Boy with the Trident

"Finn," she teased, shaking her head and laughing. “You’d have to mess up pretty badly to get it on the ceiling. You built his crib—you can paint some walls,” she joked, elbowing him lightly.

"You underestimate me. You would be shocked by my ability to get paint anywhere." He let out an oof! at her elbow, and reached over to pinch his wife's nose. "Do you really want to be that couple? The one who has a rickety room for the baby?"

Awesome. So it’s just me who fails at acting. “I’m not worried about you killing me. But I might be worried about your fan club doing it for you.” She looked down at the chair in front of Finnick. She chewed at the inside of her bottom lip before taking his cue for her to sit there. Katniss sat down and sighed. She has to make herself believe this marriage before they get spotted out in public; there was no way she could hide in this hole forever, as much as she would enjoy that.

"No one ever said I was perfect." Finnick winks as he digs into the plate in front of him. He's pleased with himself. "Well. No one ever said my fan club was perfect. I've been called perfect a lot." But his smile falls, making way for some- thing more sincere. He clears his throat, and admits, "I'm in love with someone. That's why Snow is doing this to me. He wants to make a statement. Chances are, it's a similar situation with you."

Annie looked over at her husband and kissed his cheek as they sat out on the docks of Four. ”We still have a nursery to paint,” she teased, leaning back in her chair. Coincidentally, (besides Finn’s arms), she felt most comfortable on the chair Finn built for her on docks. The ocean always made her feel better.

"You have to be joking." Finnick's legs swung back and forth, his toes skimming the water as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Can't we hire someone to do that?" It wasn't that he was a lazy father. He just didn't trust himself to do it well enough to be content with it. "I don't know if I'd do it justice. He might end up with streaks on the ceiling, and then have an imperfection problem."

#bxdragglxd

"I don’t think I will have any troubles.” But she didn’t have to be happy about the situation. ”And you are missing a detail that Snow must have left for me to tell you. We have to convince everyone we are madly in love. It’s the only way to protect the people we love.”

"I'm aware." He smiles, flashing his teeth. "I don't have a problem with that. I've been made to do much worse with far less pretty women. You're a welcomed change." He's an expert when it comes to fish, and he cooks it quickly. Adds a few raw vegetables on the side. He puts the food on plates and sets the table, kicking aside the chair for her to sit. "We're married now. We can at least eat together. Take a breath, Katniss. I'm not going to kill you. Neither is the fish. It's already dead."

"So you’re scared I’m going to turn you into my enemy? - I wouldn’t know if I like fish or not. I grew up eating scraps, so I don’t think I’ll care.”

"That's the least of my worries. I'm worried that you'll choose not to remember who the real enemy is." A Cheshire smile as he sets to work in the kitchen they now share. "You aren't fooling anyone, Girl on Fire. Least of all me. I've seen the best of people, and the worst. And I know when someone has secrets. There's no pressure. I don't expect you to fall madly in love with me. I have enough women to keep up with as is."

#ofmockingashes

"That isn’t exactly information that’s going to help me in the future.”

#ofmockingashes #//RIGHT?#like #this couldn't end poorly

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that. When you know your enemy, you know how to face him. So, dear wife, would you like me to make dinner? I hope you like fish."

Forgive me, those of you who I owe paras to. I'll be doing one-liner type things tonight. I'm super distracted, but I'm here. Memes appreciated/desired!

#out of sugar cubes

"You don’t have to be nervous."

"Why shouldn’t I? All I know about you is that your name is Finnick.”

"You know I'm a Victor, and you know that we have to make President Snow happy. You have way more information than you give yourself credit for having."

#ofmockingashes

Annie wiped the metallic blood from her lips and looked into the mirror. She was dying. She was being killed slowly by the hands of Corionalus Snow. Annie coughed more blood into the sink and pulled her hair out of her face. She was dying. At twenty-one, only four years after her games, she was going to die.

Snow had come to her during the middle of the Games. Finnick was in the Capitol, mentoring the next two Tributes and spending his nights forced into sex slavery. Annie had had no idea of Finnick rewriting the rules of Snow’s Victor prostitution ring. She had no idea of the true cunning of her lover to turn his punishment into an advantage against Snow.

Oh, but Snow had known. Snow had found out that Finnick hadn’t accepted jewels or money for payment in years. Oh, Snow knew that Finnick knew all about Snow’s scheming and his systematic killing of all those opposed. Oh, Snow knew. And Snow was dealing a swift hand of punishment. And the punishment was Annie’s life.

He’d showed up in the Victor’s Village unannouced. For all that the nation knew, the merciful President had been watching the Games from his cozy mansion. He’d been waiting in the living room. There, he told of her of Finnick’s cunning, and there four Peacekeepers pinned Annie down as she was forced to drink the poison that Snow secured his power with. He told her that she wouldn’t know when she would receive another dose of poison. All she knew was that soon enough, in long enough time, she’d die painfully of the poison. And Finnick would get a front row seat of Snow’s sadism.

The poison had taken awhile to work. He’d used such a small dosage, but Annie had woken up several days later with the taste of blood in her mouth and loose hair on her pillow. Annie didn’t want to eat anything, drink anything, but Snow had said that the poison could be administered besides ingestion. There was no point in starving herself—even then, it would just kill her quicker.

And Finnick was coming home today. The boy from Four had died last night and Finnick was on the train, supposedly, four hours later. And he’d be home any minute to find his dying lover with blood stained lips.

He’d know immediately it was Snow’s signature poison. He’d know immediately something was up—and she had to tell him she was dying and had to tell him that it was in punishment for his actions. Annie wiped away tears from her face. This would be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

#finnick odair #annie cresta #mockingjay #because it would be more human than the torture #that line kills me

There was rebellion stirring. It was stirring slowly, but picking up steam. Rebellion was even reaching the Capitol, the Capitol's children, the women, the men... it was a small murmur that said to the woman who sprawled out in bed after Finnick had exhausted them that maybe this wasn't right. It translated very vocally to Freya, who was one of Finnick's favorite patrons. He didn't have any real lasting ties to her. But she was about as normal as they came. Many nights, she didn't even want to have sex. She was perfectly content with snuggling the Capitol's most charming Victor, having him be hers for a time. They lay in bed, limbs tangled, her head against his chest as she sighed and said, "I was thinking today, while I was getting ready for you to come over here." Finnick pressed a kiss to the top of her fuchsia-dyed hair. "Thinking before I come over is always a dangerous sport, my love. You should temper yourself. I want you all instinct." She giggled, airily, as was her way, but then girlishly toyed with the hair on his chest. "No, I mean... I was thinking about the Games. How brutal it must have been. How you have to live with that every day." "You tend to make it easier," he responded, without hesitation, and it worked. For now. But once more, there was opportunity here, and he pressed, "For the sake of argument, why have your opinions about the games changed?" "Well," she started, "you can't tell anyone this, but..." And so all of his secrets were launched and kept. Finnick allowed her to spill treason like rain, the thoughts she'd been holding about President Snow's brutality. How he ordained the slaughter of children, and not only was it wrong, it was evil. Finnick enjoyed moments like this in the Capitol. His learning of the political unrest was the only thing that kept him going when he felt as though he should be back in District 4 with Annie. He almost felt as though there was purpose in these visits, instead of being a pawn in some other twisted political game. The horrible part of these visits was the disconnect from Annie. The utter disconnect. Not speaking with her for weeks at a time was dangerous for Finnick; he was only assured by the knowledge that what he was doing was protecting her. So he reasoned. But the ride back home on this particular evening was lasting a little too long for his taste. Finnick had an overwhelming need to see Annie. Kiss her. Touch her. Feel her hair between his fingers, and... He'd secured sponsorships for his Tributes in the Games, had been watching with bated breath. The girl had gotten her throat slit by a Career on the first day. Finnick had told them not to go for the Cornucopia, but it was difficult to listen when supplies were so scarce elsewhere. The boy had remained until today, and Finnick wished that he could have taken it a bit harder. Mourned him more. It just gave him an opportunity to return home, however, and that, to him, was a slight bit of comfort amidst the rest. And wasn't Annie a sight for sore eyes? As soon as he arrived in Victor's Village, his arms were around her, catching her from behind, whirling her around, laughing. A moment of carefree, cautionless, love, and then, it was over. He spun her around to kiss him, and instead was greeted with tears, and red-stained lips. "Annie..." It came out in a breath, as though he had no strength to muster anything else. "Annie, what's wrong? What's going on? Is it the Games? Oh, Annie, we knew he wasn't going to make it... he was weak. He had nothing to live for. He gave up. Darling, please, talk to me..." He pushed tears from her face with his fingers, kissed them one by one.

