Finnick/Annie; I'm Not Calling You A Liar; PG; 1/4..
Note: Title is from the Florence + The Machine song of the same name, and does not belong to me, nor does The Hunger Games trilogy or anything you recognize from it.
+ + + + +The morning of her fourth reaping, Annie's father takes her out fishing, just the way he has every year since she was twelve
( ... )
Finnick/Annie; I'm Not Calling You A Liar; PG; 1/4.
"So. We haven't met properly, you and I. Finnick Odair," he says on the train, holding his hand out. She glances down at it and then up at him, and thinks that there's probably an even chance he's trying to sleep with her.
"Annie Cresta," she says. "Although, I already knew who you were and I doubt you missed my name."
He smiles, sudden and startled.
"Well, no," he says. "Just observing the pleasantries. But if you'd rather set those aside…?"
"Yes please," she says, although she's not really sure she would.
"Noted," he says, and drops her hand. She hadn't realized he was still holding on.
+ + + + +It becomes mercifully clear over the next twelve hours that Finnick Odair is not, in fact, trying to seduce her. She doesn't really have time to decide whether or not that's insulting. Instead she's busy being scrubbed raw and then made up and poured into something that resembles nothing so much as a bad mermaid costume. More parts of her are bare than aren't; there's something in
( ... )
Finnick/Annie; I'm Not Calling You A Liar; PG; 3/4.She thinks about Lydia Riven, whose face she'd tried so hard to memorize at the funeral, who'd had tutors and training and something in her eyes that looked an awful lot like victory, right up until the moment all she'd had was a broken neck
( ... )
Finnick/Annie; I'm Not Calling You A Liar; PG; 4/4.
"So, what do you think for the interview?" She asks him. "Shy innocence or willful seduction?"
He actually laughs, rueful.
"Sorry about that," he says. She shrugs.
"It was good advice. I should've picked one," she says. She's curled up at one corner of the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, and he's sitting in the armchair across from her, his elbows on his knees.
"Nah," he says. "You would've looked like you were trying to be me. It wouldn't have done you any favors. You're much better at, you know. Worryingly enduring compassion. Stubborn thinly overlaid with sense. That kind of thing."
"That was a compliment wasn't it?" She asks. It was, and it's left her feeling wrong-footed when there's no time to think about why. Not a bad thing, she reminds herself.
"Of course," he says, smiling, and offers her a hand up she doesn't need. She takes it.
+ + + + +He and Mags say goodbye to them in the lobby, where there's an escort waiting. Mags hugs her, warm and brief, and taps her
( ... )
sajhtgjkhaegjkhagadjkd squeeee this is so good i love it so much!!!! favorite lines:
• (When she stumbles on the stairs a hand is there to steady her, callused and warm against her elbow. She hadn't expected that for some reason. He has very blue eyes, she notes distantly, and takes her place on stage.)
• He's sprawled in his seat, all long, lean confidence as he butters a piece of toast
• "If you want me to talk first we're going to be here for a long time," Annie says finally.
"That might've been what I was aiming for," he admits, offering her a wry half-smile, and she's surprised when she hears her own laughter stumbling out into the air, pinched, but real.
I'm sorry that this response is so late. But. but. ;___; BLOODY TEARS, RUNNING DOWN MY FACE TBH.
"Imagine it," he says. "It doesn't really matter how, what matters is that you'll be dead. That's pretty difficult to imagine, actually. We can start smaller: imagine never taking another drink of water. Imagine never putting your shoes on again. Imagine never saying 'hello,' or agreeing that it's nice weather we've been having lately. Imagine never rushing so you can cross the street before traffic changes. You know that little voice in your head that notices when someone has nice hair or beautiful eyes, or when someone's being an unmitigated asshole? Imagine never hearing that little voice again. Can you imagine that?"
No, but seriously, how absolutely perfect. I adore your Finnick and your Annie and most of all, I adore your writing, it's beautiful.
Note: Title is from the Florence + The Machine song of the same name, and does not belong to me, nor does The Hunger Games trilogy or anything you recognize from it.
+ + + + +The morning of her fourth reaping, Annie's father takes her out fishing, just the way he has every year since she was twelve ( ... )
Reply
"So. We haven't met properly, you and I. Finnick Odair," he says on the train, holding his hand out. She glances down at it and then up at him, and thinks that there's probably an even chance he's trying to sleep with her.
"Annie Cresta," she says. "Although, I already knew who you were and I doubt you missed my name."
He smiles, sudden and startled.
"Well, no," he says. "Just observing the pleasantries. But if you'd rather set those aside…?"
"Yes please," she says, although she's not really sure she would.
"Noted," he says, and drops her hand. She hadn't realized he was still holding on.
+ + + + +It becomes mercifully clear over the next twelve hours that Finnick Odair is not, in fact, trying to seduce her. She doesn't really have time to decide whether or not that's insulting. Instead she's busy being scrubbed raw and then made up and poured into something that resembles nothing so much as a bad mermaid costume. More parts of her are bare than aren't; there's something in ( ... )
Reply
Reply
"So, what do you think for the interview?" She asks him. "Shy innocence or willful seduction?"
He actually laughs, rueful.
"Sorry about that," he says. She shrugs.
"It was good advice. I should've picked one," she says. She's curled up at one corner of the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, and he's sitting in the armchair across from her, his elbows on his knees.
"Nah," he says. "You would've looked like you were trying to be me. It wouldn't have done you any favors. You're much better at, you know. Worryingly enduring compassion. Stubborn thinly overlaid with sense. That kind of thing."
"That was a compliment wasn't it?" She asks. It was, and it's left her feeling wrong-footed when there's no time to think about why. Not a bad thing, she reminds herself.
"Of course," he says, smiling, and offers her a hand up she doesn't need. She takes it.
+ + + + +He and Mags say goodbye to them in the lobby, where there's an escort waiting. Mags hugs her, warm and brief, and taps her ( ... )
Reply
• (When she stumbles on the stairs a hand is there to steady her, callused and warm against her elbow. She hadn't expected that for some reason. He has very blue eyes, she notes distantly, and takes her place on stage.)
• He's sprawled in his seat, all long, lean confidence as he butters a piece of toast
• "If you want me to talk first we're going to be here for a long time," Annie says finally.
"That might've been what I was aiming for," he admits, offering her a wry half-smile, and she's surprised when she hears her own laughter stumbling out into the air, pinched, but real.
Reply
Reply
Reply
"Imagine it," he says. "It doesn't really matter how, what matters is that you'll be dead. That's pretty difficult to imagine, actually. We can start smaller: imagine never taking another drink of water. Imagine never putting your shoes on again. Imagine never saying 'hello,' or agreeing that it's nice weather we've been having lately. Imagine never rushing so you can cross the street before traffic changes. You know that little voice in your head that notices when someone has nice hair or beautiful eyes, or when someone's being an unmitigated asshole? Imagine never hearing that little voice again. Can you imagine that?"
No, but seriously, how absolutely perfect. I adore your Finnick and your Annie and most of all, I adore your writing, it's beautiful.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment