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My girls <3

Nov. 2023 was such a time to be alive, I’m literally so excited for more hunger games hype in March

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Green Eyes, Freckles, and Your Smile

finnick odair x fem apprentice stylist!reader summary: After arriving at the Capitol for the 65th Hunger Games, Finnick meets his prep team and is intrigued by a certain apprentice.

The minute Finnick stepped into the prep room, he knew he was going to hate it. Everything in the room was so bright, so shiny, so noisy, so extra, so were the people. To him they all looked like walking blobs of paint. One had extravagant gold lashes, another had neon blue hair.

They all fluttered around him, their high-pitched, excited, sickly sweet voices overlaping as they proded and examined his every feature.

"Such potential!” “Oh, those eyes!” “We’ll have to highlight that jawline!”

He wanted to react, he wanted to swat them away, but he knew he couldn't, so he sat still. But as he did, something caught his eyes. Or rather, someone.

He saw you standing near the racks of clothing, partially hidden behind the sparkling fabrics. You didn't look like the others. Your outfit was much simpler, a white dress with flowers embroidered on it that fell just above your knee and a simple pair of shoes, nothing like the bright neons and extravagent flourishes that the other stylists had. The only thing that he noticed that was "sparkly" about you was the gold dust on your eyelids and face.

He noticed how you stayed there, observing all the moment around you. He noticed how you held your sketchbook close to your chest like a shield.

And then he finally locked eyes with you.

As he looked at you, he realized that you looked like you were close to his age. And while he looked at you, he felt something. He thought it was just the nervousness in him, but it wasn't. This feeling was something different.

His attention and everyone else's was then pulled away when the head stylist clapped her hands together.

"Alright people, lets get to work!"

The chaotic buzz of voices surged again, and the brightly dressed team closed in on him like a swarm of bees. He resisted the urge to flinch as they tugged at his hair, tilted his chin this way and that, and debated loudly over his “look.”

“Should we go for a sea-green theme? Bring out those District 4 vibes?” “Hmm, no, gold! Gold to highlight those eyes!” “Oh, but his skin! We need to make it shimmer!”

Finnick swallowed his irritation and forced himself to sit still. He didn’t have the energy to care about what they’d do to him. It wasn’t like any of this would matter once he stepped into the Arena.

But then, just as he felt himself shutting down again, he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye. You’d moved closer, still clutching your sketchbook, though now it was open in your hands. You weren’t speaking, just sketching furiously, brows knitted together in concentration.

And then the head stylist’s voice broke through again.

“Finnick, darling!” she trilled, waving her hand dramatically. “Let me introduce you to my apprentice. She’ll be assisting with your look.”

He turned his focus to you and saw the faint tension in your shoulders as you looked up from your sketchpad. Despite your obvious nerves, you stepped forward, your movements careful and deliberate.

You offered him a small, polite smile. “Hi, Finnick. I’m…I’m here to help however I can.”

Your voice was quieter than he expected. Softer. It lacked the Capitol’s usual syrupy sweet, sing-song quality, he knew you were different.

Later, when the others leave to gather fabrics, Finnick finds himself alone with you. The room feels quieter now, the absence of noise amplifying the tension he’s been holding in since his arrival.

You’re seated at a table, her head bent over as you draw in your sketchpad. He hesitates, unsure why he’s drawn to you but unable to resist the pull.

“So… you’re not like the others, huh?” he says as he takes a step towards you.

You look up, startled by his sudden presence.

“What do you mean?”

He leans against the edge of the table, crossing his arms.

“You’re not loud and shiny. You don’t talk to me like I’m some… product.”

“Maybe because I don’t think you are. You’re…a person. Not an object.”

He doesn’t know how to respond, so he just nods, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

When everyone comes back, there's still a hint of...something in the air. But he still couldn't figure out what it was.

"Dearest, go find something so we can use to accessorize Finnick" the head stylists says to you as she takes some of Finnick's measurements.

You nod and Finnick watches as you look through a large display of extravagent jewlery.

A few minutes later, as the stylists continue arguing over colors, he watches as you approach him, holding a delicate necklace with a small ocean-blue pendant.

“This one,” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through all the chatter. You hold it up for him to see. “It suits you.”

Finnick shrugs, offering a crooked grin to mask the nervous flutter in his chest. “If you say so.”

You step a little closer, your hands steady but hesitant, "I’ll put it on for you- just, uh, tilt your head down a little?”

Finnick obliges, ducking his head slightly so you can reach. He feels you move closer, the faint scent of something floral surrounding you, soft and sweet.

As you loop the necklace around his neck, your fingers brush against the back of his skin. It’s such a light touch, almost nothing, but Finnick feels it like a jolt of static electricity. He swallows hard, trying not to react, but his cheeks warm anyway.