#bxdragglxd

I wish she was dead.

Finnick Odair about Annie Cresta in Mockingjay

PSA time

Okay. This anon hate bullshit needs to stop. Seriously. Stop it. Just... whatever you're doing, clicking that little anon button, ready to type in some fucking bullshit to another human being, stop it.

Anon bullshit hasn't affected me in a long time, but it affects others.

If you get hate, delete it. Reach out to your friends for support. Realize that the anons who hide behind the anonymous mask are cowards. Turn off your anon for the time being.

And if you're the douchenozzle who thinks it's okay to leave someone a message about their quality, or portrayal, or just them personally... stop. I have absolutely zero respect for you, and the same goes to the others around you who observe it.

You're shitbags, hate-y anons, and just... stop.

I'm sure this pretty little PSA post won't do anything. If you want to send anonymous hate, you're going to do it whether or not I say anything. And I know by giving you more attention, I'm lighting a fire under your ass.

But maybe, just maybe, one day, you'll look back and remember that I posted this, that I called you out for being a coward, and maybe you'll feel at least the slightest bit of remorse for the bullshit you've done.

Oh, and stop it.

#out of sugar cubes #anon hate #bullshiiiit

annieodairofdistricfour-deactiv

➳

“I was drowning.”

Annie sat up in bed and ran her hand over his back. “It was just a dream, my love. You’re here, with me, where nothing can hurt you”, she said softly and wrapped her arms around him.

He was sweating, and panting, and he clutches his knees so he can brace himself on something. "Why would I dream about that, Annie? Why would I dream about drowning?" Finnick is practically in tears as he lays against Annie, nuzzling. Upset.

#annieodairofdistricfour

No. No. No. She shook her head as he pulled away from her and she shook her head as she watched him draw into himself. He did not get to do this to her. He did not get to not let her in. The entirety of Panem thought her to be crazy, but she was not crazy. She knew what sanity tasted like and she knew what reality tasted like because both had been seared painfully into her soul as she watched childrens’ blood be spilled in front of her. Annie knew torment and she knew pain—but she did not know insanity. No matter what people said—she was not mad. She was every other broken Victor.

And he did not get to shut her out. He did not have the right to save her because she’d already been hurt. She’d already been beaten down and she’d already been bruised. She knew pain and it was not his choice to protect her from the world, for the world had already done it’s damage.

In a rare moment of complete clairty, Annie was angry. She was infuriated for the Capitol hurting her sweet lover and she was infuriated because her lover was hurt past the point of recognizing her as someone to turn to. Finnick was not alone, yet why couldn’t he see her? Why could he not recognize that she wanted to sooth away the trembling in his fingers and help heal him? Scars healed, but that wasn’t the matter. Bleeding stopped, but that wasn’t the problem.

"The Capitol took away all of our livelihoods and all of our qualities of life. You’re not saving anyone by not letting me help you," she said, pressing his hand to her face so he couldn’t pull away from her again. "Finn, I already hurt. I already bleed and I’m already in pain. The whole of the country invalidates my pain, even other Victors, because I let my pain show. I’m not crazy, Finn, but I love you. Please. Please, Finn, let me help you," she begged, lacing their fingers together against her cheek.

"Finnick, let me love you," she pleaded quietly, reaching out with her other hand to touch his face again, remind him that she was there. She herself was fragile, but her love for him would always be strong.

