#why does he look more like finnick in this ..

[foxdoodles]

saw you’re drawing THG art again… i love your hunger games art sm, would love to see some solo peeta studies if youre up to it!!!

thank you so much!! this is actually my first time ever doing THG art so i'm still working out how to draw the characters haha, glad you're liking it so far!

here's a little peeta study as requested, probably the first of many more :)

speedpaint under the cut since some ppl have asked to see my process!

[evermarch]

people often use snow’s experiences with lucy gray as an explanation for how he engages with katniss, but i think that the true story of his downfall lies not in how lucy gray and katniss are similar, but rather in how they are different.

snow knew that it was never him that made the games what they are. it was lucy gray, with her scrappy, passionate artistry, that put on the show that kept people watching. more importantly, it was lucy gray that put on the show that kept HIM watching. all he ever did was give her the stage.

ergo, snow recognizes that the person with the power to usurp him is his natural counterpart, someone like lucy gray, who possessed both the charisma and humanity that he sorely lacks. however, in his mind, those traits are not real; they’re performed in order to obtain power. how could he know better, when he’s never experienced them himself, and the only person he ever truly believed possessed them betrayed him?

so snow keeps his eye out for performers, people with gravitas who could capture the heart of the nation, and squashes their spark as soon as he can. people like haymitch. people like finnick.

and that’s where snow goes wrong. he doesn’t see katniss’ similarities to lucy gray from the start, because while they both demonstrate astonishing, intriguing bravery at their reapings, their actions and motivations are completely different. lucy gray is motivated to perform by anger for herself, and katniss is motivated to sacrifice herself by fear for her sister.

but then katniss starts to put on a show for the audience, kissing peeta and being willing to die with the berries at the end of the 74th games. snow starts to see an entirely different side of katniss that resembles lucy gray to a concerning degree. he sees how, with peeta at her side, she could beguile the nation the same way lucy gray had. and, even worse, she was using the poor, helpless boy who had the misfortune of falling in love with her to survive. the moment katniss started performing, he finally sees lucy gray within her. but it’s already too late.

by catching fire, katniss is the spark fanning the flames of the resistance, but snow fails to understand why. as far as he’s concerned, katniss’ star power comes from her connection to peeta. he tries to weaponize their “love” for his own gain, but it doesn’t work, not because people don’t believe that she loves peeta, but because, for the first time, a victor offers their winnings to the family of a fallen tribute.

snow is caught in a catch 22 of seneca crane’s making—if he kills katniss, she becomes a martyr. but if he lets her live, she’ll be a revolutionary icon. either way, she’s the spark. so he has no choice but to allow the spark to flicker, just for a little while. enter the 75th games. snow knows he needs katniss to die a tragic death in the games. more specifically, he needs it to be a brutal death at the hands of a tribute, not the gamemakers, because he understands that as long as the districts see the capitol as the one who ended the life of katniss everdeen, she’ll still be a martyr.

but snow still doesn’t get it. in the quarter quell, the prey does not become predator. katniss’ allies protect her, ensuring she survives until district 13 rescues her. why would they protect this girl, assuming such a steep personal risk? why would they put everything on the line for a revolution they personally stand to benefit little from? he doesn’t know. but he does know that lucy gray katniss is at the center of it all, so he tries to eliminate what makes her look best: peeta.

and that is snow’s fatal mistake. what he, coin, and everyone but haymitch fail to understand is that it was never peeta that made katniss look good—it was katniss, who befriended and put faith in rue. katniss, who recruited mags, wiress, and beetee as allies. she is the source of revolutionary inspiration. it isn’t her charisma or even her compassion, and it certainly isn’t how well she performed those virtues.

katniss becomes the mockingjay because of her solidarity.

lucy gray was charismatic, like peeta, and compassionate, like both peeta and katniss, but she did not demonstrate solidarity. she was never truly “district” in the way katniss is. she showed kindness to jessup, not because he was from 12, but because he showed kindness to her. lucy gray left behind everything and everyone she loved when she left coriolanus, because she was first and foremost a survivor.

katniss was a survivor her whole life, but she survives exclusively to ensure the people she loves are protected. she always does what she can for people more vulnerable than herself. lucy gray couldn’t have sparked a revolution on her own because she lacked the solidarity that makes a hope for a better future authentic to others. katniss is the human manifestation of solidarity, and to a people divided by a common enemy, that’s the most inspiring thing a person can be.

only in the end, when katniss shoots coin, does snow realize none of it was a performance. choking on the blood of his countless adversaries, snow’s final moments are consumed by what he got wrong. what made lucy gray and katniss different ends his reign, but ironically, the final nail in his coffin is an act that both lucy gray and katniss share in their last moments with snow. they both prove, unequivocally, that he is not the center of their worlds like they are his. lucy gray put her own survival before her love for him, and katniss puts the future of her nation before her hate for him. in the end, he simply doesn’t matter. and that’s greater justice than could have ever been achieved if katniss had fired her arrow into his heart.

the greatest enemy to coriolanus snow could only be the person who reignited the embers of a dying revolutionary fire, who demonstrated to a broken people that while one spark alone might not be enough, thousands of sparks uniting in solidarity is an unbeatable force.

and really, he should have known better. after all, even when snow lands on top, fire melts snow.

[etherealily]

same page? // f.odair

My other Finnick fics, if you have the time.

This was from my poll .

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings: Cuss words.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Panem's most publicized situationship.

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Make them speculate.

Make them wonder.

Distract them.

Entice them.

Convince them.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, kissing your temple as he did so. Your insides turned. "Are we on or off today?"

"He didn't say."

"Hm.", he murmured against your forehead. "It's up to us, then."

You took a sip of your champagne.

Listen, Finnick Odair was a fucking menace.

Seven years. Seven years of this shit.

"Do you never wonder what it'd be like if we actually did end up marrying each other?"

"The entire Capitol would burn down.", you scoffed softly, eyes running around the room.

"Snow would be pissed, for one. It's a will-they/won't-they until we do."

"Which we won't."

He pouted, shaking his head as he brought your hand to his chest. "You wound me."

Your whirlwind romance had swept Panem off its feet. According to their knowledge, you'd first met at a Post-Games party, after your first time as a mentor, and you couldn't keep your eyes off each other. Cue the mess.

On and off. Sometimes, never, and always. That was you and Finnick, in the eyes of Panem.

It wasn't exactly all false. In the beginning it really had just been you, Finnick, and a couple of nights that neither of you wished to label. But there was no sex, that was what was morbidly hilarious here. Just deep, drunken conversations.

In Panem, the most intimate thing you could do with someone was not sex, no, it was developing a true connection, and that's what had happened all those nights — what had scared you both.

So sue you if you didn't want to label that shit. It'd only end badly for the both of you.

Sure, Finnick might have thought he might, possibly, maybe want more. But that was only on late nights when he was watching the moon or nostalgic footage of District Four on the TV, but at the end of the day, both of you knew this decision was the best.

Toxic, definitely, but at the end of the day, although his long string of dalliances followed his reputation everywhere he went, he always came back to you.

Panem thought it was because no matter how twisted, he always loved you.

Snow thought Panem would like that.

You preferred that than actually discussing with him why he always came back.

"Off.", you replied.

"We've been 'off' too many times this year. Snow's going to freak."

He was right. "Fine. Is Caesar here?"

His eyes flicked around the room, scoping it out. "Yes."

You groaned. "He's going to lip read, then."

Caesar Flickerman was a dynamic host as well as an expert lip-reader. You'd only found that out on your second year of this charade, when Finnick had been talking to you about missing home - taboo topic around the Capitol - and Caesar had caught it.

All over the news the next day. He'd had to cover it up and say he meant you were his home. The Capitol went positively feral.

"Look at you, all sexy.", Finnick whispered, with his maddening smirk. "For me?"

"For me." He rolled his eyes. Wrong answer, his glare told you.

"Tell me, gorgeous.", he breathed, hands placed tantalizingly and strategically on your shoulders. "Do the cameras love you as much as I do?"

His iconic line. He'd come up with it three years ago, and it was a cop-out for when he was too tired to come up with any other segue, and besides, the Capitol loved it. It was basically code for you to chill out on the responses, because he was way too exhausted that day.

"Do the cameras love you as much as your family does? Or do you just live here, now? In the Capitol? In the limelight?"

Wait, what?

"I live in my district. Most of the year." The hell was he doing?

"Do you now, beautiful? And why is it you're always here?"

"Why are you always here?"

"Photo ops, of course. Snow needs his best out here all the time to make the Capitol as spectacular-looking as he needs.", he replied, eyes glistening.

"I'm here for the same reason."

"Yes, but you act like you don't give a shit where you are. Like you winning the Games was nothing. Like you being bestowed with riches - more than most, actually, because of the hot little outfits that you model- is nothing. Impassive, deadpan, nonchalant, innocent but too-cool-for-school Y/N.", he mocked.

No way was he actually letting anyone lip read this.

"Caesar's not here, is he?"

He chuckled, nodding. "You're right. I just needed an excuse for you to listen."

"I will not have you judge me."

"Let me kiss you, Y/N."

"What?"

"Please."

"I am not going to let you kiss me. We've got... we can't act as if we've had this conversation in private. It has to progress slowly. Every single moment of ours must be 'accidentally' captured, and jus—"

"Same page?"

He always asked you that before he did something he thought would get the cameras off your back for a couple weeks.

"No! No, no, not this time, what?", you hissed through gritted teeth, doing your damndest to work on your ventriloquism skills.

He rolled his eyes, his lips moving to your cheek. "Let. Me. Kiss. You. I swear, you'll understand."

Finnick's knuckles on your jaw, he tilted his head, as if to say 'come on, I'm already this close'.

You acquiesced.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, before murmuring against them. "Kill Snow with me."

You didn't pull away, you didn't push him away, you didn't frown, you didn't scream. You just froze.

"Johanna— everyone, basically, is on board.", he said, in between kisses to your unresponsive lips. "And the Mockingjay. She... god, Y/N, please, I can tell you're two seconds away from killing me, but please—."

His kisses kept growing more feverish by the second, his hands cupping your face and using it to pull you closer. It was getting increasingly hard to ascertain whether he was addicted to your lips or the words he was corrupting them with.

"Finnick, Finnick, wait—"

"Please, please, Y/N." He was begging. He was pleading. "Just... shh."

"I'm not — stop.", you hissed, and he begrudgingly pulled away, though his lips lingered on your neck. "I'm not going to kill anyone. Not Snow, not you— though I should probably kill you for this. What if you're mic'd? Snow's done that befor—"

"You wouldn't be doing any of the killing, my love.", he smiled against your neck, his hands pulling you flush against his body, and something told you it wasn't even because this whole conversation was supposed to be a secret anymore.

He was drunk. You'd only seen Finnick drunk a couple times - the nights that had led you two to being friends (?) and being spotted talking (obviously fucking, according to the Capitol) - but it had never been this bad. He'd always had some form of control over his faculties.

"Finnick, there's cameras right now, we can't—"

"I'm in love with you, Y/N, more than the cameras."

One good thing about Finnick was that his words never slurred when he was psychotically, unforgivably inebriated. They simply hastened.

"Okay, Finnick, I'll get you back to your—"

"Like so much, and I—"

Before he could say something that could be picked up by the cameras around you and analysed by Caesar, you shook your head, covering his mouth with your palm.

He frowned, making unintelligible noises against your hand.

You rested your forehead against his as you whispered. "We'll talk about this later. Get some rest."

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Hours later, you knocked lightly on the door to his room before walking in gingerly.

He lay down, looking up at the ceiling as though it had every answer he could possibly need.

"Finnick?"

"I'm... a failure."

Shit. "Now, Finnick, remember what you have to do when you think like this? Think of your family. Who you're protecting."

"Oh, my god, princess, it's not himself he's disappointed at."

Johanna motherfucking Mason.

"Johanna?"

"In the flesh. But I won't be for long if you don't listen.", she reminded, elbow on her knee.

You closed the door behind you, locking it as you turned on the light. "You're in on this? It's crazy talk!"

"It's a rebellion. It supposed to sound out-there until you actually do it.", she snorted, hopping off the bay window and stretching.

"It's that District 12 Victor, isn't it? Everdeen-something? She's got you guys all riled up."

"Katniss Everdeen, yes. The Mockingjay."

"Jesus, you guys are all fuckwits."

"C'mon, baby, that's no way to be. I thought you were the polite, innocently sexy one? The one who could never even call someone stupid, let alone a fuckwit.", she pouted.

"Snow will kill everyone you've ever loved."

"He already is. Except it's slower, torturous. This way, we're nipping it at the bud so our kids don't have to go through this bullshit again. What about, uh, you two?", she teased, raising a brow as she gestured between you and a plastered Finnick groaning the headache away. "Your cute little Capitol-bred lovechild will still be made to go through the Games. You don't want that, huh?"

You groaned, yanking open the bedside drawer supply of water bottles, passing it over to him. "Jo."

She raised a brow, sitting next to you. "Y/N."

"You can't kill Snow."

"Watch me, sweetheart."

"Jo, this isn't even funny. She lucked out, alright? Katniss, you said her name was? She lucked out big time. Snow's seething. He's seething, and—"

"We know."

"Lie back down, Finnick, you're drunk."

"I'm hungover. This was a big deal for me, okay? I was nervous you'd react just like this and jeopardize it all, okay? Needed liquid courage. Cut me some slack."

"I'm leaving. I'm not going to fucking sit here and listen to you talk about a rebellion when the Capitol's at their strongest and Snow's at his angriest, it's your funer—"

"You're going back into the Arena!"

You paused at the doorway, your fingers on the frame like it was your only tether to reality. "What?"

"Heavensbee. He told us that the Quarter Quell will reap previous Victors."

"What?"

"Snow wants - needs - Katniss dead."

Your attempts to force breath to stay in your lungs proved futile when you realized exactly what that meant. "You guys are going to try protecting her?"

"We have to."

"No, actually, you don't. Finnick, please don't tell me you're going to volunteer if you aren't reaped."

He groaned, rubbing his face over his hands as he sat up. "There's one chance, and this is it. She is it."

Good lord, you were fucking surrounded by idiots.

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The moon was the only beauty you'd found in the Capitol.

Finnick had taught you to look at it. Especially when you were scared. Worried. Or feeling nothing. Or feeling everything. Or feeling too many things.

It worked, actually, but this time, you looked at the moon, and all you could remember was when eighteen-year-old Finnick pointed the moon out to newly-sixteen-year-old you.

"Beautiful, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you know it controls the tides?"

"What?"

"Yeah. That was my reaction when I first heard it, too!", he'd whispered. "It's your sweet sixteen, right? So just go ahead and pray that the tides change. Wish on the moon."

"Tides change?"

"You know, that this whole 'we're-in-love-spiel' can stop."

This had been the first ever year of this goldmine of a plotline for Capitol TV.

"I want to go home."

You'd said that some three times the past couple hours, but you knew Snow wouldn't let you do so.

"I know. Wish on the moon that you can do that, too. Wish on the moon you can spend all of your birthdays with the people you love. Well, besides me, of course.", he'd grinned, nudging your shoulder to make you laugh. "Just wish on the moon."

You'd closed your eyes to do just that.

"It'll take care of the rest.", he'd whispered.

Sweetest boy on Earth, he was back then.

Right now? Ugh. You wished on the moon that he'd get a brain.

A knock.

"What?!" Fine, snapping may not have been the best thing for you to be doing, as your blood pressure was already terrifyingly high.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, Finnick. Sure. Come in.", you mumbled, rubbing at your forehead.

"I... I can't even begin to apologise. Um... that was—"

"No, it's fine, you're good, it's wh—"

"No, that was... there is no excuse for that. Springing all that on you, and giving you all but five seconds to... I— I don't even know what I was thinking."

"Johanna got in your head, it happens.", you shrugged, watching as he frowned, sitting down opposite you on your bed, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Huh. Your tone was understanding, but your words gave him pause.

"Same page?"

"I'd say we are."

"I don't know.", he muttered, picking at his knuckles for a second before turning to you. "Are you with us?"

"Okay, we're not on the same page."

"I thought not."

"Finnick, this is madness. Snow is at his angriest because he got his ass handed to him by two kids from District Twelve. Twelve. Like...", you scoff-laughed, gesturing wildly to illustrate the sheer bizarrity of the situation. "That shit doesn't happen every day. He's got us both going on more calls because the Patrons need to be pacified. Hell, he's now planning to send us all back into the Arena?!"

"Exactly! Don't you think it's enough?"

"What? Finnick—"

"Enough bloodshed, Y/N, please! Yeah, we're Careers, but when has that ever meant we were safe from the bullshit of the Capitol? Hm?"

"This isn't about us being Careers. It's about the fact that you could die!"

"We're going to anyway! It's like Johanna said! He's killing us slowly! We won't be able to live with ourselves once we're old and not wanted anymore!"

"FINNICK!"

"What?!"

"The first rebellion caused the Hunger Games. What the fuck do you think a second rebellion is going to bring? Hm? Mass genocide of the Districts? An arena with even younger kids? Every rebel and their families becoming Avoxes?! Are you fucking insane?!"

He paused at that. Silence. Good. At least he wasn't deluded enough not to consider the probability of failure.

You stared at him for a little while, before sighing. He wasn't weak, far from it, but you had just violently burst his bubble, the only thing he probably had going for him. And it must have been huge -and have been on his mind for a long time, a perfectly formulated plan that he was very excited about - seeing as he hadn't said anything to you.

He had a habit of doing that.

He never wanted to give you anything that wasn't just perfect.

He'd brought you back this seashell one time. From District Four. It had taken about five months for him to find the perfect one, with the best weight, the best colour, shape, texture, girth, whole shebang.

He stored your return-gift of a trident - you were masonry and weaponry district, after all - in a literal vault in District 4, until you gave him a tiny charm-version. He wore that around his neck.

Another time, he'd decided he'd write you his impression of your district from his Victory Tour. But that day, he'd been incredibly nervous, so he didn't look anywhere but his feet, and oh, how they longed to be home! In the sand, with waves kissing at his heels.

He figured he'd pretend he'd seen you in the crowd, all those years ago. In reality, you'd have only been about twelve, though you were raised above your parent's heads, so it was possible he could have seen you.

He hadn't, though.

For the case of this very humble birthday present, however, he pretended like he did. He took the wildest guess he could, that your hair was not tied up that day, and began to talk of your home.

How lovely everything had seemed.

How excited you looked.