You can feel it too. Your hands falter for just a second as you fasten the clasp, and when your fingers accidentally linger against the nape of his neck, you pull them back quickly, cheeks blooming pink.

“Done,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finnick straightens, letting the pendant settle against his chest. He glances down at it for a brief moment but finds his gaze drifting back to you instead. You’re still standing close, looking up at him with an expression he can’t quite place—somewhere between shy and thoughtful, with a tiny hint of pride in your work.

“Thanks,” he says, his tone coming out softer than usual.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, your smile small and almost bashful.

He watches you step back a little, clutching your sketchpad to your chest again like a safety net.

For a moment, neither of you know what to say. Finnick gazes at the faint gold shimmer on your eyelids and wonders if you’ve always looked this... nice. Meanwhile, you try not to stare at how the necklace highlights his features perfectly, the pendant’s soft blue making his green eyes look even brighter.

The silence lingers, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Instead, it feels like a spark waiting to catch.

Finally, you clear your throat, breaking the moment. “It, um, really brings out your eyes. The pendant, I mean.”

Finnick smiles, the warmth spreading to his ears. “Yeah? I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

You laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and Finnick finds himself grinning too. It’s not much, just a simple moment, but it’s enough to leave them both feeling like something’s shifted—something feels like everything has changed.

He watches as you turn back to your sketches but he can’t help but steal another glance your way, wondering why out of all the shiny, noisy, extravagant things here, you’re the one that’s caught his attention.

A/N: UGHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH MY CUTIES☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ THEYRE SO CUTE☹️

LMK IF YOU GUYS WANT MORE OF THIS READER AND FINNICK

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today's affirmations💌

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Analysis on the SOTR excerpt

The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there.

This is his last "happy" birthday with his family. By this time next year, he'll celebrate his birthday by being shipped off to the Capitol, having watched two kids get reaped and mentor them until their death.

“Happy birthday!” My 10-year-old brother, Sid, gives my shoulder a shake. “You said be your rooster. You said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

This level of family care and love is a strong entry to the book, as this is Haymitch's last day being surrounded by loved ones. There will never again be a morning where he wakes to his brother being his 'rooster'. It's a clashing contrast to the brief glances we receive in his victor's home.

Haymitch & Katniss parallel + Did Haymitch know Mr. Everdeen? Are they friends gathering (Haymitch) and hunting (Mr. Everdeen) in the woods? This could imply a similar relationship as Katniss and Gale initially had (potential parallels between each character?)

It’s true. I’m hoping to finish my work before the ceremony so I can devote the afternoon to the two things I love best — wasting time and being with my girl, Lenore Dove.

LENORE: Edgar Allan Poe reference: "Lenore" by Poe is a poem that explores themes of mourning, loss, and the hope for a better afterlife. The poem is about the death of a young woman named Lenore and the grief of her lover, who laments her passing but also finds solace in the belief that she is now in a better place. The poem contrasts the sorrow of those left behind with the idea that Lenore has transcended to a more peaceful and heavenly existence. Poe's use of language and imagery creates a haunting and melancholic atmosphere, reflecting the deep emotions associated with loss and the hope for eternal peace.

DOVE: Although no colour, her double name might suggest a potential Covey relationship. Dove could be a reference to the bird (grey or white) which might reference both Lucy Gray (grey) and Snow (white).

“Haymitch!” wails Sid. “The sun’s coming up!”

Wonderful reference to the title, 'Sunrise' on the Reaping. It starts at Midnight Sunrise.

“All right, all right. I’m up, too.” I roll straight off the mattress onto the floor and pull on a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack.

This implies that Haymitch is taking tesserae, making it likely that this already existed during the 50th Hunger Games

The words "courtesy of the Capitol" end up stamped across my butt. My ma wastes nothing. Widowed young when my pa died in a coal mine fire, she’s raised Sid and me by taking in laundry and making every bit of anything count.

Haymitch's and Katniss' mothers are stark contrasts here. This increases the parallels between them and what he might have seen in Katniss when she was reaped.

In addition, Katniss remembers the loss of her father as a deep cut into her life. Potentially, Sunrise might answer whether Haymitch feels that way, too, or if he had been too young. Does he feel sorrow when walking not only around the Seam (mother, brother), but also around the colliery (father)?

Out back, my ma’s already stirring a steaming kettle of clothes with a stick, her muscles straining as she flips a pair of miner’s overalls. She’s only 35, but life’s sorrows have already cut lines into her face, like they do. 

His fondness for Hazelle as his housekeeper and potential friend might be due to seeing a resemblance of the mother he lost in Hazelle.

What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern’s a two-hour job even with Sid’s help.

The brotherly connection he has with Sid being one of mutual aid, in contrast to Katniss' motherly role toward Prim. Haymitch had a real chance at a (relatively) normal family life and an actual childhood until this very day.

A blanket of mist wraps protectively around the worn, gray houses of the Seam.

It's interesting that Haymitch perceives mist as protecting the seam. Mist could potentially link to poems akin "Spirits of the Dead", where mist is a "symbol and a token", "a mystery of mysteries". This Poe poem itself reflects on the inevitability of death and the idea that the spirits of the dead continue to exist in a different realm. This could be a foreshadow for Haymitch and his relationship with the seam; insofar that his past life and soon-to-be-deceased family resided there; still lingering due to his own grief.

Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.

"When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, everyone will make note of my tears, and I’ll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction." (Katniss) and "Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping" (Lucy Gray)

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Hi!! I love your writing!! Could you please write something for Finnick x fem!reader post-rebellion where she can’t handle storms anymore because of the noise and what happened during the rebellion?

thank you sweetheart! and thanks for the prompt <3

Finnick Odair x fem!reader who can't handle thunder [1.4k words]

CW: PTSD, flashbacks, anxiety, a disgusting amount of petnames, fluff

Finnick cursed to himself as he rushed out of the water to grab his towel. 

He’d gotten up early this morning to a grey sky that felt heavy and oppressive; dampness settling on his skin from the open window as he looked out at the sea. He knew the chances of a storm were high, but he had hoped he’d be home after a quick swim before the thunder started.

He miscalculated. 

He could feel the rumble in his chest as the clouds boomed above him, and he spared one look at the direction of his seaside cottage before rushing out of the water and up the sand and stone path. 

He took the stairs up to the porch that led to your bedroom two at a time, hardly caring that he was still dripping with sea water and trailing sand into the house.

You weren’t in bed where he left you. 

He took his own steadying breath at your absence, reminding himself that you were in the house and Snow was dead; he couldn’t get to you. No one could get to you. You were safe.

“Honey?” He called out shakily, running his towel half mindedly through his hair as he left the room in search of you. 

“Finn?” 

He followed the sound of your voice down to the kitchen where you were standing with a slight sway, your arms folded around yourself as you stared unseeingly out the window. 

“Hey, sweetheart, hey love.” Finnick cooed as he made his way over to you; hands gentle as they encouraged you to turn your body towards him. “It’s alright.”

“The canon-”

“It’s not the canons, my love; you’re home, we’re home. You’re safe.” He promised as another crack of thunder shook the house. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing tears to spill from your lashes as you took stilted, shuddering breaths. 

“They’re here.” You whispered hopelessly, still never opening your eyes when Finnick tilted your head up towards him with a gentle finger by your chin. 

“No one’s here, honey. Open your eyes for me.” He murmured gently, keeping your chin between his thumb and finger even when you shook your head no.

“You’re okay, my love. Look at me.”

“Finn, I can’t, I can’t breathe. I can’t-”

“Y/N, you need to look at me; open your eyes honey, please.” 

You let out another breathy sob as you wrenched your eyes open, looking at Finnick with a dread and desperation that threatened to knock the wind right out of him.

“No one’s here, sweetheart; no one is here.” He states vehemently when you start to shake your head no. “It is you and me, at home, safe. It is okay; there’s no one here to hurt you.”

You threatened to close your eyes again, but Finnick gave your chin a gentle squeeze to encourage them to stay open. 

“We got out of the arena, we made it out, yeah? We took the Capitol, and the rebellion is over; we won. We’re home.” 

He used his free hand to encourage yours against his chest, bare from his swim and still tacky from the sea water as your hands rose and fell in time with his breathing; his own heartbeat thrumming under your touch.

“You’re okay.” He whispered as your breathing evened out, letting his hand fall from your chin to rest on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, thumb trailing along your throat before pressing it softly to your pulse point. 

“Everyone’s okay?” You asked shyly, and Finnick felt a soft, loving smile take over his face on its own accord. 

“Why don’t we give them a call and check, hm?” He asked once he was pleased with the cadence of your heart, pressing a kiss to your forehead before making his way towards the phone.

“I don’t want to be a bother…” You murmured as you allowed Finnick to lead you over. 

“You’re not a bother, honey.” Finnick almost laughed at the notion as he picked up the phone and dialled Johanna’s number. “Of course you’re not.” 

You chewed on the skin of your thumb as Finnick waited for Johanna to pick up.

“What?” Her crotchety voice rang out; a grating sound to anyone else but brought a beaming smile to Finnick’s face and a breath of relief from you. 

“Hey Jo, I’ve got someone here who wanted to make sure you were alright.” He explained, almost hearing the way Johanna’s shoulders fell when she realized it was you who was calling her. 

“Thunder?” She asked, earning her a hum of confirmation. 

