#Thinking about how Finnick Odair died while protecting his loved ones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilguna · 1 year

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☼ breathtaking pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.5k

part two.

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The worst part about the announcement of the Quarter Quell was by far the amount of questions you were asked about it afterwards. In the months leading up to the reaping, all you kept being asked was, “How do you feel?”

In the beginning, you would just stare at them for a second, hoping that they’d realize how stupid they are for asking it in the first place. How do they think you feel? While they’re all grown and get to live the rest of their lives without worrying about dying, you’re having your rights taken away from you yet again.

You aren’t supposed to do this again. Everyone was promised that once they win, they are done with the Hunger Games. They were no longer eligible to go inside, the only time you’d come close would be during mentoring. You’d get to live that week in the Capitol over and over and over again, watching different tributes get reaped, and then die in the arena.

As the reaping drew closer, the question died in their throats. The idea of reminding you about your potential fate made them uncomfortable. They never considered the idea of how irritating it was to answer the question every day of the week and then for it to slowly fizzle out.

You could handle the odds of going back into the arena. With only four girls in District Five, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the name pulled out of the bowl would be yours. It bothered the other girls, but you knew you had to let it go if you wanted to be even remotely happy for what could be your last weeks in your home.

Actually, the part that upsets you the most is the fact you’ll never get to see the world in color, because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. You’ll never get to see the sky, or the trees, or the color of the clothes you wear everyday. All the features that make someone who they are is absent in your sight. You’re left with black, white, and grey.

You thought that you would have years to try and find them. You’re only in your twenties. You were supposed to take over mentoring, which would’ve allowed you to get a better chance at finding your soulmate.

It was ruined as soon as your name was the one drawn out of the bowl. You felt your heart sink into your stomach, because you weren’t stupid enough to think anyone would volunteer for you. The sighs of relief that came from the other girls was salt in the wound.

For a few hours, you were stupid enough to hope that you’d win, until you saw exactly who was drawn this year. It ended up being the last nail on the coffin. You are going to die inside of the arena, you’re sure of it. That’s why you haven’t taken a single thing seriously this past week.

Why does it matter? Why would sponsors matter? They don’t want you, they want the siblings, they want the volunteers, they want their darlings, and they want the newest trouble. You are just a minor victor in the crowd.

When you were telling your stylist about your pessimistic views, all he could say was that they were entirely justified. The Capitol loves their victor’s unfairly, and then it ruins the chances for the rest of you. Anything that would normally catch the attention of the crowd on a regular Hunger Games is useless here. The parade, the scores, the interview you’re about to do. It’s for nothing.

You trace patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, watching as your prep team and stylist move around the room. They’d briefly gathered a few minutes ago to talk, and ever since they’ve been running around pulling things off the shelves in the closet. You’re guessing it’s jewelry.

Your stylist pulls out one of those protective bags for dresses, except this one is bigger and stuffed with fabric. He unzips it to take a look inside, and you can see the smile come across his face. His eyes dart up to yours, looking at you through the mirror.

“(Y/n),” He begins, coming closer, “I’ve been saving this dress for a special occasion, since I will never be able to use it again in any of my work. Tonight, you will be my muse.”

You give him a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for anything else?”

“I’m sure.” He says, unzipping the bag, “I’m aware you can’t see the color, but you should know that it’s not the most important part. It’s the design.”

Together, he and the prep team work to get the dress out of the bag. It’s a light shade of grey, so you’re going to guess that it’s a pastel color. It’s uncommon for stylists to go for something so gentle, because the lights on the stage tend to wash the tributes out. That’s why the colors are bright and hard, so they can pop and shine.

You think that it’s going to be some small dress, but the fabric never stops. There’s so much of it. He tosses the dress bag off to the side, and then unzips the back for you to get into. It takes a minute, they have to adjust and pin the dress where it’s too big or too small. By the end, you can’t even tell that it’s been altered.

One of the prep team members gets to work on fluffing the dress, while the other fixes your hair, and then gets to work on putting the jewelry on you. She focuses on your earrings and the necklaces on your collarbone to make sure they’re positioned perfectly. They get you in heels, and then your stylist shuffles in front of you to settle something on the top of your head.

You’re ordered to close your eyes until you’re in front of the mirror and finishing touches are made. They fix your makeup, and then spray something wet and sweet smelling on your skin. You’re guessing it’s perfume, but as soon as you open your eyes and sway slightly, your skin sparkles.

The dress is floor length, off the shoulder but with long and loose sleeves to keep you from getting cold while waiting for your turn to be interviewed. And the object he snuggled in your hair is a tiny tiara that sparkles with your skin each time you move.

You run your hand over the gorgeous patterned lace, letting out a breath, “What color is it?”

“Pink.” He says, coming over to stand behind you, “A gentle and loving pink, one that resembles innocence and beauty.” He fixes a curl, “It’s light and uplifting, and it looks beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“You’re good to go out, (Y/n). I believe in you.” He says.

You wander out of the room and down the hall, absently tracing one of the closest flowers while you near the line to the stage. The other victor’s are in varying outfits. This year, District Two is subjected to looking like gladiators, the Ritchson siblings are eye-catching in their sequin outfits. Johanna Mason wears a long dress, but she doesn’t look out of place.

A few eyes land on you as you draw closer, but they don’t linger longer for more than a second. They don’t care, a victor from District Five is anything but a threat to them at this point. You’re sure half of them have already decided how they’re going to get rid of you in the arena. And if they haven’t, it’s because they know they can take you in a fight. There’s no use planning it.

It’s only a few minutes later, when the entire hallway is going completely silent. You look over to see Katniss, dressed in a large wedding dress. You should’ve guessed, that was the whole obsession after their Victory Tour. Of course, her stylist would try one more thing to catch the Capitol’s attention.

“I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.” Finnick says, there’s a look of bewilderment on his face.

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him.” Katniss defends.

Cashmere flickers her hair over her shoulder, “Well, you look ridiculous!” She spits, taking Gloss’ hand and walking off with him to stand at the front of the line.

You swallow, closing your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to survive this, really. You know nothing about any of these people, except for what you’ve seen on the screen. You’re at a severe disadvantage compared to the other female victor’s back home. At least they got to talk to half of these people.

The only two victor’s that feel the same way you do must be Katniss and Peeta, but even they’re fitting in more than you are.

You resist the urge to rub down your face, but you do let out a slight huff. You guess you’ll just have to resort to hiding in the arena, even though you didn’t win through that strategy. You mostly fucked around with trying to set off traps and force the gamemakers to accidentally kill the tributes for you. It worked, it’s why you’re standing here today.

That’s not going to fly in the arena, though. These people have watched your games, the same way you watched theirs. All strategies are on the table, which means that you’ll need to figure out how to camouflage and hide, immediately.

Cashmere and Gloss lead the way onto the stage, and one by one, you make your way to the seats at the back of the stage. The audience is loud, cheering and whistling. The lights are blinding, you squint through them, relaxing your face when you’re adjusted to the brightness.

You tuck the dress beneath you before you sit down, as soon as you’re planted in your seat, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle. You haven’t been on a stage in a few years, you remember hating every minute of it. From the parade, to your face being shown for scores, to all the interviews and speeches you did after you won. You hated every second of it.

Caesar’s hair is a different color, it’s some type of grey, so you’re thinking it’s a muted color. You know that he changes it every year, you wish you could see, because you’re sure he looks fantastic every time. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for a long, long time. That’s a lot of colors to go through, repeating or not.

He does his usual opening-interview spiel with the audience by cracking a few jokes and getting them in a fun mood. From what you’ve heard from your mentors, the citizens of the Capitol are torn between hating the Quarter Quell and adoring it. It’s clear on why; most of the favorites are here. It’s a shame they don’t know how much power they hold.

Cashmere starts the interviews with a speech on how she’s been crying ever since she was chosen. She’s so heartbroken over the fact that the Capitol is suffering because of how many victor’s they’re losing to the games. Gloss follows up with talking about how they’ve been so kind to them ever since they won, and it’s been a pleasure mentoring since.

Enobaria expresses how sad she is that she won’t be able to experience the Capitol’s wonders, since there’s more to live through. She was hoping to get more body modifications and possibly become one of their featured darlings, or a modeling icon for the people back home.

Beetee does his intelligent rambling, talking about how the Quarter Quell is technically illegal and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. He asks if the experts—Gamemakers—have considered this and examined it as of late. You watch as Wiress goes up and backs him up calmly, explaining that this isn’t fair.

When Mags takes the stage, it’s filled with Caesar guessing what she’s trying to say, but you can tell that she’s outraged, too. She’s too old for this, and yet she volunteered to come to save a girl she mentored. Finnick talks through a bright smile, and when Caesar asks if he’s got anything to say, his eyes darken. He proceeds to recite a love poem that’s clearly talking about his home district and how he might not get to see it ever again. It’s misinterpreted and too many people in the crowd think it’s aimed at them.

“For District Five, we have the lovely (Y/n) (L/n)!” Caesar shouts, hand held out in your direction.

You get to your feet with a smile, heading toward the front of the stage. You place your hand in his, he squeezes your knuckles, “Hello, Caesar.”

“Hello!” He laughs, looking over what you’re wearing, “Well, don’t you look pretty! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this before on stage.”

“My stylist was saving it for a special day, and that’s tonight, I suppose. I was just as surprised as you are.” You look out to the audience.

“Yes, it has been an interesting night so far.” He agrees, “Tell me, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

You give a half-shrug, “I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“And why’s that?” He asks.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.” You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s an honor for some people to be back here again and have the opportunity to compete, but I’m losing out on one of the most important parts about living.”

“Let me guess, getting to mentor tributes?” He smiles.

You shake your head again, “No Caesar, it’s getting to see color.”

There’s enough gasps at once that makes your smile inwardly. You know what the other victor’s are trying to do, so you’ll help them. Even if they don’t invite you into their alliances, you’re with them on this. You don’t want the Quarter Quell to happen. You want to go home. That’s why you’ll expose yourself to the Capitol, because you’ve heard how colorful they are. They’ll eat up the idea of living this long without seeing color, ever.

Caesar gapes for a second, “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

You look out, “I will never get to see the Capitol the way the rest of you do. I hear the buildings are brightly colored, I hear how gorgeous the clothes are. And I will never get to experience that, because it’s being taken away from me.”

You can feel the tears build in your eyes. They’re partially real, because all you’ve ever wanted was to see the world the way your parents did. They saw real beauty everywhere they looked, and you saw nothing. And you will see nothing, until the day you die in the arena.

You hard blink to force the tears down your face, throat clogging. You have to play it up for them, otherwise they won’t care. You take a few seconds to dab at the corners of your eyes, with Caesar comforting you. The citizens are eating it up, there’s a few of them crying, you can’t see them past the light in your eyes, but you can hear them out there.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Caesar squeezes your hand.

“I am too.” You sniff, fanning your face, “For what it’s worth, I think the city is beautiful without color, too.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of your interview. There’s shouts complaining over how short it felt. You kiss the tips of your fingers and blow a kiss to the crowd before turning away and walking back to your seat. You struggle to hold in the smile that wants to break over your face.

The next few interviews are just as brutal. Johanna questions whether or not the creators can do anything about it. They never anticipated that the Capitol and the victors would form such a bond. Cecelia does a number by saying goodbye to her kids on camera, which has the whole audience in tears.

Seeder’s calm when she says that Snow is considered powerful. If he is, then certainly he can change the fate of the Quarter Quell, right? Chaff comes in swinging, reciting the same thing as Seeder but enforcing the idea that Snow must not care about the way his people feel.

And then Katniss walks to the front and the audience is in shambles. She’s unable to speak for several minutes, and by the tame she can, she’s speaking about her wedding. How none of them will be able to attend it, now that she’s been reaped for another Hunger Games, but Snow wanted to show them what could’ve happened.

She starts twirling like she did last year, except the minor flames from the year before have turned into large ones. They consume the end of the dress and eat away at the layers, until it reaches her shoulders, and suddenly the flames are gone. You’re left staring at a black dress with feathers. When she stretches her arms out, wings appear.

Katniss’ interview ends almost a minute later, and she takes her seat. This allows Peeta to come to the front of the stage, where they go back and forth being comical. Caesar changes the topic to the Quell once he sees an opportunity to, and there the mood slowly spirals downward.

He says that he and Katniss are already married, and they did it privately while they could because they wanted the moment to be theirs. Then he quickly says that it’s unofficial because the traditions back home mean almost nothing to a piece of paper confirming it. Caesar and the crowd eat it up, completely on the edge of their seats.

“As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Caesar says. There’s a round of applause, Katniss briefly looks up from her dress.

“I’m not glad,” Peeta suddenly ays, “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

There’s a shock that goes through Caesar, he doesn’t say anything for a second, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta spits, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Silence.

The words sink in the air, but as people get to their feet, shaking their fists, voices raised and screaming about injustice, it sparks others to follow. It’s not long before the whole audience is a wreck and nothing but an indiscernible noise. Caesar stands there dumbfounded, speaking into the microphone but not gathering any attention.

You press your lips together to hide the smile cracking at the corners of your lips.

Caesar’s trying to get the crowd to calm down, chaos has broken out. There’s no point in saying anything once the anthem begins to play. The volume’s so loud that you can feel it in your chest when the deeper parts play. It lets you know that it’s time to get to your feet to say goodbye on the program.

You lace your fingers in front of you, but quickly notice that others are not doing the same. As you look down the line of victors to your left, where Peeta is at the end, you can see that they’re holding hands, and your district partner has his palm open to do the same.

You grab his hand, and turn to Finnick, who has this little smile on his face, hand held up for you to take. You carefully place your hand on top of his, he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze tightly, hoping for some reassurance, and find him squeezing back.

When you look up to the crowd, your face twists. The light is just as strong, but you can tell what’s beyond it, because it’s no longer a sea of different shades of black, white and grey. They’re in color, they’re bright, and they almost hurt your eyes from the shades they’re wearing.

You gasp, tears filling your eyes when you look out. You remember what your stylist said about the dress you’re wearing, and look down at it. Gentle, loving, innocent, beauty, light and uplifting pink. He was right. He dressed you as a princess for these people.

You tear your eyes away to finally, finally look at Finnick, your soulmate. The reason why you’re seeing these colors. You’re met with bright and breathtaking eyes, watching your face with a crooked smile. You can’t help the laugh that comes from you as the tears overflow your eyes.

“It’s you.” You breathe.

“It’s me.” He agrees.

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foreverbloodmoon · 3 months

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Post Arguement With THG Characters

Warnings : Arguement, crying, fighting, tears, toxic relationships, NON-SEXUAL NUDITY!!! (Minor safe)

Notes : I finished this but it didn’t save, gonna go cry

Finnick Odair

You guys fought after the announcement of the quell, refusing to let one another go back in

You tried to defuse the situation but Finnick kept yelling and yelling

All you wanted was to go in instead of Mags or Annie

Finnick wanted to go back in if you did, to protect you.

Both hated the idea of losing each other again

Tears pricked your eyes as you ran out the house in blind rage, not knowing where you were going

You found a new spot along the coast and sat waist deep, not caring about the salty water soaking your clothes

Finnick locked himself in the bathroom, head in his hands

He hated the fact that he yelled at you and especially because you were crying and he was blinded with rage

You dove under the water, holding you breath for longer than you shoulder before rising back up

You did this over and over

When Finnick realized he needed to apologize, he instantly ran out to find you

He started panicking when you weren’t at your usual spot

Eventually, he found you, heaving for air as you broke the surface, clothes soaked and hair tangled

Reluctantly (and after Finnick begging) you went back home where he held you tight, whispering apologies over and over

You guys shared a warm shower after, helping each other wash each other’s hair

Finnick detangled and braided your hair back

You slept comfortably in Finnick’s arms that night

Peeta Mellark

You and Peeta were dating before the games

Working in the bakery together, studying, anything

The day of the reaping, when you heard Peeta’s name get called, something in you died

You sobbed for days watching Peeta kiss Katniss through the screen, he’d fallen in love with someone else

Betrayal.

When Peeta and Katniss came back to district 12, you ignored Peeta completely, only ever seeing him around town

Eventually, Peeta came to your house, begging you to understand

You guys got into a huge argument which ended up in you walking out the house and into the hob, the place that felt more like home than your actual one.

You sat at Greasy Sae’s stand while she went along selling soup.

You and Greasy Sae had a strong bond, since she took care of you when you were younger

Of course, Peeta found you again but this time, he’d convinced you into coming to the bakery, somewhere to talk more private.

After explaining what had happened, you somewhat believed him, but it still hurt what you saw and it would take a while to completely forgive him.

He seemed so scared, tired, lonely

He begged you to stay the night to which you agreed to

You didn’t let go of each other all night

Johanna Mason

After both of you guys won your games, Johanna started removing herself from the relationship

She was always somewhere in town

Never slept over anymore

Her kisses weren’t the same

Her looks were more bitter

You tried talking to her about it but she brushed it off

Eventually, you snapped

Yelling at Johanna about how you felt so used, ignored and that you didn’t)t think the relationship would work out

You were crying but in front of Johanna, you felt so weak and embarrassed

When Johanna realized what she’d done-even though she really didn’t mean to (she wanted to protect you from Snow) - she felt so bad, like a knife had been plunged into her chest

Hearing your sobs ripped her soul in half

She held you as you sobbed, and though you forgave her, you never fully did

That trust took a long time to be rebuilt

Now, Johanna treated you like a princess- a delicate China

She always slept over

Was always touching you in some way : holding hands, hand in you waist, etc

Her kisses were passionate, genuine

She looked at you in a way no one could describe

She loved you like she loves the sun, her home, breathing.

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katherinejess · 5 months

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The Volunteer

The new Hunger Games movie, TBOSAS, reignited my love for the series and Finnick Odair. This started off as an imagine concept but then I just kept adding to it. Now it's a series. Definite slow burn, please tell me what you think if you read it!

Part 2 is up!

While District Four had become more of a career district, Cyrena Thalassa did not expect her younger brother to volunteer for tribute when he knew how much she despised the games. She had hope that died when he uttered two little words that seemed like it broke her heart and her mind at the same time. He was only 13. It was only the second year he had his name in the bowl. But when the girl's name was called, it did not stop her from interrupting the girl's first step.

“I volunteer as tribute!” My voice called across the crowd of people. Titan looks shocked from where he is next to the podium, and I feel sick to my stomach. But I can’t watch him die to the games, to the careers from 1 and 2 who he will try to befriend only to be stabbed in the back or killed in the cornucopia's bloodbath.

My feet drag my body to the stairs, my eyes lock onto my brother and he is enraged. “What’s your name, dear?” the presenter questions, her eyebrows raising impatiently as I finally take in what she is saying now that she is in front of me.

“Cyrena. Cyrena Thalassa.” I murmur, which seems to send her eyebrows higher as her mouth opens in surprise.

Her face quickly changes as she turns to the crowd “How cute! Family,” she speaks into the microphone. She turns to my brother, “Are you two siblings, cousins?” She trails off, and he looks over at me as he mutters his response.

“She’s my sister.”

“How wonderful! Your own built-in ally!” she squeaks into the microphone, “Well say goodbye to district four! You two will be getting to experience the Capitol together!”

She ushers us into the building behind us, Titan storming off in front of us. The Peacekeepers close the door behind us, faster than Titan can whirl around to yell at me. “What is wrong with you,” he starts in on me, the presenter quickly moving away from us, “you don’t even like the games and you volunteer just because I do? What, you think I need protection?” he accuses.

“Titan, you’re 13. Nobody your age has won, I am not losing you to the games. I thought you knew better than this!” I yell back at him, anger finally winning over as I look at him.

He scoffs, “You are the only one who doesn’t like the games! I just didn’t want you to try and stop me, I didn’t think you’d volunteer! There’s only one winner, you or me. How do you expect this to play out, Cyrena?” He pulls his hands across his face. I shake my head at him, the fleeting anger leaving my body.

I notice two people enter the room, recognizing them as the former victors before I state, “I have no intentions of winning.” I turn to the two people who I assume will be our mentors, “Now that we are clear, I’m Cyrena. This is Titan, my brother.”

“So we’ve heard.” the man, Finnick, says, “Quite the show you put on.”

I level him with a stare, “As the youngest victor in history, I expect you to train him with everything you’ve got. Make him the next youngest victor.”

He cocks his head, “And what about you? Or do you expect to just do all this and then end up dying at the cornucopia in front of him the first minute in?” The older lady next to him whacks his arm, scoldingly saying his name, which he raises his hand in defeat while still maintaining the same attitude he had, “I’m just saying, without training she’s not gonna make it very far to protect him.”

I cross my arms, “I’m a career and have been training for years, though I was hoping not to have to use any of it, seems like i’m out of luck.” I sigh, deflating a bit “Now do I get to say goodbye to my family before the train?”

“I was just coming to escort you myself. I never got to introduce myself. Finnick Odair, but it seems you know who I am. This is Mags.” He gestures to the lady next to him, “We are your mentors.” Mags smiles at us softly, giving me a very warm look.

“Now I can take you to your family. Then to the train where Mags will be along with your escort, Koi.” he grins at us, watching Mags slowly leave while holding open the door for her before whirling back around to us.

Titan looks over at me before leaving the room quickly as Finnick still holds the door. I follow at a slightly slower pace so I’m behind him and Finnick takes up next to Titan once I’m clear of the doorway. He guides us to another room where our parents and older brother are.

Finnick leans on the wall of the hallway while I watch Titan go in and give our parents a hug. I stop in the doorway, facing the hall to close the door and catch Finnicks cheeky grin before I shut it. Then I put on a smile and turn to face my family.

#finnick odair imagine #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick imagine #annie cresta #hunger games #slow burn

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batfamtv · 3 years

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I was wondering if you can do a request with Finnick Odair and my oc/me (Hannah). You don’t have to use my name, but it’s Hannah if you do. So here’s some backstory. So Hannah’s father is a district 1 victor of the hunger games, her mother is a stylist and her father lived in the capital now due to district 1’s privileges. Hannah was born and raised in the capital, but was taunt by her parents to be anti hunger games, due to her father being in the games and seeingnn the horrors along with being traumatized by seeing them when she was 8. So her and finnick met while her mother was his stylist in the games. They became friends and caught feelings when they were 16. She was one of the only person who knew the truth about his “many lovers” and she was there to help him through it. They started dating when they were 19 and when they were 21, they were able to sneak Hannah back on the train with them into district 4. The capital tried to get her back, but since this was great publicity and stuff, they just left it because it wasn’t as important. Finnick proposed to her in the capital before the 75th games. She was kidnapped and toutured by the capital with Joanna and Peeta before being rescued by Gale and the others she was also tortured with the tracker jacke serum which made her extremely paranoid. So maybe you can do something where Hannah and finnick get reunited in district 13 after she was rescued.

i would pull you from the tide

finnick odair x f!reader

in between the screams and the pain, you see finnick.

you remember the first time you meet him: young, handsome boy with a playful smile. he didn’t like you at first, thinking you were just another spoilt capitolite, but you and your family were kind, making sure he was being cared for while he stayed at the capitol (snow’s orders) for his ‘clients’.

“hi finnick dear,” your mother had introduced you then, “this is my daughter, y/n. she’s your age and wanted to meet you.” finnick had eyed you from top to bottom, but didn’t say anything other than a stiff nod. you had remained there beside your mother, almost feeling hurt for his coldness, if not for the sympathy you felt for him when he emerged out of the arena.

you also remember the first time he had actually let you in: when you came by his capitol apartment to bring him the stew your parents made for dinner, and finnick was there, crying on the floor. you knew what snow was making him do, and your family have been trying hard to make sure the victors are safe and protected here in the capitol, but you can only do so much. finnick had stared at you then, and you expected him to yell at you, to flinch when you came closer, to shove you away when your arms wrapped around him. instead, he held onto you, and cried in your arms. “i hate it here,” he had mumbled against you, “i hate it, i hate it, i hate it!” and there was nothing for you to say but “i’m sorry” and “i’m here finnick, i won’t leave you alone.”

you saw him every year, yet with another set of tributes from his district. but finnick wasn’t cold to you anymore, instead sought you whenever he had free time, because you loved to hear stories about the ocean, and how one time he saw a huge whale breach the surface of the water, and you felt his youth glowing from him, and you had decided then and there that finnick odair deserves to be happy.

“you should come to district four sometimes, y/n,” he had told you enthusiastically, even though you both knew it was forbidden to travel between districts. the wishful thinking was enough though, as you watch him remember the ocean, and you could see the ocean itself in his eyes, “i know you’ll love it!”

nodding, you ran your hands through his hair, almost smelling the saltiness of the sea in him, “yeah,” you had smiled at him, “maybe i will.”

more of those years go by in your mind, but when you open your eyes, you are still somewhat trapped in time. shivering from the cold, sore from all the beatings, you can hear peeta’s cry from a couple of cells down. you also hear johanna’s voice, she’s calling out to you, wondering if you are still alive.

“y/n?” she asks. “are you there?”

“yes,” you croak, the sound gravelly and painful. you struggle to move closer to johanna’s cell and you can almost see her grinning face.

“good,” you hear her say, “finnick would kick my ass so hard if you died.”

absolutely exhausted and pained, you close your eyes, and more memories come.

you don’t remember exactly when your feelings for him changed, but when it did, it hit hard. you remember staring at finnick, and blushing whenever he caught you.

“were you looking at me, y/n?” one eyebrow raised, he tossed another sugar cube up in the air before catching it in his mouth.

blushing red, you shook your head vehemently, “no! why would i do that?”

he shrugged, “well, i am pretty attractive.”

he tossed another sugar cube, but failed to catch it. hearing your laugh, he turned to face you with a dramatic frown. you only shook your head, “sure you are,” before turning away (absolutely hoping he didn’t see your face burn bright red after you jokingly admitted to him that you did, after all, find him attractive).

he would always smile that teasing and boyish smile before sauntering toward you and making you even more flustered. you remember one night when it was really bad for him, limping towards his apartment because he was hurt by one of his clients, and you had fussed over him, worry etched on your face. you remember him crying against you as you held him, and him whispering to you that you kept him sane. you had fallen asleep like that, arms around finnick odair, silently hoping you could do more to protect him from this life.

finnick odair had loved you then, maybe way before then, but he didn’t tell you yet.

and perhaps, one of the reasons why he was so reluctant to tell you, and everyone else about what he felt, was because he knew the president would set his eyes on you. and finnick didn’t like that.

you remember the smile on finnick’s face, so so bright and beautiful, when he saw you get out of the train in district four. your parents snuck you out of the capitol to surprise him, and he was both worried and exhilarated. you also remember how nice it was in his district, especially that one night when you both walked by the shore at night under the full moon, when he had kissed your lips so softly as though he was scared to break you. you remember the warmth in your chest that exploded throughout your body when you threw your arms around him and kissed him back.

when you open your eyes again, it’s another day. you’re sure that you’re awake for most of the time, when they beat you up and submerge you under the water, but you don’t remember any of it. something in your mind tells you that you may have pushed those memories away, locked them deep down and all you can remember is finnick, finnick, finnick.

one of the worst days of your life was when he was reaped for the quarter quell. your family had been contacted by plutarch heavensbee immediately after, and you remember how plutarch silently apologized to you that finnick got reaped, and you made him promise to get finnick alive.

“katniss everdeen is our priority.”

“then make him second,” you pleaded, tears threatening to leave your eyes, “please.”

plutarch had nodded grimly, and you promised to yourself that you would do anything it takes to keep finnick alive.

the night before the games, he brought you to the rooftop. you were scared, for him, for the rebellion, for everything. you were scared that everything was going to change.

“not all change is bad,” finnick reassured you as he took both of your hands in his. “for example,” he smiled cheekily, biting his lower lip, “when this is over, we can get married.”

“what?” your eyes widened at his statement. he pulled out a ring, something so simple and yet beautiful (and resembled the one you were sure you saw at a shop while in district four).

“when there are no more games,” he smiled as he slid the ring to your ring finger, “when can get married. build a cottage by the sea.”

you admired the ring on your finger, overwhelmed by the proclamation and enticed by the thought of waking up next to finnick odair in your own little seaside cottage. then you threw your arms around him, pressing your lips on his with a smile.

“this is why you need to win,” you whispered against his lips.

finnick nodded, “this is why i need to win.”

the next time you’re conscious, you can hear peeta’s screams again. you’re too tired to move, limbs too sore to use and so you just lay there. as peeta’s screams for katniss faded into the background, you hear finnick’s voice.

finnick screaming your name.

you remember watching him run aimlessly through the forest, the sound of your voice calling him. “y/n! y/n!”

katniss tried to tell him that the voices are from jabberjays, they weren’t real. but finnick was inconsolable, insisting that jabberjays copy sounds from the source.

“please, let me go!” he had yelled at katniss. “they got her, they got y/n!”

he was panicked, crying for you, and you couldn’t do anything but watch as it went on for an hour. you wanted to console him right then and there, to hold him and reassure him that you’re fine, but you weren’t able to.

you didn’t want to open your eyes, but you hear his voice again. finnick’s not screaming your name, but he is whispering it. something warm covers your hand, and you almost flinch if not for the familiarity of it. when you do open your eyes, you are met by a bright light, almost harsh, but most of all--

“finnick,” you whisper, and your voice is hoarse.

finnick exhales when he looks into your eyes and sees that you’re really here, you’re alive. he cups your hand in his, pressing kisses on it as he tries to keep his tears from falling. “y/n, how are you feeling?”

you don’t know what to tell him. confused as to where you are. tired and sore. relieved to see that he’s here in front of you. in love.

despite all of this, you can only think of one thing. the one thing you’ve always felt whenever you look into finnick odair’s eyes.

“happy.”

finnick smiles boyishly, as he look down, clearly flustered. it takes someone special to make him flustered like that, and it’s always been you.

he reaches over to plant a gentle kiss on your temple, nose, cheek, and then lips. “me too.”

#batfamtv #hunger games #hunger games imagine #thg imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine

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bywhatilove · 4 years

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Mockingjay Reread (the 2nd half)/ rewatch of Mockingjay Part two Thoughts

Warning: I have ALOT of thoughts concerning Mockingjay part two

Josh Hutcherson doesn’t get NEARLY enough credit for playing hijacked Peeta. No one could have done it like he did. Same goes with Jen in how she brought the many, many character layers of Katniss alive.

and while we are on the topic of acting- I know Jen and Josh don’t really match their character’s book descriptions but, they both did SUCH a good job at bringing Katniss and Peeta alive. I truly can’t imagine anyone else playing Katniss and Peeta as far as acting goes.

UGH I could really write a whole thesis paper on the character’s differing perspectives about how far is too far when it comes to your actions in war time. That is a component of Mockingjay that is so fascinating to me.

There are so many instances in Mockingjay when you can see that Katniss really is just a seventeen year old girl who should not have been placed in this position. And, when I remember that I’m the same age that Katniss and Peeta are in Mockingjay? It makes me realize just how powerful this story really is.

Definition of heartbreak: “All I know is I would have saved myself a lot of suffering if I had just given that bread to pig” no, seriously, look heartbreak up in the dictionary, that’s the actual definition

Finnick, Johanna, Katniss and Peeta is the ot4 I deserved and I will NEVER not be bitter I didn’t get it

The shot of Katniss and Prim dancing at the wedding is so heart wrenching because you know it’s one of the last moments they ever have together.

Katniss showing her little self up after hiding on the hovercraft and trying to stay unseen while everyone stops and stares will never not be funny to me

Finnick being kind to Peeta and looking out for him while everyone else tries and avoids him will always warm my heart. They are the Brotp I deserved.

“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You always sleep with the windows open...” excuse me while I go cry in a corner

“Clearly some alliances don’t last forever.” CEASER FLICKERMAN HOW DARE YOU. I was rooting for you. We were all rooting for you.

“That’s what you and I do. We keep each other alive” That line hits differently because they’ve been doing that since they were 11.

Finncik? Odair? Died? No. He’s alive and well and living with Annie and their son in four. I don’t know who just died but it definitely wasn’t my man finnick.

“Stay with me. Always.” Do I need to say anything else?

“If you end this, all those deaths, they mean something.” Peeta’s speech in Tigresses basement is the first sign that the real Peeta is back. It’s one of my favorite parts in the movie.

“If I see you again, it’s going to be a different world.” Arguably my favorite everlark moment of the entire series- either book or movie. At this point, they know it’s the end of something, rather that be the end of the capital’s regime or the end of the districts rebellion. They both know that what happens within the next couple of hours, ultimately decides their fate. And after everything they’ve been through together, this could really be the last time they see each other and they know that.

The image of the capitol children being forcibly removed from their parents, and then the parachutes drop and everyone just assumes they are gifts...it hurts.

Prim dying is something that I really don’t have any words for. This whole story started with Katniss protecting her sister from probable death. And for prim to die in the very last moments of the revolution? It’s terrible.

The fact that there were 75 victors , and only seven were still alive in the end blows my mind.

Snow’s talk with Katniss in the rose garden always gives me goosebumps.

I’ll admit it- I’m not Gale’s biggest fan. But he deserved a better ending. His and Katniss’ friendship deserved a better ending.

Headcanon- Peeta and Annie routinely check up on each other via letters and phone calls post war and Annie eventually visits district 12 with her kid and Johanna

Was it too hard to include the “let me go. I can’t” dialogue? Seriously, it would have took like three seconds

Katniss’ depression when she is locked up in the training center after killing Coin and when she returns to 12 absolutely breaks my heart. She’s only 17 and she went through so much. Katniss deserved only the best.

“The life of a victor.” Effie Trinket, I adore you.

“We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.” One of my favorite quotes from the entire series.

The Katniss and Peeta theme that always plays over their scenes together is so beautifully composed. James Newton Howard is a genius.

“You love me. Real or not Real?” “Real” maybe I cry everytime. maybe I do, and thats okay.

Katniss goes from seeking Peeta’s comfort because of nightmares to seeking his comfort because she genuinely just wants to be with him, and I think that’s beautiful.

Anytime I see anyone complain that Katniss having children/ending up with Peeta is OOC and shouldn’t have happened, I have to physically reframe myself from fighting them.

“But there are much worse games to play” is the perfect way to end the series. Suszanne Collins, you may have caused me emotional trauma, but you are a genius and I’ll forever be grateful that you created my favorite story.

As you can tell, I have a lot of thoughts/emotions when it comes to this series. Seriously, I have a lot. So if anyone ever wants to talk about it with me, don’t be afraid to reach out.

#the hunger games #thg #mockingjay #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #ya books #dystopian #teen books #gale hawthorne

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miaouerie · 3 years

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[coda] a pyrrhic victory/an elpidian daydream

this coda marks my first multichapter fic wrapped up and completed!!! so here’s some more related ramblings as a way for me to commemorate this milestone n___n

with the nonlinear narrative I thought I’d include a linked timeline for the chapters in case anyone (like me lol) wants to read the story in chronological order. then there’s some further explanation of what I’ve dubbed ~the jeron’s death conspiracy~ and notes from characterization I wasn’t able to include directly in the story, but were still important regardless...

furthermore, I want to thank @ninelanterns, @atthelamppost, and @sadieandor for following along with this story, as well as anyone else who came along for the adventure. this is definitely a darkfic as far as rebelcaptain goes but I hope that both endings were satisfying in their own ways !!

1. an actual chronological table of contents

Before Cassian is reaped:

day 15

Cassian’s time in the Games:

days 2, 9, 5, 18

What came after that:

days 6, 7, 11, 13, 14, 22, 26◆

Jeron dies:

days 20, 8, 25

Jyn is reaped and Cassian mentors her:

days 1, 3, 4, 12, 10, 16, 17◆, 19◆, 21, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 30

After Jyn wins her Games:

bonus chapter, day 31

◆ = chapters that are about trauma concurrent to most of the story, and loosely placed chronologically

2. the Jeron conspiracy

I decided to do a summary for this because I changed my plan slightly after posting day 8: “don’t say goodbye”/abandoned due to some inspiration from @ninelanterns; originally I was going to have snow have cassian brainwashed into genuinely believing that irga and his father were killed by someone with a grudge against them and the capitol (aka someone closely related to a tribute who died under their mentorship) in order to use him as a mouthpiece against those plotting against the capitol; the angst would’ve been from him finding out the truth and hating that his dad’s suicide was used for the capitol’s means. but then I got the idea to have snow brainwash cassian into believing that the “accident” his father and irga died in was actually his fault, because he told jeron the truth of what snow was doing to him in the capitol:

Snow sells Cassian “under the table” until he turns 19, which is when he has Cassian adopt a new persona that can be better capitalized on. Jeron realizes that Cassian’s faking it, suspects that Cassian has been hiding his victimhood this entire time, and when he confirms it realizes there’s no other way to get Cassian out of it; Snow certainly won’t let him sub in to mentor. Suicide is his solution to both Cassian’s problem and his guilt over not being able to protect his son.

Snow has Irga killed in the same way that Jeron kills himself to let Cassian and Lila know that Snow knows it was a suicide. Suicide is the ultimate refutation of Snow’s power—as well as the complete antithesis to any victor’s innate clinging to survival—so Snow has it covered up: Cassian, as one of two people to know the truth about Jeron’s suicide and Irga’s death, is tortured and brainwashed into believing that Jeron and Irga were killed in a power plant explosion as retribution for him disobeying Snow. Doing so serves two purposes: installing the cover-up and guarantees Cassian’s submission.

Before his death Jeron wrote a suicide note, knowing that he couldn’t kill himself and leave Cassian without an explanation. He knows that Snow will have their house stripped and searched, so he hides the note in what was designated to be Cassian’s house. He couldn’t have known it would be the one thing that would break through the brainwashing; if Cassian hadn’t found it, he would have continued to believe that it was all his fault.

Draven does his own investigation into Jeron and Irga’s deaths after witnessing the whiplash that was Cassian’s first three years as an unwilling victor whore, his outrageous personality flip after turning ninteen, and how his demeanor changed after undergoing “therapy” to cope with Jeron’s death. He finds out that Jeron’s death was a suicide, Irga’s death was retribution, and that Snow has an entire program to monetize and exploit victors after their Games.

3. getting from day 1 to 31?!

when I originally thought of this AU it was more about the angst that growing up in the limelight of the capitol as the son of a victor would be like, with constant camera crews as cassian was growing up, betting pools on when he was going to be reaped, etc. and more of an emphasis on the issues that cassian (as part of the pseudo-celebrity class that victors occupy in the capitol) would have trying to promote this fake relationship with jyn during the games to save her. there was also going to be a straight downer ending, with the closing scene being cassian telling jyn that they have to fake a relationship now in front of the cameras and jyn having a “what have you done?” moment

I deliberately did not go in depth with what jeron’s life as a victor was like, partly because plotting both jyn and cassian’s hunger games was already a Lot (I found out pretty quickly that you have to start with planning the arena first, in order to plan tribute deaths and sponsor gifts...) but jeron was an underdog winner, as are most of the victors from non-career districts. lila was pregnant around the time that jeron was reaped and esperanza, their first child, was born some time before jeron’s victory tour. snow had their daughter killed because of something jeron did/didn’t do on the tour; even though jeron and lila are shaken from the loss they agree to be open to having another child, provided that jeron doesn’t do anything to put the child at risk ever again.... but cassian would’ve gotten reaped regardless because there is no way snow wouldn’t have exploited the family drama!!! but cassian’s reaping creates a rift that is referenced in day 15: accidents. and even though jeron is successful in saving cassian that isn’t the end of it; while lila isn’t privy to what cassian is going through she can feel a marked difference each year he comes back in the way that mothers do, as well as the tension between father and son (cassian’s fear of jeron finding out as he’s dragged deeper and deeper vs. jeron’s suspicion that something wrong is happening that has to do with cassian), which all culminates in the year that cassian turns nineteen with jeron’s death. when her husband arrived in district 5 before cassian did he didn’t tell lila about their son being a horndog in the capitol, but lila seeing cassian after he finally gets back five weeks later confirms her worst fears. then she’s the one that discovers jeron’s body and is present when the peacekeepers come to take cassian back to the capitol. her son is gone for a month....... then when he comes back he’s spouting lies about jeron’s death even though both of them saw the body??? yeah, that’s why she nopes on out of victors’ village. after jeron’s death her and cassian don’t see each other for four years until cassian brings jyn home from the games

jyn’s backstory came together quickly but I had considered having bodhi be one of the tributes who died under cassian’s mentorship. bodhi and jyn would’ve been close friends so jyn would have already had that vendetta against cassian; it would’ve made hitting that original ending easier but having jyn be against cassian from the very start would’ve made it less plausible that they could earn each other’s trust before the start of jyn’s games............. while I wanted this story to be dark and depressing I still wanted it to have a reciprocated rebelcaptain end game, so :’)

it wasn’t until day 28 (the cassian/finnick noncon) that I got an idea for a not-so-horrible ending, and I blame the completely depressingly hopeless whump in that chapter for making me think “hmm maybe this shouldn’t end terribly” :’D btw, if anyone noticed I forgot annie cresta is in canon the 70th hunger games victor. for someone who’s neurotic about looking up details I have no idea how this fact escaped me because I didn’t notice until at least halfway through whumptober, so we’ll just say in this AU she’s the 71st victor. this weaves in nicely with my headcanon that after snow saw how easily cassian was manipulated when someone he loved was on the line, he had annie reaped to exert more control over finnick (which happens to be my favorite kind of odesta fic tbh). anyway after writing 3k of depressing andair (andor/odair ship name? ok i’m shutting up) cassian/finnick I had a lovely mental image of cassian and jyn cuddling on the train back home to district 5, relieved and alive, and thought that would be a more uplifting note to end on. then I remembered that I was writing this for whumptober, and decided to write the terrible ending too :’)

4. some chapter commentary because why not

[ETA later!]

5. is there no escape?

yes!!! yes they do escape:

in a pyrrhic victory, post-day 31, draven succeeds in absconding with cassian and meeting up with jyn, saw, lyra, and the rest of their resistance cell (an underground, pan-panem organization fittingly called.... the alliance). draven has to cut out cassian’s implant before they rendezvous with the group, which he ropes a medical professional into doing (he may or may not kill them afterwards); it’s the only mark cassian bears on his body until he starts getting freckles from being in the sun again. similar to mockingjay in how peeta’s hijacking was treated with therapy in district 13, cassian undergoes actual, legitimate therapy after he and draven settle in with the alliance HQ. draven hovers anxiously for the first several sessions because “therapy” in the capitol has a stigma, even before he read the term “extensive in-patient therapy” in cassian’s intendance records, and it does take a good while before they make any remarkable progress. but unlike katniss and peeta cassian is alright in jyn’s presence, and in fact prefers it. they’re almost always seen together, and while jyn has a good amount of guilt for leaving him behind the first time her motivation for staying with him is out of a genuine desire to help him get better so they can be with each other the same way they were in an elpidian daydream again.

in happily ever after!an elpidian daydream, cassian and jyn are able to escape together in between arriving home in district 5 and what was supposed to be jyn’s victory tour. jyn was never aware of what snow did with desirable victors because it’s really only the top 1% of panem and the victors who know about it; she and cassian escape after he tells her that he wants to leave with her, but he doesn’t tell her the real reason why he wants to escape until much later and jyn never sees the recording of cassian and finnick (but he does tell her it exists when he’s explaining the details of how snow exerts his control over the victors). their relationship progresses steadily, but the secret doesn’t come out until jyn points out that cassian is extremely passive in bed and only mirrors her desires. there’s varying attitudes towards sex in the districts vs. the libertine views in the capitol but cassian’s shame stems from his powerlessness in what he had to do Before. he receives therapy for it but jyn is patient and firm with reminding him that he had absolutely zero choice in the matter, and that she could never hate or be disgusted with him for it. there’s a lot to work through there as a result of cassian having to lie to himself about it for the first couple of years of it happening and then willingly choosing to engage with it when he was trying to save jyn, but their relationship comes out all the more stronger for it. as for what happens to draven?.... because this is the happily ever after ending I like to think he’s able to stay in the capitol and work as an agent codenamed fulcrum 🤪🤙 and that after his extraction when things get too dangerous for him in the capitol he and cassian are able to reunite again as part of the alliance/rebellion !!

#sacchi writes #i still cannot believe i did it #not only finished a multichapter but wrote 35k+ in seven weeks #and it was a 31 day challenge to boot!!!#anyway we'll be back to sacchi's regularly scheduled fluffy modern AU rebelcaptain in a bit o/#sacchi says #i'll add to this later but gotta upload these last two first!

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thgfanficinspo · 3 years

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Fear of the Water - 19

(protective) fluff, healthy dose of angst

FULL STORY - Jonsa - Coryo

(ANNIE)

My eyes open when I feel myself being lifted out of bed. My muscles are stiff and my eyes are sore. Someone has their arms around me and I start to writhe and I beat my fists against the body that holds me and they’re trying to hurt me, I know they’re going to hurt me –

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s me! Annie!” I know his voice. He holds my wrists in his big hands as gently as he can to keep me from hitting him. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

My eyes finally focus on the face before me. Finnick. His pillowy lips and his bright eyes. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. I stop being scared for a moment because you can’t be scared looking at Finnick. Can’t be anything when you’re looking at him cause he’s everything.

He bends down a bit so he’s at eye-level with me. “It’s just me. Nobody else. All right?” He’s so tall. So handsome. “It’s just me. It’s Finnick.”

I manage to nod.

He lets go of my wrists, a guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry to wake you. We’re going home.”

Home. I try to repeat the word, but it clings to the inside of my mouth and instead comes out as an exhausted groan. I try to tighten my grip on Finnick but my fingers won’t listen to what I tell them.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I wanted to wait until the stuff they gave you wore off, but we have to be on the train before dawn if we want to avoid the cameras. Your team’s gonna get you changed and then–”

Beest and my prep team appear behind him and usher him out of the room before I can protest. My limbs are still heavy and slow, so they help me change my clothes. A long, plain skirt and a huge sweater with ribbon woven in. It has a wide cowl neck and the sleeves end at my elbows.

I start shouting and trying to push them away from me when they start to scrub my face cause there are too many of them and I don’t want to be touched and I don’t like how it feels but the morphling makes my limbs too heavy to move. Help.

The door busts open. Finnick. Finnick. “Hey!” He comes straight over to me, pushing the others out of his way like swatting flies. “Annie? Hey, hey, hey, you’re all right.”

Mags is beside him now, face creased with worry.

I’m shaky and sleepy. I want to go home now. Can we go home? Back to my nice safe bed, and I can pull the covers up over my head and be by myself and nobody will bother me because nobody can find me there. Yes. Let’s go home.

“Can you stand?” Finnick asks. Try to but my knees give out right away. Finnick manages to catch me before I hit the ground.

“Pick her up,” Mags says. “We’ll carry her to the train.”

Finnick looks at me nervously. “Can I?”

I lift my heavy arms in silent reply. He sweeps me up without ceremony and starts walking. He might as well be holding a glass of water for all the effort it takes him. I’m too fuzzy to get butterflies from the close proximity even though I think I should.

He smells nice.

I nearly start crying when he sets me down on one of the couches in the last car of the train. The ceiling and walls are all glass so I can see the whole world moving past. I’m tired and scared and the only time I feel safe is when he’s there. Thankfully, he doesn’t go far, just to the couch across from mine.

We’ve gone through the security field now; all the big defense guns are behind us and beyond them the elaborate Capitol buildings. Bye-bye. Won’t miss you.

“Can I brush your hair?” Mags asks. “My grandmother used to brush my hair before bed. It always made me feel better.”

Trees start going by now, faster and faster with every second. How many seconds until I see the lake with those big metal lookouts on top? Until I see the Harrington?

Mags’s voice again. “Annie?”

And what about the ocean? Are the waves still capped white, still strong and beautiful? Or have the just become like the water in the arena?

“Annie?”

Finnick’s voice pulls me back to reality. He’s still sitting on the couch across from me. He leans forward deeply and I lean in, too, cause maybe he wants to tell me a secret. Mags is standing beside him with a brush in hand. She repeats her question and I shake my head because I don’t want anyone to touch me because it’s not safe and I don’t want anyone to touch me.

Mags just smiles. “Are you hungry? I can ask one of the Avoxes to bring peaches. You seem to like those.”

I nod my head. Finnick leaves the room for a moment to talk to someone and comes back in with an armful of the yellowy fruit. He dumps out his harvest on the couch beside me. He hands one fruit to me and another to Mags before selecting his own. He goes back to his couch across the room and plops down, taking a large bite as he does. The juice runs down his chin.

“Thank you, dear,” says Mags.

Finnick smiles in reply.

Mags would’ve been a great mother, but her only baby was stillborn. To this day, no one knows who the father was; she’d never say. The timing of its birth made some people think that the baby was conceived in the Capitol. That doesn’t really matter. She practically raised Finnick, though, and she’s a sort of mother figure to all the victors.

“There won’t be any cameras,” Finnick says to me. His voice is soft, but it’s enough to bring me out of my trance. “No crowds, either. They only told your closest relatives what time we’re coming in.”

Closest relatives.

Bosun.

I burst out into tears just at the thought of his face. His green eyes and his floppy strawberry blond hair. I don’t know if the crying is happy or sad. I’m not sure if I even missed him or not. I’ve hated him hated him hated him so much in the last few years but I loved him a lot before Daddy died. But he did die, and then Bosun was cruel. He never laid a hand on me, but the things he would say to me hurt even worse but I can never explain it right so no one understands and he’s never like that when other people are around so nobody knows.

I don’t think I want to see him. I don’t think I want to see anyone. I don’t know anybody anymore.

The tears drain what little energy I have left and I soon fall asleep against the cushions.

I drift in and out of twilight sleep, half aware of my surroundings. People are speaking in soft voices; I hear the whole conversation but I don’t understand a single word of what they say. That would require me to concentrate and I can’t do that.

My body gets heavy and heavier but my mind is light and light and the conversation goes away.

I am a bird. I am flying high above the ground, keeping pace with the big train tearing through the woods. We are racing – the train and the pretty bird and what a pretty bird am I.

No. I don’t like the bird song anymore. I don’t want to sing it.

I make a whining noise without meaning to and Mags strokes my hair. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

But I can’t. Not until I know if Finnick’s here. He should be here. If he’s here then I’m okay because he’s here so I’m okay because he’s here.

I crack my eyes open. He’s slumped in the couch across from mine, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back at a sharp angle, and mouth open. He’s sleeping, too. And snoring. And drooling.

I can’t help but smile to myself. Finnick Odair, the national standard for beauty, the most popular victor ever crowned, Panem’s favorite son, our district’s finest, the golden boy, is drooling in his sleep. He stirs when he hears me laugh. He straightens up, rubbing the soreness from back of his neck. He uses his free hand to wipe the drool from his face.

I shut my eyes just as he looks at me. I hope he didn’t see.

(FINNICK)

There is only one person waiting at the train station – not including the four Peacekeepers, led by a man we call Shark Teeth because of his big, toothy smile. A boy. Must be around Annie’s age. His hair is a light strawberry color, very different from Annie’s reddish brown. They share the same big, bright eyes. This must be her brother.

“Annie!” he gasps when he catches sight of her.

Annie freezes in place.

He rushes forward with his arms open to embrace her. She squeaks something that I can’t quite make out and jumps behind me to use me as a shield from whatever attack she fears is coming like she did before her final interview.

Bosun’s arms slowly fall back to his sides. Shark Teeth has the decency to pretend he’s doing something else but two of the other Peacekeepers just stare.

There’s a long awkward moment of silence before Proteus steps forward and introduces himself. “Proteus,” he says, shaking Bosun’s hand. “It looks like we’ll be neighbors, assuming you and Annie live together.”

Eefa and Broadsea slipped off while no one was paying attention, leaving me and Mags as the only others to introduce ourselves.

“I’m Bosun,” the boy says. “Annie’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Mags. This is Finnick.”

He looks at us for a moment, trying to figure out what words to use. “Thank you.”

Mags smiles softly. “You’re very welcome.” Bosun looks back to check if Annie’s still behind me. Mags distracts him with small talk. “Have you been to Victors’ Isle yet?” She starts talking about the houses and the landscape with enough animation that Bosun is sufficiently distracted.

I turn partway to check on Annie. She already seems more relaxed. She slowly inches out from her hiding place behind me and makes her way over to her brother. She steps back when he tries to hug her again but at least she’s not afraid.

She’s barefoot again. Did she even have shoes on when we got on the train? Does she even understand the concept of footwear?

Bosun looks back and forth between me and Mags to gauge our reactions – surely we of all people will know why she’s acting like this. Mags keeps going like nothing happened; I nod once to reassure him. It’s not that I’m an expert on his sister’s mental breakdown, but he seems to think I am because of the way Annie hid behind me.

“I would love for the two of you to have dinner at my house tomorrow night,” Mags says. “But if you’d rather just be alone I understand.”

Bosun looks to Annie for her opinion but she’s lost interest in what’s going on around her. Her head is bent back so she can look up at the overcast sky. Her lips move but no sound comes out. I realize she’s counting the clouds.

“Sure,” Bosun says after a moment. “Why not?”

(ANNIE)

Bosun tells me all about our new house on Victor’s Isle as we march across the flat, sturdy wooden bridge that connects the island to the primary town, Mainland, and my feet get heavy.

District 4 is a strip of land – practically an island – with the sea on one side and the lake on the other. Two canals run through it, and the way they’re laid out divides the district into a few semi-islands connected by bridges. Mainland is the largest. It’s where the docks are, where all the longshoremen work loading and unloading ships. It’s where the market is, too, and the shops, and the school and pretty much everything else important.

There are two little islands in the District, too. One is the Rock, which is the worst place in town. The only things there are the group home and the hovels where most of the sirens live. There’s a little graveyard for the handful of people whose families want to bury them. It’s beside burner house where everybody else’s bodies are cremated.

The bridge that connects it to Mainland is narrow and shaky and more than half a mile long. I don’t like going there.

Then there’s Victor’s Isle, of course, which is nice houses and artful landscapes on one side and a forest and cliffs on the other. The bridge that connects it to Mainland is wide and well kept; it’s just under a quarter mile in length.

Bosun says our new house has three floors. There are four or so bedrooms, all on the second level. Bosun’s taken the master bedroom for himself. His things are all in there, though he hasn’t quite sorted everything out. He told me he started getting my room ready, but all the other rooms on the second floor are empty.

I’ve never had a room to myself before; Bosun and I have always shared. At my aunt’s house we slept in the loft. It was small, but at least we weren’t sharing with our terrible cousins – not that Bosun was the easiest person to be around. There was a mattress on the floor and a hammock hung from the ceiling; we’d switch off sleeping in each one.

We reach the Isle and Mags points out everyone’s houses. Broadsea’s is the closest to ours in the semicircle arrangement. Mags’s is directly across from ours. Finnick’s is beside it. “We’ll be just there if you need anything. And please, do tell us if you need anything,” Mags says.

I keep my eyes straight ahead as Bosun leads me to the house. He takes me on a little tour. The ground floor has a kitchen and a huge living room and two bathrooms and a little library I don’t go into. The second floor has bedrooms; Bosun has taken the master for himself. I don’t care and I don’t like this floor because there are too many rooms, too many places for bad things to hide.

“Do you want to see your room?” he finally asks. I nod.

He leads me toward a flight of stairs – the one that leads to the third floor. They’re much narrower than the other ones and slightly steeper, but it’s nothing too hard or unpleasant to climb.

At the very top of the stairs, there’s a door. “You can change rooms if you want. I just thought you might like this one,” Bo says, and opens the door. He steps into the room and gestures for me to enter.

It’s not as big as his room, but it’s still large. There’s barely any furniture – just an armchair and a chest of drawers and a bed. The bed has a metal frame with peeling white paint, and a metal sort of half-canopy set up over the area where the pillows are. There’s a woven net thrown over the frame piece to act as a canopy. It’s one of the nets Bosun and my cousins and I wove; I can tell from the material and the knots. The wooden floor is cold on my bare feet.

Across from the door, there’s an enormous bay window with a cushioned windowsill. If you look out, you can see the grass and the trees and beyond that, the beach. Its curved, though, so it looks out on the other victors’ houses too.

“Do you like it?” Bosun asks. I’d forgotten he was there. I nod wholeheartedly. “Good.” He waits in the doorway for a few moments longer while I explore the room.

“Big,” I say quietly.

“Is that bad?”

I shake my head. “Just . . . big.”

Bosun and I spend the night wrapped up in blankets on the couch. I even hold his hand at one point but not for very long because it’s not safe because maybe he’ll drag me down into the flood.

He eventually falls asleep but I don’t because I can’t. The dark scares me. And it’s worse since I’m in a new place. I should make sure all the doors and windows are locked but I’m too tired and too scared to move because there are all sorts of things in the dark and I have to stay very still so they won’t see me.

If something did happen, if I screamed for help, would Finnick hear me? I think so. And I think he would come to help me, too. He seems to me that he likes taking care of other people. Mags makes it sound like that, too.

I look out the window by the door at the other victors’ houses. I pick out Finnick’s and I watch it all night, even after his lights go out. It makes me feel better.

(FINNICK)

Bruises have formed along my chest and shoulder by the time I finish having dinner with Mags, angry purple splotches ringed with yellow that mark the places where Annie hit me this morning when I first tried to wake her. They’ll only look worse tomorrow.

I can’t stop staring at them. I can’t believe Annie made them.

She didn’t mean to hurt me; she was just afraid of the hands and arms around her. She didn’t know who they belonged to. It’s a natural reaction. But it’s still alarming.

I draw myself a bath and sink in as far as I can, which isn’t nearly as far as I’d like because the bathtub is too small for me. Water sloshes onto the floor as I settle in. I keep poking at the bruises to see how bad they are. I’ve certainly had worse, but these aren’t small or shallow. Annie struck me as exceedingly gentle before she entered the arena, like she might apologize to a tree root or a rock for stumbling over it.

It isn’t in shock, at least not anymore, and it’s not just trouble adjusting. Something really is wrong with Annie Cresta. I don’t know if insanity is the right term for it but I know she’s not okay.

President Snow was right. It would be better if she’d died. Better for everyone, really. Better for her, too. At least she wouldn’t be stuck in limbo like this. She may even find peace.

I pray to God I won’t dream tonight. At least not about her.

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gamesmakers · 4 years

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Night Lily

A/N: Odesta supernatural. Some mild sexual content and some not-so-mild vampire content. Old but I wanted to reblog for October and didn’t want to hunt for the different chapters.

The fan above her bed cannot keep up with the sun’s heat. Annie has opened all of the windows, hoping to tempt in a cool breeze, but the day refuses. Rich tourists still flock to District Four during the winter for its warmth and sunshine, but the fancy hotels next to the pier are empty during these still days at the height of summer. In the afternoon, the streets are quiet, as everyone has hidden in their homes to nap away the hottest part of the day, and night brings little relief. Neighbors go days and weeks without seeing one another as they wait for the worst of the wet, sticky heat to recede. The district dies every summer only to be revived again when autumn arrives.

Her nightgown clings to her body, glued against her with a thin layer of sweat. Annie pushes its straps off her shoulders and hikes the hem up a few more inches. It doesn’t help. She hopes that Ronan, who she stripped down to just his diaper before lying him down in his crib, is faring better. When she leans over to rest her hand on his forehead, she realizes that her three-week-old son suffers the heat far worse than she does. The poor child’s burning up.

For what must be the dozenth time that night, Annie grabs the bowl that she keeps on her nightstand and hurries into the bathroom. It takes a few minutes for the water to cool down, but finally, the trickle of water that runs over her finger begins to grow cold. She fills up the bowl and grabs a clean cloth from the stack before she is ready to go back.

A gust of cool air lifts her hair from her shoulders, and Annie shivers in the sudden, delightful chill. The heat hasn’t broken this early in the season for years, and they haven’t had a single thunderstorm to bring in a cold front, but she’s not going to complain. A cool mist now fills her bedroom. Annie sets aside the bowl and rag. If anything, Ronan will need another layer of clothing, not a damp cloth. She lifts the few strands of hair that have escaped the bun at the top of her head and pulls the front of her nightgown, still sticky with sweat, away from her chest, allowing the mist to caress every inch of her. Her sigh doesn’t wake Ronan. For the first time in weeks, Annie slips a blanket over herself before she falls asleep, content.

The next day, the sun returns, and their home is again a furnace. The radio announcer makes no mention of the last night’s fog during the daily weather report, which puzzles her, but they do live far enough away from the rest of the district that she supposes there’s no reason to be surprised. The fishermen’s families that live in the little clapboard cottages only feet off the shoreline get their cool ocean breezes. She and Ronan deserve some relief as well. Annie brushes any though of the weather away and smiles at her baby. “Are you a happy boy today?” He is too young to understand a word she says, but she still makes a point of talking to him. The parenting magazines that the doctors forced her to read before they allowed her to bring Ronan home from the hospital said that it would help his language development, and, if she’s honest with herself, she gets a bit lonely all alone in their big house in the Victors Village without anyone to talk to. He’s awake, but he doesn’t respond, so Annie continues, “I would be too, if I were you. I’m very proud of you for sleeping five hours straight last night. The two of us needed some good sleep, didn’t we?”

He’ll turn a month old tomorrow, and he already looks heartbreakingly like Finnick. Once milky-blue eyes now share Finnick’s sea-green sparkle, and the few little tufts of hair on his head are reddish gold. She worries that someday he’ll be as beautiful as his father was. Being gorgeous only ever hurt Finnick, and she’s terrified that the same fate will befall her son. Her stomach clenches and her vision blurs just thinking about it.

The doctors tell her she needs to stop worrying about things she can’t control. Annie takes several deep breaths and focuses on the laundry she has been folding. When her hands stop shaking, she smiles at her baby, still thinking back to Dr. Aurelius’ advice. Find something to keep your mind off of it. Go for a walk, listen to music, make small talk. Do whatever it is that you need to do to keep yourself sane. Sane is a lofty goal, but one does have to try, don’t they? “Think we’ll get some more of that mist tonight? I could certainly use some. I haven’t been out to visit your father in a week with this weather. If only that cold could have stuck around for a few hours more, right?” She knows she’s rambling, but if she needs to talk like a crazy person to keep herself from becoming one, then that’s what she needs to do.

She gets her wish that night, and the next, and the next. For the next week, just after midnight, the same cool mist seeps in through the open windows and fills her room, calming Ronan’s fussing and allowing her to get some much-needed rest. By the fourth day, she finds herself looking forward to the mist and the sweet dreams it brings with it. For the first time in months, her dreams consist not of gaping, bleeding wounds and cold, dead eyes, but of her husband’s green eyes only inches away from hers, his body pressed tight against the curve of her own, his lips against her throat, sucking against her pulse point. In these dreams, his golden skin glows pale in the moonlight, and she clings to him, trying to keep him with her. But he was always stronger than her, and he presses a kiss to her cheek before he pushes himself away.

Every morning when she wakes, Annie glances over to his side of the bed, only to find that he and the mist are gone.

It’s a long walk down to the town, but the clouds provide a bit of protection from the sun today, and Annie knows she won’t get another chance to get out of the house anytime soon. She still hasn’t worked up the courage to put Ronan in the little baby seat that she affixed to the back of her bicycle, so she’s carrying him in her baby sling and hoping he’ll be all right in the heat. One of her hands holds a potted lily, and she has a small shovel tucked into her purse. The bag and the sling bump uncomfortably against her as she walks, the jingle of her keys and coins the only sound besides the faint crashing of the waves against the rocks below. As she leaves the false security of the Victors Village, Annie grows more and more aware of how alone she is, how vulnerable a woman carrying far too much and with a baby strapped to her chest must seem. She slips the shovel out of her purse and fists her hand around it, alert. It’s almost as comforting as the knives she carried through the Arena.

Her grip on the shovel does not loosen until she is safely inside the town. True, the streets are mostly empty, and only a couple of the dozen shops that line the square have their doors open for business, but there are a few people out and about. Today, she’s not interested in the living.

The graveyard sits behind an old, dilapidated building that has seen no use since the Dark Days. The iron gate squeaks as Annie pushes it open with only a bit of effort. Since the revolution, this gate has seen more use than anyone wants to admit to, but today, it’s just her, Ronan, and generations of District Four’s dead.

Finnick’s sister insisted that he be buried in the family plot, not the center crypt that holds all but two of District Four’s thirteen Victors, and Annie had been in no state to argue. She walks past rows of tombstones, many of which are too worn to reveal who lies beneath. When she was young and her father would bring her to visit Grandma and Grandpa Cresta, the forgotten graves had terrified her. The thought of rotting beneath the grass, nameless and alone, for all eternity had haunted her dreams for years. When she had gone into the Arena, Annie had learned that there were far greater things to fear.

One new, white headstone sits a few feet away from the others. Annie sits down cross-legged in front of the stone. “Hello, love,” she says, and her voice shakes. “It’s good to see you again. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

There’s no answer. There’s never an answer, not anymore. She takes Ronan out of the sling and holds him out towards the headstone. “He’s getting so big.” No reply. “Isn’t he handsome? I think he takes after his father.”

“Not very talkative today, are we?” She unwraps the sling from her chest and lays it out on the ground, putting Ronan down on his stomach on top of it. “I brought you something,” Annie says, picking up the lily. “”I thought yours might not have done so well these last few days, and it looks like I was right.” The lilies she planted only two weeks before are now little more than brown, shriveled stalks. She gets to work digging them up and planting the new one. “I think… I think I’m getting better, Finn. I’ve been thinking a lot about you these last few days, dreaming about you every night, and they’re not nightmares like they usually are. We’re just really happy together.” Annie pauses for a moment to wipe her hands on her skirt. She looks directly at the engraved words that say Finnick Odair. “It’s like you’re right there with me, and I love it. I love you, and it’s good to have you back.”

The dream is more vivid that night. His lips travel from her mouth to her chin and down towards her neck. Annie moans and runs her fingers through his thick, bronze hair. “Finnick,” she groans when he reaches the bottom of her neck, sucking on it as he does every night. “Finnick, I love you so much.”

He doesn’t talk. In these dreams, he never does. His lips’ hold on her neck does tighten, though, and his teeth graze the vein there. Annie grimaces. “Finnick, that hurts.”

Teeth break the delicate skin there, and she screams. “Finnick, stop! Get off of me!” She pushes him away with more strength than she knew she had, and he almost flies away, eyes glowing and mouth open in a horrifying hiss. He’s so close to Ronan now, and for an instant she is scared that he’ll hurt their baby, but then she realizes that the fog is gone, and it must be a dream, but the world is spinning and that doesn’t happen in dreams, and –

When she next opens her eyes, she can remember a brief glimpse of green eyes as the mist floats towards the window and dissipates into the night. A bead of sweat runs down her face and into her eyes, and she wipes it away. “I-it was a delusion. It had to be.” Still, she gets up to check on Ronan. Her baby sleeps, content, and all she wants is to hide him away where the rest of the world can never hurt him. “It had to be a dream. Just a nightmare.” It’s still too hot to close the windows, but feeling halfway safe in her own home is more important than comfort. She sits up the rest of the night, equally afraid of the contents of her dream and the very real possibility that she might be mad.

Annie doesn’t notice the two fat drops of crimson that dot the pure white of her nightgown.

The phone rings four times before they pick up. “Doctor Herrington’s office. How can I help you today?”

“Hello, I’m Annie Cresta-Odair, and I was hoping to set up an appointment for my son, Ronan Odair.”

“All right, dear, let me go grab his file.” She hears a drawer open and the rustling of papers. “There we are. So, it says here that he’s not due for another checkup for four weeks. Do you have any specific concerns that you’d like the doctor to have a look at before then?”

“Yes, please. I need an appointment as soon as possible.”

“Is he sick, dear?” Annie looks over at her baby, who she left in the other room for his afternoon nap. She watches Ronan’s chest rise and fall in deep, even breaths, wondering how she should answer. “Mrs. Cresta-Odair? Are you there?”

The woman’s words snap her away from her thoughts. “He’s not sick, exactly, but there’s something that I would like to get checked out immediately. I’m worried that he might have some kind of infection.”

“The poor thing. Let’s see if I can squeeze him in sometime in these next couple days.” Annie struggles to keep her eyes open. Perhaps it’s just the stress of a new baby catching up with her, but these last few days, even the most basic tasks have been a challenge. “I’ve got an opening tomorrow afternoon. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, that’s perfect, thank you so much.” It’s all going to be okay. The doctor will be able to figure out what’s wrong with Ronan. “Have a nice day.”

“You too, dear. Take care.” There’s a click at the end of the line, and all Annie can do is wait.

“No, he hasn’t had a fever or any other obvious symptoms, but he’s been very tired recently, and though he’s been eating as much as I can give him, he hasn’t put on any weight in a couple weeks.”

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” She hands Ronan over to the doctor, who smiles down at the baby. It’s hard not to smile at Ronan’s chubby cheeks and sweet little features. “You, my friend, are going to be a heartbreaker someday.” The baby’s eyes open wide at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. “I think you’re right. The measurements we took when you came in show that he’s only gained about an ounce since you were last here, but this part of summer is tough on newborns. It’s to be expected that he wouldn’t be quite as big as a child born in another part of the year would be at this age.”

Annie smiles, relieved, but she still has another request. “He also has two little cuts on his neck that I would like you to take a look at.” Doctor Harrington tilts Ronan’s head to one side. “On the other side.”

“Hmm, yes he does.” The woman runs a gloved finger along the angry red dots. “They look fairly fresh. Do you know how he got these?”

“I’m not sure when exactly they happened. I noticed them about five days ago and figured that I’d accidentally stuck him with a safety pin as I was changing his diaper, but they haven’t gotten any better since then, and I think they actually look a little bit bigger. I’m worried that they’re infected.”

The woman examines Ronan’s cuts more closely, peering at them over the rims of her glasses. “I’m glad you brought him in, then. Have there been any changes in what you’re feeding him?”

Annie shakes her head. “No, I’m still breastfeeding.” She waits as the doctor pokes and prods some more, and another thought comes to her. “We have been having some strange weather recently, though. Every night at about the same time, the heat breaks and this nice, cool mist comes in.”

For the first time, Doctor Harrington looks up from Ronan. “And you’re staying up in the Victors Village still?” She nods. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? I’d think the folks closer to shore would get any fog or anything earlier than you would, and I haven’t heard anything from the fishermen.”

“I can’t explain it, but it’s happened every night for the last two or three weeks.”

The woman looks down at Ronan’s cuts again. “Annie, would Coral be willing to take the two of you in for a few days? I think it might be a good idea to get the baby out of that house and see if things get better.”

“Is it serious?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ll get someone to check out this fog you’ve been seeing.” Something in the tone of the woman’s voice is very, very wrong, and Annie has been in and out of enough psych wards over the years to know exactly what that something is.

“This is real. I’m not having hallucinations.”

“Annie, I never said the fog wasn’t real, but it doesn’t make any logical sense, and I’d like to have someone check it out. It could be a problem with one of your utilities for all we know, but until we have this figured out, we need to be very careful, especially with a new baby.” She gives her a small, kind smile and reaches over to pat Annie’s hand. “We need to work together on this, Annie. Don’t worry, I know how hard you’re working to be the best mother you can.”

“Thank you,” she replies, a few tears sliding down her face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her sister-in-law’s house is far louder than her own. Even a six-week-old that never goes more than three hours without crying can’t compete with the noise that two parents and four children between the ages of three and eight can create. Annie didn’t think that she would be able to fall asleep with the steady snoring in the next room, but she must have, because she wakes up in a dark room, surrounded by the same mist that she has seen the last several nights. Good. She isn’t going mad.

She yawns and stretches, but before she completes the action, the fog is gone, replaced by a tall, dark figure. For an instant, she’s too shocked to do anything, but when the man takes a step towards Ronan’s crib, she screams and lunges at him. Green eyes glow in the darkness, and strong hands wrap around her wrists. She meets Finnick’s gaze for just an instant, sees long, pointed teeth moving in towards her throat, and she fears that she won’t survive the next few minutes. Annie screams again. Even if he does kill her, she won’t let him hurt Ronan.

Heavy footsteps can be heard hurrying down the hall, and as suddenly as he appeared, the man is gone, dissolved into silver mist yet again. Annie drops to her knees as the doorknob twists. “Annie, are you all right?” Coral flicks on the lights. “Dear, what’s wrong? You should be in bed.” She shakes her head, not yet recovered enough for words.

“You think a man who looks like Finnick and is made out of mist attacked you.”

Annie’s hands are wrapped tightly around a cup of tea that’s far too hot for the season, but she still shivers. Those eyes, those fangs… every time she shuts her eyes, she sees his mouth opened wide, ready to cut open her throat. And it’s undeniably Finnick. Every time she replays the scene in her head, it becomes more and more obvious. Finnick, her lover. The man who swore to love and protect her. The father of her child.

“You realize that’s impossible, right?” Coral’s golden skin and bronze hair are so much like Finnick’s, like his.

“He was standing over Ronan’s crib, and I couldn’t let him hurt the baby, so I screamed at him and tried to keep him away. I’m sorry if you think it sounds crazy, but that really is what happened.”

“Finnick’s dead. You saw the corpse, you watched them bury him eight feet under. Only wishful thinking is bringing him back, even if it is as some type of demon.”

Annie shakes her head. “I know what I saw, and it was Finnick. How can you explain these?” She holds out her arms, already bruised at the wrists, for the other woman’s inspection.

Coral studies them for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know, Annie, but what you’re suggesting just isn’t possible. I don’t want to think that you did that to yourself –“

“But that is what you think.”

“I’m not sure what to think about any of this. This mist that nobody else can see, my brother coming back to harass the two of you but disappearing just before I open the door? It’s all unbelievable.” Annie senses that she wants to say something more, but their conversation is cut short when both women turn as Derrick returns from outside. “What did you find?” Coral asks.

Her husband shrugs and shakes his head. “There’s nothing out there. No footprints under the window, no suggestion of a ladder, nothing, not even the fog you talked about earlier. Sorry, Annie, but I don’t think there was anybody in there with you.”

Coral leans back in her chair and watches Annie, who does her best to occupy herself with her tea. She knows there was something, no, someone, in that room with her, and she knows it was some horrible version of Finnick, but no one will believe District Four’s poor, mad girl. Coral’s voice is kind, but its words are not. “Annie, I think that maybe you ought to go in and see the doctor again. Ronan can stay with us until you’re feeling better.”

The words strike with more force than a physical blow. Annie feels the air sucked from her lungs at the thought of losing Ronan. “No, I can take care of him.”

“You need to take care of yourself first, love. Let’s focus on getting you better before you try taking care of an infant. Don’t worry, Annie, we have four kids. He’ll be very, very safe with us.”

“You can’t take my baby away from me without my permission, and I’m not going to give it.”

Her sister-in-law looks over to her husband, and Derrick runs his hands through his hair before he speaks. “Annie, you’re seeing things that nobody else can, things that defy very basic rules of how life works. If Coral got on the phone right now and called Doctor Aurelius or Doctor Harrington, they would put you into some intense psychiatric treatment and leave Ronan with us, and it wouldn’t be up to you. Coral’s offering you the opportunity to make your own choice and figure this out for yourself without the embarrassment of getting the doctors involved.”

A part of her knows he’s right, but that doesn’t dull the pain. “So you think I should be grateful towards the woman that wants to steal my baby away.” Annie’s shoulders sag, and her eyes fill with tears. Ronan has the smallest of smiles on his face as he sleeps in Coral’s arms, and it’s all too easy to imagine this scene without her own presence. “It’s not just my imagination.”

“You’re seeing things from children’s stories, Annie. It’s just stress and the heat. You need a break.” Coral’s voice leaves no room for argument.

Annie’s stomach rolls at the thought of leaving Ronan, but she pushes those worries aside and nods. “I’ll look into some options tomorrow. Until then, I’d like to hold my baby, please.” Coral concedes and Ronan is once again safe in Annie’s arms. She can’t help but wonder how long it will be until she holds him again.

The next morning, she begs them to stay up during the night to make sure that Ronan is kept safe. Coral and Derrick agree, probably more to keep her happy than because they believe that their nephew is in any real danger, but she knows her baby will be protected, and that’s all that really matters.

The water in the three-gallon jug she carries sloshes back and forth as she walks, and the heavy shovel bangs against her shins with every step. The bag she has filled with other essentials is no more comfortable, but she can’t stop to rest now. Perhaps tonight, when she is finished, she will be safe enough to stop and sleep.

After a night of pondering the possibilities, Annie decided that Coral was right. The things she’s seeing do belong in story books. The only reasonable way to deal with them is as the heroine of those stories might. If Finnick was here, he would agree.

The summer’s heat is good for one thing: there is nobody else in the graveyard to stop her. She digs for hours, but when the sun sets, Annie has not yet reached her goal. If she had another hour or two, she suspects she would hit the wood that lies beneath feet of dirt, but she can’t take that chance.

She hurries back into the town and tucks herself into the slim alleyway between two of the shops. Her mother used to be friends with the butcher, and she knows he’ll come out to investigate if he hears a woman scream during the night.

Far above her, the sky darkens, and hundreds or thousands of stars come out to illuminate the sky with tiny pinpricks of light. Though she exerted herself the entire day digging, Annie knows she won’t be able to sleep tonight. Instead, she settles back against the wall and contents herself with watching the night sky. Every once in a while, she looks down at her watch, barely able to make out the numbers with the dim light the stars provide. Slowly, the hours tick by, and Annie begins to worry that perhaps this entire ordeal has been just her imagination.

“Fancy seeing you here, love. I thought you’d still be with Coral and Derrick.” She whirls towards the source of the voice, and her stomach sinks. “Happy to see me again?” When he smiles, she can see the fangs.

“I was worried that I wasn’t going to see you tonight. Your sister doesn’t think you’re real.” Annie smiles up at him and reaches out to touch his hand. Cold, like death, it’s everything she expects. She suppresses a shudder, struggling to keep the smile on her face.

His hand wraps around hers. “But you’ve always been smart. You knew better.”

“Yes, I knew you’d never leave me.”

“But yet you attacked me.” She tries to pull away, but now his hand is vise-like around her wrist. “No, Annie, you aren’t leaving. You don’t get to attack me and try to dig up my grave and escape unharmed.”

“Why did you come back? Why couldn’t you have just stayed dead?” Annie knows she should scream for her own safety, but she keeps her voice even. If he leaves here, she has no doubt that his next destination will be Coral’s house. She struggles against him to add to the effect.

His green eyes, which were always so warm and gentle when he was alive, now are cold and harsh. “I’m not the Finnick I used to be. I have no use for him. But you…” He looks up and down her body, appraising every inch of her, “You, I’m sure, I could find a purpose for.” The man that used to be Finnick drags her a little closer.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” She doesn’t have to fake the fear in her voice. If only I could move him a little this way. Annie pulls away from him, and, thankfully, he steps forward to again hold her against him.

He doesn’t answer, instead pushing her hair over her shoulder to bare her neck. His lips press against the side of her face first before he leans down further to caress the large vein on her neck, the exact ritual he has performed every night in her dreams. Now, though, what seemed so loving and intimate turns into a nightmare, a sick mutation of what their relationship had once entailed. Annie forces herself not to struggle as his fangs break through the delicate skin. Finnick smiles against her neck as he sucks, not allowing a single drop to escape and run down her neck. Though disgusted, she holds his head flush against her neck with one hand as she reaches towards her bag with the other.

Her jaw tightens as she reaches the item she has been looking for. The odious white flowers will only scare him away, but this should banish the vampire forever. Already, her vision narrows, and her grip is not as strong as it was just a few minutes prior, but Annie gathers all the strength she can to send the stake through Finnick’s back.

He releases her with a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Annie pulls the stake from his back and plunges it in again. Finnick managed to grab one of her arms, but she’s not finished yet. Again and again, Annie stabs the vampire, not stopping even when he has collapsed to the ground. She arranged the stake carefully over his heart. He’s almost certainly already dead, but when the tip of the stake pierces his heart and blood seeps from around the edges of the stake, she knows he will never come back to haunt her family. With gentle hands, she shuts the man’s eyelids. “I really do love you, and I always will” she whispers into the night.

Annie sits there for long minutes as she considers what to do next. Eventually, she pushes herself off the ground and wipes her hands on her pants. There are still a few hours before dawn, and there’s no reason that anyone has to know what happened here tonight. As she drags him through the two blocks of brick roads that separate the alleyway from the graveyard, Annie tries to think of a reasonable explanation to give everyone for the pile of freshly-dug earth over his grave. She shrugs when she pushes his body back into the hole she created this afternoon. Nobody will doubt that the mad Victor had a fit that led to erratic behavior. Even she isn’t quite willing to say that this isn’t a hallucination. She throws the first shovel full of dirt back over the body. She has a lot to do before sunrise.

“I just needed to figure some things out for myself. Don’t worry, I have it all taken care of now. I won’t be seeing anything like that again.” It’s enough to convince Coral that she’s ready to take care of Ronan again. True, she does ask Annie to continue to stay with them for a couple more days, just to be sure, but she can live with that.

When Ronan is older and he goes through the silly phase of believing in ghosts the way all children do, Annie does what her own mother did and assures him that the supernatural is nothing more than the imagination playing tricks on people. It’s almost always true, after all, and she’s wise enough now to know that almost always true is as close to certainty as the living can come. Even she’s not certain the ordeal was more than the product of stress and heat. He never asks about the twin scars on the side of his neck, and Annie is glad that she doesn’t have to choose between lying to him and telling the truth.

She still plants flowers on Finnick’s grave, and she still means it every time she whispers that she loves him.