You loved it. You really had. And he loved that you loved it.

And this whole rebellion thing was no different. He knew you'd be reluctant, but he also knew you'd secretly pray on the success of it, and he'd meticulously spent ages going through everything, every single thing, to make sure it was absolutely perfect for you, to make sure you could never call it anything but the best gift you'd ever gotten.

This, though? This argument had thrown him for a loop. You had a point. One he hadn't thought of.

"I'm—", you sighed once more, shaking your head. "Hey, I'm sorry, I... that was harsh."

He bit the inside of his bottom lip. "Mm."

"Finnick, I really am."

"Yeah, I know. I just... what if we don't fail, though?"

Wish(on the moon)ful thinking.

"Then great. But is that a chance you really want to take?"

"What if it is?" It's quiet in your room, and his response is almost engulfed in the silence, but you manage to catch it.

"Don't you think that's what the First Rebels thought?"

You were just dynamite today, weren't you? Finnick loved it when you were like this, but a tiny bit less when it was directed against him.

At least he knew he was an inch closer to receiving your amazing hugs.

"Yeah. Yeah, no, for sure."

You nodded softly, and then he kissed you.

And once more, corruption blossomed on your lips. "But you're deluded if you think when we're in that arena, I'm letting you kill Katniss."

"I won't have to if my theory is right."

"What theory?", he scoffed against your lips, pulling you closer as his hands crept up into your hair.

"That Snow will do things specifically to kill Katniss, and the only way anything will ever work is if you, I dunno, find a way to save Katniss and yourself and Peeta and Joha—"

"We're hacking into the arena."

He really hated kissing you when you didn't reciprocate, but he had to for the next few seconds when you froze, before pulling you away. "What?"

"We're... I can't tell you, but we've got District 3 in on it, they're going to get a wire and basically, like—"

"What, blow up the arena? Are you sure you're feeling okay? Are you still hungover?", you asked, placing your palm on his forehead.

He rolled his eyes, taking it in his and kissing it once. "I promise, I am perfectly fine. And yes, we have a solid plan—"

"Holy shit, this is what you meant by 'the Capitol Patrons give me information' ? I figured it was about the next Games, so you could help your tributes win, not... fuck, Finnick! This is treason!"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!"

You glared at him as he stood in sheer fury. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Wow. Sweetest boy on earth and you'd made him miserable. How do you do it?

"It's alright."

"I don't care that it's treason, alright? But we need to end this bullshit. Okay? So I will ask you for the last ever time, Y/N, because you know that whatever you say next will affect whether we see each other again. Are you with us?"

You licked your lips, picking at the duvet. "Can I have some time?"

"Reaping Day."

"Reaping Day?"

"Reaping Day. I'm not even kidding."

Yeah, he almost never was.

Fuck.

"I'll tell you by Reaping Day."

"Okay."

He didn't leave. It was a long moment of either meeting or vehemently avoiding each others eyes.

"I'm sorry about the yelling.", he repeated.

"You're not volunteering."

"What?" He was halfway out the door when you said it, and he was this close to slamming it.

"If you're not reaped, you take it as the odds being in your favor and shut up. Alright?"

He turned to you, slamming the door and leaning on it with crossed arms. Incredulity painted his face. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Who are you to order me around? Fucking Snow?"

"I'm—"

"Who?! My on-screen-propaganda-lover?!"

That stung more than you'd expected it to.

"Fine. Fuck you! Go ahead and volunteer. Like a fucking dumbass. Go get yourself killed because you can't handle the truth! This is how it is and how it'll always be!"

"It doesn't have to!"

"Yeah, tell that to District 13!"

"Oh, if only you fucking knew!"

"Knew what?! That your half-baked 'plan' is bound to fail?!"

"If you're such a fucking loyalist, go tell Snow the big 'half-baked' plan!"

"Maybe I will!"

"Yeah, go! Go right now, scurry off, become the fearless Savior of Panem, the title of the Most Loyal goes to you!"

You stood, attempting to shoulder past him, but honestly, you should've known better. He grabbed your arm. "If you're going, stay on your knees in front of him so we can shoot you in the back of your head when we storm the Capitol." Pretty picture he could paint, you'd give him that. He could paint a dazzling romance and a grisly murder all just with words.

"That's if you do it. You won't."

"Yeah? Watch us."

You mirrored his clenched jaw. "Let. Go."

"You don't like me holding you?", he asked, tilting his head in mock curiosity.

"No."

"In the Snow regime, in the Capitol, sweetheart, that word has no meaning.", he spat.

"Does treason? Does murder? Does anarchy?"

"Snow gave you a comprehensive list of his favourite vocabulary, how cute."

"Oh, fuck off, Finnick, alright? Let go."

"Are you with us?" He shook your arm.

"No!"

"Are you with us?" More desperation this time. But he knew you, and his eyes held a calm that suggested he knew exactly where your heart lay. With him. With the idea of a free Panem.

"I'm not!"

"ARE YOU WITH US?!", he snapped, finally yelling once more.

"YES!"

The silence had snuck back in unnannounced.

"This is why I love you. You're a fucking trip."

Great. You were not only having to play an innocent, his lover and now a rebel, but you were also, evidently, to play jester for him, since he thought you were so fucking amusing.

"Do the cameras love you as much as I do?"

Oh, my god, he was being funny now, was he?

"Don't die.", you scoffed.

"Not if you won't. Same page?"

You scrambled to come up with a plan. Rig District 4's reaping? Fucking how? Beg Heavensbee for a glimpse into the arena? You barely knew if he was actually on your side, no matter how much Finnick seemed to trust him. Tell Snow and not include Finnick or Johanna or Katniss or — okay, too many variables. Oh! Wait! When he was busy protecting Katniss in the arena, you'd be busy protecting him. Okay. Could work. Right, okay.

He kissed your temple, looking down at you expectantly. He had no idea what he'd do if you hated his gift. "Right.", he muttered, after a little while of watching you play with the hem of his shirt. "I gave you till Reaping Day."

You nodded, and he whistled lowly, looking out at the window, his eyes brightening. "But... you know it's Full Moon Day today.", he grinned.

So you two sat there watching the moon for... quite a while, actually.

Wishing that the other would just fucking listen for once.

Finnick Odair was a fucking menace.

But he was also the sweetest boy you knew.

So, if you had to be on the same page, you would be.

"Same page.", you affirmed, finally, when it got too late and his hands went slack around your shoulder, and your eyes started getting heavy. You were truly, in entire honesty, unable to fathom a future where the rebellion worked and Panem was free.

But your plan was at least still intact. No matter how this clearly poorly thought out rebellion went.

At least, with your plan, he'd be alright, either way.

At least he'd live.

[s7nburn]

NSFW ALPHABET Finnick Odair

WARNINGS: kinky shit, mentions of cum eating, kinks like breeding and exhibitionism, pussy eating, sex, rough sex, vanilla sex, sex, sex, and sex.

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A: Aftercare, what is he like after sex? He's super cuddley after sex. He loves to hold you and talk about random things while playing with your hair until you both fall asleep.

B: Body part, what's his favorite body part of yours? He adores your stomach, no matter how 'big' you think you are. He loves to place his hands there. Whether he's hugging you from the back or he's lying in between your legs eating you out.

C: Cum, Anything that has to do with cum. As I said earlier, he loves you stomach, so he definitely loves to cum on there. I feel like he'll also lick it up? He doesn't mind the mess, actually I think it may be what turns him on even more. Dont get me wrong he LOVES to cum in you though.

D: Dirty secrets. Does he have any dirty secrets? He definitely does. First, he likes to eat his own cum. Second, he for sure gets turned on by the thought of getting caught by someone. God, the amount of times he thought about fucking you during the games when thousands people are watching is insane.

E: Experience. How experienced is he? He's experienced, he had to be for what the capital did to him. All im saying is he's pretty good at what he does.

F: Favorite position. What's his favorite position? He loves the classic missionary. He loves seeing your face as he basically fucks you into next year.

G: Goofy. How goofy is he during sex? He not too goofy, he'll let out a giggle or two for no reason and you'll giggle back, but he's pretty much always is serious.

H: Hair. How well groomed is he? He likes to clean up down there. For you, he could care less. Whatever your comfortable with!

I: intimacy. How intimate is he? He is super intimate. He loves slow and passionate sex. Looking into your eyes as he slowly fucks you.

J: Jack off (masturbation). Do they jack off? Yes, but only when your not there, or if you're sleeping. He much prefers your hands.

K: Kinks. Does he have kinks? Yes. Oh God yes. When it's not slow, it's rough. And I mean rough. As I mentioned earlier, he obviously is an exhibitionist. He doesn't know why but it just turns him on so much. And if you ask, he doesn't mind choking you either. He DEFINITELY has a breeding kink... you'll most likely be on birth control. I feel like he won't actually do it but he fantasizes about blindfolding you. For sure. Also not a kink but he is a MAJOR pussy eater! He loves to look up at your face as he's making you cum with his tongue.

L: Location. Where's his favorite place to have sex? He prefers to have sex in the bedroom, but if he's REALLY horny he absolutely does not mind having it in the kitchen.

M: Motivation. What turns him on? You. Anything you do. You. You. You. But in all seriousness, you in dresses. The way they frame you body or lift up your boobs a little...

N: No. What will he not do? He will not hurt you. A couple slaps on the ass is fine, so is choking but really anything beyond that is a no.

O: Oral, do they enjoy giving or getting? He LOVES eating your pussy, and I mean LOVES 😩. Any chance he gets he WILL eat you out, no questions asked. He does enjoy getting head too, looking down at you as you gag on his dick is like heaven.

P: Pace, slow or fast? Depends on the mood of course. He is a sucker for slow sex though.

Q: Quickie, how does he feel about them? He doesn't mind them, but he prefers longer...sessions with you.

R: Risk, does he take risks during sex? Sometimes.. if you two are at a house party he may take you into the bathroom and fuck you, intentionally leaving the door unlocked. And like I said he has a breeding kink...he will not cum in you if ur not on birth control.

S: Stamina, how long can they go? I feel like he can go for about 3-4 rounds if it's a kinky night ifykwim. But if its a slow and sensual moment probably 1-2 rounds.

T: Toys, do they enjoy using toys? You two probably have a couple of vibrators..maybe a Fleshlight for him.

U: Unfair, how much do they tease? He can be such a tease.. whispering suggestive things into your ear while you two are training.. lingering touches that leave you weak in the knees.. and finally when you two get home.. he'll fuck you over and over again.. with either his dick.. or his tongue.

V: Volume, are they vocal during sex? Finnick gets loud... His moans are like music to your ears..shit maybe his own. He loves to let you know how good your doing. Moaning praises everytime he fucks your face or your pussy.

W: Wild card (random headcanon). He loves to fuck your thighs..he doesn't even know why. Maybe it's the way they hug his dick while he pushes through them?.. Oh, and he DEFINITELY talks you through it. "There you go..." Or "Just like that..let go..I got you.'

X: X-ray, what going on down there? He's around, maybe above, the average. He's 6.3 inches, but he's got girth.

Y: Yearning, how high is his sex drive? I say it depends on you, but it's pretty high.. like i said he can go for 4 rounds.

Z: Zzz, does he fall asleep quickly after? Yes, he gets really sleepy after. All he wants to do is cuddle into you and rest. He can't decide if he likes fucking you to sleep or talking you to sleep more. Even though he's tired he can go on and on about random things, like the stars.

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A/N: HELLOOO my irl friend is gonna read this and I'm freaking out 🤗. Anyways hope you all like it <3

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Tag list: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent

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[ilguna]

☼ say it like you mean it (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; over time, you’ve learned his techniques, and you’re really not entertained by it. if he likes you as much as he says he does, then why does he just say so?

warnings; swearing,

wc; 3.2k

--

The summer heat has finally decided to catch up with District Four it seems, and it only took until mid-August for it to do so. It’s not gentle by any means, either. All you’re doing is getting ready for the day, and it feels as if you live in a tin can smack-dab in the middle of the desert. 

This house is small enough as it is, the last thing you need to be baked alive in it. You think your mother is on the same train of thought that you are, because she’s opened every single window in hopes that a breeze will roll through. 

You find her in the kitchen, fanning herself with a thin book, boiling a pot of water on the stove to loosen up the metal for the hooks that are laid out across the dining room table. You would just use a torch to make the hooks easier to bend, but you weren’t cleared for a permit since the house is flammable, and it’s in a fairly nice neighborhood.

So, you have no choice but to use water, even though it’s more time consuming. Between you and your mother making hooks, it’s getting harder and harder to make the Peacekeeper’s deadlines on time. It would be just a little bit easier if you had one more person to help, but then you’d be given a bigger workload.

“How long are you planning on being out for today, honey?” Your mother asks, pausing her fanning long enough to look your way.

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.” You tell her, gathering the bags of hooks to place into your tote bag. “Just a few errands to run and I’ll collect what I need for my hooks along the way. Once I drop them off at the docks, I’ll come straight back.”

She nods, “PLease be careful when you speak to the Peacekeepers, you can’t afford another warning.”

“I will be.” You say, turning your back to her. 

You pull the tote bag onto your shoulder, rolling your eyes. It’s not your fault the Peacekeeper’s are a bunch of sensitive wimps—none of them can take a joke. All you did last week was tell them that you may or may not see them the following day to make the drop.

This resulted in several Peacekeepers being sent to your door in the morning to escort you straight to the docks to deliver your hooks. When you tried to tell them that you weren’t being serious, you were met with a citation, but really it was just a warning. If you get another one, then you’ll be taken into custody until they think you’ve learned your lesson.

Talk about ridiculous, right?

“Love you, mom.” You murmur, opening the front door, hand reaching to push the screen door out of the way before you even see it.

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” She says back, her footsteps fading away.

Your hand comes into contact with cloth, hand squishing into whatever it is. You yank your hand back, as if you’ve just touched the hot stove, eyes peering around the door. 

As soon as you see who it is, your shoulders drop, worry leaving you in an instant. Your face twists at the sight of Finnick, leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. You begin to dread what the rest of your day is going to look like, if he’s here already.

Usually he has enough courtesy to give you a headstart before ruining your afternoon.

“Please, not this today.” You groan, pushing past him to get out of your house. You pull the front door shut with a slam, heading down the steps without waiting for him to say anything.

“Good afternoon.” He muses, following behind you. He must not shut the screen door, because you can hear it squeal as it swings back into place. “You don’t want me here?”

“I wouldn’t mind as much as I do if you weren’t so annoying. How long were you waiting out there for?” You ask him.

“Long enough to hear your mom ask you to be careful.” He says, taking long strides to catch up with your pace. “Which she won’t have to worry about, because I don’t plan on leaving your side today.”

“Of course you don’t.” You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

He ignores your comment. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I’ve spent all week trading for fishing lure while you were in the Capitol, so I’m picking it all up today.” You tell him.

“What’d you trade them with?” He asks. “If you’d waited for me—”

“I don’t need you to negotiate for me, Finnick.” You shake your head. “I’ve been doing this since we were in school, I know how to get what I want without being scammed. Besides, I didn’t have time to wait for you, the Peacekeepers wanted the new hooks as soon as possible, and you weren’t here when the request came in.”

“How long ago?”

‘A week and a half ago.” You reach into your bag, pace slowing to go up to the first house. 

“You still didn’t answer my question on what you traded them for.” Finnick comes to a stop, back to the door so you have to look at him.

“We paid for some of them, and on some of the others I offered specialty hooks.” You tell him, going up to the house. 

The man that lives here answers the door after the first round of knocks, a smile on his face. You hold a polite conversation with him, while you unravel the cloth that covers the hook you made. He wanted it purely for decoration, since he’s been long-retired from being on the boats. He gave you the rest of his lure for free, no strings attached.

“Have a good afternoon.” You tell him, waving before you go back down to Finnick.

“How much did you pay?”

You really hate it when he gets on a roll with the questions. You’re not sure why it matters how much you paid for the lure, in the end you’ll be making a bigger profit with the Peacekeepers. And people don’t really have a need for lure when the Capitol provides good hooks for them in the first place. They just want something for them so they’re able to afford an extra meal.

“Not much.”

“You’re making more than what you paid, right?”

You stop walking, turning to Finnick. “Do you really take me for an idiot?”

He stares at you. “No.”

“Then why are you asking me questions like that?” You tilt your head. 

“Because I don’t want them to take advantage of you, (Y/n). You do a lot for the docks, whether these people know that or not.”

“I’m aware of that. And I don’t care if they appreciate my work. I’m just doing what I have to in order to survive. It’s not a huge deal.” You tell him, starting to walk again. “I’d rather prick my fingers a hundred times with the barb than have to deal with the boats.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with either if you let me take care of you.”

Your face scrunches up at the thought. Once for the fact that he just said that to you, and twice for the idea of being supported on his Capitol money, which you despise. He earned his dollar of his money by beating the Hunger Games at such a young age, you’ll admit that.

But you’ll never come to terms with the person the Capitol has turned him into. 

The old Finnick—the one you grew up with before he got reaped—would never have said half of the things he does to you. His flirtatious comments are constant, they’re everyday, and they’re borderlining disrespectful. You’re not sure how many times you’ve told him to quiet it, and he never listens.

He’s not laying it on as thick today, but that might have something to do with what you said to him before he got on the train in July. You’d met him at the station after the reaping to wish him luck, because he’s still your friend, and he made a joke about taking you to the Capitol with him and showing you what luxury is.

You felt disgusted at the suggestion, because he should know that you’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than in the Capitol. You backed away from him, and with a shake of your head, you told him that you’d never go there, much less with him. You left the train station after that, not bothering to give him the goodbye you usually do.

You hate the fact that he’s required to mentor the tributes. You think it’s a good idea, because Finnick broke the record for the youngest victor, but the person it turns him into… it’s just gross. He used to be friendly, funny and courteous, and a couple of years ago he changed. 

There were no signs, one year he went to the Capitol to mentor, and a month later he came out this insufferable Capitol brat. It only got worse when he mentored Annie Cresta, causing her to win the Games two years ago. Ever since, he’s been cocky, as if the world owes it to him.

You’re sick of dealing with it. Especially when it lasts for months, and by the time he seems to be getting better about his attitude, it’s Hunger Games season again. The cycle is never-ending.

“That’s nice, Finnick.” You mutter, pace quickening, as if you’ll be able to leave him behind.