“Johanna?” You asked carefully, still looking painfully shy as Finnick handed the phone to you and leaned against the wall. Fuck, he loved you so much. He could hear Johanna say something softly to you, but he couldn’t hear the words.

“Okay… sorry for bothering you, I just-”

“Bothering me? Who said you were bothering me? Was it Finnick? I’ll kill him.” That he heard.

Finnick winced, wondering if joking about killing him was particularly helpful when you were already concerned that everyone you loved and cared about was in imminent danger, but you let out a breathy laugh as you twisted the cord in your fingers. 

“No, he didn’t say that.”

“Better not have.” 

“Alright, alright. That’s enough. Let’s call Katniss and Peeta, make sure they’re alright too, yeah?” Finnick joked as he encouraged the receiver from your hands. 

“Yeah, yeah. Make it quick, I’ve got words for Everdeen.” Johanna grumbled. 

“Oh I’m sure you do, Jo. Bye.” 

The line went dead with a click before Finnick was quickly dialling your friend’s in District Twelve. 

“Hello?” A familiar voice rang out, causing Finnick to share a smile with you as he handed you the phone.

“Hey, Peeta?”

“Hey Y/N! How’s it going?” Finnick could hear him ask jovially as he fought the urge to pull your lips from between your teeth as you flustered at your answer.

“It’s good.” You lied. 

Peeta made a sound of acknowledgement. “Yeah? And how’s the weather over there in Four?” 

Finnick blew a laughing breath from his nose; of course Peeta knew. 

“I…I think there’s thunder.” You admitted.

“Damn thunder, it freaks me out everytime; feels like someone has my spine in their fist and they’re squeezing.” 

You quickly agreed with a hum. 

“Well, Katniss is here-” he paused, Finnick assumed to let Katniss call out ‘hi Y/N!�� if your smile told him anything at all “-we’re just cleaning up after breakfast. Have you chatted with Johanna yet?” 

You told him you had, relinquishing the phone to Finnick as he held his hand out for it in ask. 

“Alright, you’ve taken enough of my sweetheart’s time, Mellark, I’m going to have to steal her back.”

Peeta let out a laugh. “Fair enough. We’re still good for Friday, yeah?”

“Yep, we’re all good on our end. Also, tell your wife to expect a call from Johanna; she said she’s got words for her.” 

Katniss must have caught that, because the next thing Finnick heard was Katniss telling Peeta ‘if she calls, tell her I’ve just stepped out and I’ll call her back later!’ 

“Alright, sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Bye Peeta.” 

You let out a long sigh once the phone was back on the cradle. 

“You okay, lovely girl?” Finnick asked as he opened his arms in invitation, smiling when you quickly tucked yourself into his chest. 

“M’sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, honey.” He murmured into your hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up; that must have been really scary to hear the thunder and not be able to find me.” 

You tilted your head to look at him, resting your chin against his chest. 

“But you found me.” You said after a few beats of silence, eyes darting from his still wet hair to a spot on his neck he wondered if he didn’t have sand stuck to it.

“I’ll always find you.” He promised, smiling at you when you smiled up at him; his eyes squinting as though you were the sun peeking its way through the heavy rain clouds surrounding your home. “Always.”

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Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown! (1977)

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I drew this at the beginning of last year :)

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Your honor, I love him more than words can express.

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3 apples tall.. hopefully nothing will happen to them

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christmas lights.

pairing: peeta mellark x fem!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, holiday themed, set post-war, peeta has a prosthetic leg, he was also never hijacked, some things may not be accurate but we're using our imaginations here people!

word count: 0.6k

The sky is littered with bright, twinkling stars when Peeta asks if he can take you on a drive to see all of the Christmas lights around District Twelve. It’s the first holiday season after the war, and everything is slowly but surely being rebuilt to shape a bigger and better world. 

Everyone seems to have gone all out this year; both to commemorate the lives lost during the war and to also signify a new beginning. 

Peeta makes sure you’re bundled up nice and warm in a puffer jacket and a hat and scarf before he leans down to lace up your boots. He straightens back up and presses a kiss to your cheek before asking, “Are you ready to go, love?” 

You nod and hold one of his hands in your own. His fingers are warm despite the coldness both inside of your house and outside, but you don’t seem to mind all that much; simply having him close is enough to do it for you. 

Peeta, ever the gentleman, opens your car door and insists on buckling you up. When you ask him why on earth he did that, he shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to lift a finger, love.” He grins before pecking your lips and closing your door. 

He rounds the car and slips into the drivers seat with ease. Instead of foot pedals, he’s got a car with hand controls to assist with his prosthetic leg. He silently thanks Beetee for his genius brain, because without it, he might not have been able to persuade Plutarch into getting him a car of his own. 

