#Finnick has separation anxiety

[anniecrestalover]

me having a good day until i remember how in love finnick was with annie

[allisluv]

this is a random idea, and you totally dont have to write it if you arent comfortable but could i maybe request a oneshot about reader who sh with finnick and like they havent had sex yet because she doesnt want him to see her scars and its just lots of comfort and really fluffy?

good things come to those who wait.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!victor!reader

content warnings: this work contains topics regarding self-harm and scars, however nothing is graphic at all, and this is mainly focused on the comfort aspect of things. finnick is a sweetie pie, pre-established relationship, mentions of sex but nothing intimate, hurt/comfort.

word count: 1.0k

author's note: this is a topic that really hits home with me, and my intentions are never and will never be to offend anyone. my inbox and dm's are always open. this work is purely made to help people feel less alone, not to romanticise any topics covered.

Finnick has always been ever so sweet with you. He has never once made you feel pressured into doing anything you weren’t ready for, and that’s one of the many things that separate him from your past boyfriends. 

You know he would never even think about judging you for the scars on your thighs but no matter how much you reassure yourself that he wouldn’t mind, there is still that tiny voice in the back of your head that says, “What if?”

You’re seven months into your relationship with Finnick when you decide that it’s best you sit him down and have a conversation with him about how youre feeling. Things are starting to get serious and you can tell that despite his gentleness and his patience, he’s beginning to worry that there’s another reason for why you havent slept with him yet. Finnick opened up to you about his sexual trauma in the Capitol pretty early on into your relationship and you don’t want him to worry that you think he’s “broken” or “damaged goods” and that’s why you haven’t slept with each other yet, because that couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

You think Finnick is without a doubt the most handsome man you have ever laid eyes on— but he’s so much more than that, too. Hes considerate and thoughtful and caring and kind and you don’t want to ever make him think he’s not good enough. 

So despite your anxiety, you push through and anxiously wait on the sofa for Finnick to return home from his dip in the ocean. 

Your heart is thudding against your ribcage so fast that you fear it may jump straight out of your chest. The front door opens and shuts before Finnick calls out your name. 

“Im in here!” You shout back, focusing all your effort on keeping your voice steady and calm. 

Finnick peeks his head into the living room and smiles. Two dimples poke into his cheeks, one on either side of his mouth, as he grabs a beach towel off the radiator and starts to dry himself off. He’s caught off guard when you don’t immediately start chastising him for dripping water in the house, and that is the first thing that sends bells off in his head. “Angel? You okay?” 

You suck in a steadying breath and pat the sofa next to you. “Can we talk?” Finnick’s mind starts whirring into overdrive as he worries that you might be breaking this off with him, and you instantly backtrack when you see the panic on his face. “No, no, I’m sorry. Don’t panic, I just need to tell you something. It’s nothing bad, Finnick, I promise.”

He seems to relax a little at your comforting words but his steps are still tentative as he crosses the room and sits down on the sofa next to you. “Alright,” He says warily. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You know this is going to be an awkward conversation to have, but both you and Finnick agreed that communication was key to maintaining a healthy relationship. You figure you might as well be honest and get this over with. There’s no point in beating around the bush so you come right out and say it as bluntly as possible. “I wanted to talk about why we haven’t had sex yet. I mean, that’s something you want, right?”

Finnick nods reassuringly. “Of course it is but only when you’re ready. I don’t want you feeling pressured into it.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “I want to. God, I really, really want to. I’m just scared.” 

Finnick tilts his head to one side but slowly reaches out to grab your hand. He intertwines your fingers together. “Okay. What are you scared of, angel?”

It takes everything in you not to burst into tears and you have to clear your throat a couple of times before talking aloud. “I have scars. On my thighs.”

Realisation dawns on Finnick but he doesn’t open his mouth to say anything. Instead, he nods to show that he is listening, and squeezes your hand to encourage you to continue. 

“I was going through a really tough time after I won my games. I turned to some… well, less than healthy coping mechanisms. I’m better now. I haven’t done… that, in a good few years. But I still have scars from it.” You take a deep breath, keeping your eyes trained on a spot on the floor in front of you. “I know you wouldn’t judge me but I was just scared that you’d think I was damaged or—”

“Okay, let me stop you there.” Finnick cuts in. His voice is stern but soft. “Angel, some scars don’t scare me, and they certainly don’t make me think you’re anything less than beautiful. All it does is tell me how resilient my girl is. I would never think less of you for this. I need you to know that, alright?” 

It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest. “No, I know that, I just— I don’t know. I was scared you were gonna leave me.” 

Finnick uses his free hand to smooth your hair off your forehead. “I know, angel, I know,” He murmurs. “Youre not gonna get rid of me that easily, okay? I’m in this for the long haul.” He smiles softly and knocks his shoulder into yours. 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you finally make eye contact with him. “You’re not saying this just to make me feel better, right?”

Finnick scoffs but his voice is full of affection when he speaks. “Angel, you should know by now that I’m gonna tell you the truth, regardless of if you want to hear it or not.”

You chuckle. “Fair point, well made.” You hesitate. “So, you know, just to clarify, you do want to sleep with me?”

Finnick grins. “More than anything. But we’re gonna do this at your pace, okay? We’re gonna take it as slow as you need.”

Your lips tug downwards into a frown. “You don’t mind waiting?”

Finnick pecks your forehead. “You know what they say, good things come to those who wait.” He pauses. “And, angel?”

“Mhm?” 

“Scars or not, I still think you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick odair alphabet fluff

h - hugs

finnick odair finds peace in holding you in his arms. his heart swells with quiet joy whenever his arms are tightly wrapped around you, with his face nestled against your hair as he breathes in the familiar scent of you. with his arms wrapped around your torso, he savors the closeness of your warm body pressed against his, a rush of excitement running through his veins. finnick has always thought of you as his safe space, there’s nowhere else he feels more at peace than in your embrace. though the self-deprecating thoughts are always roaming through his mind, it’s with you that his mind grows a little quieter. 

as the next hunger games looms closer, knowing he will be forced to return to the capitol for weeks, he needs you. anxiety takes over his mind as the days go by, and he spends the days previous to the reaping battling the overwhelming urge to run away with you. 

finnick knows deep down that any attempt to leave district four in search for a better life anywhere else, even hiding and trying to live in the isolated woods, would only lead to ruin. yet, he can’t stop daydreaming about it. a quiet life far away from the capitol, finding an old abandoned cabin in the forest that it might have belonged to a rebel many years ago. he pictures a life where his only concerns would be hunting to put food on the table and keeping you safe. he dreams of how your lips would be the only ones to love on his skin, how his mind would probably be quiet if the gentle, serene sound of a river nearby joined him in his everyday, where the two of you could bathe. 

finnick has to force himself to stay grounded. he tries to be realistic and think about the harsh reality of what would happen if the capitol ever found you. he knows they would tear you apart, separating you from him, leaving him to endure months of not knowing if you’re safe, if they’re hurting you, or even if you’re still alive. he would move through each day like a lifeless shell, carrying the weight of your absence. but he can't bring himself to think about the worst scenario. tears well up in his eyes at the mere thought of them torturing you to hurt him. he accidentally spirals into panic at the idea of them cutting out your tongue, and turning you into his personal avox. a torture designed to make the strongest one crumble. that’s the only thing that keeps him from running away with you.

so, you spend the entire month before the games taking care of him. you hold him close while you lie together on the couch, whispering soothing words in his ear meant only for him. as his shaking figure clings to you with his life, your arms get tighter around him. your heart aches for him, wishing you could ease his pain, though you know it’s beyond your power. you discover that gently rubbing his back while sharing stories from your life helps him relax. his weary eyes brighten and he chuckles softly as he hears you describing how you got denied entrance to the career training academy after accidentally falling on top of one of the men in charge at the auditions. you never voice a single complaint about the weeks leading up to the games, when he needs to sleep draped over you for comfort. your fingers caress his sun-kissed cheek as the room fills with his soft  snores, ignoring the numbness in your arm pinned beneath his body.

on the day of the reaping, you wait for him at the train station, staying out of sight of the cameras that are trying to capture the tributes fearful or, on the other end of the spectrum, arrogant expressions. when he arrives, he greets you with a hug before you can finish registering in your mind that it’s him. “honey,” his shaky voice captures your ears. even though he is taller than you, he leans down to be completely enveloped by your arms like a cocoon. finnick immediately begins to ramble about his concerns for the tributes, worried that one of them might actually have a chance to win. he buries his face in your neck, seeking for your sweet scent to calm him down. when the train speaker announces that departure is imminent, he holds you tighter. out of habit, you cup his face in your hands and rest your forehead against his as you always do in private. “i’ve got you, honey. just come back to me,” you whisper softly, wishing you could go with him. “i love you so much,” he breathes out in reply, his hands tightening around you as if reluctant to let go. “don’t take any risks while i’m gone,” he rambles, anxious about what could happen in his absence.you let him give you his instructions, even though most of them are obvious, knowing he won’t be at ease until he’s said them all. finally, he pulls away, giving you a soft but desperate kiss before boarding the train. your only wish is for him to come back to your arms.