“What?” He asks, as if he’s clueless. “It’s true. If you were with me, you’d never have to worry about half the things you do.” He begins to catch up with you. “There’d be dinner on the table every night, you’d have access to hot water in the winter, you’d be able to buy anything you want. You could’ve woken up in an air conditioned house today.”

“While that all sounds nice, I don’t want a life like that.” You tell him, eyes on the ground.

“Why not? Everyone wants a life like that.” He throws his arms out, you can tell by his shadow. “And I want to give it to you.”

“Because that means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” Finnick asks. “So you’re telling me you don’t like the necklaces and jewels and—”

“Finnick!” You shout, irritated. You stop to look him dead in the eye. “What you’re doing isn’t working on me. I will never fall for the facade you put on for the Capitol.” You place a hand over your heart. “It’s all an act, and you need to give it a rest.”

Finnick’s face has dropped. “(Y/n), I mean everything I say.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” You throw a hand out. “Your lines are rehearsed. How many other girls have you talked to like that and believed it?” 

“I don’t talk to other girls, (Y/n). I’m not interested in them.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Finnick stares at you for a long moment. “What can I do to prove to you that I do actually want you.”

“You can’t figure that out on your own?” You roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said?” When he doesn’t speak, you wave your hand. “Just go, Finnick. I’m sick of this, really. I got stuff to do and you’re slowing me down.”

Finnick looks down at the dirt, making a face. “All right.”

You watch as he walks off in the direction of Victor’s Village, looking like a kicked puppy. As soon as he hangs his head, you close your eyes, tilting your head back to take in the sun. You have half the mind to call him back and apologize, but you are running behind.

You turn to continue down the street, heading for the next house. You really hope he doesn’t give up entirely because of what you’ve said, you just want him to listen to what you’re telling him. 

It’s not like you don’t enjoy his company, because you do. He’s your favorite person to hang out with when he’s not being uptight. You think that if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend properly, you’d say yes, but you want it to be real. This doesn’t feel real, with the expensive jewelry, the money, the constant presents. It’s insane. 

You try to be quick to get done within the next hour, paying several people back for their kindness. You barely make it in time to the docks before they shut down for the rest of the day. While the Peacekeepers trust your handiwork, their Head Peacekeeper likes to inspect the hooks to ensure they’re good quality.

You’ve never had a hook sent back.

You tuck the money from the Peacekeepers into your bag, taking your time heading home. You’re sure mom has lunch ready, and most of her part of the work creating the hook has to be done by now. You’ll just need to attach the new lures and sharpen the barb.

When you make it home, it’s late afternoon. The front door and the screen have been opened to their max capacity to allow fresh air to enter the house. You pass right through the doorway, thinking nothing of it, until you come to a stop in your kitchen.

Finnick is leaning against your countertop, inspecting a hook you made last night. “Have you two ever considered opening up a shop closer to the dock? That way you don’t have to walk as far.”

“We have, but it’s expensive next to the dock. We know we’d probably make the money we need, but we can’t know for sure.”

“Have you considered a pop-up?” 

“A stand?” Your mom asks, considering it for a moment. “No, but I’m sure if we tried, the Peacekeepers would deny the permit, like they’ve denied everything else we’ve requested.”

“I’m home.” You tell them, mood fading. “I thought you went home, Finnick.”

“I did, but then I came here to wait for you.” Finnick says. “You should go and put on something more loose and comfortable.”

“For what?” You ask, setting your tote bag down by the door.

“Don’t worry about the details.” Finnick smiles. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

“I don’t have the time. I’ve got hooks to do.” You shake your head.

“Oh, leave them.” Your mom says, winking at you. “I’ll take care of it. The stove has been burning hotter lately because of the heat, I was able to get most of my work done. I’ll get you started.”

“I can’t have you do all the work.” You reason.

“(Y/n), you need a break.” She tilts her head down at you. “Go get changed. You can enjoy a proper day off for once.”

“Mom.” 

“Now, (Y/n).” She tells you.

You look at Finnick, a little upset by the fact that he’s ruined your plans for the rest of the day, but you know better than to argue any further with your mom. You pass them to go to the back of the house, where your small bedroom is. You swing the door shut with a single push, sitting down on your bed as you stare into the closet.

He said something more loose and comfortable—but you’re already wearing that. A regular shirt, a baggy pair of pants that once belonged to your father. You wish he’d given you more details.

You stand back up, mindlessly swiping through your tops before you stumble upon a tank top with thin straps that you haven’t worn in a while. You pull it off the hanger, throwing it over your arm as you turn to the small pile of jeans and shorts that line the wall. You crouch down, picking through them, finding a nice pair of light blue shorts that’ll reach your mid-thigh. 

You change quickly, throwing your previous clothes into the hamper, retying your shoes. When you join your mom and Finnick back in the kitchen, they both seem pleased with your choices.

“I’ll see you later this evening, honey.” Your mom tells you, touching your shoulder. “Finnick will take good care of you.”

You look at Finnick, who has a brighter smile on his face. He hands you your tote bag, which is no longer empty, like it had been when you dropped it off by the door. Now, there’s a neatly folded thin blanket inside. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Finnick, weirded out.

“Nowhere you haven’t been before.” He tells you, motioning for you to leave first. “Thank you, Ms. (L/n).”

“No problem, Finnick.” She waves.

The walk with Finnick is mostly quiet, not a lot of conversation is exchanged. You feel the need to apologize for what you said to him earlier, but you were just expressing how you felt, again. If he would just listen to you, then there wouldn’t be a need to be so straight-forward.

He brings you to the beach, under one of the few palm trees, where he lays out the blanket from the tote bag. Which reveals a couple of snack boxes underneath, containing fruit, crackers, spreads and juices. You stare at Finnick, wanting to tell him you’re not interested in experiencing the Capitol, when he completely takes you off-guard.

“Welcome to our first date.” Finnick laughs, “Sit, please.”

“A date?” You ask, pulling off your shoes to sit on the blanket. “Usually you have to ask the girl out first.”

“I would’ve, but you were already mad at me. That’s why I asked your mom for help.” He smiles. “Sorry, by the way, but I couldn’t let you be after what you said.”

You can’t help it, now. “I’m sorry, Finnick, I just—”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. Your mom explained it pretty well, actually.” He sits beside you, popping open the lids on the boxes. “I know where you’re coming from, and I know most of it is because of a rumor.” 

You nod, agreeing. 

“It started in the Capitol.” He tells you, shaking his head. “And as much as I hate it, I can’t escape what they say about me, so I’ve stopped trying. But I want you to know that I don’t talk to any other girls. You are the only one I talk to, because you’re the only one that’s stuck by me after my Games.”

“I’m your friend, Finnick.”

“Not everyone saw me that way.” He says. “They either stuck around because I was rich or left because I was a Capitol darling—a status I can’t help. They labeled me that way.”

“Oh.” You murmur.

He pauses for a moment, looking out at the water. “There’s a lot that happens in the Capitol when I go every year, and it’s partly why I act the way I do, and I’m trying to work on it.” He then looks back at you, taking your hand. “But I’m serious when it comes to my feelings about you, (Y/n). I really do like you, and I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

You stare at him, heart pumping in your chest, “I would love to, Finnick.”

He gives you a smile, “I thought you’d say-so.”

[pasukiyo]

THIS LOVE IS OURS

finnick odair x fem!mentor!reader word count: 1,205 warnings: allusions to trauma synopsis: another year, another reaping, another hunger games. another year of mentoring a new set of tributes. another year of sending them off to their deaths. another year of shouldering the burden of all this grief. but, at the very least, she has finnick. as long as she has finnick, she knows love must not be over. and as long as there is love, there is hope.

 She doesn’t know how Finnick Odair manages to find his way to her apartment. Surely, she thinks, he would've been caught on a surveillance camera on the way up. She can’t imagine a single cranny in the entire Tribute Center, the entire city, the entire country where the Capitol didn’t have eyes. 

 Oh well, she thinks, too tired to think more of it. What matters is that he’s here, standing in the doorway of her temporary bedroom, the orange glow of a tribute’s campfire on her television reflecting in his eyes. 

 “I’m not going to ask you how or why you’re here,” she says, breaking the silence. Finnick, though his lips are pursed, grins, simply staring back at her, arms crossed over his chest. “But I don't entirely agree with it.”

 “Good,” he replies, pushing away from the doorframe, letting it shut itself behind him as he makes his way towards the bed. “My secrets are invaluable to keep.”

 She finds it within herself to roll her eyes just as the anthem begins to emit from the television speakers and  she shifts her position in the bed, creating space for him, inviting him in. The mattress dips beneath his weight and she looks at him, the glow of the television behind his head giving him an unearthly aura, as if he was made of starlight, carved from the moon. 

 “That makes eighteen tributes fallen with only six remaining from the following districts: 1, 2, 4, and 7.”

 Her head falls back to the pillows and she squeezes her eyes shut, hoping the harder she squeezed, the duller the ache in her head. She hears the bed creak and the voices of Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith gradually soften until they’re but a low murmur in the background. She peels a single eyelid open just as Finnick sets the television remote down, twisting around and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

 For a moment they simply blink at one another, the familiarity of each other’s presence giving them an air of ease, like for a moment, things were normal and they were not mentors for tributes in death games for the Capitol’s entertainment. For a moment, she looks at Finnick, feels him in the space of the bed beside her, and can almost trick herself into believing this was her life all the time. More than just stolen moments a handful of times each year, if that. More than just two pawns in the Capitol’s chessboard. More than animals lined up for the slaughter. 

 Finnick still sits up on the bed beside her as if he’s unsure, as if he’s still waiting for her permission. Touching, being close, intimate after all, does not come easy when one has endured what they have at the hands of the Capitol. 

 But it’s different with Finnick. Of course it is— he is not Capitol, he is not corrupt, he is not bad. 

 He’s Finnick. Simply Finnick Odair, her Finnick. And if there’s one thing she knows for sure about him, it’s that he is safe, her safe place. 

 So she softens her gaze, words unneeded to tell him she needs him. 

 Finnick practically melts. 

 Perhaps she is what he needs too. The way he melts into the mattress beside her, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her into his chest until their hearts beat against each other, until they’re fitted together like two pieces of glass— broken, but still one in the same— makes her think this is so. 

 Warmth so rare, she can only dream of it most days envelops her and she thinks she can cry by just how safe she feels. To feel this safe, this comfortable is a luxury— they both know it. To be reveling in it almost feels like a sin, treachery when the Games continue to exist, when they persist even at this very moment. 

 She could not save her tributes this year. She’d barely managed to save her own self since her own Games. She still fights to save herself everyday. The weight this burden of living feels too much for her to shoulder. She nestles her nose against Finnick’s chest, her stomach feeling hollow, her throat burning with grief. 

 It’s Finnick’s arms that tighten around her body that remind her that this burden is not hers alone to shoulder. She is not alone in her grief. She is never alone, so long as Finnick exists. She feels it in the way his fingers weave through her hair, his fingernails like soft whispers against her scalp, his lips against the crown of her head, drawing her nearer into him, breathing her in. 

 These unspoken truths hang in the air, for there was no space, no crevice where they could fit between them. She reaches for his face, sliding her hand along the line of his jaw until his ear rests between her middle and forefinger. The pad of her thumb caresses the space just below his eye and she lifts her head, just enough to catch his gaze again. 

 But when she looks up, she finds that his eyes are closed, as if her touch is enough to tranquilize him, lulling him with just the pad of her thumb. She takes the time to drink him in, the way his lashes flutter against his skin, the crease between his brows, the way his lips part and come together again as if he’s replaying a memory, something he said, over and over again. 

 She, herself, tries to recall how they feel when they’re against hers. The way his mouth would collect hers as if she were fragile, as if he were fragile. Kissing Finnick was never uncertain but always felt more like a reassurance, as if testing whether this— kissing, intimacy, love— could really be tender, whether it was something other than seizing and squeezing and taking and hurting and burning. 

 “Finnick?” She whispers his name, so quiet she fears he won’t hear her. 

 His lashes flutter when his eyes peel open. He hums in reply and she can feel it against her chest, over her still beating heart. 

 “You still with me?” She asks, lifting her hand so that her thumb can caress just beside his eye. 

 The television screen reflects in his eyes again but all she sees is him. The Games, the Capitol, the country, the world does not exist. The only thing she can bring herself to believe in now is that Finnick is here and Finnick is hers. 

 Finnick gazes back and another unspoken truth dances in the air above them: what they have is theirs and theirs alone. No one can take them away from one another. Whether they’re here together in this moment, or in their respective districts, or thrown into the hands of the Capitol, what they have is sacred, holy ground that no one will ever be able to touch. As long as they have one another, there will be hope. And as long as there is hope, there is love. And this love is nobody’s but theirs. 

 Finnick leans in, presses his lips to the center of her head, to the bridge of her nose, to her own. “Always.”

a/n: so... how are we all feeling after sunrise on the reaping 😆😆😆

TAGLIST

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[humaling]

What I Needed was You.

summary: after years of a cat-and-mouse chase, Finnick is done waiting.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst. happy ending? cursing.

note: first time writing and posting. plz dont bite me

word count: 2.3k

The storm rolls in before sunset, casting dark shadows over the ocean. Rain lashes against the windows, the wind howling through the streets of District 4 like a wounded animal. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the door, heart pounding against your ribs like it already knows what’s coming.

And then, like clockwork, there’s a knock.

You don’t move at first. You tell yourself not to. You should pretend to be asleep, let him turn away. But your body betrays you, just like it always does. Your fingers tighten around the blanket, and before you can stop yourself, you’re on your feet, crossing the room.

You open the door.

Finnick stands there, rain-soaked and exhausted, his sea-green eyes dark with something unreadable. He doesn’t say anything at first. Neither do you.

“Tell me to go,” he says finally, his voice barely above the wind. “And I will.”

The words cut through you like a blade. You should say it. You should send him away. The war is over. The rebellion is done. You both survived, but survival doesn’t mean freedom. Not from the memories. Not from each other.

Finnick shifts, his jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the inevitable. He’s always been beautiful, but now it’s a different kind of beauty—sharper, hollowed-out. The Capitol took so much from him, carved pieces of him away until there was almost nothing left. And you? You’re no better. Just two ghosts pretending to be whole.

“Say the word,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move.

You swallow hard, your throat burning. You should. But when you part your lips, the words don’t come. Because the truth is, you don’t want him to go. And maybe that’s the worst thing of all.

Instead, you step back. A silent invitation.

Finnick exhales shakily, running a hand through his damp hair before stepping inside. The door clicks shut behind him, locking the storm outside. But the real storm—the one that lives inside you both—rages on, unrelenting.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is thick with everything left unsaid, with the weight of the war and the scars it left on both of you. Finnick moves first, peeling off his soaked jacket, the fabric heavy with rain. His hands tremble slightly as he sets it over the chair by the window.

“You shouldn’t keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely above the rain hammering against the roof.

He lets out a hollow laugh. “Neither should you.”

You both know what he means,this, whatever this is between you. The seeking, the silent longing, the way you always find each other when the nights are too heavy to bear alone. It’s a habit neither of you can seem to break, no matter how much it hurts.

Finnick sinks onto the edge of your bed, running a hand over his face. His fingers brush through his damp hair, pushing it back, and for a moment, he just stares at the floor. “I thought it’d get easier,” he admits, voice rough with exhaustion. “Coming home. Living like none of it happened.”

You kneel down on the floor, tucking your feet underneath you. “It doesn’t, does it?”

He shakes his head. “No. It just...changes. Some days, it’s quiet. And other days, I wake up expecting to be somewhere else. Expecting someone else to be in control of my life.”

You nod, because you understand. Because you’ve woken up gasping for air more nights than you can count, your mind trapped in a place you can never truly leave.

Finnick tilts his head dkwn slightly, looking at you. His gaze lingers, searching. “Why do you let me in?”

You exhale, staring at your hands. The answer is simple, but saying it aloud feels impossible. Because you can’t imagine him not being here. Because even in the wreckage of what you both have become, there’s still something that keeps pulling you together. Because even broken, even haunted, he’s still Finnick. And you still don’t know how to let him go.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But it’s a lie, and you both know it.

Finnick watches you for a moment longer, then sighs, leaning back on his palms. The rain hasn’t let up, and neither of you seem to be in a hurry to fill the silence.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be okay,” he admits finally. “If I’ll ever be okay.”

You look at him then, the way the stormlight casts shadows over his face, the way exhaustion and grief linger in his expression. You reach for his hand before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing over his.

“You don’t have to be,” you say. “Not tonight.”

Finnick doesn’t pull away. His fingers tighten around yours, and for the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

The storm rages on outside, but here, in this moment, you are not alone.

You stood up from your position and moved to sit beside him. Your shoulders brush against each other and you could feel his body heat radiating off him. Finnick watches you for a moment longer, then sighs, leaning back on his palms. The rain hasn’t let up, and neither of you seem to be in a hurry to fill the silence.

After a while, he moves. He shifts onto his side, resting his head against your shoulder. It’s tentative at first, the way his body leans into yours, like he’s still unsure if he should. If he deserves to. But when you don’t pull away, when you let yourself lean back just the slightest bit, he exhales shakily.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. The war took words from you both, left you with only touch and silence and longing that never quite finds an answer.

After a moment, you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He stiffens slightly, then sighs, his grip tightening like he’s afraid to let go. You squeeze back, a silent promise. You’re here. He’s not alone.

“I hate the quiet,” he admits. “Some nights, it feels like it’s waiting for me to fall apart.”

You shift, turning so you can look at him properly. His face is tired, drawn with the weight of things he never speaks about. You lift your free hand, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. He leans into your touch without hesitation, eyes slipping shut.

“You don’t have to hold it together with me,” you murmur. “Not all the time.”

Finnick exhales, something fragile in the way his shoulders drop. You don’t push him to say more, don’t force him to unpack the pain he carries. Instead, you let him be, let him exist in this space where neither of you has to be strong.

Slowly, he shifts, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you in. You let him, resting your forehead against his temple. The storm outside rages on, but inside, in this fragile moment, there’s warmth. there’s him and you and nothing matters more than that.

“I liked you,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to the rain outside, steady and relentless. “Liked you so much that I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”

Finnick frowns. “Why?” he asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t—because deep down, he already knows the answer. And it will undo him.

You swallow hard. “Because that wasn’t what you needed back then.”

His sea-green eyes search yours, desperate—pleading. Looking for something to hold onto. Looking for hope.

“You needed a friend,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “Someone to rely on. So that’s what I gave you. Someone to share your burden.”