Peeta turns the key in the ignition and warm air flits out through the vents. He smiles when you let out a small sigh of contentment. “Comfy?” He teases. 

“Very.” You answer as you flick on the heated seats for both of you. “Now, c’mon. You gonna show me these lights or do I have to use my imagination?” 

Peeta chuckles under his breath as he pulls out of your driveway and down an old dirt road. He tsks. “Impatient, are we?” 

You roll your eyes playfully and watch as colourful flashing lights start to come into view. He watches your eyes practically glow with wonder when you see the specks of red, green and white traced along the outskirts of homes. “It’s so beautiful.” 

Peeta smiles to himself as he keeps driving. There’s not many other vehicles on the road (there rarely are nowadays) and he makes sure to take it slow driving past houses so you can drink it all in. 

“You know, this used to be the one holiday tradition we had in my family,” He eventually pipes up. You tear your gaze away from the outside world and nod to show you’re listening. “I mean, growing up here, you probably know that we didn’t have many, like, decorations or anything but the Mayor’s house was always decked out in some way or another. I used to bribe my older brother to bring me every year.” He smiles sadly at the memory.

You reach across and squeeze his hand softly. “That sounds lovely.” 

Peeta gives a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah. It was.” 

“Why don’t we make it our new tradition?” You suggest. 

Peeta’s eyes flicker from the road to your face. “How do you mean?” 

You smile giddily at your idea. “Well, how about every year, on this day, we drive around and see the Christmas lights?”

“What if there’s not many lights up in the coming years, though?” 

“Then we’ll find a house that has some lights up and go from there. We can improvise,” You shrug. 

Peeta smiles. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

You grin. “Once or twice. But you know how I like to be reminded.”

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౨ৎ꣑ৎCookie Cutters౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: trauma, fluff pairing: fem reader x finnick odair (modern) summary: learning gingerbread houses are harder than they look with finnick author’s note: first finnick 12days fic rahhh Spotify Playlist

"You okay?"

It was about the hundredth time Finnick had asked in the last few hours. Without opening your eyes, you could picture the look on his face. Brows knit together, oceanic eyes stormy, mouth pulled into a straight line instead of the easy smile you loved so much. Though his attention was constant, you were grateful for it. It was more than a lot of mentors did for their tributes.

The stint you were forced to do at the Capitol after winning your Games was on hold for the holidays. You were dismissed, put on a train back to District Four, and as Finnick had said, hopefully they would largely forget about you upon the new year.

Opening your eyes, you watched the scenery whiz by, feeling numb to it all. When Finnick squeezed your hand, you turned your head, giving him a tired smile. Sleep had not been your friend in these past months, nightmares plaguing your unconscious mind. The doctor had diagnosed exhaustion, which had seemed ironic. An endless cycle of woe. The only thing that could cure you was the source of your destruction.

Finnick let go of your hand, holding out his arm. You didn't say anything, letting yourself lean into him like you always did. He was the only one who made sure you had any hope of routine. Making sure there was at least some normalcy amidst the turmoil the Capitol put you through. Though you were the victor, nobody worth their salt cared what happened to you. Only that you were at their beck and call for entertainment.

The only person you'd been able to turn to had been your mentor, close in age with eyes that held a pain well beyond his years. He was only fourteen when he was drafted into the Capitol's game of torture, a year older than you, and the years following hadn't been much better. Finnick was very tight-lipped about what exactly the Capitol made him do, insisting that you didn't need to know about it.

You hated that he felt like he had to shield you, but there wasn't much you could do in the way of it. Trust was hard to come by, but with Finnick, it brimmed and overflowed. Now as you snuggled into him under his arm, you could feel it tying around you both, knotting you together forever.

"It'll be you 'n me," he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. "And Mags. In the Victor's Village. It's a nice place, actually. Don't think they've built a house for you yet, but you can stay with me until they do. Or with Mags if that's better?" He looked down at you, and you shook your head, burrowing into him. A little half smile quirked his lips. "Alright, with me it is."

He adjusted your fur-trimmed jacket, rubbing your arm. "Just in time for Christmas. The Capitol gets snow, but it'll be nice to be home."

"Home," you echoed, thinking of the beach, the ocean you'd missed so badly. Who needed snow when you had the water? Looking out the window, you watched for the signs of home. You'd done the same thing when you'd been hauled onto this train by a Peacekeeper months ago, only then you'd been clinging, memorizing. Then, you hadn't thought you'd ever see it again.

Finnick followed your gaze, and the half-smile made an appearance. "It's amazing how you don't realize how bad you missed something until you're back."

You nodded, that feeling of understanding washing over you again. It was something you always felt with him. He always knew what to say.