[zqmbiescorpse]

GLADIATOR, PART 3

johanna mason x female reader

a/n: i feel like they part is really wordy lololololol, also everytime i try to proof read i get very bored, so i will do it eventually (probably)

summary: after winning the 72nd hunger games, quite a name had been made for you in the capitol - quickly becoming a favourite across panem. because of this, naturally, you find yourself thrown back into the horror of the games due to the 3rd quarter quell, representing district 5 one last time. though, not all is lost, fellow tribute and close friend, johanna mason of district 7, finds herself in the same position.

tags: graphic depictions of violence (sometimes), johanna mason, katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, finnick odair, johanna mason x female reader, catching fire, mockingjay part 1, mockingjay part 2, 72nd hunger games, 75th hunger games, gore, eye gore, detailed descriptions of eyeball squishing, disabled reader, female reader, reader is missing an eye, reader is missing limbs, missing fingers, traumatic events, blood, choking, johanna mason needs a hug, rebellion, slow burn, mutual pining, scared of feelings, fluff, angst, making out, kissing, confessions, peeta has his prosthetic leg, maybe smut idk, tension, awkwardness, wlw, i love johanna so much

warnings for this part: making out, kissing, some angst

word count: 3.5k

(part 4) (masterlist)

The tribute parade was definitely something. Experiencing it for the first time, three years ago, it hadn't seemed so bad at the time - possibly due to the overwhelming anxiety and fear that kept you from processing any other emotion. However, going through it again made you realise how ridiculous the whole thing was. You hated everything about it. Sure that it was a humiliation tactic provided by the Capitol for entertainment, you had observed each of the various tribute outfits and were unable to detect anything that looked decent. Aside from the dazzling black material, which caught aflame, worn by Katniss and Peeta, everybody looked as stupid as they felt. How were your stylists allowed to do that to you?

In all honesty, it was a major struggle to keep a straight face, at that point you were just completely over it and couldn't take it seriously, eventually accepting the fact that you were dressed disgustingly. During the parade you found yourself distracted, fortunately, concerned with one thing. Johanna. Especially after the previous night, she remained prominent in your mind throughout the entire day and you were quite desperate to see her again.

You'd caught a few glimpses of her, each time you did you fought with yourself to stifle a laugh, although, to her credit, she managed to pull off the outfit in an odd way. Maybe it was because you found her extremely attractive, but even dressed as a tree, Johanna looked exceptional.

You were waiting in the lobby of the apartments with your stylist, mentor, and the male victor of your district, Gus. He was about 20 years older than you, the greys scattered in his hair growing more obvious with each day. The two of you weren't close and you hadn't discussed alliances with one another, assuming that in the arena you would be going your separate ways, which you were fine with, you didn't mind Gus at all, he was a nice guy.

"Ah! You both did so well today! Y/N, Gus, you looked amazing!" Your stylist, whose name you hadn't bothered to retain, announced delightedly, clearly very pleased with her work. She clasped her hands together and smiled widely before suggesting all of you return to the District 5 apartments for a meal, to celebrate.

Politely, you declined. You feigned exhaustion, excusing yourself and going on ahead with the intention of hiding away by yourself for a few hours. You said you were tired because of the hard work you'd done today, playing it up massively, yet, your mentor bought it and let you go.

You approached an elevator at the far end of the corridor, failing to see the victors from District 12 and their mentor enter it. About to step in, you finally noticed that you wouldn't be alone, becoming hesitant at the presence of Katniss and Peeta. Haymitch caught your eye with a look of reassurance, he was encouraging you to join them.

"Y/N Armstrong, District 5." While the idea of leaving them be and getting on the next elevator sounded a lot more appealing to you, Haymitch didn't give you the opportunity to decide for yourself, loudly declaring your arrival before you had the chance to back away.

"There's my favourite warrior," he joked as you nervously made your way, standing by his side to create some distance between yourself and the other victors.

"Hello, Haymitch," you spoke with an easily detectable awkwardness, causing your cheeks to heat up slightly at how strange you thought you'd sounded.

Similarly to most winners of the Hunger Games, you'd been given a nickname relevant to your triumph, branded by the Capitol for all of eternity. To them, you were known as the warrior, or, more commonly, the gladiator. Someone who was a ferocious fighter and absolutely brutal during a battle of life and death. Unfortunately, it was an accurate description considering the circumstances of your victory, but you found it funny how gladiators were usually slaves, trained and forced to fight, and weren't predicted to live long lives. The latter half you found you related to more.

Normally, hearing people call you that made you uneasy, cringing each time you were addressed as such, yet, when Haymitch called you that you knew it was him poking fun at the Capitol - mocking them, not you so you didn't mind it at all. Besides, you were close enough that you found some humour in his methods too.

Not much more was said, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and it didn't help that you could feel both Katniss' and Peeta's eyes constantly on you, both of them staring at your injuries.

"I'm not a fan of prosthetics," you blurted, brushing off any insecurity you had, faking confidence while you smiled at them. You sensed the comment had broken some of the suspense, since the elephant in the room had been acknowledged. Sometimes you walked around without even an eyepatch covering your socket, shortly after the tribute parade you removed the one given to you, discarding it. Consequently, you were feeling quite exposed standing there with people, who were pretty much strangers, the old wound on display for them to see.

"If I didn't need it to walk, I wouldn't either," Peeta spoke up, a welcoming warmth to his voice. You appreciated his response, the both of you were able to relate to each other, him wearing a prosthetic leg due to an infection that made him need to amputate. At least you could say that you and Peeta were somewhat friendly. You knew that Haymitch was probably pleased, happy that you were taking the plan of rebellion seriously by attempting to connect with the District 12 tributes.

"Why don't you wear them? If anything, you're just putting yourself at a huge disadvantage." That was the first time Katniss had ever said a word to you, her tone harsh, communicating suspicion and uncertainty perfectly. For some reason, you were getting the feeling that she wasn't very fond of you. Then again, untrusting and closed off was a large part of who Katniss was, understandably, so you didn't take it to heart.

"I like how it makes them uncomfortable." You were totally honest, having your injuries on show often satisfied you in a weird way, refusing to let the Capitol disguise what they did to you.

You could tell Katniss was a fan of your response, something in her face changing, it relaxed a little as suspicion morphed into respect. Imprinting a positive impression, the air felt a lot clearer than before and you felt you could breathe better, any anxieties about the situation disappearing.

Little conversation continued but you still felt that you'd managed to make a good amount of progress today regarding alliances. Then, the elevator doors slid open, allowing Johanna to saunter through them, that frustratedly amused expression, which she commonly wore, present. She briefly acknowledged you, enough to make the blood start rushing. You could tell that she was up to something, intrigued and glad to see her, you watched on intently.

"My stylist is such an idiot. District 7, lumber…trees. Ugh, I'd love to put my axe in her face." She rambled on, anger seeping through her words while she let her crimson hair flow free and removed any extravagant jewellery inconveniencing her.

The image of Johanna axing someone in the face. No matter how hard you tried to not be attracted to the idea of her doing that, you couldn't stop thinking about it. You too hated your stylist for what she made you wear, consequently seeing no issue with what the fired-up redhead was saying. God, just the thought of it made you feel…something.

Seemingly lost, drifting away in the daydream, you'd missed the part where Johanna got undressed and was now completely naked in front of the four of you, flashing everyone standing in the elevator. You'd heard that earlier on in the day, Finnick had approached Katniss in the same playful manner, more subtly since he didn't strip off. It was a way of lightly intimidating her, observing how she would react in an uncomfortable situation; having some fun at her expense yet seeing whether the person they were risking their lives to protect was worth it.

Haymitch and Peeta were clearly enjoying themselves, shamelessly taking in everything Johanna had to offer. On the other hand, you struggled to not stare at her stunning body, her bare chest perfectly in line with your sight if you were to look ahead like a normal person. Your eyes fixated on every spot around your area that wasn't the person in front of you, you were a flustered mess, blushing all over, now feeling rather warm.

Although what she was doing was not aimed towards you, Johanna took notice of every reaction you were having, relishing in how nervous she made you feel, every smidge of red splattered on your cheeks was because of her, and she was proud.

You could almost smell the disgust radiating from Katniss, unimpressed by Johanna's stunt, she tried seeking support from you as together you'd discovered a newfound respect for one another. She expected you to be equally repulsed, only to find that you were trying so desperately to not pass out because of Johanna. Katniss bit her tongue, rolled her eyes and came to the conclusion that you were into Johanna, though, at least you were being more respectful about it. Haymitch and Peeta gawked while you had the decency to look away, even if it was because you felt awfully tense and awkward due to the attraction and feelings you had for her.

With the rise of a perfect brow, the fierce woman gave one last glance at everyone, winking at Haymitch, the pair exchanging knowing looks. Sensing her departure, you quietly let out a sigh of relief, having been holding your breath, allowing your heart rate to regulate. Regaining confidence, your vision altered itself from a top corner of the elevator to what you expected to be an empty space ahead of you. To your surprise, Johanna remained unmoving, her dangerously mischievous eyes already on yours.

You had no chance to inquire, her hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, her grip firm, practically dragging you away with her - a delighted cheek plastered to her face.

"Thanks! Let's do it again sometime!" marvelled the domineering woman, her voice getting lost to Peeta and Katniss while she made her way into the hallway, a very confused, uneasy you trailing behind, sort of against your will?

"I was supposed to get off ages ago, this isn't my floor," the sudden realisation hitting you, displaying stupidity since this was unmistakably not your floor.

"No, it's my floor, and you got off at the right time, with me. We're going to my apartment," Johanna informed you, leaving no room for protest.

At that moment, she spun around to face you after leading on in front, finally releasing the hold she had on your reddening wrist. However, she made sure to run her thumb gently over the mark, sparking jolts of an electric sensation down your left arm, then she dropped your hand.

"Why?" Your voice was laced with bewilderment. There was an additional something you were meaning to vocalise, but any recollection of what it was disappeared once you were faced with the naked woman again.

"Johanna, I can't believe you're wandering around without any clothes, shouldn't you, yknow, put something on?" Fumbling your words here and there, a cloud of scarlet dust crept its way back up your neck.

"Well why do you think we're heading back to my room?" She mocked, inching closer to you, whispering, “What is it, baby? Do you not like my body?”

You froze, slightly wide-eyed, a feeling of dread at the lack of ability to think of something to say. Johanna just laughed.

“Okay…whatever, let’s hurry up then. I mean, what if someone sees you?” You finally responded, purposefully ignoring some parts of what she’d said, apparently more embarrassed than she was.

“You’ve already seen my plenty,” She smirked, her pointer finger jabbing into your shoulder, “So has Katniss, so has Haymitch, so has Peeta. It doesn’t bother me, I’ve been seen in worse states anyway, crying, shaking, covered in the blood of others, right? And the whole of Panem saw that.” The seductive expression never left her face while she was talking, a huge contrast to the words coming out of her mouth, the sinister undertones lacing them.

Johanna witnessed a change in you. She was enjoying the teasing and seeing you tense up every time she took a step closer to you, until getting any closer wouldn't leave room to breathe. Although it was doubtful that she would ever confess it, she disliked seeing you sad, and you were looking pretty dejected after she reminded you of the world you were living in, having been immersed in whatever was occurring between you both.

Eventually, you had gotten back to her apartment and Johanna wasted no time getting dressed into a more casual attire, disappearing into her closet. Her room appeared identical to yours: same rectangular shape, same double bed with the same luxuriously styled sheets, same window, and even the same bedside table.

"Is everything alright, Johanna?" You asked, growing ever more curious as to why she brought you all the way here.

"Mhm, yeah, why'd you ask?" She called back, still out of sight.

"Because…is there a reason why you wanted me here?" You could only imagine how timid you sounded, glad that she couldn't see you fidgeting about.

"Was you expecting something? I bet you thought you were gonna get lucky," Johanna almost howled, reappearing suddenly.

"What? No��� we're friends… I don't know, maybe I thought you needed something…" Your voice trailed off, each word getting harder and harder to hear, almost a fearful whisper as you awkwardly laughed your way through your speech.

The unique effect Johanna caused whenever she was around you was extraordinary - a tense thrill that you could never want to dispose of. It was humiliating how you seemed to melt into a goopy, uncoordinated puddle on the floor each time she gave you the time of day. Considering the less-than-ideal world you lived in, not many things brought joy to your life, hence your strong attachment to the short-tempered tribute from District 7, thus, it would be a total lie to pretend that you weren't expecting anything to happen.

Seeing her on the opposite side of the space, you were caught in her cheery gaze, provoking a smile to form on your lips. This seemed to satisfy her ever-growing playful mood.

"Well maybe I do need something, baby…" Johanna suggested, a nonchalant grin gracing her alluring features.

It was aggravatingly slow. She wasn't even that far from you. Yet, Johanna took her sweet, sweet time moseying over, each step she took closing the gap keeping you apart.

"Whatever it is, I can try my best to help. I'm always here for you and stuff…" You claimed, the nerves rapidly ramping up. Fully aware that advice and a conversation weren't what the enticing woman before you desired.

An approving hum tickled your ears, Johanna was now so near to you that you could feel her warm breath on your lips, mere centimetres apart from hers. You were desperate to close the gap but couldn't bring yourself to do it, something was stopping you from finally putting an end to all the agonising tension. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn't possibly fathom the idea of someone as beautiful as Johanna expressing a romantic interest in you. Maybe her bringing you back to her room, backing you into a corner, was just another teasing gesture that in a few moments would be over and everything would die down the moment things started to feel serious between you and her.

"What is it, pretty girl? What are you thinking?" Johanna almost whispered against your lips, a whole new wave of red coating your cheeks.

Lacking a response, the beautiful woman took it upon herself to cup your face in her soft hand, feeling the heat radiating off your skin, while she gently tilted your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. You observed an odd mix of emotions, her eyes suggesting seduction, lust, desperation, longing, yet, there was also uncertainty and fear.

"Johanna…please…"

As much as she was giving in to your pleas, Johanna was giving into herself, she'd been craving your affections and couldn't hold herself back any longer, though there was an isolated nervousness to her that was hidden excellently, you didn't notice a thing, too excited and wide-eyed her lips meeting yours.

It was barely a brush, a soft press, sudden feelings of hesitancy present again and the kiss did not last long. You felt quite satisfied, having managed to feel her lips against yours, even though it was short - yearning for more. Sparks ignited your entire bodies because of the tender moment, spurring Johanna on.

Her mouth soon connected back to yours, crashing into it hungrily, her tongue swiping across your lips, which you parted, accidentally whimpering into her mouth. This kiss continued to deepen, becoming bruising, you couldn't help but feel like she was being a little rough, not that you minded, triggering a similar amount of passion from you.

The past three years have brought a strange relationship into your life through the likes of Johanna, it had been very gradual, for starters, not seeing her as much as you had wanted caused your friendship to build at an excruciatingly slow pace, the romantic feelings that came later were danced around for far too long - tensions constantly high, the desire for one another ever-growing

Her hands roamed your body, fingers trailing around your hips, she grasped at your clothes and guided you backward pushing you flush up against the wall in her apartment. Clearly the more dominant out of the two of you, Johanna seemed to be in control, leading the kisses and the occasional touches over each other's aroused bodies.

Breaths were few and far between, more concerned with keeping the movement of your lips entwined; like your mouths were glued together, impossible to part, the simplicity of inhaling and exhaling became their least significant thing. But you did part, eventually, not wanting to lose the closeness, your hands remained tangled in her dark hair and Johanna left a series of pecks around your lips, regaining air every other second.

The erratic atmosphere came to a halt, presenting an opportunity to calm down. Faint pants could be heard, but that was all. A grin stretched across your face, wide and hopeful, never breaking eye contact with a content Johanna. She wasn't smug, amused, or teasing, appearing genuinely pleased. It was a moment you could bask in for hours, a golden glow basking you both, in her arms, playing with her luscious locks, reshaping the spikes that added so much to her personality without fail.

And then, she pulled away.

Immediately, you could sense something was wrong. The previously loved-filled eyes looking down at you in a memorised trance turned sinister, the happiness washing away and being swiftly replaced by…regret?

You could feel a shake against your waist, her smooth palms let go and she retreated back into herself. A distance had been put between you, physically and emotionally.

"Johanna, what is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?" Whereas the words would usually come tumbling out of your mouth due to nervousness caused by a silly, awkward crush, here, you were stumbling and stammering because you could see the cogs turning in Johanna's mind - caught up in her own dreadful thoughts, a painful expression flashing her features.

She didn't respond. Growing worried by the second, you tried to move nearer, consequently, Johanna became infuriated, the intense anger she would aim towards everyone in the Capitol, a side of her you hadn't witnessed directly.

"You need to leave, go, I don't want you here!" She yelled, repeating it until her throat went sore and her eyes started to water from frustration.

Initially, you stood there, perfectly still. To understand would take a while. It was obvious how scared she was and that frightened you, you struggled to comprehend the abrupt change occurring so drastically, your world crashing down around you. The sweet bliss and sheer joy you had felt were rare, the last time you had felt so happy was hard to recall, however, your naive heart was being crushed by the one who had made it beat so freely.

Your stomach turned, nausea corrupting your senses, the shouts for you to leave never ending, and getting through to Johanna was impossible. Tears flowing, streaming down your cheeks, you made haste, slamming the door as you left - consumed by sorrow and bewilderment.

That night, you didn't get much sleep.

[mscresta]

finnick odair and reader when she encounters something that reminds her of her capture in the capitol (like a rat or a needle or something)

Finnick x hijacked reader.