Finnick exhales sharply. “But I didn’t need that. I needed you.”

The words slip out faster than an avalanche, raw and unfiltered, years of longing condensed into a single breath.

“All I ever wanted was you.” His voice trembles, thick with something you don’t know how to name. His eyes tell the story of a man who has spent years yearning—for someone, for something. For you.

“But you were so busy trying to pick up the pieces—my pieces—that you didn’t even see it.” His voice cracks, frustration bleeding into every syllable.

You open your mouth, but he pulls away before you can even say his name. His brows furrow, bottom lip jutting out as it quivers.

He lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “God, do you even know what it’s like? To watch the person you love put every part of themselves into fixing you, while you’re just standing there, screaming inside because all you want is for them to see you?”

“Finnick—”

“No.” His voice is sharp, but his hands are shaking. His eyes shine under the glow of the lamp, and you realize, with a painful clarity, that he’s been holding this in for so long.

“I spent years—not months, years—asking you to love me,” he says, voice breaking. “Not whatever the fuck this was. You. Like before. Like when we’d play by the shore and pretend to be a knight and a princess. When we’d eat Mags’ horrible homemade cookies, swim in the sea every morning, talk about our future like we actually had one.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, like he’s trying to steady himself.

“But we didn’t,” he whispers. “Because they took it from us. And all I wanted—all I fucking wanted—was for something to stay the same.”

He lifts his head then, looking at you like you are the only thing in the world that has ever made sense.

“But I lost you, too.”

Silence swallows the room.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Because what do you say to that? To him? To the boy you once knew and the man standing before you now, heart bleeding, waiting for an answer you should’ve given years ago?

His breath shudders. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Not this time.

“I should go,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, like the fight is leaving him, like he’s run out of things to give.

And you realize, with a sinking dread, that this might be it. That if he walks away now, he might not come back.

Finnick halts in his tracks when he feels something warm wrap around his wrist, gripping onto him like he’s the lifeline. He turns his head to see you standing behind him, eyes glossy under the dim light.

“Don’t,” you whisper. Your voice is barely there, but it holds him in place better than your grip ever could.

His throat works, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Don’t what?” he asks, though his voice lacks the bite it had moments ago.

You don’t answer right away, and Finnick swallows against the thick silence.

“Don’t walk away,” you finally say, voice small. “Not like this.”

He exhales sharply, closing his eyes for a second like he’s trying to collect himself. “What do you want from me?” His voice is tired when he speaks your name, frayed at the edges. “I can’t keep doing this—being halfway to loving you and halfway to losing you.

Your grip tightens around his wrist, like you’re afraid he’ll slip away if you let go. “Then don’t,” you say, and your voice cracks at the end.

Finnick turns fully now, facing you, and the moment his eyes meet yours, something inside him breaks all over again.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done to me?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “For years, I’ve wanted nothing but you. And I thought—God, I thought you wanted me too. But every time I got close, you pulled away. And I let you. Because I thought… maybe if I was patient enough, you’d see me the way I saw you.”

Tears burn in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “Finnick, I—”

“I loved you,” he says, cutting you off, his voice rough. “I love you.”

The confession is not soft. Not romantic. It’s raw, scraped bare, ripped from somewhere deep inside him. And it hangs between you, heavy and unshakable.

His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, eyes locked onto yours like they hold his last hope. “Tell me the truth,” he whispers. “Did you ever love me?”

The words slam into you, breaking down every wall you’ve built. And suddenly, it all spills out.

“Of course I did,” you breathe, your voice cracking. “I always did. But you—you were hurting, Finnick. You were drowning, and I thought if I reached for you, I’d just pull you under with me.”

His face twists, eyes dark with something unreadable. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t get to choose how much of myself I give to you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know. And I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought…” You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily. “I thought if I stayed close enough to keep you safe, but far enough to not make things worse, then maybe… maybe we’d be okay.”

Finnick lets out a quiet, broken laugh, running a hand through his hair. “And how did that work out for us?”

You press your lips together, looking away. It didn’t. It never did.

Another beat of silence.

“What now?” he asks, and it’s not a challenge. Just a question.

Your fingers twitch around his wrist. “I don’t want to keep hurting you,” you whisper. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to survive.”

Finnick studies you for a long moment before he gently pries your fingers from his wrist, only to intertwine them with his own. His grip is firm. Grounding.

“You never were,” he murmurs. “You were the only thing keeping me afloat.”

Your throat tightens, tears slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them. “I–”

He shushes you softly, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Just… be here now,” he says, voice softer than it’s been all night. “With me.”

And for the first time in years, you do.

You stay.

[allisluv]

Omg Finnick seeing reader crying after sex but she's okay it's just that it was so emotional and she needs to let it all out

content warnings: brief smut, p in v, crying, concerned finnick, teasing towards the end. this is not my best work-- im sleep deprived and kind of out of it but i havent posted in a few days so we move. idk what ive wrote so im sorry nonnie! 0.5k words

Finnick’s skin is slick with sweat as he thrusts in and out of you, eyes trained on watching your expression twist and contort with bliss.

He can tell when you're close to falling over the edge of ecstasy; you clench around his cock and your moans grow more high-pitched and needy, almost bordering on a whine.

He spurs you on with words of praise, and when your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, he's there to soothe you with a press of his lips against the top of your forehead. He slots his lips over your own and slips his tongue into your mouth, swallowing the noises that you make. He spills his load inside of you, shooting hot sticky ropes of cum in your cunt before slowly pulling out and kissing you quiet.

"I'm just going to go grab a washcloth, okay, baby? I'll be right back," Finnick mumbles, rolling off of you as carefully as possible and making a beeline for the en-suite off to the side of your bed.

He turns the faucet to the left until a steady stream of warm water trickles out of the tap, and he holds a washcloth underneath it, feeling the fabric go soft as it grows damp.

Humming a mindless tune under his breath, he goes back into the bedroom only for his heart to sink when he sees you sobbing into your pillow.

Finnick’s by your side in an instant, kneeling next to you on the bed. A hundred and one thoughts bounce about in his head, but he pushes them to one side, as your safety and well-being is his main priority.

“Did I hurt you?” He frets, reaching out to touch you but hesitating at the last minute. He doesn’t want to freak you out.

You shake your head no, but you’re still sobbing and it does little to soothe the ache in his chest. “Why’re you crying, then, honey?” He asks softly.

“I just— you were so sweet, and it was so emotional and you were just really nice and it felt really good.” You sob

Finnick’s brows dip in confusion before he barks out a laugh.

You whack him in the shoulder in retaliation. “It’s not funny!” You wail.

“I’m not laughing!”

“Liar.” You sniffle

Finnick composes himself enough to pull you into his arms. You go willingly and he rests his chin atop your head. “Oh, angel.” He mutters fondly. He brushes his lips against your temple and smooths a hand up and down your bare back. “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure,” You say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was crying.”

Finnick smiles into your hair. “It’s alright, angel. You just gave me a fright, ‘s all.” He lifts your chin up so that you’re looking at him; there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “Was I really that good?”

You bury your head in his chest, face flushed. “You’re such a dick.”

Finnick chuckles. “Now is that any way to talk to the guy who made you feel so good that you cried?” He teases, a smug smile on his face.

“I will grab that washcloth and wring your neck with it.”

[fromevertonow]

I hate how people are still asking for more books in the Hunger Games world… if you’re asking it for entertainment, get out, I don’t even wanna talk to you. You completely missed the point of literally everything. If you’re asking it to find out more about how brainwashed the Careers were, how the rebellion was planned out in between the Quarter Quells, etc., YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

Suzanne doesn’t write books without them being written from a theoretical or philosophical viewpoint. THG was inspired by Juvenal’s Satires, TBOSAS by the nature/nurture debate and lots of Enlightenment thinkers, and SOTR by the influence of propaganda on the masses (specifically David Hume’s works).

I’m not saying there aren’t more critically engaging angles to approach this world from (it’s a dystopian story, I mean, the list is basically endless), but what would be the point? THG is above all about defying totalitarian regimes and fighting for freedom. We have seen how the districts succeeded from a district 12 perspective. Why does it matter SO much what the thought process of a Career tribute was (because you can find the answer you’re looking for in propaganda and a pure will to survive, something Suzanne already explored in both TBOSAS and SOTR). Why does it matter what the details were of Plutarch’s plans while organizing a rebellion (he explained it all in his conversation with Haymitch at the end of SOTR, use your imagination to fill in the blanks, God put you on this earth with a brain, use it).

Consider WHY we only got a District 12 perspective (*something something* the lower classes rise up first against oppression ) before you ask for another book about Finnick’s Games (he was literally forced into prostitution at 14 years old, why THE FUCK do you want to read about that??).

The fact that we were given TWO more books WELL after the trilogy ended so we would maybe start thinking about how we as a human species are attracted to violence and so desensitized to it, AND WE STILL CRAVE MORE!! Isn’t that deeply and embarrassingly ironic?? Suzanne Collins saw y’all salivating like the Capitol citizens and wanted to teach you something with these two books, but you chose to overlook the message and only care for the entertainment. Something about Bread and Circuses, right?

[thedelicatearcher]

finnick but this time his partner is sick, not him??

finnick odair takes care of his sick partner

finnick odair never seems to get sick, his immune system has become unusually strong after receiving countless capitol treatments. he’s always bragging about it whenever you ask him to put on a sweater when it’s windy. and when he’s not showing off, he’s playfully sticking his tongue out at you whenever you gently scold him for going to bed with wet hair. yet, it’s his strong immune system that lets him take care of you without worrying about getting sick himself. 

you wake up early in the morning, your muscles aching and a deep fatigue settling in, as if you’ve just run a marathon. as you groggily open your eyes, you expect to find the bed empty since finnick usually rises early to go for a swim. to your surprise, you find his arm wrapped around your waist, his gaze adoring as he looks at you. 

“morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs in a husky voice, gently moving his hand from your waist to your cheek. “finn,” you attempt to whine his name, ready to complain about how terrible you feel. but when you try to speak, only a hoarse squeak escapes your lips; your voice is gone.

he can’t help but chuckle lightly at your sad expression, hurrying to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead at the sight of hurt in your eyes. “shh, sweetheart,” he coos immediately, “don’t overexert yourself.” your gaze reveals your confusion about why he’s still here, and he quickly explains that as he was preparing to leave for his morning swim, he kissed your forehead, like he always does before leaving, but noticed your skin felt warm, prompting him to stay and take care of you.

before you even have a chance to complain (or at least try, given your lack of voice) and insist that he should go out to enjoy his morning , he gently takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “how are you feeling? where does it hurt?” his voice is as tender as his touch. his gaze softens as your finger weakly points to your throat, indicating your sore throat. however, just as you’re about to share more about your sickness, you’re interrupted by a sudden barrage of never-ending sneezes.

a loud gasp escapes his lips and his hand instinctively leaves yours to shield his face from your sneezes. his expression shifts from shock to amusement in a matter of seconds, a stark contrast to the dazed look on your face after the sneezing fit rattles you. as he wipes his face with the back of his hand, you find yourself burying your face in his chest. embarrassment, combined with the light fever, makes your cheeks burn as if they were on fire, and you try not to physically cringe after accidentally drenching your boyfriend in your germs.

to your relief, finnick is completely unfazed. “don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a stifled chuckle, “it’s going to take more than a few sneezes to scare me off.” you nuzzle your face into his chest at his words, wondering to yourself, ‘is he really never going to get sick?’. despite your lingering embarrassment, the weight of exhaustion takes over, and finnick’s fingers softly playing with your hair are not helping your case. only a soft, tired hum escapes you before you finally surrender, drifting to sleep in his arms, now so tightly wrapped around you.

throughout the rest of the week, finnick is determined to help you feel better. he has you lying with your head in his lap, giving him space to gently massage around your nose and under your eyes, using a technique mags used on him when he was deeply congested. as he makes soft circular motions with his fingers, he gazes down at you with affection. it’s not usual for you to allow yourself to be so vulnerable and let someone else care for you, so his heart swells at the sight of your face relaxing under his tender touch.

every night, before slipping into bed beside you, the blond dedicates some sweet time in the kitchen to prepare a warm meal just for you. while he would have loved to make you chicken soup every night to soothe the soreness in your throat, he knows that even healthy people tire of the same meal five nights in a row, so he gets creative. he scours the district’s market in search of someone who can sell him applesauce, and whips up mashed potatoes when you feel your appetite fade. finnick odair never lets you go to sleep with an empty stomach. 

still, there were moments when all you want is to be held by your lover, to feel the warmth of his embrace wrap around you as shivers coursed through your feverish body. in those instances, it’s not just his arms you long for. it’s the sense of safety he provides to you as well. as his hands caress your back, you feel more loved than ever: in the quiet of the room, as he’s trying to comfort you through soft, soothing touches while your weakened, sick body clings to him. he never lets out a whine nor a complaint, always dedicated to making you feel cherished and loved. 

every day, you feel grateful to the universe for giving you your soulmate in such a gentle yet passionately devoted man. as you feel finnick’s warm body pressed against yours, his soft snores filling the room, you make a silent vow: to be just as supporting and caring when the shadows of another depressive episode creep into his life.

[queuestarter]

imbrued

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: stab wound, vomit, mentions of prostitution, murder, blood, death

link to the request → reader and finnick are in the quell together and reader gets injured. finnick does everything he can to protect her

open to submissions/asks !!

You never expected to be back.

Why would you? After winning the 68th Hunger Games, you thought you were free from the torment, but that was never the case. After winning and gaining the favor of the capitol, you were immediately thrust into the spotlight, being sold off to those who could afford you. You were given a slot each week on television, showing off baking recipes that you had no interest in making. 

And now, your name was called once more from the pool of victors, placing you back to where you started when you were just sixteen years old, only this time with your boyfriend Finnick by your side.

The events of the weeks leading up to the start of the Quarter Quell passed in a blur. Things only start registering with you when you’re finally in the arena, eyes searching frantically around your surroundings to try and figure out what’s going on.

You can see water immediately in front of you with trees just beyond it, which is more than ideal since you’re from District 4. In your first games, you had to trek through fields of tall grass for miles before there was a place to take shelter.

After you find your bearings on the platform, you immediately begin to search for Finnick. You spot him across the water, the distance upsetting you, but Johanna is on your other side which is slightly comforting. 

When the gong sounds, you immediately head for the Cornucopia. You thrived in the bloodbath in your last games and you plan to do so again. Finnick didn’t want you to put yourself at risk, but you have a reputation to uphold. You know the only way that you’re going to get any sponsors is if you put on a show.

Due to your strong swimming skills, you and Finnick get to the golden Cornucopia first. You barely have time to send a smile his way before you’re grabbing weapons- small knives to strap onto your body and a metal spear to hold. You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when you’re forced to use your newly acquired spear on another tribute, proud that you protected Finnick from a man that was going to kill him.

It’s only when you are finally forced away from the Cornucopia by Finnick’s strong hold on your upper arm that you have the time to talk to him. You can tell by the slight frown on his face that he’s not very happy with you.

“What were you thinking? I told you not to go to the Cornucopia.” He’s still holding onto your arm as you make your way through the jungle, Katniss and Peeta in front of you.

You roll your eyes and smile at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Finnick only frowns at you more. “I’m trying to protect you, here. Something bad could have happened.”

You actually laugh at that. “I know you remember my games, Finn. The Cornucopia was mine in the last games. Don’t worry so much about me.”

He sighs, but drops the subject. The two of you fall silent.

The next few hours are terrible. Peeta’s near death, the acid fog, the monkey mutts that killed the poor morphling from District 6 and claimed your spear. The Quell is moving at a much quicker pace than any of the games have in the past and it’s worrying you. 

Things only start to look up after Katniss uses Wiress’ cryptic words to discover that the arena is set up like a clock.

Finnick, ever inquisitive, says, “I’d like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.” You all decide that it’s a pretty good idea and walk the short stretch over to the golden horn.

The others begin to talk mindlessly as you and Finnick branch off into your own conversation while you patrol the border of the Cornucopia. “It’s interesting that there’s nothing but weapons here this year. They’re really trying to get this over with,” you comment.

Finnick nods. “They want us dead. Good thing we know how to fish,” he smirks.

You shake your head in slight amusement, carefully toeing closer to everyone else. As you get closer to the group, you look up from your feet to see Gloss creeping up on the rock wedges, getting closer to an unsuspecting Wiress.

“No!” You scream, pulling a small dagger from your belt. “Wiress, move!” You try to close the gap between you and her.

But it’s too late. You watch in horror as Wiress’ throat gets easily cut by Gloss. Without much thought, you finish the sprint to Gloss, your blade swiftly leaving your hand and ending up in his neck. His eyes widen as he grabs at the handle but before doesn’t pull it out, instead he jumps towards you.

You almost don’t realize what happens. As Gloss lands on top of your body, the same knife he used to kill Wiress ends up in your lower abdomen. You scream, but in the chaos of trying to kill the rest of the careers along with the rapid shifting of the Cornucopia and surrounding waters, the sound gets lost.

It’s only after Finnick grabs your hand and begins to drag you off the island that the reality settles in. You were stabbed in the abdomen and you are losing blood. You put your hand over the wound and keep walking.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks you once you are back on the beach. “Are you hurt?”

You debate lying for a second. The last thing anyone needs right now is another injured tribute. Beetee is barely hanging on as it is and Peeta is constantly slowing down the group, there doesn’t need to be another liability. But Finnick knows you and he would know if you lied to him.

“I think Gloss stabbed me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth. You almost wish you lied when you see Finnick’s reaction.

His face twists up in a look of sheer panic, pupils blowing. His hands run across your body until they meet your own hand, holding firmly onto the meaty flesh of your lower torso. “Here?” He asks, gripping your red fingers. “This is where he got you?”

Tears welling up in your eyes, you nod. You can’t help but feel like a disappointment. You thought you would be able to absolutely dominate in these games based on your last ones, but you completely overlooked the fact that everyone else here is a victor, too.

“Okay, baby, let me look,” he gently commands. His eyes turn even wilder when you shake your head. “I need to look. I can’t help you if I can’t see it.”

Your hand drops from your side. Finnick wastes no time in unzipping your jumpsuit, pulling it below your sports bra and to your hips. He bites his lip as he assesses the damage. With a gentle hand, he prods at the tender flesh. A second later, you push him away and throw up.

You can hear him cursing behind you as you continue to retch. You don’t know why you’re sick, but you know that it cannot be good. 