The sights of your home town charmed you for only a moment before you saw the crowd of people waiting at the train station. Panic seized your heart, and a terrified little noise escaped you. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. You weren't prepared to greet anybody, or smile and pretend you were happy and grateful the way the Capitol mandated you to be.

Finnick sat up straight. "It's okay. We'll go out a different way." Securing his arm around you, he helped you stand up, guiding you out of your compartment and to the side door. Technically you both had your own areas decked in luxury, but you'd wanted him to stay and he hadn't objected, settling into your space and offering whatever comfort he could.

"I don't wanna see anyone right now," you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes.

His chin dipped as he adjusted your jacket again, peering out the window at the unwanted crowd. "You don't have to. C'mon, there's a door that exits the other way. Nobody will see us." Ushering you down the hallway, Finnick didn't once let go of your waist, his touch keeping you grounded.

A Peacekeeper escorted you both through the shadowy station, the familiar mosaic of ocean waves on the floor nearly bringing tears to your eyes. Your father used to bring you here so you could see the art, one of the only public buildings that had any. You would sit here for hours studying each painting, each tile in the ground. After he died you would come sit alone on one of the benches, watching the few people who came and went the way he used to.

Hardly anybody left so it was never busy to begin with, but today it had been cleared out for yours and Finnick's arrival back home. Your footsteps echoed in the empty space, shadows dancing across the sunshine beaming in from the large windows high upon the walls. It was the only source of light in the room. If it weren't for Finnick's hand, you would have felt like a ghost.

Upon arriving at the car, Finnick pushed you gently in front of him so you could get in first, holding the edge of the car door and looking around before he slid in beside you. The protective gesture eased the weight in your chest. He was looking out for you. It was something you weren't used to, but it incited a warmth that stretched over you, whispering that everything would be okay.

That wasn't something you'd had for a long time.

"We're good," Finnick remarked, settling in next to you. He was looking over you as if checking for injuries, making sure for himself that you were okay. His lips began to form a question you could hear before he said it, but instead of annoyance over predictability, a serene calm washed over you, as he said it in a way of familiar comfort.

"You okay?"

It didn't take too long for you to settle into Finnick's home.

He set up a spare bedroom for you, helping you unpack your things and assuring you he was here if you needed anything. The window had a lovely view of the sea, of the crashing waves against a grey sky. You'd always adored winter in District Four, enjoyed the cozy nights in while the ocean beat at the sand. But now it seemed different, melancholy.

For the first few days, it seemed all you could do was sleep. You felt guilty for leaving Finnick alone when he'd been so kind to open his doors for you, but the one time you'd tried to apologize, he'd waved you off, tucking another blanket around you and saying you needed your sleep. "Doctor's orders," he'd teased, brushing hair out of your eyes and smoothing his thumb over your forehead, smiling as he watched your eyes close.

On the first Thursday after you arrived, you awoke to noise coming from the kitchen, something like pans rattling around. Rising and throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of comfortable pants, you trailed in the direction of the sound, happening upon Finnick surrounded by an array of dry ingredients, drinking a mug of what smelled like peppermint cocoa. You tilted your head, leaning against the doorway. "Finnick?"

He turned to you, a smile gracing his face. "You're just in time. We're baking today."

"Baking?" You hadn't baked or cooked anything since the day before the Reaping, That morning you remembered feasting on thick, knotted bread you'd made specially for the occasion, making sure to eat in small portions so it would last the week. You hoped one of your neighbors had taken what was left after you were put on the train.

Finnick grinned, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah. We're making a gingerbread house."

"Oh!" You could recall seeing the sweet, frosted structures in the bakery windows around the holidays in years past, but you'd never actually made one. He was beginning to measure ingredients, uncapping cans, measuring cups clattering. You couldn't help your smile. Seeing him in the kitchen was strangely endearing. "Do you always do this?"

"Make a mess of the kitchen? No," he cracked, and you giggled a little, the weight on your shoulders lightening. Running a hand over his hair, he stared at the mess in front of him. "My mother used to make a gingerbread house every Christmas and I'd help her decorate it. I thought it'd be fun if we did it too."

Your heart nearly melted. He looked so adorable standing there behind the counter, and you thought you caught a trace of flour on his cheek. For the first time in weeks, you felt as though everything that had happened outside these walls was a mere memory.

Making your way over to him, you reached up, swiping the flour from his face with your thumb and smiling sweetly. "I'd love to."

He smiled, leaning in and kissing your forehead. "Alright. Why don't you make the icing and I'll try and figure out the house and walls part?"

You plucked the icing recipe from the yellow-paged book in front of him, watching his brow furrow as he added the sugar to his bowl. Holding back a giggle, you got to work on your portion, stirring and losing yourself in the task. You'd forgotten how relaxing baking could be. And it was infinitely better when you felt so safe standing next to him. Once you'd finished, you turned around to check on his progress.