#odesta #thg #thg fanfic

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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22. Peeta drops the sheath and buries his knife into the monkey's back, stabbing it again and again until it releases its jaw. He kicks the mutt away, bracing for more. I have his arrows now, a loaded bow, and Finnick at my back, breathing hard but not actively engaged. "Come on, then! Come on!" shouts Peeta, panting with rage. But something has happened to the monkeys. They are withdrawing, backing up trees, fading into the jungle, as if some unheard voice calls them away. A Gamemaker's voice, telling them this is enough. "Get her," I say to Peeta. "We'll cover you." Peeta gently lifts up the morphling and carries her the last few yards to the beach while Finnick and I keep our weapons at the ready. But except for the orange carcasses on the ground, the monkeys are gone. Peeta lays the morphling on the sand. I cut away the material over her chest, revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, making them look far less deadly than they are. The real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I feel certain the beast ruptured something vital, a lung, maybe even her heart. She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child's dead of starvation. Surely she could afford food, but turned to the morphling just as Haymitch turned to drink, I guess. Everything about her speaks of waste - her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes. I hold one of her twitching hands, unclear whether it moves from the poison that affected our nerves, the shock of the attack, or withdrawal from the drug that was her sustenance. There is nothing we can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies. "I'll watch the trees," Finnick says before walking away. I'd like to walk away, too, but she grips my hand so tightly I would have to pry off her fingers, and I don't have the strength for that kind of cruelty. I think of Rue, how maybe I could sing a song or something. But I don't even know the morphling's name, let alone if she likes songs. I just know she's dying. Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren't for me. "With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water." The morphling stares into Peeta's eyes, hanging on to his words. "One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one," says Peeta. The morphling's breathing is slowing into shallow catch-breaths. Her free hand dabbles in the blood on her chest, making the tiny swirling motions she so loved to paint with. "I haven't figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air," says Peeta. The morphling seems mesmerized by Peeta's words. Entranced. She lifts up a trembling hand and paints what I think might be a flower on Peeta's cheek. "Thank you," he whispers. "That looks beautiful." For a moment, the morphling's face lights up in a grin and she makes a small squeaking sound. Then her blood-dappled hand falls back onto her chest, she gives one last huff of air, and the cannon fires. The grip on my hand releases. Peeta carries her out into the water. He returns and sits beside me. The morphling floats out toward the Cornucopia for a while, then the hovercraft appears and a four-pronged claw drops, encases her, carries her into the night sky, and she's gone. Finnick rejoins us, his fist full of my arrows still wet with monkey blood. He drops them beside me on the sand. "Thought you might want these." "Thanks," I say. I wade into the water and wash off the gore, from my weapons, my wounds. By the time I return to the jungle to gather some moss to dry them, all the monkeys' bodies have vanished. "Where did they go?" I ask. "We don't know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone," says Finnick. We stare at the jungle, numb and exhausted. In the quiet, I notice that the spots where the fog droplets touched my skin have scabbed over. They've stopped hurting and begun to itch. Intensely. I try to think of this as a good sign. That they are healing. I glance over at Peeta, at Finnick, and see they're both scratching at their damaged faces. Yes, even Finnick's beauty has been marred by this night. "Don't scratch," I say, wanting badly to scratch myself. But I know it's the advice my mother would give. "You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try for the water again?" We make our way back to the tree Peeta was tapping. Finnick and I stand with our weapons poised while he works the spile in, but no threat appears. Peeta's found a good vein and the water begins to gush from the spile. We slake our thirst, let the warm water pour over our itching bodies. We fill a handful of shells with drinking water and go back to the beach. It's still night, though dawn can't be too many hours away. Unless the Gamemakers want it to be. "Why don't you two get some rest?" I say. "I'll watch for a while." "No, Katniss, I'd rather," says Finnick. I look in his eyes, at his face, and realize he's barely holding back tears. Mags. The least I can do is give him the privacy to mourn her. "All right, Finnick, thanks," I say. I lie down on the sand with Peeta, who drifts off at once. I stare into the night, thinking of what a difference a day makes. How yesterday morning, Finnick was on my kill list, and now I'm willing to sleep with him as my guard. He saved Peeta and let Mags die and I don't know why. Only that I can never settle the balance owed between us. All I can do at the moment is go to sleep and let him grieve in peace. And so I do. It's midmorning when I open my eyes again. Peeta's still out beside me. Above us, a mat of grass suspended on branches shields our faces from the sunlight. I sit up and see that Finnick's hands have not been idle. Two woven bowls are filled with fresh water. A third holds a mess of shellfish. Finnick sits on the sand, cracking them open with a stone. "They're better fresh," he says, ripping a chunk of flesh from a shell and popping it into his mouth. His eyes are still puffy but I pretend not to notice. My stomach begins to growl at the smell of food and I reach for one. The sight of my fingernails, caked with blood, stops me. I've been scratching my skin raw in my sleep. "You know, if you scratch you'll bring on infection," says Finnick. "That's what I've heard," I say. I go into the saltwater and wash off the blood, trying to decide which I hate more, pain or itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward, and snap, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin." It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach up and the tube lands squarely in my open hand. "About time," I say, but I can't keep the scowl on my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give for five minutes of conversation with him. I plunk down on the sand next to Finnick and screw the lid off the tube. Inside is a thick, dark ointment with a pungent smell, a combination of tar and pine needles. I wrinkle my nose as I squeeze a glob of the medicine onto my palm and begin to massage it into my leg. A sound of pleasure slips out of my mouth as the stuff eradicates my itching. It also stains my scabby skin a ghastly gray-green. As I start on the second leg I toss the tube to Finnick, who eyes me doubtfully. "It's like you're decomposing," says Finnick. But I guess the itching wins out, because after a minute Finnick begins to treat his own skin, too. Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can't help enjoying his distress. "Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" I say. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks. "Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say. "Not if I keep looking at you," he says. We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other's backs where the undershirts don't protect our skin. "I'm going to wake Peeta," I say. "No, wait," says Finnick. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his." Well, there's so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," I say in a soft, singsong voice. His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. "Aa!" Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I'm thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I'd thought. Not so bad at all, really. And just as I've come to this conclusion, a parachute lands next to us with a fresh loaf of bread. Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food. Finnick turns the bread over in his hands, examining the crust. A bit too possessively. It's not necessary. It's got that green tint from seaweed that the bread from District 4 always has. We all know it's his. Maybe he's just realized how precious it is, and that he may never see another loaf again. Maybe some memory of Mags is associated with the crust. But all he says is, "This will go well with the shellfish." While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish. We gather round and eat the delicious sweet flesh with the salty bread from District 4. We all look monstrous - the ointment seems to be causing some of the scabs to peel - but I'm glad for the medicine. Not just because it gives relief from the itching, but also because it acts as protection from that blazing white sun in the pink sky. By its position, I estimate it must be going on ten o'clock, that we've been in the arena for about a day. Eleven of us are dead. Thirteen alive. Somewhere in the jungle, ten are concealed. Three or four are the Careers. I don't really feel like trying to remember who the others are. For me, the jungle has quickly evolved from a place of protection to a sinister trap. I know at some point we'll be forced to reenter its depths, either to hunt or be hunted, but for right now I'm planning to stick to our little beach. And I don't hear Peeta or Finnick suggesting we do otherwise. For a while the jungle seems almost static, humming, shimmering, but not flaunting its dangers. Then, in the distance, comes screaming. Across from us, a wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate. An enormous wave crests high on the hill, topping the trees and roaring down the slope. It hits the existing seawater with such force that, even though we're as far as we can get from it, the surf bubbles up around our knees, setting our few possessions afloat. Among the three of us, we manage to collect everything before it's carried off, except for our chemical-riddled jumpsuits, which are so eaten away no one cares if we lose them. A cannon fires. We see the hovercraft appear over the area where the wave began and pluck a body from the trees. Twelve, I think. The circle of water slowly calms down, having absorbed the giant wave. We rearrange our things back on the wet sand and are about to settle down when I see them. Three figures, about two spokes away, stumbling onto the beach. "There," I say quietly, nodding in the newcomers' direction. Peeta and Finnick follow my gaze. As if by previous agreement, we all fade back into the shadows of the jungle. The trio's in bad shape - you can see that right off. One is being practically dragged out by a second, and the third wanders in loopy circles, as if deranged. They're a solid brick-red color, as if they've been dipped in paint and left out to dry. "Who is that?" asks Peeta. "Or what? Muttations?" I draw back an arrow, readying for an attack. But all that happens is that the one who was being dragged collapses on the beach. The dragger stamps the ground in frustration and, in an apparent fit of temper, turns and shoves the circling, deranged one over. Finnick's face lights up. "Johanna!" he calls, and runs for the red things. "Finnick!" I hear Johanna's voice reply. I exchange a look with Peeta. "What now?" I ask. "We can't really leave Finnick," he says. "Guess not. Come on, then," I say grouchily, because even if I'd had a list of allies, Johanna Mason would definitely not have been on it. The two of us tromp down the beach to where Finnick and Johanna are just meeting up. As we move in closer, I see her companions, and confusion sets in. That's Beetee on the ground on his back and Wiress who's regained her feet to continue making loops. "She's got Wiress and Beetee." "Nuts and Volts?" says Peeta, equally puzzled. "I've got to hear how this happened." When we reach them, Johanna's gesturing toward the jungle and talking very fast to Finnick. "We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field." "I'm sorry, Johanna," says Finnick. It takes a moment to place Blight. I think he was Johanna's male counterpart from District 7, but I hardly remember seeing him. Come to think of it, I don't even think he showed up for training. "Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home," she says. "And he left me alone with these two." She nudges Beetee, who's barely conscious, with her shoe. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her - " We all look over at Wiress, who's circling around, coated in dried blood, and murmuring, "Tick, tock. Tick, tock." "Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock," says Johanna. This seems to draw Wiress in her direction and she careens into Johanna, who harshly shoves her to the beach. "Just stay down, will you?" "Lay off her," I snap. Johanna narrows her brown eyes at me in hatred. "Lay off her?" she hisses. She steps forward before I can react and slaps me so hard I see stars. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You - " Finnick tosses her writhing body over his shoulder and carries her out into the water and repeatedly dunks her while she screams a lot of really insulting things at me. But I don't shoot. Because she's with Finnick and because of what she said, about getting them for me. "What did she mean? She got them for me?" I ask Peeta. "I don't know. You did want them originally," he reminds me. "Yeah, I did. Originally." But that answers nothing. I look down at Beetee's inert body. "But I won't have them long unless we do something." Peeta lifts Beetee up in his arms and I take Wiress by the hand and we go back to our little beach camp. I sit Wiress in the shallows so she can get washed up a bit, but she just clutches her hands together and occasionally mumbles, "Tick, tock." I unhook Beetee's belt and find a heavy metal cylinder attached to the side with a rope of vines. I can't tell what it is, but if he thought it was worth saving, I'm not going to be the one who loses it. I toss it up on the sand. Beetee's clothes are glued to him with blood, so Peeta holds him in the water while I loosen them. It takes some time to get the jumpsuit off, and then we find his undergarments are saturated with blood as well. There's no choice but to strip him naked to get him clean, but I have to say this doesn't make much of an impression on me anymore. Our kitchen table's been full of so many naked men this year. You kind of get used to it after a while. We put down Finnick's mat and lay Beetee on his stomach so we can examine his back. There's a gash about six inches long running from his shoulder blade to below his ribs. Fortunately it's not too deep. He's lost a lot of blood, though - you can tell by the pallor of his skin - and it's still oozing out of the wound. I sit back on my heels, trying to think. What do I have to work with? Seawater? I feel like my mother when her first line of defense for treating everything was snow. I look over at the jungle. I bet there's a whole pharmacy in there if I knew how to use it. But these aren't my plants. Then I think about the moss Mags gave me to blow my nose. "Be right back," I tell Peeta. Fortunately the stuff seems to be pretty common in the jungle. I rip an armful from the nearby trees and carry it back to the beach. I make a thick pad out of the moss, place it on Beetee's cut, and secure it by tying vines around his body. We get some water into him and then pull him into the shade at the edge of the jungle. "I think that's all we can do," I say. "It's good. You're good with this healing stuff," he says. "It's in your blood." "No," I say, shaking my head. "I got my father's blood." The kind that quickens during a hunt, not an epidemic. "I'm going to see about Wiress." I take a handful of the moss to use as a rag and join Wiress in the shallows. She doesn't resist as I work off her clothing, scrub the blood from her skin. But her eyes are dilated with fear, and when I speak, she doesn't respond except to say with ever-increasing urgency, "Tick, tock." She does seem to be trying to tell me something, but with no Beetee to explain her thoughts, I'm at a loss. "Yes, tick, tock. Tick, tock," I say. This seems to calm her down a little. I wash out her jumpsuit until there's hardly a trace of blood, and help her back into it. It's not damaged like ours were. Her belt's fine, so I fasten that on, too. Then I pin her undergarments, along with Beetee's, under some rocks and let them soak. By the time I've rinsed out Beetee's jumpsuit, a shiny clean Johanna and peeling Finnick have joined us. For a while, Johanna gulps water and stuffs herself with shellfish while I try to coax something into Wiress. Finnick tells about the fog and the monkeys in a detached, almost clinical voice, avoiding the most important detail of the story. Everybody offers to guard while the others rest, but in the end, it's Johanna and I who stay up. Me because I'm really rested, she because she simply refuses to lie down. The two of us sit in silence on the beach until the others have gone to sleep. Johanna glances over at Finnick, to be sure, then turns to me. "How'd you lose Mags?" "In the fog. Finnick had Peeta. I had Mags for a while. Then I couldn't lift her. Finnick said he couldn't take them both. She kissed him and walked right into the poison," I say. "She was Finnick's mentor, you know," Johanna says accusingly. "No, I didn't," I say. "She was half his family," she says a few moments later, but there's less venom behind it. We watch the water lap up over the undergarments. "So what were you doing with Nuts and Volts?" I ask. "I told you - I got them for you. Haymitch said if we were to be allies I had to bring them to you," says Johanna. "That's what you told him, right?" No, I think. But I nod my head in assent. "Thanks. I appreciate it." "I hope so." She gives me a look filled with loathing, like I'm the biggest drag possible on her life. I wonder if this is what it's like to have an older sister who really hates you. "Tick, tock," I hear behind me. I turn and see Wiress has crawled over. Her eyes are focused on the jungle. "Oh, goody, she's back. Okay, I'm going to sleep. You and Nuts can guard together," Johanna says. She goes over and flings herself down beside Finnick. "Tick, tock," whispers Wiress. I guide her in front of me and get her to lie down, stroking her arm to soothe her. She drifts off, stirring restlessly, occasionally sighing out her phrase. "Tick, tock." "Tick, tock," I agree softly. "It's time for bed. Tick, tock. Go to sleep." The sun rises in the sky until it's directly over us. It must be noon, I think absently. Not that it matters. Across the water, off to the right, I see the enormous flash as the lightning bolt hits the tree and the electrical storm begins again. Right in the same area it did last night. Someone must have moved into its range, triggered the attack. I sit for a while watching the lightning, keeping Wiress calm, lulled into a sort of peacefulness by the lapping of the water. I think of last night, how the lightning began just after the bell tolled. Twelve bongs. "Tick, tock," Wiress says, surfacing to consciousness for a moment and then going back under. Twelve bongs last night. Like it was midnight. Then lightning. The sun overhead now. Like it's noon. And lightning. Slowly I rise up and survey the arena. The lightning there. In the next pie wedge over came the blood rain, where Johanna, Wiress, and Beetee were caught. We would have been in the third section, right next to that, when the fog appeared. And as soon as it was sucked away, the monkeys began to gather in the fourth. Tick, tock. My head snaps to the other side. A couple of hours ago, at around ten, that wave came out of the second section to the left of where the lightning strikes now. At noon. At midnight. At noon. "Tick, tock," Wiress says in her sleep. As the lightning ceases and the blood rain begins just to the right of it, her words suddenly make sense. "Oh," I say under my breath. "Tick, tock." My eyes sweep around the full circle of the arena and I know she's right. "Tick, tock. This is a clock."

#CatchingFire

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ilguna · 4 years

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☼ dreadful (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; ‘ maybe instead of Finnick dying the reader does and he sees them die ‘

warnings; swearing, GORE, DEATH IN DETAIL, sad

wc; 2.7k

–

With everything that is suddenly going on around you, you’re beginning to slide back into your old habits that took so long for you to break. See, you originally weren’t such a light sleeper. Before any of the games had happened, you would sleep through just about anything. It would take a lot to get you up, because there wasn’t anything to worry about back then.

You broke out of the habit pretty quickly. Every rustle of the tree, the break of a branch, the crack of leaves had you jumping. It could have been the most subtle thing in the world, and you would have heard it. You would be on your feet in less than a second, no matter how exhausted and drowsy you were.

It had been years of staying in your very nice victor house, with every single door that could have been a lead to your room, being locked for you to feel safe. You had the help of Finnick when it came to dragging your bed up to the attic, because in your mind, it would be impossible to get to you if you were so high up. Peacekeepers could search the house and still come up with nothing at the end of the day.

Eventually, you had started to leave the doors unlocked after you began to trust the people in the district again. As if they would try to come to kill you after everything that had happened to you. Everyone was glad to have you back, happy that you hadn’t died. And you mourned right alongside them when your district mate had died.

Having a tight-knit community was so important. And you’re so angry that you’re not with them anymore. Everyone from district four was so caring and understanding. Sure, it was a career district, but who gives a shit after a while? People can train their kids and you can still like them no matter what.

Anyway, the Quarter Quell had reawoken your inability to have a full night of sleep. When you were inside of that arena, even though you knew you were safe because Finnick was nearby, you couldn’t sleep. The cicadas were loud, the birds were constantly chirping. Every single time Peeta’s breathing was offbeat or Katniss had shifted by the tree, it was impossible to fall asleep.

You were so paranoid that they would turn on you, allies or not. When it comes to the games, everyone just wants a way out. Even if that means losing your significant other to do it. You wouldn’t catch yourself dead trying to murder Finnick, you wouldn’t have the heart to do it. He could close his eyes, tell you that he understands and loves you and you still wouldn’t do it.

It’s difficult being in a relationship with him, because the both of you are constantly trying to keep each other safe. You always think it’s his life over yours, and you throw yourself in harm’s way just to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. But he thinks the exact opposite. You should be the one that lives if anything happens. He’ll try to save you at any opportunity, which creates problems when you’re fighting.

On this mission to the capitol, you’ve nicked each other so many times. Trying to beat each other to the punch. It’s clearly getting on the other’s nerves, and they hate the little bickering between the both of you. You prefer to take up the back during things, because it makes you feel safer, but Finnick says he’ll protect you just the same if he’s back there.

He’s so amazingly irritating, and you love him because of it.

The splashing of the sewer system had eventually faded to the back of your mind. It was the first thing at the front of your mind for a while, until it became an almost steady rhythm. Finnick’s arm around your shoulders kept you secure for the most part, and you know he only did it so that he would be able to turn his body onto yours if he had to. On the same token, you could really just jump in front of him if you had to.

The second that you hear Katniss moving, you slowly open your eyes. You watch as she pulls out the Holo, slowly descending into the actual tunnel itself. The radar starts going off, and you can’t help but to lean forward a little bit.

You can hear her splashing around in the water faintly, but you have a feeling that it’s not for fun or to stretch her legs, “Katniss?”

She turns at the sound of your voice, holding up a finger to her lips as a signal to keep quiet. You nod, and she turns back to what she was doing.

You have to tilt your head to hear, but the blood runs from your face when you hear whispers. You guys aren’t in this tunnel alone anymore, and it’s only going to be a matter of time before they find you guys hidden in this cove.

Peeta twitches, and you listen as he mumbles something. Katniss slowly turns to see what’s going on, just as the sounds get a little louder. Echoing off the stone walls, bouncing right back to where you are. There’s really no way to tell how close they are, sound travels.

“Katniss!” Peeta gasps, jolting awake.

Beside you, Gale moves too, showing that he’s woken up too. Peeta leans forward a little bit, “Katniss.”

Just after that, you shake Finnick to get him up too. His arm tightens around your shoulders for a second, before it slips away, “What?”

You hold your hand out, as you all listen to the sounds again, it seems like everyone is awake after that, because of Peeta. There’s no reason for any of them to be mad about it, it was only a matter of time before you’d have to turn to wake them up.

“What is that?” Jackson asks, but the answer is obvious.

“We gotta go, we gotta get out of here now.” Peeta tells you guys, and you slowly push yourself up from where you’re sitting.

“Keep your voice down–” Gale tries, but Peeta continues.

“Mutts! They’ve released mutts!”

“Pollux, what’s the fastest way out?” Katniss asks, Pollux moves to the front, hurrying to get you all out of here.

You turn to look at Finnick, glaring at him slightly because you know what’s going to happen already, “You first.”

“(Y/n)–”

“Go, go!”

You give Finnick a quick kiss, before ushering him out before you. He readjusts the trident in his hand a few times, trying to get a better grip on it. He’s clearly anxious that a fight is going to break out.

You have that same dreadful feeling in your own stomach.

Gale fires an arrow at the end of the tunnel, lighting it up for you guys. He leads the front, Katniss not too far behind as you all begin to go down the tunnel single-filed. Trying not to make too much noise.

Jackson stays behind you, since she has a machine gun. Every now and then, you’ll turn around to make sure that nothing is coming anyway. As if your eyes will catch something hers doesn’t, when she’s been staring off into the darkness for so long. She’ll notice the difference, you know that, but you can’t help it.

Gale hesitates before he fires another arrow, in the direction that you guys won’t be going. When the coast is clear, he continues on, leading you guys to a small hole in the wall.

Pollux motions that he’ll go in first to check it out. And you all wait patiently as he goes inside, disappearing for a moment. The silence is deafening in the meantime, and you share a look with Finnick. The worry on his face is clearly for you. If you guys are actually being followed by mutts, then that means dangerous things.

You and him could accidentally hurt each other in the crossfire again. Or maybe one of you gets seperated. It’s so tricky being in a situation like this with your husband, because it means that one foul move and the other isn’t there anymore. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that one of you won’t make it out of this.

“I love you.” you mouth to him, and he smiles.

“Love you too.”

Pollux appears again, motioning for you guys to go ahead and go in. Gale goes in first, placing his crossbow ahead of him while he scoots through. Next is Katniss, Peeta and so on. Just so you can ease Finnick’s worries a little bit, you go in before him, pulling the trident through and holding it. He’s next after that, and he takes it from you.

“Thank you.” He kisses you again, pulling you against his body momentarily.

“Don’t mention it.” you whisper, watching as the last few fit through the hole.

Jackson hesitates, staring off into the darkness. You can feel it creeping up onto you guys, so you begin to push Finnick ahead of you. You want to tell Jackson to hurry up and get inside, but the words are caught in your throat. Too afraid to piss off the unknown that’s in the sewer with you.

