have lots of fun at preschool tomorrow.”

“But I’m not tired.” Such exasperation. She was amazed such a little body could fit all of it. Though, really, Ronan wasn’t all that little anymore. He’d definitely taken after Finnick in the height category, the lucky kid.

“Sometimes, we don’t realize we’re tired until we try really hard to go to sleep.” Annie should feel ashamed of herself for telling complete and utter lies, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care that much.

He blinked and pursed his lips, and she managed to stop herself from laughing. “But I already know I’m not tired.”

“Give it another try. ‘Night.” She kissed his forehead and started out of his room.

“Will you tell me a story?”

She and Finnick had also made a commitment not to ignore their child when they spoke, as it had bugged the heck out of both of them when their own parents had done it. Naturally, that had been one of the few they’d actually stuck to (though Annie knew she’d broken it a few times, and she would bet just about anything that Finnick had too). “Not tonight, sweetie.”

Ronan tried the puppy dog eyes again. “What about the one where you and Daddy meet?”

“That’s a long story.” She didn’t realize until the words were out of her mouth that there was an implicit agreement to tell a shorter story in there. Wouldn’t it be handy to be able to rewind the world five, ten seconds and kick yourself before you do something stupid?

“Yeah.” Oh good, maybe he hadn’t picked up on it.

“And it’s one best left for another day.” She blew a kiss to him this time, because getting anywhere close to that bed would result in being stuck for another half hour’s-worth of questions, complaints, and requests. Then she flicked the lights off and retreated into the hallway and downstairs to the family room.

Finnick looked up from his book as she entered. “Was Ronan being difficult?”

“You know how he is about bedtime these days,” she said, sitting down next to him. “What’re you reading?”

He showed her the cover. “He’s a little stinker, isn’t he?”

“I wonder where he gets it from.” Upstairs, she heard little feet, and she turned to Finnick with a sickly-sweet smile. “Y’know, sweetie, I think someone might need your help. Maybe some water, or to check under the bed for monsters, or…”

“He’s been trying to get to sleep for hours,” Finnick replied in mock-seriousness. He sighed. “You want me to cover this one?”

“If you want to still have a son after tonight, I think it’d be a good idea.”

[celebritiesource]

I do just genuinely believe Chris Hemsworth is a 6'3, more muscular version of me. And more handsome, but I try.

[emmacharlottewatson]

Sam Claflin photographed by Roger Rich for ‘ Zoo Magazine’ 2016

[itcouldbendoritcouldbreak-deact]

Isn’t it just adorable that when Finnick gives a crucial speech about prostitution and the true evils of the Capitol it’s considered “background noise” because it’s from a secondary character but when Katniss says “President Snow, are you there?” a thousand times it’s the focus with no distractions whatsoever because it’s the main character talking so it must be of utmost importance.

[gamesmakers]

Finnick O'Daire fled starvation in Ireland for New York. Annie Cresta longed to break free from the confinement of her perfectly respectable life. But even once they found one other, the two could not escape the trials of their era. A 19th-century Odesta historical AU.

[kyllosolo]

   It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.

[gamesmakers]

Senior year is supposed to be a breeze, but the second she sees his name, Annie knows this isn't going to be easy. Soulmate AU.

[mibbacreativewriting]

Anchored

Finnick/Annie drabble

an ode to another lost sailor

The words reverberated in her ear, but she refused to acknowledge them. There was no way this could be happening to her, this had to be yet another twisted delusion meant to deceive her, to break her…

Read more…

[odairannies]

make me choose; daniels-gillies asked: finnick odair or ron weasley It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.