Cw: PTSD,panic attack, loss of breath, hallucinations, flashbacks, hitting, screaming, nightmares, doctors, hospital ptsd, fear of doctors, anxiety, depression.

Summary: reader has a ptsd episode.

The night was still, the only sounds the soft breaths of the two bodies tangled together beneath the blankets. You had been drifting off to sleep in Finnick’s arms, his warmth a comfort, his heartbeat a steady rhythm you had learned to rely on. For a moment, the world felt safe, wrapped in the cocoon of his presence, the nightmares far behind you.

But then, everything shifted.

You didn’t know when it started, when the dream twisted into something darker, something that made your chest tighten and your breath catch in a way that wasn’t quite real. Your body jerked, a sharp inhale catching in your throat, and suddenly, you were back there—there, in the place you never wanted to be.

Your heart was racing, each beat like a drum, too, too loud. Your limbs felt too heavy, the air too thick. Your chest constricted, and the familiar feeling of panic spread, suffocating you. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. All you could feel was the terror, the overwhelming sense that you were trapped.

You gasped, struggling for air, and in the dark, you heard Finnick’s voice, soft but clear, pulling you from the nightmare just enough to recognize him.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he whispered.

But it didn’t feel like you were okay. The panic clawed at you, rising faster than you could keep up with. You couldn’t see anything clearly; everything was a blur of shadows and memories, all mixing together in a blur of fear. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know who was holding you. The fear in your chest made it impossible to focus.

“Finnick!” you gasped, but it wasn’t your voice. It was thin, distorted, filled with terror, like you weren’t even in control of it.

Your body jerked away from him, your arms flailing out instinctively, trying to push him away, to escape, but you couldn’t. You were stuck in it, trapped inside the panic, your mind unable to separate reality from the nightmare. The air felt suffocating, and every movement sent a jolt of fear through you. You didn’t want to be touched. You didn’t want to be held.

“Stay away!” you shouted, your voice breaking as you struggled to pull yourself free.

Finnick’s hands were on you, gentle but firm, his grip trying to steady you, but it only made you feel more cornered, more panicked. You didn’t recognize him in that moment. His touch felt like it was part of the nightmare, and your body reacted on instinct, fighting to break free.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Finnick said, but his words only seemed to echo in the fog of your panic. You couldn’t make sense of them, not in the midst of your fear. You needed to escape.

“No! Let go!” you screamed, your hands swinging wildly as you tried to push him away, but you only hit him weakly, your body trembling with every failed attempt.

But Finnick wasn’t letting go. You could feel his strength holding you down, his arms pinning you in place, and it sent a new wave of panic through you. “Finnick, please! Get off me!” The words didn’t feel like yours, like they came from someone trapped deep inside.

He was holding you, but not to hurt you. Finnick knew better than anyone how your episodes could spiral, how your panic could turn violent. You’d hurt yourself before, hitting your head or clawing at your skin without meaning to, completely unaware of the harm you were causing. Finnick knew that in moments like this, he had to hold you down, just long enough to stop you from making things worse.

He wasn’t trying to restrain you. He wasn’t trying to control you. He was trying to keep you safe.

“Listen to me,” he said again, his voice softer, more insistent. His hands were still on your wrists, but it wasn’t a grip that hurt. He was careful, trying to keep you still, trying to keep you from hurting yourself. “You’re okay, I promise. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

You thrashed again, but this time, the fight was beginning to drain from you. The panic wasn’t as sharp anymore, not as violent. You could feel his hands on you, steadying you, holding you close. But your body still trembled uncontrollably, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. Your fists clenched, but you weren’t swinging anymore. You weren’t fighting him.

“Please,” you whispered, still lost in the nightmare, but the sound of his voice, steady and familiar, was starting to break through. “I can’t… I can’t breathe…”

“I know, love,” Finnick said, his voice thick with emotion, his face inches from yours. “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

He didn’t let go. His arms stayed around you, holding you down gently, keeping you from thrashing, keeping you from hurting yourself. Slowly, the world began to return to focus, the nightmare pulling away just enough for you to realize where you were—with him, in your bed, in your apartment, in a place that should have felt safe.

“Finnick,” you whispered again, your voice shaky now, as your body started to quiet. You were still trembling, still struggling to catch your breath, but you were starting to come back. The nightmare had lost its grip, slowly, painfully, as Finnick kept his hold on you—firm, but never harsh.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead as you finally began to calm. “I won’t let go.”

And even as you breathed in, still shaking from the remnants of the panic, you knew you weren’t alone. Finnick wasn’t going anywhere, not even when the fear tried to pull you back into the dark. He would stay, he would keep you safe, and for once, you didn’t have to face it alone.

[fatefought]

where: outside peeta's medical room

when: night sixty-seven

who: katniss & annie (@incaensio)

it's not often annie cresta separates from her fiancé and their little guppy nowadays. recently, she had overheard someone sweetly put that finnick odair and annie cresta never let go of each other's hands. it glosses over the intense, separation anxiety that the little family from district four has ; something annie also does in the situation. there's that worry that lingers hushed in a pit of her stomach, that all this happiness is a dream. she'll wake up on that nightmare inducing cot in a cell ; or more likely, her place in panem is one in a purgatory plane, where neither heaven nor hell will take her. but for now, that needs to be pushed down. because for at least now, she has her family - her everything, regardless.

she feels drawn to peeta mellark though. trauma bonds. it almost feels like he's a brother to her and they're a pair of ghosts. peeta's spirit seems trapped in one spot, while she is free to roam. it's heartbreaking. that's why she's outside his room, like an obnoxious, guardian angel. her man and their boy sleep soundly and safely. she can't. and in these moments of being alone, thoughts plague her the worst. so she must check on the young man from twelve, make sure he's okay ... as okay as he can be. he's sleeping - sedated maybe ? annie isn't sure, but nobody seems to be forcing her to leave. so she doesn't. and for hour of night alone, she doesn't expect to see katniss everdeen here too. " i'm sorry i didn't come to visit after everything. " she should have tracked peeta's wife down, given her a warning. she could have told katniss about the state of her husband. she was his neighbor ; annie knew it more soundly than most.

[wcrriorhearts]

annie notices she is crying. from happiness, relief or the trauma she has gone through, she cannot tell. either way, the moment his arms are around her small form, the stress and anxiety of the last weeks melts off her and she collapses into his embrace. she holds on to finn for dear life, as if easing her grips means losing him again, but she has never been more relieved to see him alive. watching him go into the games has almost been worse than being help captive at the capitol and she buries her face against his shoulder, sobbing softly. this world has done so much damage to the two of them and annie knows that if she didn't have finnick, she would not be able to bear any of it.

her body trembles violently in his arms, something he is used to from all the moments she awoke with panic attacks at night, though this time it is a combination of many things. trauma, cold, exhaustion - everything comes crashing down on her at once, now that she is safe with him. everything she kept bottled up while at the capitol spills over now and she cannot stop crying. what a scene she is making in the middle of the hospital wing, while johanna looks on, probably in second hand embarrassment. annie is not as tough as her, no matter how hard she tries. no word leaves her lips, she just clings to him, reeling, hoping that this was the last time they were ever separated.

the girl on fire is his only lifeline in these moments, and he is hers. they hadn’t liked each other at first, even after the arena — when the threat of murdering each other was erased, not like he was really ever going to — she hated him. finnick couldn’t save peeta, couldn’t save mags, johanna, couldn’t save annie. he pulls his knot loose, and the door opens. finally, haymitch has come with the news: they’re back. katniss is ready to run off to the hospital, but finnick’s mind shuts down, his hands still, and he doesn’t move. what condition will annie be in? will she hate him for not coming back for her, for breaking their promise? a soft hand grabs him, ensuring he can still hold onto his small piece of rope and gently leads him down the never-ending halls, through special defence, into the lift and then the hospital. the place is in an uproar, but the moment she’s calling for him, finnick’s mind surfaces from the murky ocean depths.

there she is, his annie, and within a moment — they can’t possibly waste another — they’re crashing into each other. his arms wrapped around her, and they practically crashed into the wall, collapsing into each other. ❛❛ annie ❜❜ he whispers, desperate because god, his mind has forced him through this scenario hundreds of times, but it always ends with her vanishing; not now, she’s really here. annie cresta is back in his arms, and it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

[archersandsunsets]

also I would take a MJ reunion in the hospital scene fix it (bonus points if it’s from someone else’s POV: Finnick, Gale, even Annie, Haymitch)

“Finnick!” Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman—dark tangled hair, sea green eyes—runs toward them in nothing but a sheet. “Finnick!” And suddenly, it’s as if there’s no one in the world but the two of them, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.

A pang of jealousy hits Katniss. Not for either Finnick or Annie but for their certainty. No one seeing them could doubt their love.

Boggs, looking a little worse for wear but uninjured, finds Haymitch and her. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway. Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.”

Peeta, Katniss thinks.

Alive and well—maybe not well but alive and here. Away from Snow. Safe. Here. With her. In a minute she can touch him. See his smile. Hear his laugh.

Haymitch’s grinning at her. “Come on, then,” he says.

She’s light-headed with giddiness. What will she say? Oh, who cares what she says? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what she does. He’ll probably be kissing her, anyway. She wonders if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones she hadn’t dared let herself consider until this moment.

Peeta is awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. Katniss is slightly disappointed that hers was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now.

………

The haze and energy of their reunion still buzzes within Finnick, even as the doctors pry them apart, saying they have to run tests on Annie. Her tears of happiness quickly morph into fear as she clings to Finnick’s hand once they’ve coaxed her back onto a gurney.

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” he tells her, kissing her knuckles.

“Right here,” she mumbles in response amid a whimper, but her grip only tightens.

The doctors allow Finnick to walk with her down the hall, but they don’t let him into the examination room. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t argue, knowing the amount of trouble this has caused; he only asks that they find him in the Med Bay when she is done with her tests, before they put her in a room. He isn’t sure any of them is listening until a kindly nurse puts her hand on his shoulder as they wheel Annie away. Finnick makes eye contact with her, registers the knowing look in her eyes.

She’ll find him, he decides. Then he turns back toward the Med Bay. It’s all he can do not to let the anxiety of separation tear him apart, even as he reminds himself it’s temporary, so he wanders back, fishing his rope out of the pocket of his jumpsuit.

He doesn’t tie a knot. That will come later, when he and Annie are together again. Allowed to heal, allowed to live, allowed to love. Finally.

The chaos of the Med Bay surges around him, a blur of frenzied activity. Finnick lost track of the gurney where Johanna had laid the moment he spotted Annie, and he wouldn’t know who to ask now. Maybe it’s best he wait, anyway. Everything is so crazy right now, no one would know what to tell him.

It’s too much. Finnick makes his way down a hallway, and he stops at the sight he finds at the end of it.

The door to the room is closed, but he can see through the window inside.

It’s the same kind of embrace Finnick remembers from the arena, when Peeta’s heart stopped and he nearly died, and then… Well, then he saved the kid’s life, and Katniss nearly shot him for it before she understood. And Katniss, so scared and crying, clung to Peeta when he woke up as though he would slip right through her fingers if she let go.

They cling to each other that way now. The way Finnick assumes he and Annie looked, but there is something different here. Something softer, more tender. Like the waves lapping against the sand, instead of the violent crash against rocks.

Peeta comforts her the same way now, stroking her hair and whispering, but he’s crying, too. And when they pull away, Katniss’s hand reaches for his face. For the purple bruise that Finnick can make out without being in the room. She probes it gently, barely touching the skin. Then she leans in and kisses the spot.

She says something then, but Finnick can’t hear it. He doesn’t have to.

Peeta’s expression says it all.

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero.

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Life after the Hunger Games was a lesson in adaptation. Prologue. 

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Haymitch Abernathy, Chaff Mitchelle Pairings: Finnick x reader Spoiler(s): None Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: No Next Time - Chasing Madison

Hey guys! So this is a prologue for the series I’m writing, the Not Your Hero series, just setting up the world, giving some context and introducing some important characters. I’m going to try to add a new moodboard with every chapter, some of which will have hidden clues as to plot points (like this one does). I’ll also include links to any songs, poems, pics etc. that may have inspired that particular chapter. Let me know what you think!

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You had good days and bad days. Well, no, not quite. You had middle days, bad days and worse days. On the bad days, you could barely get out of bed, food turned to ashes in your mouth (if you could stomach it at all) and you couldn’t keep from crying, just sobbing your eyes out for hours on end until someone came and sat with you. Usually it was one of your parents, sometimes it was James or Ivette. 

On worse days you felt like a coiled spring; panicked, alert, ready for danger at any moment. The slightest sound or smell could set you off and, when it did, weeks and weeks and weeks of work would vanish into the terror of the arena. On worse days you could forget about going outside. It was all you could do to not go crazy in the confines of your own home, let alone brave the world that waited beyond your front door. When you were like that, the outside world became a labyrinth of hidden triggers, just waiting to activate your fight or flight response and send you back into the dark, shadowy recesses of your own trauma. Ivette said it would get better. She said it would just take some time, that’s all. You weren’t sure you believed her.

Middle days weren’t so bad. On middle days, like today, you didn’t feel much of anything really. You dragged yourself out of nightmares, into waking and just felt...tired. On middle days, your continued survival was exhausting, but you could manage it so long as you followed a few simple rules. You had to get out of bed as soon as you woke up no matter how early it was; take a shower without flinching when the water hit; avoid looking in the mirror. You had to get dressed quickly, minimize the amount of time you had to be naked; never ever wear beige; brush your hair without catching sight of yourself; list three beautiful things you had seen since the last middle day. If you followed all these rules then, usually, by the time you made it downstairs for breakfast, the layer of glass that separated you from the world would have been beginning to crack, and you’d be feeling almost human again.

Today, you had managed to follow the rules and so were feeling almost happy as you took a seat at the kitchen island, watching your mother cook. Her dark hair was glossy and neat, falling down her back in a long, straight wave. She must have blow dried it, you thought, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that you could provide for her and your father now, just as they’d always done for you.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, as always slightly shocked by the sound of your own voice, “you’re up early.”

Your mother turned and smiled, the scar running along the left side of her face just barely visible in the early morning light. She looked relieved to see you, just like she always did these days, as though she was worried you might have vanished some time in the night, never to be seen again.

“Yes, well,” she started, walking over, “you know I never was one for sleeping in. That’s why I always tried to get morning shifts at the plant” She raised her hand, as though to touch you, but paused, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

You gave her a sad, knowing smile, but nodded, letting her brush the hair out of your face and press a kiss to the top of your head, tensing your muscles to keep from flinching.

“But you don’t work at the plant anymore,” you reminded her gently, trying to regain some of your earlier happiness, “you don’t have to. I can take care of us now.”

“I know that, love,” she said softly, “old habits I guess. Maybe my body just isn’t used to...the way things are now.”

Your stomach dropped. There it was. ‘The way things are now’, that little innocuous phrase that had come to represent so much in your house. She meant the games, of course, your time in the arena. She meant that things had been different ever since that awful day, when your name had been read off a little slip of white paper and the silence of the crowd had doomed you to die.

Only you hadn’t died, you reminded yourself, you hadn’t died, you’d won. You’d come home, you were alive. You weren’t dead, you were alive.

You took a deep breath in, tried to clear your mind and nodded and searched the room with your eyes, desperate to change the subject, “What’re you making?”

“Porridge, the nice kind with fresh berries and honey.” your mom answered, following your lead, “Do you want some?”

“Yes please,” you replied with a semi-forced smile, “I’m starving.”

Your mom placed a steaming bowl in front of you and, without giving yourself time to hesitate, you dug in, savoring the sweet, heartiness of good food and letting it wash away the tickle of anxiety that had started making its way down your spine.

“That’s four days in a row now, Y/N/N,” your father said happily, appearing in the kitchen and walking over to give your mother a kiss, “good job.”

“Thanks paps,” you greeted, swallowing quickly, “been trying my best.”

“We see the hard work you’re doing, love, and we’re proud of you,” he smiled, “real proud.” he paused, taking a bite of his oatmeal, “Big day today, huh?”

You swallowed again but tried to smile as you nodded.

“What’re we proud of?” a third voice called, right as you opened your mouth to speak.

Your older sister, Alayah, appeared at the foot of the stairs, still wearing her pajamas and pointedly avoiding your gaze. At the sight of her, your chest pinched again, and you quickly clenched and unclenched your fists.

“Of all the work Y/N has been doing recently,” your dad explained, glossing over the palpable tension, “just letting her know that we’re all rooting for her, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she said in monotone, “yeah, congrats on eating breakfast I guess, Y/N/N.” she finished, sitting down three seats away from you, all the while still not looking you in the eye.

You sighed and swallowed another bite of oatmeal, feeling the anxiety start to work its way back in.

“Alayah-” your mother started, as your stomach started to twist with dread.

“What? What did I do now?” Alayah argued.

“You know things have been tough for Y/N since-”

“Stop,” you interrupted warningly, “stop it.”

“Since what, mom? Say it! We’ve all been tip toeing around this place like mice for months, just say what you want to say and let’s be done with it.” Alayah argued, her voice rising just enough to betray the depth of her anger.

“Alayah Y/L/N don’t you dare take that ungrateful tone, after everything Y/N has put herself through for this family the very least you could do is-”

“Stop,” You repeated as the warning signs of a panic attack began to spike in your head. 

“Y/N, I’m just saying, since the games your sister has been nothing but-”

“Stop it!” You demanded, pushing your chair back and standing suddenly.

The chair legs grated against the tile floors, making your skin crawl and effectively silencing everyone in the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you fought back the urge to lash out against an enemy you knew wasn’t really there and you clenched your fists, digging your fingernails into your palms, hard.

“Stop. Talking about it.” you managed to say, “Stop. It’s done.”

“Not really,” Alayah answered, even if her tone was slightly more scared than before, “they’ll all be here again later today to kick off the Victory tour, all the cameras and the capitol people...it’s not done yet.”

The Victory Tour. You’d been trying so hard not to think about it but, as usual, Alayah would never let you escape the reality of what you’d done. Things had been tense with her for months now, maybe it was time to accept that it would never be the way it was. 

You snorted as irritation sparked in your chest, “Thanks for the reminder, Ally,” you spat, trying to choke down your panic, “that’s real helpful.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed out, desperate to fill your rapidly tightening lungs with cool, fresh air. As the wind hit you, you gasped, but pressed on, breaking into a run. The snow slowed you down and made you clumsy, but you didn’t stop, sure that your parents must have been trying to follow you, even though you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heart in your ears. Your eyes stung from a combination of the cold wind and the tears that were building behind your eyes and you knew you couldn’t face your family, not now.  

You weren’t sure where you were going exactly, just that you needed to be away. Away from that house and all its looming grandiosity, away from your sister and her cutting words, away from the sound of screaming that you knew was coming from inside your own head.

You collapsed behind a dilapidated old house, far away enough from Victor’s Village to assure you some privacy, and let the tears flow over your cheeks hot and fast. You gripped the snow surrounding you tightly as your lungs tightened and tightened and tightened in your chest, forcing you to fight for every breath. Cognitively, you knew you must be cold, you knew the snow must’ve been biting your exposed skin and soaking you to the bone, but you felt none of it.

Instead, you felt the burning sun on your face, you felt the long grass brush your cheeks as you knelt over the blonde boy and tightened your fingers around his throat.

Dried mud along with fresh blood caked both of your skin, making it difficult to grip and hold, but you didn’t let go, squeezing tighter and tighter, even as he clawed at your fingers and gouged at your face with his nails. Hot, coppery blood filled your mouth, sliding down your cheeks and mingling with your tears from three deep gashes he’d left above your right eyebrow. Everything inside you was focused on this boy, this final obstacle, this last thing standing between you and home. Home, Home. Home. You engraved that word in your mind, letting it override your horror and disgust and shame.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m sorry, I have to-I have to-I-”

Suffocating someone is painstakingly slow but, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the last glimmers of life leave the boy’s eyes. His hands went limp on your wrist and his last, gurgling breath hung in the air like clouds. Still, you didn’t let go, you couldn’t. Not until you heard that final canon and Claudius Templesmith’s booming voice calling out through the silence;

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victor of the sixty-ninth annual Hunger Games!”

You gasped and snapped back to reality, the vast grasslands fading away before your eyes, back into ice and snow. And you were alone. You were shaking, whether from cold or terror you couldn’t quite tell and your hands were going purple from gripping the snow. In the distance, you could hear people calling your name, and you fought the urge to run away and hide. You were safe, you reminded yourself. You hadn’t died. You were safe.

“I’m here,” you called out, hating the way your voice croaked, “I’m over here.”

The footsteps came closer and you stood, steeling yourself for the inevitable. Oh well, you thought, better to get it over with now.

Your stylist had nearly had a heart attack when she’d seen you, soaked to the bone with red puffy eyes and wet hair tangled by the wind. She had scolded you pretty thoroughly as your prep team worked, but softened when you apologized profusely and swore on your mother’s life to never be so reckless on a filming day again. You thought you’d laid it on a little too thick but, as usual, Arketia ate it up and, before you knew it you were practically the best of friends again.  

As the prep team bustled around, gossiping and gushing and just generally saying nothing of importance, you settled back into the routine, letting their words wash over you like a river and numb your panicked heart. Your hair was washed and combed, styled to look graceful and effortless, even though it had taken nearly an hour to do. Every unwanted hair had been plucked and waxed and stripped from your body, leaving you smooth to the touch under the outfit. Your clothes were form fitting, but warm, accentuating your curves as much as they could considering it was still the dead of winter, and your make up was done to make your face look more angular and striking. All in all, you were seductive without being salacious, a balancing act your team had perfected months earlier. With the clothes and the hair and the make up, you felt yourself sliding back into your alter ego, shifting your weight slightly to accentuate the fabric where it hugged your frame and tucking your real self away, to be brought out at a later date. You smirked at yourself in the mirror, or at least tried to, imagining how it would look to an outside observer. Oh yeah, now you were all shiny and new again, and ready for the cameras.

While the crew set themselves up downstairs, you observed yourself in the mirror some more, perfecting smiles and laughs and little movements that read as confident, strangely calm considering the state you’d been in only a few hours before. There was something comforting about being back in the spotlight, like now all your fears made sense again. With the cameras back on, and the games being brought to the forefront of everyone’s minds once more, your fight for survival didn’t seem so out of place. Everyone was in your world now and, in your world, you were the one that knew the rules. A faint knocking on the door brought you back to the present and you smiled when James Logan, your mentor stepped in.

He was a middle aged man with olive skin and a shadow of stubble across his jawline, neatened up by a capitol prep team for the cameras, you were sure. He had a stern face, and hard eyes, when he wasn’t addled by drink but, you knew, he had a kind heart and a real love for you and Ivette, the only two tribute’s he’d managed to save in nearly 26 years. He’d worked hard to bring you home, and even harder to keep you from wasting away once you were back and now, it seemed, he’d be accompanying you across Panem for your Victory Tour. 

“You ready?” he asked, his usually cloudy eyes clear and discerning.

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

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tag list: @i-love-you-green​ , @heatherhollowayst​

[odairing-a]

plotted starter for @svperposition !

FINNICK  IS  TEMPTED TO  PRETEND  HE  DOESN’T  SEE  THE  TANGIBLE NERVOUSNESS  riled  within the  stranger—  a  gamemaker  is not  prone  to  receive  much  of  the  dregs  of  sympathy  he  has  to  give.  in  fact,  he  would  love  nothing  more  than  to  watch  the  orchestrators  of  their  devastation suffer  even  a  miniscule  discomfort as  compared  to  the  wildfires of  suffering  they  have  forced down  the  throats of  endless  children.  but  something  of  how  openly robert  (  yes, he  knows  the  names  of  all  prominent capitol  citizens  even  if  he  has  not  yet  made  their  acquaintance )  spills  these  childlike  anxieties through  tensed  shoulders and  an  expression lacking  any  mask  to  contain these  unappealing  emotions, it  reminds  him  of  a  younger  version of  himself  that  had  yet  to  accustom himself  to  such  overwhelming  exposure to  crowds  and lights  and  noise.  

and  perhaps  what  ultimately  tides  him  over  is  the  lack  of another  individual  attached at  the  hip—  rose…  rosalind. that’s  her  name.  less  because of  the  defenselessness  of the  poor  thing  and  more because,  well…  he  had  every  intention  of  testing  the  waters  with  the  two  at  some  point,  and  he  is  at  less  of  a  disadvantage  when  they  are  separate  than when  they  are  together.  he  cannot  think  of  a  better  opportunity than  now.  besides,  he hates  these  parties…

he  presses  his  lips  together thoughtfully,  then  touches the  rim  of  his  glass  to  mouth, tips  his  head  back,  and  finishes  the  drink  he  very  much  needs  in  a  crass  motion  before depositing  the  empty  glass  on  tray  held  between  a  nearby  mobile waiter’s  hands.  then  he  approaches, delicately  sliding  his  clever  fingers along  the  other’s shoulder  to  gain  his  attention.

“  hello  there, robert.  ”  a  saccharine  smile  tugs  gently at  the  edges  of  his  lips,  as  if  he  doesn’t  have  an  ounce  of  hatred sizzling  through  his  bones,  and  he  beckons the  other  with  a  quick  crook  of  his  first  two  fingers. “ come  on,  how  about  we  go  somewhere  a  little  quieter, hm?  you  look  like  you’re having  a  bad time.  ”

[salavante]

Odwain! The goodest.

Wow, featuring one of the more flattering drawings I’ve done of Odwain. Like last time, I’ll post all these guys separately and then do all the headshots in a masterpost. In the meantime buckle up for...a lot. (Thank you for giving me my favorite character.) 

Full Name: Odwain Novak. In Ben Yit’gab, the Bennai language, his first name would be Oediwen, and it’s what his dad called him. His mother calls him Oddy and he does not like it.

Gender and Sexuality: Male and Bisexual

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: Odwain is a Ben-Aleth, a Human-Bennai hybrid, also called a mosshead if you’re in coarse company. His human mother Blanche Novak is mixed race. Odwain’s maternal grandfather came directly from Earth, Poland specifically, during one of the several accidental migrations of humans coming from Earth to The Road. His maternal grandmother is from a previous wave who were already settled on The Road by that time, but the family can trace her ancestry back to West Africa. Odwain’s father, Ashatov Novak, was a full-blooded Bennai, a plant-based halfling race. Ashatov took his wife’s last name.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Thinking about this trips me out man. Odwain was born in 1946, sometime in the summer, probably July or August, in Septor Secundis, a coastal, metropolitan city and the seat of The Road’s government. He’s 27 during his first adventure and right now, in Godslaughter, he is 69 (what the FUCK). He will live maybe 20 or 30 years longer than your average human, and is in better physical shape than a human would be at 69. He’s more like late 40’s or early 50’s.  

