odair-and-cresta

4

crossover aesthetic: the hunger games characters sorted in hogwarts houses

  • hufflepuff: peeta mellark - primrose everdeen
  • griffyndor: katnis everdeen - finnick odair
  • slytherin: gale hawthorne - johanna mason
  • ravenclaw: annie cresta - madge undersee
4

“Finnick!” Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman — dark tangled hair, sea green eyes — runs toward us in nothing but a sheet. “Finnick!” And suddenly, it’s as if there’s no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible. A pang of jealousy hits me. Not for either Finnick or Annie but for their certainty. No one seeing them could doubt their love.”

Some love Peeta

Originally posted by vivere-militare-est1991

Some love Gale

Originally posted by hiyaimabs

But everyone loves Finnick

Originally posted by hermionewinchester

If Tumblr takes this down again, I swear I’m gonna scream

3

“Finnick!“ Something between a shriek and a cry of joy. A lovely if somewhat bedraggled young woman—dark tangled hair, sea green eyes—runs toward us in nothing but a sheet. "Finnick!” And suddenly, it’s as if there’s no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible. A pang of jealousy hits me. Not for either Finnick or Annie but for their certainty. No one seeing them could doubt their love.

Love Is... Sharing Memories

For the always wonderful @thelettersfromnoone. I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday, love <3.


“Shara’s mom lets her wear lipstick on picture day.”

“Do I look like Shara’s mom to you?” Bad question. With shiny blue-black hair that flowed past her waist and wide blue eyes framed by equally impressive eyelashes, Annie would bet that Seya Vergas had emerged full-formed from the seafoam. Before her seven-year-old daughter could jump on that – and Annie knew better than to think Maggie would pass up that opportunity – she tapped on Dylan’s plate. “Come on, eat up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you need to eat so you can learn. Food fuels your brain and your body.”

The pout came out, and Dylan shook his head. “Not hungry.” He’d been such an easy baby. Did some kids just put off the Terrible Twos until they were four?

“You aren’t leaving this table before you’ve eaten five bites. I get to decide what counts as a bite.”

“Mom, what if it’s just a little bit of –“

Time to put her foot down. “I said no, Maggie.”

“No, you didn’t. You just said you didn’t look like Shara’s mom.”

“She’s right, you know.” Of course Ronan would choose now to add his input. He could go days without making so much as a peep during breakfast, even when she tried to drag him into the conversation, but now that breakfast was slipping out of her control, he just had to step in. “You didn’t specifically say no,” he added.

“You both know what I meant.” She checked the clock. Good, they had eleven minutes before they needed to leave. That should be enough time to do something about the weird curl Ronan had going on over his forehead. Annie normally wouldn’t bother, writing off any interesting curls and bumps as Finnick’s genes and therefore not her problem, but today was picture day, and that called for a little extra effort. “That bite doesn’t count, Dyl - sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Annie had seen that look enough times to know what was going to happen. She grabbed Dylan under the arms and ran towards the bathroom.

“Mom, what if I –“

“Not now, Maggie!” They almost made it to the toilet. Some hit her foot, but she hardly noticed. It wasn’t the first time one of her kids had thrown up on her, and she doubted it’d be the last. She set him down before the toilet and rubbed his back as he coughed. “It’s all right, sweetie.” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and her heart hurt. “Shh,” she comforted him, “you’re going to be okay.”

“Gross. Is Dylan sick?” Maggie peeked into the bathroom.

No, he’s puking his guts up because he’s not sick. Annie bit back the words. No reason to make things worse. “Yes. Can you give him some privacy, please?”

Maggie retreated, and Dylan’s shoulders stopped shaking under her hands. “Better?” she asked, and he shook his head. Poor thing. “I’m going to go check on your siblings. Can you stay here and call for me if you get sick again?” This got a brave little nod. She kissed the top of his dark head – no fever, a good sign – and returned to the kitchen.

Ronan was still eating his toast as though nothing unusual had occurred. That boy had an iron stomach. “Ronan, call Mrs. Trawlers and ask if she can drive you and Maggie to school.” She fished around under the kitchen sink for the necessary cleaning supplies, pulling out the disinfectant and gloves. The spatula sat in its usual spot at the sink.

“Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw up again.” As she rushed back to the bathroom, she didn’t have time to wonder why Maggie was digging through her purse.


“I still can’t believe her teacher didn’t make her take it off.” All these years later, she remembers in perfect detail Maggie’s proud smile as she presented Annie with her school picture. The deep brownish-red would have done nothing for her daughter’s golden skin and bronze hair even if applied correctly.  Smeared over her lips with all the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old certain they had gotten away with something, it turned an otherwise very nice picture into a complete mess.

“I had a hard enough time with just our three. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle twenty at a time.”

“Seconded.” Annie runs a finger over the photo and turns to Finnick, smiling. “I was so angry at her.”

“Not as mad as you were at me for buying the picture.”

“We could’ve had it retaken.”

“But it wouldn’t have been as memorable.”

She frowns at him and settles back into the couch. His arm tightens around her shoulders as she flips to the next page. Annie snorts at the picture of Ronan, his right arm in a cast, grinning as he holds up his eighth-grade diploma with his good hand. “What is this, the album of all the times I wanted to throttle our kids?”

“I thought you wanted our kids to graduate.”

“Of course I did. I was talking about that.” She points to his cast. “What on earth made him think that riding his bike on the very edge of the pier was a good idea?”