When your sudden sickness is over and you turn back to Finnick to assure him that you don’t know what that was, that you’re fine, you see the rest of the group staring at you, Katniss hands Finnick a mound of what looks like moss in one hand and a small tube.

“I know this isn’t the best option, but it’ll help. I’m sure someone will send us something better soon,” he sends you a small, still panicked smile.

You just nod your head. You’re embarrassed and tired and you want everyone to stop staring at you. You allow Finnick to lead you to where the spile has been hammered into a tree, rinse your wound, apply the medicine, and pack it with the moss. After a few minutes, you feel as good as new.

“Thank you, Finn,” you smile at him. He wraps his arms around you tightly.

“Of course,” he breathes into your hair. “Anything for you. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

You press a kiss on his collarbone. “That was nothing. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We need to get out of here. You need a real doctor.”

You nod into his shoulder, not too worried anymore. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he repeats back.

And he keeps his promise. The rest of the plan plays out, although not perfectly. You and Finnick are both evacuated and he makes sure you see a doctor, for both the stab in your stomach and the gash in your arm where you cut the tracker out.

You know there’s still more to do, but you feel safe knowing Finnick will be there to protect you.

-

[sincere1ystar]

Flower Crowns

finnick odair x fem! reader

Making flower crowns with Finnick

author’s note: sorry this is so short, I’ve been in a creative slump lately 😭

Finnick is confused on how he ended up here with you, but he doesn’t question it. It seems as if one moment the two of you are sitting in the dull insides of district 13 and the next you’re dragging him out to the bright fields of flowers.

As you attempt (and miserably fail) to make a flower crown, Finnick has no problem as his practice with tying knots helps him. As his victorious laughter fills the air, you can’t help but feel somewhat defeated.

“Here sweetheart let me help you”, Finnick taunts as he grabs the array of flowers from your hands and easily arranges them into a flower crown.

“How did you”-, you start before Finnick cuts you off.

He laughs as he puts a finger to your lips and says, “Magic”.

“Magic? Is magic how those vines managed to wrap around you?”, you laugh in response to his words.

He hadn’t even noticed the vines of ivy wrapping around his legs since his eyes were drawn to you. They were drawn to the way your eyebrows knit as you attempted to put all your focus on making a flower crown.

“You look cute when you’re all focused like that”, he mumbles as he attempts to get rid of the tangled mess of vines around his legs. You can’t help but notice how his eyes never straying the sight of your face.

“Is there something on my face?”, you ask cautiously as your eyes study his. And before you can excuse yourself to go check in the mirror he places a flower behind your ear.

“It’s a poppy”, he says simply before chuckling, “Or a Papaver rhoea if you want to play flower trivia”.

You can’t help but smile at that. The red poppy matching the small hints of red in your outfit that you didn’t think he noticed.

“You should’ve let me put a poppy in your hair instead”, you answered as you admired the flower in your hair through the reflection of the lake.

“And why’s that dove?”, he murmured

Your heart flutters a bit, but you brush his words off with, “Cause it would suit you more”.

He shakes his head laughing in disbelief. “Now you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

Before you can respond he hands you a bouquet of poppies to match the one in your hair. It takes you by surprise but you can’t help but smiles as he admires you.

“It’s pretty isn’t it? ”, he says admiringly, “Made it myself but I don’t think it does you justice. My girl’s prettier than any flower”.

[flowersforjude]

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢���𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Finnick had every reason to not believe in God, but every reason to believe in her. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,406

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Religious themes, Mentions of torture and canon typical violence, Angst, Brief mention of Finnick’s su*c*dal ideology, Bittersweet reunion.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Cried while writing this so enjoy my tears. This was requested by @heroinhchicblog222. You gave me creative freedom with this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations! <3

masterlist

Finnick Odair had never been a religious man. No matter how many Sunday services at the little coastal church his mother made him attend. He humored her for the most part. Because even though he thought her faith was futile, it was important to her.

There had been a time when he enjoyed going to church with her. When he was still a small child full of notions of grand tales and curiosity. But that was before he was eaten alive by the Games. Before, it’s huge jaws closed around him and crushed his bones and spirit alike. The arena had made sure that even if he survived, he’d never be whole again.

And how could he believe in any god with only half a soul? Why would he have faith in a god who let that happen? No higher power was watching over him or any of the other children who became victims of the Games. 

He remembered a tiny silver cross his mother wore. It was always hanging around her neck on a dainty chain. His little brother loved to wrap his chubby toddler fingers around it. 

Finnick had asked once if she had always had that necklace. She wore it so often that it seemed like a part of her. Just like her eyes, that always looked at him with tender affection, and her hands, that always stroked his cheek after a nightmare. His mother told him it had belonged to her mother. That she’d had it since before the war, and she told her it kept her safe. When his grandmother passed when Finnick was still a baby, she left it to her daughter. 

“Nana said that as long as she wore this, she knew God would guard against any evil,” his mother recited. 

But how could she believe that? When he himself knew how people starved during the war. When so many lost everything. His grandmother was an orphan by the end of the war. God did not protect her or anyone else. Because a god who would let all that suffering happen wasn’t a deity worth worshiping. And that same cosmic being sits idly by and allows child after child to be sacrificed to the whims of those who think themselves better. 

Though now, he thinks he’s found something that he could put his faith in. Something that could show him the blind devotion that his nana and mother relied so heavily on.

Hope was a big part of having faith because to have one, you have to believe in the other. He gives his mother and nana a little slack now that he’s tasted that euphoric cocktail of conviction. It’s a potent thing, and to Finnick, it’s the worst thing that could have happened to him. It’s more powerful than the hatred he has for Snow and the Capitol. He likens it to nervousness, to fear. Except it doesn’t cripple him. It weeps inside of him, crawls up his throat, and pours out of him like the sweetest honey. 

It gives him the gift of volition—the drive to break away from the terror that haunts him. The will to live. The hunger for change. 

And that is why it’s the most awful thing that could have befell him. Because not only does he have himself to concern with, he has her. 

She changes him. Makes him into this man that wants again. He dreams and he hopes, but right now he’s trying to convince himself that his faith won’t be ripped away from him. 

He’s spiraling down the dark abyss of fear because, what if? What if he goes to the med bay and the one person, he believes for is taken from him? His will, his hunger, his want. What if it’s all gone? Because she’s gone, and she’s taken everything with her. 

It is an agonizing thing to be half dead and half alive. So many times, he thought about how he could end it. Just a few minutes too long under the water. Or if he needed it to be quick, a bullet for his last meal would work just fine. But he can’t think like that anymore. 

Because he doesn’t know if she’s gone or not. If she’s left him and stole away everything good in the world with her. There’s a chance, he tells himself. He could see her again, hold her, kiss her, love her. 

So he’s pushing past everyone running around in the halls. Paying no mind to all the people he’s bumping into, and all the annoyed looks thrown his way. He aches still, and his body screams at him. But he’d been to hell and back more times than he could count. His joints and muscles could complain all they wanted. Knowing mattered more. She mattered more. 

He can picture her the way she was before. Because he’s sure that if she survived, Snow at least got his fill of ruining her. The girl Finnick adores more than the salt in the air or the smell of Mag’s peach cobbler. For that alone, they would have butchered her. He’s falling again, so instead of that, he thinks of her smile, her laugh, and the way her nose scrunches when she is annoyed at him. 

Fuck, how he wants to see that smile again. Hear that giggle and coax out that scrunch. 

He runs, then, faster than he ever has before. He knows he’s going to have to make some serious apologies at some point. But courtesy can wait. She can’t. 

The harsh lights of the med bay hurt his eyes, but he looks around. Turning a circle and staggering like a drunk. 

Hands catch him by the shoulders, and he almost throws a punch. But then Gale turns him around to face him. “Where-where is she?” Finnick asks. His voice sounds foreign, like the breaking of glass almost. 

“I think you need to calm down first.” Gale answers, not unkindly, but Finnick is so wound up that it angers him. Because no, he needs to see her. Until then, there is no calm. So, he pushes Gale away from him. Eyes darting widely around the med bay once again. 

“Where is she?” He asks out loud to anyone who could tell him. “Where is she?” He wonders if this is what being hijacked feels like. But then he tells himself maybe it’s just being in love. Love can make a person insane, and right now, that’s what he feels like. He’s going to fly off the handle if someone doesn’t start talking to him. Because why aren’t they?

A doctor walks right past him, nose in a clipboard with some paperwork on it. Finnick imagines gripping that doctor by the hair and tearing his throat out with his bare hands. He starts yelling her name over and over and over. His voice breaks among the syllables.  

But then…

“Finnick!” He hears her voice so loud and clear, like a crack of lightning across the sky. He doesn’t see her until she collides with him, almost knocking him down. But he clutches her to him, probably too tightly, but she says nothing. She tears at his back, her nails digging into his skin under the fabric of his shirt. But he doesn’t care because if he’s feeling that, then that means he’s feeling her. 

"Finnick." She whispers quietly this time as if convincing herself that he's really here. Her face is buried in his neck, and he can feel her breath fan out across his skin.

She pulls back, and Finnick thinks he might cry, but then she’s kissing him, so he knows he’s going to cry. He can’t breathe between the tears and her lips still on his. He doesn’t give a fuck, though. He lets her kiss him for as long as she needs, because he knows she needs that right now. Being without her here in Thirteen was hard enough. What she went through in the Capitol paled in comparison. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s mumbling against her lips. Salty tears falling into their mouths.

And she’s saying back, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

It’s not okay; nothing bad that’s ever happened to her was okay. But she’s here now, and he’s got her, and he’s never letting her out of his sight again. 

Standing there, drinking in her holiness, Finnick finally realizes what true devotion feels like.

The words just poured out of me with this one. Love when that happens.

[etherealily]

𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 // 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗱𝗮𝗶𝗿.

My other Finnick fics, if you have the time.

Finnick Odair + fem!reader, brother's best friend (ahhh!), you don't get it, i love this man

Warning: Cuss words .

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics

Desc. : Finnick makes quite an impression.

══════════════════ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ══════════════════

"Hey, what's up, man, if you could just pack up- oh."

You don't even have to turn to know just who in the hell was standing in front of the window of your family's bakery. And this is the one day you decide not to care about how frosting-splattered your apron is, how flour-smeared your hands are. So your brother wasn't lying. He really was all buddy-buddy with Finnick fucking Odair. And this was the one Thursday you decide to actually fill in for him.

"Uh, be right out, sir."

Sir? Sir? Did you really just call him Sir? Well, I mean, yeah, he's a customer, but still... sir? That's too fake. He's going to wig out, he's going to-

"Of course. Take your time. I'm in no rush."

-Be uncharacteristically patient. Hm. Weird. Odd.

Quickly patting off the flour on your hands and watching the flakes fall onto the counter, you wipe your palms roughly on your apron, turning around.

His eyes are fucking ethereal. It's everything you can do to not immediately think of how you would go about replicating the sea-green of them into a frosting colour, or something. However, you decide, it'd be very hard, seeing as there were a kaleidoscope of other hues in there, a tinge of gold, here and there, like flecks of stardust, for one.

The muscles at the front of his arms - across his chest, as he stands - clench, as though he's tightening them. And then you realise : he's waiting.

"So sorry for the wait. How can I help you?"

"Who are you?"

What ?

"Excuse me?"

"Not interrogating you.", he informs you, raising a hand to cut you short. The fucking audacity . "Never seen you before."

"Well, you're seeing me now."

"How do I know you're not just someone stealing from the store?", he inquires, in mock concern. His eyebrows raise just slightly, playfully, even, as he trains his eyes on yours.

Does he also think about how he can replicate the colours in other people's eyes, or is he normal?

"Uh, I've got a key , for one.", you retort, jiggling the keys that you've shoved deep into your apron's pocket.

He shrugs, interlocking his fingers tightly as he cracks his knuckles, tilting his head. "Could be stolen."

"I'm the owner's daughter, Y/N ?"

"Insufficient proof of that.", he shoots back, teeth grazing ever so slightly on his bottom lip as he battles a smirk. "C'mon, do better than that. I'm this close to calling the Peacekeepers, y'know?"

"I can bake a cake?", you suggest, unsure why you're even going along with this.

Oh right, because he's Finnick Odair.

"So can I.", he replies, now resting his elbow down on the windowsill of that godforsaken window your family sold their goods from. You'd always thought it was cute, but now, with the lack of a counter between the two of you, like the normal bakeries, you were resenting the idea. "You're not really selling your identity, you know?"

"I'm literally baking a cake right now.", you exclaim, pointing at your clothes and the oven in which a hopefully delicious cake was rising. "What kind of pathetic thief would help the store they're stealing from?"

"You could be trying to blend in."

"Okay, look, I don't care what you think, Sir. I'm the owner of this place, so you either get your goods or go."

"Good.", he chuckles, softly, although his tone turns slightly, seamlessly more serious. "That's good. That's the response you give, you got that?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What?"

"If someone ever makes you doubt who you are, if someone ever...", he swallows, licking his lips for a moment, looking away before continuing, "... ever forces an identity on you. I don't care what you think, I know who I am . That's what you say."

"You came all the way here, did all that, just to... teach me a life lesson?"

"You don't like it? Come on, that was a cool segue, you gotta admit.", he asks, clearly shoving whatever else he was feeling into the back burner as he snickers.

"Threatening to call the Peacekeepers on me? Oh, yeah, that's very cool ."

"Hey, I managed to get your name, didn't I? Doubt you'd have let me get that far any other way."

Not true. You'd have given him your name. Hell, you'd have given up your last name for him, had he asked normally.

"And what do you need my name for?"

"I don't know.", he shrugs, palpably pushing any dirty responses he might've had away. "Maybe I just want to know?"

"You must have a reason."

"You know what, yeah, usually, I have a reason for everything.", he replies, giving you the charming smile you've seen on television almost a thousand times. "But this time, I don't."

That was so infuriatingly expected. Of course Finnick Odair couldn't have just fucking asked for your name like a normal person.

"Do you at least have a reason as to why you're at my store?"

"Your family's store, sweetie, and yeah, I do.", he says, pointing at a tray of half-a-dozen shimmery blue cupcakes with the number '4' frosted boastfully onto them. "Pack those up for me, will you? My order."

"Insufficient proof of that.", you reply, crossing your arms and mirroring his position from when he'd said those words. "Unless you've got a receipt, which we don't give to urgent orders so there's no chance you could have one , I don't see how you're walking away from here with them."

He laughs, heartily, nodding as though impressed. "Funny. Look, let's not make this more complicated than it should be, yeah? You're a pissed off, whiny little girl who can't take a joke, and I'm Finnick Odair. Just give me the cupcakes."

You scoff, audibly scoff at that. The nerve of him. "I'm not a little girl."

"Your brother tells me you cry when you see butterflies? Like... full-on bawl?"

You'd fucking murder your brother the next time you saw him, that was for sure.

"They're ethereal, and very rare."

"They're insects.", he reasons, shaking his head as he rests his head on his palm, tilting his head and gazing at you condescendingly, like you really were a child.

"Shut up."

He snorts, softly. "Give me the damn cupcakes, sweetie."

"Or what, you'll seduce me into giving them to you?"

His face falls, for a moment, his grin faltering. Then, with a sigh that was an infuriating mix of amused, disappointed and enigmatic, he nods. "That's what I'm known for, right? I could do it, you know? Really effectively, too."

"That wouldn't work on me."

"Give me the damn cupcakes, Y/N."

"How do I know you've paid for them?"

"You'll have to take my word for it. It's called trust, ever heard of it?"

"It's called not being a pompous asshole, ever heard of it?"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you turn your back to him, bringing the tray over to the window sill. "Brought your own bag?"

He nods, a slightly triumphant smile - that you choose to ignore, thank you very much - on his face as he hands it to you, then nodding to the bag. "It's all the rage in the Capitol, you know?"

"Oh, I know. I see the Capitol freaks with it all the time on TV.", you mutter, gently bringing out each cupcake and placing them in each indent in the box you'd brought out. "Any embellishments you want before I put them in the bag?"

"Like a bow or something?"

"Yeah, like a bow, a card, some extra sprinkles taped to the box.", you shrug, feigning nonchalance. The urge to draw him was getting way too strong, and it was the most peculiar feeling ever - one you'd never felt before. Capturing him, in a way the cameras he was always swarmed by never could, that would be perfect.

"Yeah, card would be nice."

"What would you like on it?", you ask, sliding a card over from the cardboard box overflowing with them, as you click open a pen.

He raises a brow. "Do you have good handwriting?"

You tsk, shoving the pen in his face. "Here, you do it, then."

He giggles, mischief swirling in his eyes as he takes the pen from you. "Probably best." He clears his throat, dramatically, giving you a matter-of-fact look before he begins writing. "Dear President Snow, wishing you a Happy Reaping Day, with a delicacy from District Four- uh, what do you call these, sweetie?"

"Cupcakes?"

"Something cooler." He narrows his eyes at you, tapping the pen on the counter.

"Cupcakes from the Bakery Around The Corner? Seriously, this is District Four, we're not the Capitol - we don't have fancy icing and a quirky little name for each of our orders."

"Yeah, but he does this thing where each year, you have to bring a new delicacy from your District.", he mutters, a slight scoff present in his voice. "Reaping Day special. So I need a cool name."

Interesting. That almost sounded like resentment, from the Golden Boy to the President.

"I'm flattered you consider my cupcakes delicacies."

"Okay, look, your cupcakes are good, delicious, even, but they're not delicacies.", he reminds, keeping the stream of insults you were throwing at each other going. "I just need to give him something other than seafood this year, apparently."

"Well, that's stupid. We're the fishing district."

"Like he gives a flying fuck. What Coriolanus Snow wants, Coriolanus Snow gets."

You snort, covering your mouth. "That's his name?"

"What, did you think it was President ?", he asks, still not looking up from the card as he spins the pen around between his fingers - both calloused and delicate, preserved and wild.

"No, I thought it'd be something more normal."

He tsks. "Seriously, come up with a name for these things."

"They're for you , so call them Odairs, or something, I don't know. Should stroke your ego, too, so it's a win-win."

"These are supposed to be delicacies. Like, a form of pride among our people. I can't name them after me, no matter how awesome that would be.", he adds, with a slight grin.

"Whores from District Four.", you chuckle, shaking your head. "Call them that."

"Why, 'cause I'm the 'Whore from Four' ?", he asks, smirking. "That's a no-no word, you know?"