Guilty Pleasures: A lot, probably - Odwain has just a bit of hedonistic streak just because he feels miserable so much of the time that he needs to feel good somehow. He smokes cigarettes for much of his life (but eventually quits), is a casual cannabis smoker and binge eats really truly terrible junk food (and has a bit of a gut because of it, but because he’s kind of lanky otherwise, he’s just kind of gourd-shaped). He likes beer, but doesn’t drink hard liqour all that often because he gets astronomically bad hangovers. Despite having a generally weak stomach, Odwain really likes frightfully spicy food, and his kids’ obligatory dad-gifts for him are probably hot sauces. When he’s not pounding down garbage, his favorite kind of cuisine is Thai. Not a guilty pleasure per say, but he also loves all things that have to do with insects, and when he and Rusty have a house together, Odwain takes up gardening as a hobby and plants an expansive garden of flora that are attractive to bees. (A Nice Thing: Odwain plants this garden when Rusty is pregnant because he found his love of insects through his father’s garden as a child, and wanted to give his kids the same opportunity) Odwain also maintains an apiary from the time that he’s living in a warehouse in the desert, to when he’s living with a partner and beyond. When he learns how to make Hot Honey it’s over for all of us. He has a modest collection of novelty bee-themed things that he’s amassed over the years, but he is not guilty about asserting his love of bees/wasps, like, at all. He’s also a little kinky but I’m not going into that.

Phobias: All of Odwain’s fears are existential - what if I push everyone away, existing in society is anxiety inducing, what if I’m just a bad person and my existence is making everything more difficult for functional people, etc. Though he’s kind of a sad fellow and has ideated suicide, and came very, VERY close to trying to kill himself after he dropped out of college, he also fears growing old and dying. I think death is more digestible to him if it’s on his own terms, but even then, I think what coaxed him off the edge was fear. If anything ever happened to his chosen romantic partner or any of his kids, he’d be besides himself, and is kind of one severe trauma and emotional breakdown away from becoming a bee-themed supervillian.

What They Would Be Famous For: Odwain is notable at a certain point in his career for being a pioneer in AI programming, and also for designing, building and patenting an invention called the Hercules Rig, which is basically a beetle-wing inspired jetpack. You can see it here. He holds the patent very closely and only allows it to be reproduced for recreation, construction, emergency rescue operations, etc. Odwain has taken a very firm stance on not allowing the military or any paramilitary organization to get their hands on it, though it has not stopped them from making shitty knock-offs that he is constantly suing people about.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Breaking and entering. Exploding something he shouldn’t. Buying illegal hazardous materials. Doing something petty that bites him in the ass.

OC You Ship Them With: To be honest there are not a lot of other characters besides Rusty that I ship him with. Bitter college rivals, thrown back together as late twenty-somethings, becoming better people together and learning to express empathy and vulnerability…it’s good. The only other character that I really go yeah, that’s the good stuff, is Jake’s character Finnick, who is kind of Odwain’s weird BFF and fellow mad scientist type. I don’t think they’d have a super stable relationship, and I think it would most likely be a “we yelled at each other and had weird sex enough that we like each other now” kind of scenario. But I do think they would come to love each other and have each other’s back to the death. Him and Hemlock, my dirty swamp witch who’s only picture was devoured during the great tumblr purge, also make a pretty fun couple for similar reasons. Iona too, but I think they are too explosive of personalities to ever find a stable middle ground. I also think he would find certain people attractive (August, Hare, Ganzrig, Ifechi the man I have spoken of but once, Jonquil in certain scenarios) but may not put himself out there to pursue them.

Neither of us have ever posted any art of her but here’s a few headshots of Finnick I did awhile ago, because she really is my favorite romantic partner for Odwain aside from Rusty, and is the only other one that’s really relevant in our games. 

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Odwain is fairly physically fragile and to be honest I think that most people could kill him as long as they could get their hands on him - he’s very dexterous and has a lot of gadgets that let him get the upper hand, keep enemies at a distance or escape. He has a ranged fighting/add-spawn build so he is mostly out of direct harm unless he’s reeled in somehow. But uh, Odwain IS dead right now in Godslaughter, he died fighting an eldritch deity named Dreamer who sucked him into a nightmare dimension and flayed his soul out of his body. It’s ok though, as long as the party beats Dio, he’ll be fine. I didn’t cry you’re the one who’s crying.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Ok, so, first off HAHA Odwain canonically likes Transformers and collects them, which are a thing in circulation after the last human migration from earth in the 90’s. Imagine. Imagine your grown ass father with a genius level IQ and multiple patents collecting plastic robots. Him and Finnick have transformers sonas - ANYWAY, that aside, he doesn’t really read for pleasure, just information, and generally just puts on cable while he works for white noise (and in later years, whatever The Road’s TV streaming service is). Most of the media he consumes is incidental to him, but will get interested in strange things that pique his interest. He probably thinks true crime docs are neat and enjoys pulpy sci-fi stuff that he can complain about. Any documentary about bugs. He’d like Mystery Science Theatre if they had it around. He enjoys things that are the fun, good kind of “bad” and has a fairly high threshold for  disturbing imagery.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Odwain is that guy who makes 20 minute long youtube videos lampooning movies for “not making sense”. If there’s anything that breaks his suspension of disbelief, his attention and tolerance disintegrates, even if it’s just one of those things that needs to happen to move the plot along. It doesn’t really matter what genre it is, though he is most hard on sci-fi and fantasy. There is a tipping point for him, however, where he starts enjoying the thrill of blasting something and circles back around to enjoying it.

Talents and/or Powers: Odwain is only a little bitty bit magical, and only because Bennai are the most magical race on The Road. He has latent magical ability that allows him to sense magical signatures and incorporate magic into technology, and maybe cast a low level spell if he tries really hard. If he was in a high fantasy setting, he’d be an enchanter. His staff (the big lightbulb thing I draw him with sometimes), the Hercules Rig, his Wasp Suite (robotic wasps with an AI and different spells loaded into them) and any other devilish, bug-based weapons and utility objects do his work for him.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Odwain’s a bit of a tough walnut to crack because I think that he shines in moments of sincerity and vulnerability, but he has to, well, get there. He’s capable of very great, thoughtful acts of selflessness and compassion, and deeply desires meaningful relationships with other people, but he gets insecure about how he expresses himself and can clam up. He’s passionate, emotional and expressive, but has been put down for being so, and was probably a very brilliant, curious child who was beaten down into a somber adult. I actually think that, at some point in his childhood, he was not entirely unlike Whitty in the way that he was eager to share things with people and explore the world around him, which is why Odwain feels very protective of his grandson. I think the most lovable thing about him is that when he’s at his best, nothing can stop him - he’s extremely intelligent, diligent, creative and innovative. He truly, deeply loves making things, and making them better, and when he’s not in a crash, creates prolifically. What he loves, he loves deeply and without compromise, which makes Rusty, a person that could also be said of, a good match for him. I also think his cattiness makes him very witty, he’s a genuinely funny guy who can engage in some really goofy shenanigans when he’s feeling up for it.  

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Oh, lots of reasons. Odwain is an acquired taste to many, or just not to many’s taste at all. He is very petty, blunt and catty, and as a young man is extremely bitter and negative. You’d be very hard pressed to get a positive statement about anything out of him between the ages of 16-25. He’s very confrontational, can become very loud and intense if it’s something that he feels is important, and is not afraid to cut people out of his life if he feels that they aren’t good for him. Sometimes, he will end relationships/friendships prematurely because of this. Being such, he is heavily prone to self-inflicted isolation. He has no childhood friends, and only kept in touch with one person from college. He just cuts and runs. Odwain’s self-loathing runs very deep, which makes it hard for him to accept, or ask for, emotional support or affection. And that can be hard on the people around him who care about him. His executive dysfunction can also be abysmal, making it seem like perhaps he is messy or lazy, but he’s just kind of a mess himself, hah.

A weird non-psychological one but I think is enough to get someone’s hackles up is that Odwain doesn’t like animals very much unless they are insects, invertebrates, etc. He finds mammals loud, messy and needy, and that “I’m the only one in my house that is allowed to be all of those things”.

How They Change: As Odwain ages and gains a stable support network of friends, his edges soften and he learns how to ask for help more effectively. He also learns how to better choose his battles, and how to exercise the compassion that he knows he has, but has been too insecure to utilize. He manages his mental health better, but is never entirely free of it, because you never really are. Most importantly, I think, he learns how to forgive the people who deserve forgiveness, and give people second chances, accepting that people can change. Which means the same can be said for him, too.

Why You Love Them: I’ve talked about this before, somewhere, I’m sure. Odwain is one of those characters that has a very big slice of my personality, and has a lot of my more negative traits, though they are ones we’re both working on. My first session with Odwain was a scene where Odwain’s dad died after being ill for a very long time, and as it happens, it was on father’s day, on the first or second father’s day after MY dad died, after several brutal months fighting with the cancer that eventually killed him. I had to put down the dice, so to speak, and for a short time, thought that Odwain might actually be a character that I scrapped completely. He came too close to something very painful and personal. I don’t remember how, exactly, but the solution to this problem of mine was that if he’s getting close to me on his own, then I might as well just let him in on everything. I can genuinely say that doing that has changed the way that I empathize with my characters and how I make them, and that there is something I share with Odwain that I don’t have with many of my other characters. Also, I like bees.

[allisluv]

hi hi!! i was wondering if you could do finnick x reader with separation anxiety xo. also is there a 🌊 anon yet?

love your writing!! xo

thank you for your kind words nonnie!!!! and of course you can be 🌊 anon! <3

finnick is so so reassuring. he's big on communication so he is always trying to get you to talk through your worries and pick them apart to help you feel secure. if he has to go away to the capitol for a while, he draws little hearts on both of your palms and tells you to press it if you're missing him or if you feel anxious. you protest that it's stupid and childish but he tells you to just try it, and surprisingly, it does help you feel a bit better!

[monkamoo-and-more]

This!!! But from someone who’s strongly Katniss x Peeta

I’m thinking about both the books and the movies. The way I see it, yes, the triangle is confusing. I also hate Gale because of his hot-headed jealous tendencies. Possibly my belief that Katniss didn’t really love Gale comes from my dislike of his character. But in my mind, there’s little confusion about how she feels about Peeta.

Katniss has never loved before, outside of her family. Suddenly she’s thrown into a situation where she’s pretty much forced to act in love in order to stay alive, which she does for the sake of keeping Prim alive. Prim is her only motivation during the 74th Games. In this horrifying situation that she’s been thrown into with this boy who is just naturally charming and easy to talk to, she starts to get confused about— wait, get this— what’s real and not real! She does kiss him many times in the cave, but it seems to be mostly for show. Sometimes though, Katniss demonstrates real anxiety about losing him, which makes me think she started to get attached. They survive the games with the help of those dangerous Nightlock berries. Peeta wants to know which of her actions were real—since, for Katniss, her actions speak much louder than words. She didn’t know, and she explains this. It leads back to the fact that she has never loved that way before. I also wonder if being with Peeta in the arena felt separate from her reality, and seeing him back in district 12 with her and her family didn’t make sense. She couldn’t place him in district 12, out of their specific situation and feel the same way.

On to Catching Fire!!! This one is my favorite, because there’s so many ideas to play around with here! Peeta and Katniss had fallen out in the aftermath of the 74th games. They’d both been avoiding each other until the Victory Tour forced them back together. Not only do they have to act not hostile to each other, but they have to continue on like they’re in love! First, because the last everyone else in Panem saw of them, they were inseparably in love, and secondly, because Snow has just threatened Katniss’ family and “cousins”. This gives her a new motivation— Prim, her mother, and Gale— to get through the tour. Katniss and Peeta agree to try to be friends, which works out great until the Quarter Quell is announced. Here’s where things change. Both of these poor teens are traumatized from their first games and both are going back into the arena expecting to die. When you think you’re going to die, you try to grow closer to the people you love and spend time with. Not to mention, they kind of bond over nightmares and begin sleeping with each other (no, not like that, lol, actually sleeping) to fend off the horrible nightmares. Snow continually threatens her second hand by hurting people around her. She makes sacrifices to make everyone believe she’s in love with Peeta, even faking a wedding and a miscarried pregnancy. The Quarter Quell becomes about keeping Peeta alive. She expects to die for him. But as soon as she’s in the arena, Peeta nearly dies twice and his heart actually stops once. Jennifer Lawrence did a terrific job of portraying this part with her tears and screams and kisses. She’s still terrified of losing him, but hasn’t identified it as love. On the beach, she kisses him deeply and meaningfully and feels a stirring, but I don’t think she would even call it love then. They’re finally in a good place here, even in an enclosed area meant to murder them mercilessly. Things go wrong and Peeta is captured while Katniss escapes with Beetee and Finnick. (Side note: I freaking LOVE Finnick except for his sugar cube scene. Then he’s annoying)

On to Mockingjay. If none of Katniss’ behaviors up to this point proved her attachment to Peeta, her behavior here should. She spends most of her time grieving and longing for Peeta at first until an interview with Caesar proves to her that he’s okay, but something feels off. She is consumed with worry about him to the point of bothering Heavensbee and Coin about him and pissing off Gale. A big turning point for me was when Finnick told Katniss that he knew she loved Peeta that day his heart stopped. She has no clue what to say. She doesn’t know that what she feels is love. She’s still so confused about her motivation and terrified of Snow and caught up with the revolution and war. Without knowing why, Katniss keeps pushing for rescue. Finally she gets her way and the captured and tortured victors are rescued. By the time she finds out Peeta has been hijacked to kill her, she really wants to die. She can’t trust the one person she was staying alive for not even months ago. It takes strength and time during the Revolution for either of them to trust the other. The whole point of the epilogue was to show how long it took her to trust again— trust that the war was over, that Peeta was himself again, that she loved him and couldn’t live without him, and that the world was safe enough for her children. That’s when she says she loves him.

She really does love him, but it takes time for her.

Just finished Hunger Games trilogy, and:

1. WE. MUST. PROTECT. PEETA. Oh my god, my precious baby. CAN I PLS HUG YOU?!

2. THE ONLY SHIP I WILL STAN IS FINNICK AND ANNIE. THE TRUE LOVERS.

3. Low key kinda supportive of Everlark, but seriously I don't think Peeta deserves Katniss. So I'm in neither team Everlark Nor Galeniss, but so far I'm leaning towards Everlark because I don't like Gale. BUT damn I stan that moment Katniss calls Oeeta her "dandelion".

3. JOHANNA!!! Dude I wish we got more of her in Mockingjay!! She's that aggressive motivator and I love it.

4. PRIMMMMM UUUGGHHHHH T^T

5. BOGGS omfg may you Rest In Peace I love you so much

6. Honestly Mockingjay made me think about a rebellion in another perspective. For a good half of the Mockingjay Katniss wasn't even fighting - she was busy shooting propos. Of course it isn't her fault, but damn it made me see revolutions in a different way, how some people in revolutions are on the front line, battling, and others are behind the scenes, making propaganda to advocate what they want. I'm not sure how I feel about Katniss being so involved in the propo, though. On one hand, it kinda makes her role as the Mockingjay boring cause she's literally the face of the revolution, just saying encouraging words while others are fighting to death. On the other hand, I don't think she can fight so well cause THIS GIRL HAS BEEN THROUGH TOO MUCH SHIT

7. Speaking of shit can we talk about just HOW MUCH PAIN our characters went through?! Damn Suzanne really showed PTSD in different forms - Haymitch loses himself in alcohol cause it drowns out the pain of living (dude has his whole family KILLED when he lived cause he outsmarted the Capitol. My heart hurts). In Mockingjay I seriously saw Katniss as this zombie walking around and sleeping about cause she's so lost about her role, her meaning of life, swallowed by the guilt that led to this revolution she never asked for and all the deaths she involuntarily caused. She's got PTSD with all those nightmares and our Peeta and Johanna are tortured like SHIT in the Capitol, and Finnick is worried nuts about his love - oh, and let's not forget he had to sell his body at the age of 14 cause he was too sexy. OH MY GOD. Our characters have seen horrors.

8. The hunger games: fake dating but lethal.

9. Gotta admit, sometimes Peeta's declarations of love are annoying and frankly stressful. But he's too pure. I don't think he meant any harm. Ever.

10. Honestly the love triangle was really annoying for me, but it does bring my attention to the meaning of Everlark. Katniss being "in love" with Peeta IS what the Capitol wants because it would then tame the fires of revolution. But at the same time Peeta's love is so genuine, it's unnerving to have his pure love seen as a punishment for Katniss because she really didn't have feelings for him. When I think about all those kisses they shared, knowing full well that it's a show for the sake of protection, I hurt for the both of them: Peeta has to love knowing that the kisses Katniss gives are fake - unrequited love at it's finest. Meanwhile, Katniss has to fake love and give up a future of independence (and finding true love perhaps) and honestly and that's exhausting.

11. Until now, I genuinely wonder if Katniss does love Peeta. And when did she decide she will love him? In the first book she's certainly reserved about their feelings at the end. In the second things are complicated because of Gale until she goes into the arena. Then in Mockingjay, we see her and Gale a team again (it's nice to see some teamwork between them again; their friendship is strong), but I'm very suspicious of her care for Peeta. Then because of Peeta there's the beef Gale VS Peeta right again. Honestly, this love triangle is distracting.

That's all I have to say, lmao. May the odds ever be in your favour!