She turns, deciding that it’s safe enough to go now. She stares for a second, and you motion for her to hurry, but it’s too late. The mutts make the jump at her, disturbing the deafening silence that was keeping the peace.

Jackson disappears from how many swarm her, making her absolutely impossible to see. The first of many that’s behind that wall begins to crawl through. Katniss pulls out one of the explosive arrows, pulling it back before launching it towards the mutts. On impact, it explodes, hopefully wiping out enough to slow them down.

Katniss falls from the explosion, but someone picks her up, you’re not entirely too sure on who it is. Someone yells to run, and suddenly you’re all sprinting to get away.

Pollux leads you guys through the maze of tunnels, he seems to remember the turns correctly, bringing you on the path to hopefully freedom. You’re really praying that everyone makes it out of this unscathed, and that the door is somewhere nearby.

With another turn, you’re pushing Finnick harder, making him keep up with your own pace. If you could reach behind you and grab anyone back there, you would have.

One second, you’re all running in a line, the sound of water filling the air. And then a line of mutts completely come out of the crossroads, bringing everyone to a stop. Someone gets pummeled immediately, and it isn’t until you hear someone yell the name, when you realize it’s Castor, Pollux’s brother.

“Fall back!” you hear Messalla yell, and you all turn to run the other way.

On the other side is Pollux, Gale, Peeta and Katniss, which really leaves you guys lost, having to find the way by yourselves.

Katniss fires a single explosive arrow, and you nearly lose your footing because of it. Finnick catches you before you’re in the water. At least she cut back some of the mutts when she did it.

Messalla takes the lead from you, and you watch as he uses his gun to pick off as many mutts as possible. Finnick’s hand is tight in yours, since he made the reach for it first.

One turn after another, you guys struggle to find another path to where Pollux was leading. Every exit you turn to, another mutt pops up out of nowhere, and they’re not pretty at all. One had snapped at you, getting too close for your liking, and nearly biting your face off.

If you get in the hands of these assholes, then that really is a game over.

It feels like forever, being lost in the maze of tunnels. You’re sure that you guys have been going in circles, right when you guys make it out on the other side.

Immediately, you’re thrown into combat when one of the mutts grab you. They don’t hold on for long though, as they launch you across the room. Your hand slips from Finnicks, obviously. Being in the air for a second feels awful, but you would have taken that rather than slamming into the ground. The water hadn’t softened your fall, at all.

When you push yourself up, your hair is stuck to your face, as you brush it out of your face briefly before jumping at the nearest mutt that’s causing trouble. Out of the corner of your eyes, you have a clear look on Finnick, making sure that he’s doing well.

In your distraction, one of them gets their hands on you, pinning you to the wall. Behind it, another seems to be coming straight towards you, as if they’re going to get the chance to finish you off. However, you place your hand on the side of the first one’s face, pushing it away from you. Your hand nearly slips from how slimy it is, but you’re able to lodge the knife into its skull.

You drop to the ground, splashing in the water again. As the first falls, the second comes running at you, allowing you to throw your knife at it. All those years of practicing seems to have paid off, the second that it gets lodged in its forehead.

Peeta pulls it out to use against one of the others that’s on top of him. When he’s free, he tosses it back to you. You don’t fumble when it comes to catching it by the handle.

Spinning back around, you throw it again, saving Finnick. He looks at you with wide eyes and you shake your head at him, before grabbing out your spare dagger.

While all of this is happening, they’ve started to retreat up the ladder. Peeta heads up the ladder, as Finnick kills the nearest mutt to Katniss, saving her. He yells at her to go, and you wait for him.

“Love–” Finnick begins to scold, you grab him and yank him towards the ladder.

“Go! I’ve got this.” you tell him, trying to keep up with the influx of mutts that seems to never stop.

Finnick listens, heading up the ladder. You constantly clear your path, having to look behind you to make sure that there is none there. When you’ve finally made it there, you kill one more, before trying to make it up.

Finnick holds his hand out to you eagerly, his eyes are filled with worry yeet again, and you can see the panic slowly beginning to form over his face.

The dread from earlier drops in your stomach the second you feel a hand on your ankle.

“No!” Finnick screams, he goes to jump but you watch as Katniss holds him.

Your hand is pried from the bars, as you’re pulled down to the mess of slimy, pale bodies. At first, you think it’s not so bad. And then there’s ten of them standing over you, and they’re beginning to tear you apart.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick yells, you scream out in pain when you feel a pair of teeth sink into your shoulder.

“Katniss–” you feel like your voice is drowned out by the growling of the mutts over you. So excited that they have gotten another kill after all, “–please!”

“Nightlock–” Katniss begins, you know it’ll only be a matter of seconds before it explodes.

“Finnick I–” you clench your teeth, tears forming in the corners of your eyes from the pain, and because this is how your husband will see you for the final time.

“Nightlock,” Katniss says finally, dropping the Holo. The beeping speeds up as it begins to self destruct.

You can’t hear your voice, “I love you!”

Your vision is consumed by the explosion, and the last thing you hear is his scream.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #thg #the hunger games

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ilguna · 3 years

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☼ perfect pair (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; ‘ Omg could you please do a Finnick Odair x Reader where shes a victor and they meet while being mentors and they hit it off and the capitol people end up actually loving them in a relationship together? Thank you 🌻‘

warnings; swearing, mention of murder

wc; 2.2k

In your opinion, sitting on the sidelines and watching the tributes you mentored on the way to the Capitol get brutally murdered is way worse than being inside of the actual Hunger Games, themselves. At least then you’re in control of what’s happening, you’re able to protect and save yourself from dying.

Out here, you’re hopeless. You can’t sponsor your own tributes, you can’t pass on long notes. Hell, you can say anything to them that might give them an advantage at all. The most you can do is give cryptic messages and hope that they look into them more than brush off the surface message. Absolutely no advice, no triggering memories that will help them survive.

You’re a spectator on the sidelines. You don’t know how the Capitol people can stand it, to watch the tributes make the same stupid fucking decisions that they make every year. Running into the cornucopia, making alliances with the wrong people, forgetting everything that was crucial to learn in the Training Center.

It’s painful. It’s like stabbing yourself with needles on purpose, recognizing the pain and how you never want to go through it again, and then doing it again the next time that you watch someone else do it. It’s stupid! It’s so fucking stupid and you’re so fucking tired of it all.

And it’s not like you aren’t trying your best, here. Trying to get sponsors for you poor, stupid tributes is a lot harder for you than the other mentors. Your tributes don’t stand out, your tributes are expected to die. Why bother investing in a losing cause? You just look dumb.

Well, if they think they look dumb, and if you think they look dumb, you can’t imagine what they think about you. (Y/n), mentor of District Five, grasping at straws and trying to make it work. You get a sponsor’s attention long enough and suddenly they’re turned away when they see another tribute doing better.

At this rate, you’re going to have a mental breakdown. Your third time mentoring, and you’ve already lost your mind at this. You don’t know how the other victors did it, but they were brave to do this for so long. You would have quit and rather died than having to go through this every single year.

Five tributes. You’ve lost five tributes, and you’re on your way to a sixth with the rate this girl is going. Picking fights with the wrong tributes, barely running away. She’s being hunted, and the other tributes are beginning to see her as a prize. How stupid can you be to allow that to happen?

You place your hands on the top of your head, watching the screen. Alene, the District Five girl tribute, has just managed to get out of the career’s territory. The careers are backing off, rightfully. You would too with the threat that lies beyond the trees. If Alene thought the careers were a nightmare, she hasn’t run across the District Four tributes.

Unlike what happens usually with Finnick and Mags’ tributes, this year they decided to go solo and try their hand out with a win without the help of the careers. You vaguely remember watching Finnick laugh this off at the bloodbath, but he wasn’t very happy about it. His tributes got away with a couple of backpacks, had they been in the cornucopia for a second longer, they would have been killed for being traitors.

You don’t know what they feed the tributes in District Four, but it’s good. The tributes are a lot better than the careers are. The careers are already down a tribute because of some girl from District Nine that got lucky and killed the boy from District One. Who was--arguably--the most threatening one out of the pack.

You have to give Alene a little bit of credit. She has no clue what’s on the other side of the river. She’ll be finding out pretty soon, though. Finnick’s tributes are making their way around, looking for a good area to cross. And considering that the most shallow part of the river is where Alene is standing, they’re heading right towards her.

Alene takes one look at her surroundings, hesitating in the direction she wants. Of course, with your luck, she heads right towards the Four tributes.

You let out a deep sigh through your nose, dropping your head for a moment. It could be worse, she could have been caught by the careers and died slowly. The Four tributes have been making a point to be killing swiftly. Since Alene hasn’t made a joke of them just yet, she should be gone quickly.

When you raise your head, you’re able to see that the screen has split into three. The first one is on Alene, the second on the Four tributes, and the bottom holds a map of what the arena looks like, with an outline of the path of the tributes. In the very corner there’s an estimation of when they should come across each other, it’s counting down from ten minutes.

Looks like you need to start mingling and get a sponsor gift before she gets herself killed. You turn, going to head towards the section where you know there’s unsure sponsors, it’s the ones you’ve been banking on so far. You’re met face to face with Finnick, though.

“You look stressed.” he says, there’s a polite smile on his face.

You take a look at the screen again, only nine minutes left, “Well, your tributes are about to kill mine. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to be stressed, yeah?”

When you look back at him, he tilts his head and turns to face the screen. You let your hands retract from the table, which you were leaning over like you were putting out battle plans. At this rate, you might as well be.

“How likeable is Alene?” Finnick asks, not looking at you.

Once again, you’re staring at the screen with him. Alene is going through her bag, eating, drinking water, and wiping sweat off her forehead. There’s a mischievous smile on her face. You should’ve known the second she was reaped and the way she smiled that she would be a major pain in your fucking ass.

Likable? So far she’s pissed off everyone she could imagine. Her stylist and prep team complained to you the entire time she was here, about her not being as nearly as respectful as you were, “A caged animal being let free.” is the way that the Capitol escort described her.

Not to mention her unsurprising low training score, impish antics during her interview, and the way she completely shunned the entire audience during her tribute parade. She’s been nothing but unlikable since the beginning, as far as you’re concerned, she only exists to aggravate people inside of the arena. Either she’s trying to go down as a memorable tribute, or she thinks it’s all fun in games.

“She’s not.” you say, Finnick raises an eyebrow, “She’s the worst tribute I’ve gotten in a while. But she’s surviving longer than the rest. Says something, doesn’t it?”

“Do you think she’d be a good ally?”

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, looking at Finnick. He wants to ally his tributes with yours? God, if you were him, you’d be trying to keep away from Alene. Talk about a nightmare gone right.

“Depends on how trusting her allies are. She’s reckless, but she’s still come far.”

Finnick stands from the table, giving you a smile, “I’ve got sponsors lined up around the block, most are willing to work with other mentors. Are you interested?”

“Lost cause.” you tell him, there’s five minutes on the clock. You can’t imagine you’ll be able to convince anyone now, “If you think that it’s worth a shot, then I’m in.”

“Wait here, then.” Finnick says, when he moves, you can see you’ve gained quite the attraction with the rich Capitol people.

You watch him go all the way to a small group of colorful people, some of them nod enthusiastically, others give you a wave. Finnick moves on past that to head straight to the sponsor station. You look back to the screen, only three minutes on the clock. You wonder what Finnick will say to his tributes to get them to agree to something like this.

With two minutes left, the gift goes through. Finnick meets you back at the table, and the two of you watch. You tilt your head, Finnick’s got his arms crossed, smug. You’re about to ask him if his tributes are able to decipher an easy message, especially when it’s something as simple as ‘make friends’, when the tributes shrug it off.

“What a waste.”

“Wait for it.” Finnick tells you.

The two of you watch the clock, how it just seems to dip lower and lower. With twenty seconds left, Finnick’s boy tribute is questioning the message, the girl spots Alene through the trees. Alene, who is offensive by nature, pulls out her knife, looking for a fight.

“Your tributes and the careers aren’t working together, right?”

“Not at all.”

For a moment you thought that the careers had chased Alene all the way to the river so she’d have to cross, putting her in the Four tribute’s war path so that they could work together and kill her. You think that’s what half the plan is, but the careers were banking on the idea that the Four tributes would catch her, eliminating the problem naturally.

“Make friends…” the boy tribute repeats to himself, and then he raises his hands, a smile coming over his face, “You’re that girl from Five, right?”

“Alene.” Alene says, “What about it?”

The boy shows her the paper slip, “We should talk for a second.”

“What’d you even send them in the first place?” You ask Finnick, looking over.

“Lunch big enough for three.” Finnick says, giving you a grin, “It’s easier to make people agreeable when they’re not on an empty stomach.”

“Smart.” you say.

His tributes are smart, they’re able to get Alene to calm down enough to have a picnic with them. In no time, she’s warming up to the idea of an alliance. You realize halfway through the picnic that Finnick had an underlying motive. His tributes have been on the other side of the river, which is a small island on the far right of the arena, the entire time. They’ve made the island their home, and they haven’t moved from it since they got there.

Which means that they have no experience outside of the island. As for Alene, she’s been all over hell and back. Practically encountered every tribute there is, except for the ones that are extremely good at hiding, those ones she doesn’t seek out. Long story short, Alene knows where all the tributes are at, and if it’s a fight that the Four tributes are looking for, she can give them one.

You look at Finnick, he’s still watching the screen, a small smile on his lips.

With your three tributes, the major competition could be wiped out in no time. Three careers versus Alene and the Four tributes, once they’re gone, they can disband and the heat can ramp up.

Which is exactly what happens two days later, when the careers are effectively wiped out, leaving seven other tributes in the arena. Alene, the Four tributes, and four others that wouldn’t have had the chance they did before. Talk about making the games interesting, Finnick’s a fucking genius.

You’re standing in your usual spot when Finnick comes by, “Needless to say, we’re a hit.”

“A hit? Why?”

“Because we’re an anomaly. Finnick and (Y/n) working together? You should be proud with the tribute you’ve got.”

“Speak for yourself, your tributes are built like giants.”

“Not as impressive as a girl like Alene. If she wins, that’ll break records for your district, if I remember quickly.”

“Yeah, a second victor in the span of five years. Never happened before.” you look over him, “Don’t tell me you’re rooting Alene on, with two tributes of your own still alive.”

“What can I say? It’s hard not to like someone like Alene.” Finnick gives you a smile, “Are you free later?”

“Probably, why?”

“I was thinking we could take a tour of the Capitol.” his voice is so nonchalant, but it’s the eyes, again.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Finnick?” You lean against the table with one arm.

“Only if you want it to be one.”

“Are you sure the Capitol will like that? You are loved, after all.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows, “Well, they like us working together. What else will they like? A power couple?”

You give him a gentle smile, squinting, “You are a very dangerous man, you know that?”

“So they say, but I want to know what you think.”

You look at the screen, watching how your tributes interact. If they can be friends with each other, then why can’t you be friends with Finnick? Especially when there’s a chance that it’ll blossom into more?

“You’ve got my attention.” you tell him.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #thg #requested

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