"Yeah, well, my patience is thinning with you, Odair."

He snickers, softly, chewing the inside of his cheek, still staring at the card. "You know what, fuck it. Whores it is."

"Really? Just go with no card."

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, a card is expected.", he sighs, spinning the pen around. "I should just call them whores. But, you know, spelt with an 'h'. What's he gonna do, ask around the District 4 marketplace for 'hores'?"

You laugh. "Hey, if that works...", you salute him, nodding. He writes with soft, almost enchanting strokes, and then signs his name.

"Thanks, Y/N.", he adds, after you finish taping the note precisely to the centre of the box's lid, before gently lowering it into his Capitol bag. "If this works, I'm paying you extra."

"If President Snow comes around asking for my District-famous 'hores', I'll pay you extra."

══════════════════ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ══════════════════

The muffled rush of the waterfall, and the feathery tufts of grass you were laying on almost help you enjoy life , for once, and help you forget that Reaping Day is tomorrow. Almost.

"You know you're not supposed to be out here, right, sugar?"

And then suddenly, the 4 o'clock sun isn't the thing that's blinding your senses.

It's him, instead.

Towering over you, almost gleaming hair threatening to spill over and disrupt the calm in the pool of his eyes, he tilts his head mockingly.

"I know."

He gapes in mock scandal. "Aren't you the little rebel?", he muses, raising a brow in amusement before offering you his hand.

You grab it, and he hauls you up with admirable ease. "Your cupcakes were a hit, sweetie. Absolute hit.", he informs, with the twinkly grin that comes with being Finnick Odair.

His mildly calloused hand still grips yours tightly.

"I see. You're welcome."

He shrugs, nodding. "Yeah, I suppose you deserve the thanks."

The silence sweeps past you, the only sounds embossed in both of your hushed breaths, in the gentle songs of birds, the faint roar of the waterfall, and suddenly, his voice, smooth as a wave embracing the shore.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Trust me."

When Finnick Odair asks you to trust him, you do. Rule number one of the rule book of... well, life.

"If you take me to some Capitol party-"

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I promise, the last place I'm ever taking you is the Capitol. In fact, it can be said I'm doing the exact opposite."

You raise a brow. "What, you're taking me in the opposite direction? As far away from the Capitol as possible?"

His eyes dart around, above, behind and beside you, before they finally land on yours, and he nods, slowly, hesitantly. "Yeah, exactly.", he muses, his words drawn out as if he was unsure of them, too.

Bad sign.

"You're taking me out the borders?", you hiss, lowering your voice and glaring sharply at him. "That's illegal, Golden Boy."

"Don't call me that. Not here, in District 4."

You scoff. The audacity running through his veins was insufferable. "I'll call you whatever I damn want to. You trying to get me killed or turned into an Avox?"

"I'm trying to show you something!", he snaps, using his tense grasp on your hand to draw you closer, so that your foreheads were borderline touching. See, this was bad, this was bad, this was-

"Just let me!", he continues, his voice almost pleading. "You think I don't know it's Reaping Day tomorrow? That you could get picked to go die in the Games?"

"No, you're just the one helping us go die."

"You shut up.", he hisses, a finger in your face. "Don't say things you know nothing about. I'm a mentor."

"Did you even try with the tributes from last year? Or the year before that? Because I heard that-"

"What you heard is fucking-", he cuts himself short, taking a deep breath. "Please. Just follow me. For the love of God.", he orders, gently tugging you along.

Not like you even wanted to pull away - this was Finnick Odair.

"What is it you love most about District 4?"

"What?"

"District 4. What is it you love most about it?"

"It's home.", you shrug. "What else is there?"

"Yeah, but I mean, with time, any place is home. Have you never wanted to leave, to explore?"

It's times like these you realize your parents' bakery isn't that important- you'd sell the whole thing to figure out what was going on in that angelic head of his. His words lilting through your senses like sea-breeze.

"I'm exploring as much as I can right now."

He pauses for a moment, turning around. Dimples. "I'm glad I can be your guide, then."

Shut the fuck up, freak of nature. Stop with your beautiful words.

You almost say that. You don't, though.

"Okay, can you jump for me?"

"Jump?", you ask, looking over his shoulder at the huge gap between the part of the rock you were on, and the one you were supposed to go to. "No way."

"Come on, you can do it.", he says, leaping over the humongous gap as if he were playing hopscotch. "I'll catch you."

That's not the part you're worried about. The part you're worried about is you chickening out in front of the Finnick Odair. The interviews he would go through.

'Oh, yes, Hunger Games or not, tragic deaths have always been part of my everyday. Just the other week, a girl I knew slipped near a waterfall and plummeted to her death. Tragic. But I got over it because I'm Finnick Odair. I'm hot. And rich. And did I mention, hot?'

The entire nation wouldn't mourn you. It'd mourn the fact that poor Darling Finnick Odair had to watch you die.

"I don't know about this, Odair."

"Trust me."

That's the second time this man had asked you to trust him tonight. Rule of life.

"I swear, it'll be worth it. Take a leap of faith. Literally."

You grimace, pursing your lips. Your eyes move-

"Don't!", he yells, suddenly, waving his hand from across the abyss so your eyes land on it. "DON'T look down. Just look at me. Leap to me."

Reach for his eyes. Those pools of moss green and cerulean blue that make you want to embrace and destroy the planet for being able to create something so perfect.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to convince yourself he'll catch you. It's an excuse to look at his muscles, yeah, but still, he's strong enough. He'll catch you.

I won't die in front of Finnick Odair.

And you leap.

Instantly, your feet slip on the wet rock on the other side, and you grip onto Finnick's shoulders as he wraps his arms around you.

"Toldja."

"Shut up. I almost died."

"So dramatic.", he chuckles, gently letting go of you as he leads you further behind the waterfall, the tufts of grass on which you lay now faintly visible through the gushing water between you and them.

"There's a tiny cave kind of thing here. Look."

You squint, kneeling down in front of the entrance.

"Don't be shy. Come in."

You crouch down, taking his hand as he leads you further into the cave, walking gingerly until you see a tiny pool, illuminated by a golden ray of sunlight spilling through from a crack in the stone above.

Good god.

And around it, as though crafted for you, placed for your perusal, were hordes of glass-blue butterflies, fragile, delicate, and oh-so-ethereal, twirling around each other, bathed in all directions by the beam of light, which flowed through their transparent wings.

Finnick Odair, marry me.

"So?", he asks, breath gently brushing your ear. "What do you think?" The eagerness in his eyes was obvious, as though he were a child showing you the scribbles he'd just made.

"I..."

"I thought, y'know, I mean, I get excited about the ocean, so there's no reason for you not to get excited about butterflies."

"How did you find this place?", you ask, breathless.

"That's a secret."

Your eyes are transfixed onto the flapping of wings, the distribution of gold, the surreality of it all. It's almost godly. It's so breathtaking, you genuinely need to sit down. He sits with you.

"Are you scared for tomorrow?"

"That's a secret."

He smiles, softly, though the sadness in his expression is palpable and inevitable. It irks you. The way he is supposed to be, according to you, is spinning around the shoreline, laughing as he dances with the waves, sand on his hands and knees, a tan kissing his skin. That's how he must remain, and that is how you will draw him, if you ever get to.

After a tiny while, though, he leans back, against the rock behind him, eyes still trained on your awe as you watch the butterflies glide around blissfully, before looking out, at the curtain of water flowing and concealing the entrance of this little slice of paradise he'd found for you.

"You know, you could just stay here till tomorrow. You don't even have to go to Reaping Day."

"Oh, yeah, because that's smart. I'll be arrested."

"Then just don't go back."

"Leave my family to get punished?"

"Please tell me you didn't need tesserae."

"Well, before you, barely anyone from our District won, and if they did, they most definitely didn't share."

He groans, running his hands over his face. "So it's not even a fair chance."

You shake your head. "It's fine, though." Has been for five years.

He scoffs, borderline laughing at you, derisively. "Please elaborate."

"If you managed to find the one tiny place on earth where butterflies still thrive, and it happened to be here, by the waterfall I spent my whole life admiring, then, there's a chance I won't be reaped."

"You're extraordinary. Genuinely. Phenomenal. Splendid. Fabulous. Amazing." Was that awe in his voice? Awe at... you? What you just said?

"Are you buttering me up because I might be picked to die tomorrow?"

"I'm buttering you up because you're incredible."

Drawing him isn't enough.

Sonnets, prose, stories, love songs, ballads.

Those would be enough.

"If I get reaped, you better mentor me good."

"If you get reaped, you'll win. I'll get you sponsors, I'll train you so that you'll be an absolute force to reckon with."

The promises are beautiful and fragile and absolutely ludicrous. But that would be the name of his biography.

"If I survive, we're coming here every day."

It's like you've already resigned yourself to the fact that you were going to get chosen.

"You're a Career. You'll be fine."

"Who are you trying to convince?"

Silence suddenly enters the cave.

"We should go."

Both of you say it, both of you agree, and both of you get up.

"Thank you, Finnick."

His name tastes oddly sweet coming out of your mouth. However, the next moment shows that his lips taste even sweeter.

His fucking dimples.

"C'mon. I think this time, leaping will be easier."

What he means by that, you don't know.

Not like you want to, not immediately. Spending your whole life trying to figure him out seemed like a solid career plan.

You leap again.

[rabbitsrants]

PROOF THAT SHINRAN IS ONE OF THE MOST BRILLIANTLY WRITTEN ROMANCES OF ALL TIME - PART 4

symbolism

disclaimer: gosho's imagery is subtle and therefore often overlooked, so in order to highlight it, i'll be referencing the work of suzanne collins, an author who tends to spell out her metaphors more

sharks

chapter 882-884

how the case begins:

how it progresses:

this isn't gosho's first time exploring the theme of sharks in the manga:

chapter 311

both shinichi and haibara relate to sharks, they're self-admittedly drawn to blood and darkness. but why?

haibara was born into it, she didn't have a choice... and even though she's no longer a part of the black organization, she still carries the past with her.

shinichi on the other hand? he seeks it out. he directly confronts it, because he wants to defeat it. his unfaltering idealism is what pushes him to be a shark.

ran is very idealistic too, which i talk about here. so why doesn't she act like a shark?

"Finnick knows then what Haymitch and I know. About Peeta. Being truly, deep-down better than the rest of us." - Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire Chapter 19

the closest that gosho comes to spelling it out like this, is haibara's line about ran "i'm up against dolphin, one of the most loveable creatures in the ocean"

ran's defined by more than her virtuous nature, she's also unbelievably compassionate and sensitive. that's what makes her a dolphin.

her unmatched kindness is constantly displayed throughout the whole manga.

sometimes it irks shinichi:

chapter 787

sometimes it hurts him:

but most of the time it baffles and touches him:

chapter 258

now i'm going to say something that might be controversial: from what i've gathered, shinichi doesn't just appreciate ran's tender heart... he depends on it.

and i'm not saying that lightly, i'm aware that ran's caring nature affects a lot of dcmk characters - it's the reason why vermouth calls her an angel, why haibara refers to her as a dolphin and sees her as a sister figure, hell, it's the reason why kogoro's able to function most of the time.

but i'd still argue that nobody relies on it the way shinichi does, which brings me to the next symbol i want to analyze:

cherry blossom

flowers can represent a variety of concepts, depending on your source and in what context you use them for your writing. the same rule applies to cherry blossoms.

gosho's used it as symbol for justice in the past:

chapter 687

it's interesting to look at it through that lense, but i don't think that's what the cherry blossom represents for shinichi.

after doing some research, i came to the realization that cherry blossoms are widely believed to symbolize hope and the beginning of spring.

i think that interpretation makes a lot more sense for shinran. especially if we examine their first interaction:

chapter 924

shinichi shows ran his deduction skills to impress her... ironically he ends up impressing everyone but her. shinichi's condescension leads to a full-blown argument:

but then something completely unexpected happens... despite the fact that they don't know each other, despite the fact that shinichi insults ran, despite the fact that ran's completely put off by his arrogance, despite all of that... she offers him a cherry blossom and along with it the kindest smile he's ever seen:

and i just can't help feeling like ran's cherry blossom is symbolically very similar to suzanne's dandelion:

"I found him staring at me  from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that’s when I saw it. The first dandelion of the  year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent  in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to  survive.  To this day, I can never shake the connection between this  boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the  dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more  than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his  eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away." - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games Chapter 3

"What I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that." Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay Chapter 27

and clearly, only ran can give that to shinichi...

let me further elaborate by revisiting the shark analogy:

the most beautiful dolphin in the sea sees a shark like him, calls him out on his bluff and instead of avoiding him, she actually welcomes him. ran shows him genuine affection, despite having so many reasons not to. how could he not fall for her?

for someone like shinichi, a cool shark who's able to recognize other predators in the sea from such a young age, seeing the innocence and warmth of a dolphin is pivotal for him, because it reminds him that there's so much more to life than constantly familiarizing himself with other sharks (in his childhood by reading and later by investigating them)... there's good too.

to summarize... shinichi sees a delicate cherry blossom, a gentle dolphin and holds on to her for dear life. he desperately clings to the promise of hope and spring, he depends on her affection and warmth. he needs ran, because without her winter would never end, he'd never escape to coldness of the sea, he'd freeze.

which explains why

a) he's so protective of her

b) ran's smile serves as a compass for shinichi throughout the whole story - while his mind is busy chasing sharks, shinichi's soul is persistently searching for the same smile that strummed his heartstrings all these years ago. which is why he immediately notices when ran's not okay (even though she's very skilled at concealing her pain) and why he always tries to make her feel better

and that's ultimately why

a) shinichi's keeping his identity a secret

b) he's so focused on getting his old body back

without ran, shinichi wouldn't have a constant inner conflict as conan, without her, he'd lack purpose and as a result, detective conan would be empty and lifeless.

ran's not just a love interest y'all...

she's the heart of the entire manga.

visit the shinran library for more

[ilguna]

☼ odds are (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you and Finnick have never seen eye to eye, despite both being close friends with Johanna. it isn't until you save his life in the arena, does he see you different.

warnings; swearing, weapon use, blood, ehhh gore, death, drug mention, kinda starvation mention, suicide (mags), puke mention, the usual hunger games stuff.

wc; 9.6k

--

If there’s one thing that you’ve learned so far about the other district’s personalities since becoming a mentor, it’s that District Four produces the most annoying people by far. You don’t know if they’re born that way, or if it’s the water they drink, but they take that top spot without a close runner up.

Which is crazy, considering people like Enobaria and Gloss exist. They don’t know when to stop even when it’s obvious, yet they can be more mature than Finnick Odair is half the time.

He has the ego the size of a hovercraft and he just uses it to do whatever he wants to whoever he wants. He thinks that if he can smother someone enough, they’ll back down and let him have his way. Arguing with Finnick is truly like talking to someone who always assumes they’re right just because they’re older than you.

Except, in this case, it’s because he’s been mentoring longer, since he won ten years ago. It gives him seniority in calling the shots, or it does in his mind, at least. 

He wants to be the main ally that corrales Katniss and Peeta into doing what’s best in the arena. The problem with that is Katniss doesn’t like Finnick, which will make it a huge ordeal trying to get her to do anything for him. He seems to think that as long as Peeta trusts him, Katniss will follow.

Only, Peeta’s not a complete idiot and he knows how to think for himself. Beyond that, in a setting where there’s going to be twenty-two other tributes that have also won the Hunger Games in their own unique ways—Peeta’s going to follow Katniss’s lead. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that he’s going to let her take the reins and trust her to protect him in dangerous situations.

So, in the end, while Peeta might have his own opinions on what he’d like to do, he’s going to value Katniss’s opinion first. 

Finnick can’t seem to understand that. It doesn’t matter how you explain it to him, he doesn’t want you to be right. Even with Johanna standing here, telling him that you’re not wrong, he refuses to believe it. 

“You’re just going to make her mad.” You tell him again, throwing your hand up. “We all saw the way she looked at you yesterday, and today she’s gone out of her way to make sure she can’t talk to you.”

Finnick glances over in Katniss and Peeta’s direction. They’re on the far side of the Training Center, sitting with Cecelia from District Eight. This morning’s the last chance you get to train before the private session with the Gamemakers in the afternoon. From what you’ve been watching, they’re taking it easy.

“We already knew she wasn’t going to like me.”

“Does it have anything to do with the way you approached her during the parade?” You ask back, tilting your head. “You’re terrible at first impressions.”

“I am not.” Finnick’s face twists.

“Yeah, and that’s why we’re friends, right?” Your tone sarcastic. “I’m not asking for your permission, I’m going to tell Haymitch that you’ll meet up with us later on down the line.”

Finnick shakes his head. “That makes no sense. You are not a strong fighter, I need to be there to help with Katniss.”

“Katniss doesn’t need help!” You exclaim quietly. “What Katniss needed is someone she can trust, and that’s obviously me. I just spent the past two days getting to know her. She doesn’t want to be around either of you.” 

You then place your hand on Johanna’s shoulder, but she gives you a shrug. “I don’t care. She’s going to have to deal with me sooner or later. I have no preference.”

“You have basically no fighting experience, all you’ll do is get in her way.” Finnick tells you.

“Excuse me, I do know how to fight. I set the highest score when it came to hand-to-hand combat with a weapon.”

“When?” Finnick asks, not believing you.

“Today.”

“Bullshit.”

“Finnick, she’s not lying.” Johanna sighs. “And that’s besides the point. We can’t keep (Y/n) out of the plan just because you can’t get along with her. She’s right about Katniss.”

“I can and will keep her out of the fight.” Finnick tells Johanna, causing your face to scrunch up. “Who’s going to get to the Cornucopia first, you or me?”

“I’m not airheaded enough to think it’s me.” You snap back. “But—”

“Katniss knows how to swim, we saw it last year. She’s going to get there second. What stops me then?”

“Me, when I get my fucking hands around your neck.” You point at him. “What happens on the off-chance you chase her off? What’s your big idea then?”

“Haymitch is going to get me something to signal to her that we’re already allies.” Finnick shrugs. “I bet he didn’t talk to you about anything like that.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You laugh. “That’s the entire point. I don’t need him to signal to her about anything. She picked me as an ally on that first day. You can’t say the same. It says a lot about your character.”

“My character?” He’s unimpressed.

“No one likes you!” You shout at him.

“Okay,” Johanna says. “Let’s talk with Haymitch tonight, see what he has to say about the situation.”