Finnick had rolled out the slabs and cut them evenly, picking at the edges on the cookie sheet. Once he'd stuck them in the oven, he turned to you, setting his hands on your hips and lifting you up to sit on the only free space on the counter. Standing between your legs, he rubbed circles into your thighs, seeming content. "Let's hope I don't burn anything."

"I trust you," you murmured, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around his middle. He hooked his chin on your shoulder, rocking back and forth. It was a move he used whenever you woke from nightmares, or when he found you crying. Right now you were safe, but it still felt nice. That he didn't only care for you when you were in distress.

"This is nice," you murmured into him. Finnick nodded, drawing circles in your back.

"It is," he breathed, nosing against your neck. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He had a distinct smell to him, one that you would bottle if you could; to keep whenever you were without him. A moment of silence passed, and then he whispered, "I like having this with you."

Something warm, like a hearth in a storm started up in your heart, and you snuggled closer to him, your legs finding their way around his waist. This felt closer than you'd been to him before, but neither of you were pulling away.

Shifting in your seat, your fingers found the nape of his neck, playing with his hair there. Your mind wandered to the circumstance of it all. The youngest victor in the history of the Games, the Capitol's darling, handsome, charming, gifted. And he was standing with you in his kitchen, arms wrapped around you as gingerbread baked in the oven.

"Y'know, I wouldn't mind if it took awhile for them to build your house," Finnick said softly, leaning up to press his lips to your temple. "I like having you here."

"I like being here with you." Lifting your head, you found he was already looking at you. Looking into his sea blue eyes, you found peace, your storm's center.

The oven's timer rang, and you turned your head. Finnick let go of you to retrieve the gingerbread, setting it to the side to cool and then returning to you, lifting you off the counter and securing his arm around your waist. "You ready to make a gingerbread house?"

"Yes!" leaning into his side, you looked over the space. "So...how do we do it?"

Finnick chuckled, lifting your hands and squeezing them. "Let me show you. It's harder than it sounds."

The next little bit found you trying to hold the walls steady while Finnick glued them to the base with frosting. He smiled when you dropped a wall, setting the icing down and picking it up, his big hands over yours as you held the walls firm. "There you go...you got it, sweetheart. Now I'll just..." He slathered a large portion of icing onto all four sides of the base and covered your hands again to help you slide two of the walls toward it. "There, you're a natural!"

Giggling, you moved to do the same with the other walls, easily attaching them. Finnick smiled proudly. "Great job!"

"I've got a really good teacher," you countered, reaching for the roof, previously constructed. "Can you put some more on the walls?"

He frosted the edges, and you set the triangular roof on top, smiling triumphantly. It was the happiest you'd felt about something in a while and you clasped your hands to your chest. "We did it Finnick! We made it!"

"'Course we did!" He was adding a few finishing touches to keep the house in place. You stared at the walls, the scent of gingerbread thick in the air. Now you were thinking of your sister, of the way you used to bake together. Your memories were less clear now, only the feelings you'd had remaining.

The bad feelings began to creep back in, grasping at your fingers and sucking at your soul again. You nearly let them pull you down until Finnick said something and you were pulled back to earth. "Hm?"

Looking up at you with his crinkly-eyed smile, he said, "You wanna decorate it? I'll give you the frosting now."

"Are you sure?" You looked warily at it, then the house, then him again.

Smiling reassuringly, he nodded. "I've seen your paintings. You'll make it look pretty."

"Frosting and paint are two very different things." Still, you took the bowl from him, as well as the spatula, twisting the wooden handle between your fingers.

As you began to focus, you found yourself drawn to the light once more. When your sister had passed away, it felt as though every happy memory with her had been painted blue, a tinge of sadness and regret sprinkled over each one. But now, with Finnick silently watching as you carefully slathered icing onto the roof, you felt as though happiness had been layered on top. All the pain that accompanied was still there, but it was framed in a new way.

Now all you could think of was doing this with him year after year, spending dozens of Christmases baking cookies and mixing frosting and cuddling in the kitchen until the oven went off.

You wanted it now. More than anything.

Swiping some leftover frosting onto your finger, you licked it clean, sighing at the taste. "All done."

Finnick wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "It looks amazing." He kissed your cheek. "See? Told ya you'd do a good job."

Leaning back into him, you let your head lull to his shoulder. "It looks pretty."

"It does," he agreed, lips pressed to your hair. You took in the scene before you, almost in disbelief. The domesticity of it would have been unthinkable to you a month ago. Christmas traditions with the man you-

Your heart fluttered, and you turned around, burying your face in his chest. "Finnick."

His hand found the back of your head, and he stroked your hair. "Sweetheart, are you-?"