#annieodairofdistricfour #//um this is kind of perfect #maybe it's after a nightmare or something?

It hurt. The fact that Annie was so desperate to help him hurt. Finnick could feel it dredging up bile in the pit of his stomach. Couldn't he at least provide honesty? Honesty. Please. What was honesty here? What did that even mean? Why? "I'm ashamed," he admitted, before he could stop himself. The love in her eyes, the protestations of the sentiment, the sweet tone and the broken eyes, the realization that she was just like every other victor (yes, even him)... her honesty was just more profound than his was. Finnick pulled away from Annie, because he couldn't stand to see her forgiveness right now, if in fact that was what she provided. He was undeserving, and he needed to further punish himself. At least, for now. "The Capitol..." He was pacing now, the length of the room, like some sort of caged animal with a stick shoved through the cage one too many times, "...they take what you love. Or they dangle it in front of you attached to the threat of harm, and there's nothing you can do about it except accept it. Get on your knees and pray that there's some sort of solution to this." A pause, one in which Finnick stopped pacing, and looked up. At Annie. Sweet Annie. "There's talk of Rebellion. It's getting louder every day, and... when it happens, I'm joining." But that was a pipe dream at the moment. Something that sat on the horizon and never got any closer. Finnick resumed pacing, tone a decibel quieter, wringing his worried hands together. "When I won the Games, I was the youngest Victor to win. And that was desirable. My body, my savagery... desirable. But I was too young. Two years, that's it. Two years of lavish living, and believing their lies. That I was some kind of champion. Two years before Snow began to sell my body to the highest bidders and my life became a revolving door. I swore..." He looked up at Annie, his eyes wet now. Desperate. And he went to her, a beeline of a thing, and took her hands in his. "I swore I wouldn't fall in love. Not while I was still under Snow's thumb like this, but you happened so suddenly, Annie... so quickly, and I couldn't help myself. And maybe I allowed it because you were in the Games, and the chance of losing you outweighed the hope of having you with me, but... damn it, Annie, loving you is the most difficult, and wonderful thing I've ever done."

#bxdragglxd

➳

“I was drowning.”

The way he formed his lips around her name, the way his clear agony seemed to weave itself into the syllables, the way his face twisted into a broken contortion of the man she loved—it all killed her. She gasped and clung onto the bannister for any type of support that could keep her small frame from collapsing onto the marble stairs.

He’d never said her name like that. Not when he said goodbye the day she went into the Arena, not when she returned to him and clung onto his body for proection. He did not say her name like this when he kissed her for the first time and he did not say her name like this as he would stroke her hair through the panic attacks after nightmares. Not in the short time that they’d loved each other had he ever cracked his voice around a whisper of her name.

"Finn, please,” she whimpered, slowly closing the distance between them on her trembling legs. Her bright, seaweed eyes were glassy with tears over the torment she could see in her love’s frame.

Then. Then he hastily covered his arms and she noticed the scars. Annie had memorized the complete whole of Finnick, every inch of tanned skin of his was known by her. And these thin, pink scars around his wrists and lower arms were fresh. Incredibly fresh. Her eyes cast downward to his hands.

"Finn…" she murmured, voice all wrapped into the horror of the sight before her. This side of Finnick…the side of Finnick that was tormented and obviously tortured had never been seen by Annie’s eyes and now that she had—now that she was witness to whatever Finnick was forced to endure, Annie wanted to scream. She wanted to scream because no, this could not be happening to the love of her life and the reason that she hadn’t thrown herself from the cliffs of Four. No, because Finnick was so much gentler than the warrior the Capitol made him out to be. No, because he didn’t deserve to have broken shards of glass covered in blood for eyes.

She reached for his face and cupped his cheek, begging for him to look at her again and not cover up from her or the help she wanted to give him. Annie bit her quivering lip and tried not to cry, to remain strong for the strongest person she knew.

"Please, Finn. I want to…I…Please, Finn. Please, let me help you," she begged. Her voice was still dry from tears and still tinged with panic from the constant anxiety that filled her head with noise. And all that noise was filled with the sound of his voice and the scratches on his wrists.