“Fine, but I’m not spending the rest of my day with this idiot.” You tell her.

—

Monkeys.

At first, it was only a couple that were hanging above Peeta, who couldn’t be more oblivious. Now, a troop of them have gathered in the twilight in the time it’s taken you, Finnick and Katniss to assess the situation. They’ve completely appeared out of thin air, gathering on open branches.

And they’re all watching Peeta.

You eye Finnick, wondering what he’s thinking on how he wants to handle this. After all, he’s been directed to take charge in situations where Katniss and Peeta’s lives are in danger. Or rather, he asked Haymitch to make it official, because he couldn’t live with the idea that you might be the better fit.

Either way, there’s several different approaches you could take. Does he want to go to Peeta and guide him out of the jungle to make sure he keeps his head down or will that trigger the monkeys? You could try gathering around Peeta and set off the monkeys on purpose to ensure you’re in control, because they’re bound to go off anyway… right?

Or maybe it’s a better idea to lure Peeta out of the jungle and hope for the best?

Katniss makes a decision before Finnick does, carefully arming her bow with two arrows, just in case a fight shows itself. This causes Finnick to nervously adjust the trident in his hand, not ready for what she’s planning on doing.

You, on the other hand, trust her. 

“Peeta.” Katniss’s voice is calm, but there’s a slight edge to her voice if you listen closely. “I need your help with something.”

“Okay, just a minute. I think I’ve just about got it.” Peeta tells her, fiddling with the tree so he can put the spile in the bark. “Yes, there. Have you got the spile?”

“I do. But we’ve found something you’d better take a look at,” Katniss continues. “Only move toward us quietly, so you don’t startle it.”

Katniss has decided to lure Peeta out, then. It’s not a bad plan. With how the monkeys are tracking Peeta’s every movement, anything mildly offensive could cause them to attack. And since eye contact is a form of aggression, he needs to keep his head down.

Peeta turns to face the three of you, panting from trying to drill into the tree with the awl that Mags had passed over before she died. “Okay.” He agrees, not an ounce of hesitation.

He begins to come in your direction, but he’s not at all being quiet whatsoever. This is expected, he wasn’t last year, either. He’s not used to hunting or gently shuffling your feet through leaves. He worked in a bakery, carrying heavy bags over his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, as long as the monkeys are holding their position—and they are—despite the amount of noise he’s making. He’s only five yards from the beach, where you’re standing, when he finally feels how off the air is. His eyes dart up for only a split second, but that’s all it takes.

Their shrieking fills the air, almost causing you to cover your ears at the pitch. The monkeys launch themselves off the branches and aim straight for Peeta, ready to kill. They’re too quick for your eyes, making them one blur. They slide down vines, jump from the trees with teeth bared, hacked raised and claws as sharp as knives.

You jerk forward, drawing your sword back to swing as soon as you get into range.

“Mutts!” Katniss blurts, in case you haven’t figured it out by now.

Katniss and Finnick take off after you. You swing hard, right at the first monkey that thinks they can get their paws on Peeta. The blade cuts right through fur, slicing skin right open, blood flying everywhere. The mutt collapses, struggling to breathe.

It’s just the first of many.

You move on, drawing Peeta in closer to protect him easier. Katniss shoots her arrows two at a time, taking down twice the amount of mutts you can. Finnick tries to keep up with her pace by spearing several of them at once and flinging them aside. Peeta can’t do much with his knife, but you’re able to keep them off of him with just your sword.

The fight grows harder the longer it goes on as you try to see through the darkness, breathing in the cloud of blood and must. Even as you end up back to back with your allies, it doesn’t get any easier. 

“Peeta!” Katniss suddenly shouts. “Your arrows!”

Peeta stops swinging, briefly looking over at Katniss to see what she means. In an instant, he begins to slide out of his sheath so that he can hand it over to her. He doesn’t even wait to make sure the coast is clear before he does.

“Peeta!” You blurt.

You swing at a mutt that’s already coming at you, catching the sight of another one flying out of a tree, heading in his direction. For a moment, you think you have just enough time to fling the monkey off your sword to save him, but the mutt at the end of your blade grabs your wrist, yanking you out of the formation.

You’re thrown into the jungle, a blur of green and brown passing by, until you hit the ground. You roll for a couple of feet, and then come to a stop, staring at the leaves above your head, trying to get a hold of your air. There’s a dull pain on the right side of your body from the impact.

And then you get back up.

Katniss is running for Peeta, hands outreached to grab him before the mutt does, but she’s too far. 

A body materializes from one of the trees, screaming, jumping in front of him just in time. The mutt’s claws swing inward pulling—who you believe to be—the morphling from District Six in for a deadly hug as it sinks its canines into her chest.

You’ve managed to regroup with them now. Peeta wiggles out of the sheath, letting it fall to the dirt so he can bury his knife into the monkey’s back. He stabs it repeatedly until it finally releases its jaw, kicking it away. Katniss retrieves her arrows, loading her bow, waiting for another attack.

You turn to look at the monkeys in the trees, curious to see what they’re doing. They stare back at you, unmoving, observing you the same way. Beside you, Finnick is breathing heavy, trident resting on the ground. He must think that the fight is over, then.

“Come on, then! Come on!” Peeta shouts at the mutts, trying to egg them on. 

They seem disinterested in continuing though, satisfied with the life they’ve taken, retreating. They disappear into the darkness of the jungle silently, and even though it appears they’re gone, it doesn’t feel like it.

“Get her,” Katniss says, she’s talking to Peeta. “We’ll cover you.”

You eye the morphling, who’s audibly wheezing, not quite dead yet, but she will be soon. Peeta carefully lifts her, turning to leave the jungle, the beach being a few feet away. Finnick motions for Katniss to follow Peeta, you don’t even bother to argue with him about who goes next after that.

There are several orange bodies on the ground on the way out. You step over them, wary of the possibility that they could be pretending to be dead. As soon as you step foot onto sand, a shiver runs up your spine, causing your neck to shrink into your shoulders.

You tense too harshly, the pain in your side returns. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as you reach to grab your exposed skin. Since you no longer have a jumpsuit to protect you because of the poisonous fog, several cuts and scrapes have been inflicted across your skin.

“Cold?” Finnick asks, it sounds like he’s teasing. Before you can answer, he keeps going, “Or does your body hurt because you couldn’t handle some hand-to-hand combat?” 

You look over your shoulder to see him, eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you’re so funny.”

“What about my observation makes you think that I’m joking?” He asks, coming to a stop. “You just proved me right.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, face twisting. “Prove you right, how? We’ve barely said anything to each other since the Cornucopia.”

“You have no fighting experience.” He tells you with a straight face. “You’re a danger to the alliance.”

You press your lips together, staring at him, holding back the urge to scream profanities in his face. 

What would he have liked you to do at that moment? You were occupied with a mutt, and Peeta just straight-up abandoned his job to give Katniss a sheath without thinking twice. You were off your game because you didn’t know what to do with a monkey flying at him, while trying to defend yourself at the same time. 

You’ll give it to Finnick, you made an error which could’ve easily have resulted in your death, but it didn’t. What he doesn’t realize is that you will learn from it, you don’t often make the same mistakes twice. You’re not a fucking child, either.

“You forget I was invited to the alliance.” You tell him, choosing not to engage in his behavior. “I don’t know why I bothered responding to you.” You start to move away from him. “All you’re capable of doing is criticizing people.”

You turn away from him, heading to Katniss and Peeta, who are hovering over the morphling girl. They have cut away the jumpsuit over her chest, revealing the four puncture wounds from the mutt’s fangs. There’s blood slowly running out of them, making the situation appear better than it is. 

She’s gasping for air, desperate for every lungful, holding onto Katniss’s hands, unable to control her twitching. A part of you wonders if she accidentally got caught up in the fog, but that can’t be the case. It has to be withdrawal, considering the green shade of her skin, her prominent cheekbones. She watches the clouds in the sky blankly, trying to hold on.

“I’ll watch the trees.” Finnick says, right before turning away from the scene.

You stare at the back of his head, and then turn your attention back to the morphling. Peeta moves to be on the other side of her, crouching down to gently stroke her hair, speaking quietly. “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 is completely encapsulated by 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.” Peeta murmurs.

Rustling of leaves drags you out of what he’s saying, you look over in time to catch the back of Finnick’s body, heading back into the jungle. You give a glance to Katniss, who seems to be in her own world at the moment, and decide that they can protect themselves for a moment while you have a conversation with Finnick.

You head straight in without an ounce of hesitation, following the sound of muttering, leading you straight to him. He’s picking the arrows out of the grass, swinging them out periodically to rid them of the mutt blood they’re soaked in.

“Listen,” You start, Finnick pauses long enough to look at you, before going back to what he was doing. “I get it, you don’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. I don’t need you up my ass about every decision I make. So, worry about yourself, and I will worry about me.”

“I’m not up your ass.” He scoffs. “I was pointing out what happened. You can’t fight, it’s a fact.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “While I was trying to kill the mutt, I was figuring out how to save Peeta, there was a monkey—”

Finnick holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I don’t need your excuse.”

You tilt your head at him, lips parted, actually speechless. You knew Finnick’s personality resembled a dumpster, but you’ve never experienced it yourself. It’s always been second hand retellings from your friends.

“Anything else?” Finnick asks after a moment of silence.

You’re stewing again. It’s insane how easy it would be to tear him down from the horse he sits on, but you can’t afford ruining the alliance. With how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to throw in the towel and tell you to do it yourself. Which you can do, it’s just a matter of whether or not you’d like to at this point.

While you’re glowering at him, thinking of a response that doesn’t end in the two of you fighting, something moves from behind his head. You take a step to the side, eyes searching the ground, but you quickly realize that’s not where it is. It’s up in the trees.

“What?” Finnick asks.

“We should leave the jungle.” You tell him, not wanting to mention it in case your eyes are playing tricks. “It’s not safe here.”

Finnick digs his heels in. “Now you’re being paranoid.” 

He turns around, going back to rummaging through the greenery to find the arrows for Katniss. He’s already got a good handful already, does she really need the rest? 

A branch dips, your eyes flicker to it.

Even though the sun is finally rising, the light hasn’t quite reached this part of the arena yet. You pat your hip for your sword, afraid of what’s to come, and realize that you left it out on the beach with the Twelve tributes.

“I’m serious, let’s go.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says back, inching closer to the tree.

A hand creeps out of the darkness, a furry hand wrapping around the branch further down, as if preparing itself to launch at him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t lure Finnick out the same way that Katniss did to Peeta. And you can’t fight your way out of this situation without a weapon. As nice as it would be to turn around and leave him in here, knowing what’s behind him, you’d never be able to live with it.

“Finnick, just trust me this once. Katniss has enough arrows.”

Finnick stands, the movement is too quick, causing the monkey mutt to jerk into the light, revealing itself too soon.

“If you’re scared, you can go back to the beach, (Y/n).”

“Finnick, get down.”

He takes a step toward you, mouth opened to continue what he was saying. You watch in horror as the mutt’s body tenses, getting ready to attack Finnick. You rush at him, the same way the morphling did to Peeta.

“Get out of the way!” You shout, jumping to tackle him.

Finnick turns in time to dodge you and the monkey, putting you into each other’s path, forcing you to collide. The monkey’s claws dig into your skin as it throws you down, your head flying back. A sharp pain strikes your skull, your vision immediately going black.

A rough hand grabs the underside of your arm, jolting you awake. You blink quickly, trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you’re harshly brought back to reality. The person tries to pull you to your feet, but your legs aren’t ready for the weight. Your knees buckle, hand grabbing the shoulder of whoever it is to steady yourself.

The throbbing in the back of your head begins, feeling like a giant headache. You wince, gritting your teeth, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple. The back of your neck feels wet and sticky.

“Can you stand?” An irritated voice asks.

It’s Finnick, face twisted into a hard expression. The grip you have on his shoulder loosens, you lock your knees to keep from falling over. You’re trembling though, you can see it when you let go of him completely.

“Yes, I’ve got it.”

You reach back and dab your hand against the sore area on your head. Your fingers are coated in blood, shining in the sunlight that manages to escape the leaves. A sigh leaves your lips, hand falling at your side.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Finnick asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “There was a monkey in the trees.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?” 

“The same way we could’ve told Peeta?” You counter, and then motion to the jungle. “I didn’t know how many there were. I left my sword on the beach.”

“Another great idea of yours.” He says.

You don’t say anything to him at first, turning to go back to the beach. Just before you hit the treeline, you murmur, “A thank you would be nice.”

Whether or not Finnick actually hears you is a mystery, because he doesn’t respond. 

Katniss and Peeta are sitting together in the sand, side by side, looking out at the water. Your sword is tucked at Katniss’s side, right next to her bow. You come to a stop a foot or so behind them.

Finnick passes you, dropping the arrows in the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks.” Katniss says. “Where’s (Y/n)?”

“I’m here.” You tell her.

You continue dragging your feet through the sand, wanting to go to the water to clean the blood out of your hair before it dries. Katniss comes to join you soon after, mostly to clean her weapons. When she sees that you’re having trouble, she carefully massages the blood out.

When you’re done, Katniss goes to get moss from the jungle to dry off her arrows. You sit in the sand with your sword, haphazardly playing with the blade.

“Where did they go?” Katniss asks.

“The bodies? We don’t know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone.” Finnick says.

Katniss hums. The four of you sit on the beach in silence, staring at the water, watching the sky come to life. Katniss starts to scratch her arm, and then stops suddenly, looking at you, and then to the boys. You follow her gaze curiously, and find them scratching at their faces.

It’s the scabs from the fog, Katniss’s skin is covered in them, so is half of Peeta’s body and Finnick’s face. You, however, not so much. You were able to stay ahead of the fog, you thought to guide them out with the best possible path. Still, Peeta has trouble with his prosthetic leg and he needed support and…

Finnick never should have asked Katniss to carry Mags down the hill. You knew as soon as the words came out of his mouth that he was making a mistake. Katniss doesn’t have that sort of strength, she’s a skinny girl. She might’ve put on some weight since her Games, but it basically replenished what was taken in the first place.

He should’ve asked you. And even though you tried to object, he shut you down and told you to keep running. You didn’t have time to argue with the fog closing in, so you went right back to what you’d been doing before. It wasn’t even three minutes later when Katniss fell with Mags on her, causing Mags to take the situation into her own hands.

She kissed Finnick goodbye and walked into the fog.

None of you have mentioned it since it happened. You would like to say something to Finnick, but you’re sure it wouldn’t go over well with him. You can guess what he’d say back to you, taking none of your feelings about her into consideration. Besides, he seems to be holding it together pretty well, the last thing you’d want to do is accidentally send him over the edge.

“Don’t scratch.” Katniss tells them. “You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

You don’t move from where you sit, letting them go back into the jungle to gather water. You’ve already had more than your fair share of injury in the past hour and a half, you’ll let them take their chances.

Peeta brings back a shell of water for you to drink, and even goes back one more time for a refill. You thank him and tuck the shell of water into the sand for later. 

“Why don’t you three get some rest?” Katniss asks. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather.” Finnick says.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Katniss concedes. “All right, Finnick, thanks.”

Katniss and Peeta lay down in the sand, you don’t bother. You turn your back to Finnick to ensure he knows you’re disinterested in conversing with him. You spend the next few hours picking the clumps of bloody sand from your sword and flicking them toward the water.

You’re not entirely sure what Finnick does, and you don’t really care. The more you think about him and the alliance, the more irritated you grow, causing your pounding headache to get worse. 

First, he tells you that he’s going to get you kicked out of the alliance by talking to Haymitch before you, and he nearly does. It’s a good thing that Haymitch doesn’t make rash decisions, otherwise you’d be on your own right now. He was almost convinced that you’d be more harmful than useful to the rebellion.

It wasn’t until Katniss made a comment about how much she trusts you, did he make up his mind and tell Finnick to deal with it. Katniss doesn’t like people easily. It was different for Mags, Wiress and Beetee because they don’t really pose a threat to her, and she doesn’t think that they’d go out of their way to kill her.

With you, all she told Haymitch was that it was easy to talk to you and she didn’t feel like she had to hide her true feelings. Which is an accomplishment and something you can use to your advantage later if needed. For right now, it’s pretty clear what she’s thinking even if she’s doing her best to hide it.

Anyway, Finnick doesn’t like that you don’t have to try with Katniss. And just like he told you in the Training Center, Haymitch had to give him a gold bracelet to symbolise to Katniss that he can be trusted. Which was funny when you found out at the Cornucopia.

Finnick was right, you didn’t make it there first—not that you thought you were anyway—but you did show up a minute later. Katniss was the one that saw you and welcomed you onto the island, despite Finnick trying to tell her not to. 

He’s been pretty pissed and cold since.

By the time Katniss stirs awake, it’s about midmorning. Your sword is clean, the shell cup empty of water, and you’re surprisingly feeling a little bit better. And it appears that Finnick has been busy this entire time.

He’d woven a grass mat and laid it on some branches to shield Katniss and Peeta’s faces from the sun. There’s two bowls full of fresh water, and a third that contains shellfish. 

He sits with them in front of him, cracking shellfish open with a stone. “They’re better fresh.” He tells Katniss, ripping flesh from the shell and popping it in his mouth. His eyes are puffy.

A tang of sadness hits you, you can’t imagine how difficult it’d been for him to cry silently with you sitting so close. His eyes lock with yours briefly before you turn away, getting to your feet. You brush the sand from your skin.

Katniss goes to reach for one of the shells but stops. She then holds her fingers close to her face, observing the blood beneath her nails.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection.” Finnick says.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” She says, getting up to wash the blood off in the water. She stomps back up to you two a moment later. “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.” She tells the sky.

A second later, a parachute swings out of the jungle, heading for her. She reaches up to catch a tube in her hands. “About time.” She says, going to sit next to Finnick in the sand. 

She unscrews the lid, squeezing the thick, dark ointment into her palm. Her face twists, whether it be from the color or the smell, and then begins to massage it into her leg. A sigh escapes her while she closes her eyes.

“It’s like you’re decomposing.” Finnick says after she hands him the tube. But looks must not matter to him for the moment, because he gives in and starts to treat his skin as well.

“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” Katniss teases.

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks back.

“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it.”

“Not if I keep looking at you.” 

Katniss offers the tube to you, but you hold up your hand, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, save it for yourselves.”

“You’ve got a couple spots.” She motions.

“I’m good, really. But thank you.”