"I love you," you breathed, hands on his chest. The instant you said it, your chest tightened, nerves replacing the space those words had been taking up for so long. Looking up at him, you saw his lips part, feel his arms tighten around you. His eyes were warm, and a wave of relief crashed over you as the corners of his lips lifted.

"Baby..." he breathed, cupping your cheek. You could smell the peppermint on his breath, feel his heart beating as he pressed on your waist, so you were right against him. And then in an instant, his mouth was over yours, and your fingers gripped his sweater, everything you'd felt from the last months crashing over you and poured into this kiss. You loved him. You'd loved you from the moment he'd sat you down and told you he was going to keep you safe that first day on the train.

Through everything he'd protected you. Without him, you wouldn't be standing here. You'd be just another unfortunate teenager lost to the games.

As he intertwined you both, holding you close and whispering that he loved you in between kisses, you could feel it blooming in your chest. Nothing after the so called honor of winning had even come close to this.

Here was where you became the true Victors.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

just watched we live in time early (mwhaha, im in the uk) and oh my fuck, i am not okay. that was a beautiful film.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

odesta come home pls

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

finnick and s/o going trick or treating with their toddler!daughter

the addams family.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: established relationship, reader and finnick have a daughter together, reader and annie are best friends, tooth-rotting fluff <3

word count: 635

author's note: happy belated halloween! i hope you all had a nice day and i know that times are tough right now, but hopefully this provides a bit of comfort, even if it's for the smallest amount of time <3

"No peeking!" You warn, voice taking on a teasing tone as Finnick covers his eyes with more dramatics than necessary. Your little girl, Cordelia, giggles as you take her hand in yours and help her take small steps towards her father. "You ready, honey?" You ask as Cordelia nods earnestly. "Open your eyes!"

Finnick obliges, and despite having your outfits co-ordinated for months on end, he still pretends to be surprised. Cordelia spins in her black dress and you do the same, giggling when Finnick lifts you off your feet and peppers your face with kisses. "Stop! You'll ruin my makeup," you say through laughter.

"Can't help it," Finnick mumbles, pecking your lips. "You look gorgeous, angel."

"Look, daddy, I'm Wed-nes-day!" Cordelia screeches, pushing her body between the two of you in an effort to catch her father's attention. She puts her arms in the air and Finnick lifts her into his arms.

"I know, sweetie. You look so pretty!" he coos, brushing her curls out of her eyes. "Are you ready to go trick-or-treating?"

Cordelia squirms until her feet touch solid ground again, and then she's off like a shot, making a beeline for the orange jack-o-lantern shaped basket on the table.

You laugh, and Finnick slides his hands up your hips. "I mean it, honey, you really are gorgeous."

You cock your head to one side and fix the bow-tie around his neck. "Hmm, you don't look so bad yourself."

Finnick smiles. "Is that so?" He leans down and slots his lips over yours, swallowing the giggles that slip past your lips.

"Mommy, I want to go already!" Cordelia complains, rattling her basket and pulling at the end of your dress. "I want to see Mags!"

"Alright, alright," you relent, pulling yourself away from your husband and looping the strap of your camera around your neck. Your daughter argues that it ruins the point of your costume but Finnick presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers that Cordelia got her strong opinions from you.

Finnick slips his hand into your spare one as the three of you begin the trek from your house in Victor's Village to Mags identical one down the road. You knock on the front door and in a matter of seconds, it swings open.

Mags presses a hand over her heart and holds one finger up to indicate one minute. She disappears into the hallway and comes back with a bowl overflowing with candy. Cordelia digs her fist into the bowl and grabs a handful, but when you go to scold her, Mags dismisses you with a wave of her hand.

“What do we say?” Finnick prompts as you hold up your camera and snap a photo of Cordelia giving Mags a hug.

She says thank you and the three of you head for Annie's house. "She's gonna be on a sugar crush when we get home," Finnick murmurs into your hairline as you wait for Annie to answer the door

Annie's face brightens up when she sees Cordelia on her porch as you give your best friend a warm hug. You know Annie gets stressed around this time of year and after some persuading, you convince her to leave a bowl of candy on her front step to save herself the trouble of answering the door when she's this nervous.

Cordelia gets fed up after half an hour, and both you and Finnick are glad 'cause she's collected enough sugar to feed a small village at this rate. Finnick holds your hand as you make the long walk home, and Cordelia eventually gets tired of walking and asks for her father to carry her. Finnick obliges without complaining once and by the time the three of you arrive home, Cordelia is fast asleep on her dad's shoulder.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

the ending scene of mockingjay pt2 with everlark and their toastbabies has me in a chokehold. the music, the look they share ughh!! rent free in my head.

[tulipfantasieslibrary]

Crossing paths