You swing your sword, and then wander away from them, trying to put some more distance so you can sit alone for a while longer. They wake Peeta up a few minutes later, and then you can hear the cracking of shells against rocks. You don’t bother to join them for the meal, you’re still full from last night.

You draw shapes in the sand, smooth them over to start over, and then write names. It isn’t until you’re on the third one, do you realize it's the names of dead tributes that you’ve mentored recently. You stare at them, mystified as to why you’ve chosen them, of all the people you know.

A scream from across the arena interrupts the silence of the arena. Your head jerks up, eyes searching the trees beyond the Cornucopia to find the source. A wedge of the jungle begins to vibrate, a huge wave crests over the trees, coming down the hill. You get to your feet, sword clutched tightly in your hand as you watch the wave hit the center water, and distribute evenly over the Cornucopia.

The wave that comes toward you reaches your knees, going as far back as the treeline, before retreating back to the center lake. Katniss, Peeta and Finnick gather their belongings before they float away. 

A cannon fires. The hovercraft appears over where the water had come from, dipping down to collect the body. The claw comes back with the body, and that’s the last you see of the hovercraft.

You go to sit back down when Katniss’s head whips in your direction. “There.”

You turn your head, curious as to what she’s found. It’s three people stumbling on the beach, one of them being dragged onto the beach by the second, and the third is wandering in circles. They’re red, blood red.

“(Y/n), get back here.” Finnick hisses.

You don’t move from where you are, squinting at the figures.

“Who is that?” Peeta asks. “Or what? Muttations?”

The second person dragging the first suddenly drops the body, throwing their arms down at their sides and stomping their foot in anger—a move that you recognize from someone else, but can’t place your finger on. It isn’t until the person marches over to the third one to shove them over, do you realize.

“Johanna!” You shout, delighted. “Finally!”

“(Y/n)!” She replies.

You run toward her, sword swinging at your side, excited that you’re not stuck with Finnick by yourself anymore. Johanna will be able to act as a buffer between the two of you, and she’ll be able to shut him down when he gets mouthy with you now. 

You throw your sword to the side, slamming into a hug with Johanna. The two of you rotate, her laugh is musical in your ear. You’re so happy that she’s alive, you don’t know what you’d do without her.

When you pull away, you motion at her. “What are you covered in?”

Finnick walks up beside you, “Hey, Johanna.”

“Finnick.” She says, and then she motions to the jungle. “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.”

A small gasp comes from you as you cover your mouth. “Johanna, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t much, but he was from home.” She sighs. “And he left me alone with these two.” She nudges Beetee with her foot, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. “He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her—”

Wiress has gotten back to her feet, wandering, murmuring, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

“Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock.” She rolls her eyes, but at the mention of Wiress’s nickname, she’s drawn to Johanna, placing her hands on her. Johanna shoves her down to the beach. “Just stay down, will you?”

Lay off her.” Katniss snaps.

Johanna’s eyes narrow at her. “Lay off her?” She hisses. In an instant, she raises her hand and goes to slap Katniss, but you’re able to grab her wrist before she’s successful, pulling Johanna away from her.  “Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You—”

Finnick steps in, tossing Johanna over his shoulder, forcing you to let go of her while he brings her to the water. You listen and watch as she screams some really insulting words at Katniss, and then Finnick drops her into the water to silence her. He does this until she goes quiet.

Katniss and Peeta take Beetee and Wiress to the water to clean the blood off of them, since they’re both incapable of doing it themselves. You wander to join Finnick and Johanna in the water, despite the unwelcoming glares you receive from Finnick.

—

“Get up.” Katniss suddenly orders, shaking Peeta, Finnick and Johanna awake. “Get up—we have to move.”

It’s about noon, judging by how the sun is positioned directly overhead in the sky. It’s been a relatively quiet morning these past couple hours, mostly because the entire group has spent it napping on the beach. For a while, you were sitting with both Johanna and Katniss, but Johanna eventually got tired and laid down on the beach.

You’re not entirely sure why Katniss suddenly feels the need to move. The only event that has happened recently is an announcement of sorts from the Gamemakers. A bell tolled twelve times like it had late last night, and the lightning started again. It must mean something to her, because she stood up to look around the arena.

“What is it?” Johanna slaps Katniss’s hand away.

“I think the arena works like a clock.” She says, Peeta rubs the sleep out of his eyes, while Finnick squints at the surrounding jungle. “(Y/n), you remember last night when the bell tolled?”

“Yeah.” You pull your knees to your chest, watching her.

“It was because it was midnight, and the start of the clock.”

“Twelve bongs.” Finnick murmurs.

“Yes.” She nods. “Wiress figured it out first, that’s why she’s tick-tocking. She’s trying to tell us the arena’s a clock.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Johanna says, shaking her head. 

“It does.” Katniss tells her. “Lightning at midnight, blood rain at two, poisonous fog at three, monkey mutts at four…” She trails off, assuming you get what she’s saying. 

Peeta’s nodding, looking down at the sand. “It’d explain why we had to deal with the fog and monkeys back-to-back.”

“So what’s going to happen now, then?” Johanna asks.

“Blood rain.” Finnick tells her.

The group of you sit in silence for a moment, digesting this. If she’s right, then that does mean you have to move, or at least get to a point in the arena where you can observe. After that, you could move from wedge to wedge to avoid what lurks in the jungle.

“What should we do, then?” Peeta asks.

“We need to move, get out of the way.” You say, looking at Katniss. “The Cornucopia?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Johanna agrees.

Katniss nods. 

You break apart, going to collect your belongings out of the sand, securing them to your body to carry them with you. Finnick and Peeta work together to get Beetee back into his jumpsuit, now clean of blood. 

Katniss goes to wake Wiress, who’s been murmuring in her sleep this entire time. She jolts awake, grabbing onto Katniss’s arms tightly. “Tick, tock!”

“Yes, tick, tock, the arena’s a clock. It’s a clock, Wiress, you were right.” She tells her. “You were right.”

Wiress relaxes considerably, nodding a little. “Midnight.”

“It starts at midnight.” Katniss confirms.

Wiress nods at one of the wedges. “One-thirty.”

“Exactly. One-thirty. And at two, a terrible poisonous fog begins there.” Katniss says, pointing at a different area of the jungle. “So we have to move somewhere safe now.” Wiress smiles and stands. “Are you thirsty?”

As soon as the woven bowl is handed over to her, Wiress gulps it down. Finnick gives her some of the bread from a sponsorship you missed, she slowly chews on it. From what you can see, it’s the salty seaweed bread from District Four. Yuck.

You hand Katniss her weapons, watching her secure the spile and the tube of medicine to a square cloth of a parachute before using a vine to tie it to her belt. 

Beetee’s not entirely conscious, so Peeta goes to lift him out of the sand, causing him to stir and become deadweight. “Wire.”

“She’s right here.” Peeta says. “Wiress is fine. She’s coming, too.”

Beetee tries to push Peeta off of him. “Wire.”

“Oh, I know what he wants.” Johanna rolls her eyes, crossing the beach to pick up a cylinder. It’s still covered in a thick layer of blood, making it impossible for you to see what it is. “This worthless thing. It’s some kind of wire or something. THa’ts how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don’t know what kind of weapon it’s supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrote or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garroting somebody?”

You snort, she tilts her head.

“He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap.” Peeta tells her. “It’s the best weapon he could have.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Katniss chimes in. “Seems like you’d have figured that out.” She says slowly. “SInce you nicknamed him Volts and all.”

Johanna’s eyes narrow in her direction. “Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She asks. “I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what, again? Getting Mags killed off?”

The air becomes hard to breathe, you steal a glance at Finnick out of the corner of your eye and find his eyebrows drawn in, thinking. You can’t believe Johanna just threw that out in the open. 

Katniss’s hand grips the knife on her belt.

“Go ahead. Try it. I don’t care if you are knocked up, I’ll rip your throat out.” Johanna tilts her head.

“Maybe we all had better be careful where we step.” Finnick says, trying to calm the situation. He gives Katniss a look, taking the coil from Johanna to set it on Beetee’s chest. “There’s your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it.”

This allows Peeta to pick up Beetee without an issue. “Where to?”

“To the Cornucopia, like (Y/n) said.” Finnick says. “I’d like to watch. Just to make sure we’re right about the clock.”

One at a time, you approach the nearest sand strip, heading to the center island. You take up the very back with Johanna, who has her arms crossed, seething. Or maybe not, you can’t see her face at the moment. Every time Katniss tries to call her out for her behavior, you know they get closer to considering killing each other. 

The Cornucopia is barren of any Careers, allowing you to spread out and pick where you’d like to be in the mouth. The weapons that remain have been thoroughly picked-over, the only thing you could possibly grab now are knives. You don’t really have any specialty weapons. You had to teach yourself how to fight with a sword.

Peeta lays Beetee in the small bit of shae that does exist. As soon as Beetee’s comfortable, he calls over Wiress. She crouches beside him, and he hands over the coil of wire. “Clean it, will you?”

Wiress nods, and hurries over to the edge of the island. She dunks the coil in the water, quietly singing a song to herself about a mouse running up a clock.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna groans, throwing her head back. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

She suddenly stops, standing up straight, coil of water in her hand, dripping watery blood onto the black rock. She points to the jungle. “Two.”

You look to where she’s pointing, and find a wall of fog seeping out onto the beach. 

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.”

“Like clockwork.” Peeta says. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

All she does is smile, and then she goes right back to singing and cleaning. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says, coming back to life. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” Katniss explains.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna asks morbidly.

“It stops signing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.”

This is clearly a topic of conversation that Katniss doesn’t want to participate in, so it drops. Johanna turns to head inside of the Cornucopia, flicking her short hair over her shoulder. Katniss and Finnick follow soon after, going to stock up their weapons.

Johanna comes out with a pair of axes, looking over the blades with a fairly impressed look. She then swings the axe forward, at the golden walls of the Cornucopia. Since it’s been softened by the sun, the blade sticks. Johanna grabs it with one hand and yanks it out.

You watch as Peeta draws a circle with his machete on a large leaf he took from the jungle. He seems to draw a map of the arena, with the jungle and beach having its own sections. And then he divides the circle into wedges. “Look at how the Cornucopia’s positioned.”

Katniss comes over to look, “The tail points toward twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, going on to write the numbers one through twelve around his circle. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He writes lightning in small print in the wedge, working clockwise to add blood, fog, and monkeys to the next three sections.

“And ten to twelve is the wave.” Katniss says, he writes it in. 

Finnick and Johanna come to see what they’re doing now. Tridents, axes and knives hanging off their bodies. Johanna pulls one of her knives from her belt, twisting it in her hand, holding the handle out to you.

You take it from her, holding it in your hands while you watch Peeta.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks JOhanna and Beetee, but they haven’t experienced anything other than the blood. “I guess they could hold anything.”

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta murmurs, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look over the clock in silence.

Silence.

Your eyes dart up, and you find that Katniss is one step ahead of you, an arrow armed on her bow, pointed at a soaking wet Gloss. Wiress is sliding toward the ground, her throat slit open, it’ll be impossible to save her. The arrow slams into his temple, killing him instantly. Johanna is already on her feet, swinging her axe into Cashmere’s chest. 

The sound of sand crunching beneath boots causes your head to whip in the direction, finding Brutus and Enobaria running up the other side. A spear drawn back in Brutus’s hand, aimed in your direction. 

And furthermore, Finnick’s.

“Get out of the fucking way!” You scream, shoving Finnick down.

The both of you hit the sand, the spear whizzing right over your heads, where you had been standing seconds prior. It slams into the golden Cornucopia, the entire head buried in the structure. Brutus had thrown it with enough force to kill you both in an instant.

Two arrows are sent back by Katniss in retaliation, but neither of them must land, because she jerks forward to chase after them. Three cannons blast in quick succession, confirming three dead; Wiress, Gloss and Cashmere. 

Katniss disappears around the mouth, with Johanna and Peeta right behind her. You and Finnick are just picking yourselves out of the sand when the ground jerks beneath you. Your shoulder slams into the sand, and then you begin to quickly roll, as the rock island that the Cornucopia sits on begins to spin, fast.

You desperately reach out, trying to find a ridge to dig your fingers into, but you only come up with handfuls of sand. The jungle has turned into a blur of green and beige as you pick up speed, water turning to mist in the air.

You’re almost at the edge of the rock when a hand clamps around your ankle, stopping you from falling off. You’re left to face the water, dizziness beginning to overcome you, until you slam to a sudden stop.

The urge to vomit rises up your stomach quickly. You yank your ankle free from whoever it is that has a hold of you, quickly crawling to the edge to puke up water and bile into the water. You try to close your eyes to make yourself feel better, but all it does is speed up the rate that you’re spinning.

The throbbing in your head returns in full swing.

When you finally finish gagging over the rock, you pick yourself up from the sand, wiping it from your skin. The others have gathered together at the mouth of the Cornucopia, just as disheveled as you are. 

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks.

You sit down while they circle the Cornucopia to confirm he’s off of the island. Finnick apparently spots him about twenty feet out in the water, and dives in to retrieve him. Katniss, on the other hand, finds Wiress in the water, the coil still clutched tightly in her hands.

“Cover me.” She tells Johanna, racing down the strip closest to her body before diving in. She swims hard, battling the hovercraft on who will get to Wiress’s body first. She reaches her first, working to loosen Wiress’s fingers, and then comes back to the center island.

By the time she makes it, Wiress is gone, as well as the two other bodies that were floating in the water. Finnick lays Beetee down in the sand, letting him get a hold of himself again. Katniss places the wire in his lap, now clean of blood, sparkling in the sunlight.

Beetee unravels a small bit of the wire, running his fingers over it. It’s a pale golden color, and it’s incredibly thin. You know Johanna was joking about him using it to garrotte people but it would be completely impossible to. As soon as you’d tighten it, it would snap. 

For a while, you sit in silence together, catching your breath, wringing the water out of your clothes or shaking sand out of your clothes. When it appears as though you’re ready to move on, Johanna stands. “Let’s get off this stinking island.”

You’re forced to recollect your weapons, since they had been strewn across the island due to the spinning. Your sword and the knife Johanna handed you are relatively easy to find. While the others have to take a moment to dig.

Beetee tells Peeta that he thinks he can walk now, as long as he’s patient and willing to go slow. It’s better than carrying him again, so Peeta helps bring him to his feet. It’s then decided you all should go to the beach at twelve o’clock, because it should give you several hours before you have to face the jungle again.

Peeta, Johanna and Finnick head off in three different directions.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail point at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick reasons. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.”

“I think Katniss’s point is, knowing the time doesn’t mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well.” Beetee says.

You squint, face twisted. You would hope the Gamemakers didn’t shift the jungle too, that would give the entire secret of the clock away, wouldn’t it? But then again, you guess it doesn’t matter. 

“Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.” Katniss says, offering you a shrug when you look at her.

You circle around the Cornucopia as a group, picking out every detail of the jungle, only to discover that each wedge has been almost perfectly replicated. Katniss says something about how there was a tall tree in the lightning section that stood out, but now she can’t find it.

Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s footsteps, but the sand has been blown away completely from the wind. Katniss lets out a heavy sigh, “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“Only temporarily.” Beetee says. “At ten, we’ll see the wave again and be back on track.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says, trying to make her feel better.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s tone impatient. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless.” She pops a hip out, crossing her arms. “Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

A path is chosen at random. At the beach, they peer into the jungle, trying to judge what could be inside.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta shrugs. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“(Y/n) can do that.” Johanna waves her hand. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She yanks one of the leaves off of a tree to hand it to him.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to this.” You make a face, shaking your head.

“Then Katniss can go with you to keep the peace.” Johanna motions, Katniss nods.

You smile at her, but send a glare in Johanna’s direction, irritated that she’s already working to pair you and Finnick together. You’re tired of his presence and being forced to talk to him. You liked it yesterday when he was stubborn and refused to talk to you the entire day unless he had to.

Either way, you have no choice now. Finnick leads the way into the jungle. About fifteen yards in, he stops in front of a tree that looks like it’ll give you a good stream of water. He then holds his hand out, “Knife.”

“You have your own.” You tell him.

“Johanna gave you the best one.” He says, fingers beckoning for the knife. “It’s thinner.”

“You’ll make it dull.”

“Don’t be a pain.”

“Use your own knife.”

“No, I’m not ruining my own knives.”

“So you’ll ruin mine instead? Don’t you have like ten of them?” You motion at his belt. “Choose one of them.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“You do realize that the knife is the only weapon I have beside my sword, right? You’re carrying like three different tridents, why don’t you use one of those?”

Finnick’s face twists at you. “Don’t tell me you’re actually that dense.”

“No, but you are.” You tilt your head at him.

Katniss shakes her head. “I know why Johanna sent me in here now.”

You look over your shoulder. “You can go, Katniss. We won’t kill each other.”

She purses her lips, thinking. “I’ve got to pee, so I’ll do that and come back.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Finnick tells her.

Katniss wanders off with her bow, heading deeper into the jungle, completely out of your sight. You look back at Finnick, who still has his hand out, waiting for your knife. You grab it begrudgingly, placing it in his hand. 

He starts to drill into the tree with the tip of your knife, ruining it immediately. You’ll get him back for this later. You’re not sure how, because trying to use his trident would make you look stupid. Maybe you’ll steal a knife off of him when he’s sleeping, since he seems to place a lot of trust in the others to watch over him.

The silence between you and Finnick is fine for the first few minutes, but you really don’t like standing over him like this without saying anything. You clear your throat, turning your body away so you don’t have to look at him.

“I’m sorry about Mags.” You tell him. “I didn’t know her well, but she was always kind to me when I was with her. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine.” Finnick tells you. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You shake your head. “I should’ve taken Mags during the fog, I could’ve carried her.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” He mutters. “Either she died during the fog, or the monkeys, or even the Cornucopia. At least she didn’t suffer.”

You hum. “I guess that’s true.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then he sighs. “You’ve saved my life twice now.”

You make a noise, not really interested in this topic. All he’s going to do is start keeping score. You’ll even bet he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want to be in your debt.

“Hardly.” You tell him.

“You saved me from the monkey in the jungle, and if you hadn’t moved me out of the way, I could’ve died because of the spear.”

“We could’ve died.” You correct him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” Finnick says, he stops drilling into the tree to look at you. “I was wrong when I said that you’d get in the way.”

You shrug, not really feeling the need to thank him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you. “Really.”

“Forget about it.”