Finnick chuckles. “Fourteen-year-old boys do some stupid stuff. I was one once too, you know.”

“Thank goodness I’m not your mother. I never would have survived.”

“There are a lot of reasons I’m glad you’re not my mother.” He’s still proud of his come-ons. Finnick leans down to kiss her neck. She smells like the soap in their shower, and he knows the same scent clings to his own body as well.

“That’s awful.” Nevertheless, Annie leans into the caress, and her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her. But when he starts to edge down the neck of her blouse, she nudges him away. “Maybe later,” she answers the question in his eyes. “I want to look through this first.” He keeps his head on her shoulder as they flip through years of memories. He’s only included the good ones, weddings and birthdays and quiet days at the beach, the ones he wants to hold onto forever. Most of them can be passed with a smile, maybe a quick word or two. A few need more time, contemplation, discussion. And here, in the home they’ve shared for thirty-five years, thirty of them as a married couple, is the perfect place for all of it.


Annie insisted that going through the boxes at the back of the closet was more than enough of an anniversary gift. Some of them had been sitting there since they returned from Thirteen to find what remained of their possessions strewn across the floor. Finnick still didn’t know if it had been peacekeepers or looters. Stuffing what remained into boxes was meant as a temporary solution. Later, when they had more time, they would go through everything.

Sitting in the center of the guest bedroom, surrounded by boxes, Finnick had to wonder when they thought they’d thought they would have more time. Nothing he could do about that now. He picked a box at random and opened it. Some recipe cards, a few letters, and three years’ worth of Couture Capitale. He’d forgotten that Annie’s stylist used to send those. Finnick set a few of the magazines aside – Dylan might get a kick out of those - and binned the rest of it. One box down. Way too many to go.

He smiled when he opened the fourth, for Annie and Dylan smiled back at him. Well, Annie squint-smiled, her sunhat not blocking as much of the bright July sun as she’d probably hoped, and Dylan’s mouth hung open as he stared at the camera, Annie’s oversized sunglasses even larger on his nine-month-old face. Finnick set it aside to show Annie later.

By noon, the Annie pile had grown to include at least three dozen gems, and he still had a mountain of boxes left to go. When he found the remnants of a well-intentioned scrapbooking project, Finnick grinned. Perfect.


“That’s my favorite.” Maggie and Dylan chase after the bubbles Ronan blows for them. He can hear their giggles now just as clearly as he did twenty years ago. The minute he’d found it, tucked into the very last box, he knew it would have to go on the last page.

“I can see why.” Annie smiles. “They look like they’re having fun.”

“They were. It took me forever to convince them to come inside that night.”

“I’m sure you pressed really hard.”

“Of course.”

“Didn’t accept any requests for five more minutes.”

“That would have been irresponsible of me,” he agrees.

She shifts in his arms. Now that he can’t avoid her eyes, it’s getting harder to maintain the innocent face he’s spent years perfecting. “And you definitely didn’t blow any bubbles for them after you said it was bedtime.”

“Mrs. Odair, you are really very good at this guessing game.”

Instead of the scolding he deserves, he gets a kiss on the cheek, which he considers a much better alternative. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” Another kiss, this time on the lips.

“Thank you for putting up with me for thirty years.”

“It’s been a chore.” She jumps when his fingers find the ticklish spot on her side. “I mean, you’re welcome, most wonderful and loving husband.”

“That’s better.”

He earns another kiss on his cheek. “You know, Odair, you aren’t too bad. I think we might just have to shoot for another thirty.”

“I was thinking fifty.”

“A hundred and three and a hundred and four?” A hundred and five, actually, but he’s not going to correct her. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I guess we can give it a go.”

“I’m definitely up for it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I might love you, but remember that you’re still awful.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

Give me Finnick returning from the war and kissing his wife first on the lips and then on the stomach

Give me Finnick and Annie cuddled up at home at night, talking about baby names and all the possibilities for their little family

Give me Annie ecstatically yelling for Finnick to come look in the mirror with her because she finally can see a baby bump

Give me Finnick buying too many stuffed animals and baby toys for the nursery and Annie banning him from going to the store on his own when she sees all the receipts

Give me Annie getting crazy intense sugar cravings and Finnick calling up Peeta desperately asking for baked goods because Annie NEEDS THEM NOW 

Give me Annie telling Finnick whenever the baby is kicking so he can put his hands on her tummy to feel it

Give me Finnick worrying about not being a good father because of his past and Annie rolling her eyes while she tells him about all the wonderful things he’s done for her and the baby

Give me Annie worrying about not being a good mother because of her mental illness and Finnick reminding her that she’s been recovering in leaps and bounds ever since the war ended and that he knows she’ll be perfect

Give me Annie absentmindedly singing lullabies with her hands on her stomach while Finnick watches with a grin on his face because he thinks it’s beautiful

Give me Annie excitedly arranging little outfits for the baby, complete with sets of little baby booties

Give me Finnick growing increasingly anxious about Annie and the baby, always hovering by Annie during the day and reaching for the phone to call the hospital whenever she fidgets uncomfortably and Annie needing to stop him from panicking and dragging her to the hospital too soon

Give me Finnick surrounding Annie with books to read and snacks to eat and notebooks for her to write in when she’s on bed rest

Give me Annie tying knots to distract herself while she’s in labor while Finnick tells her stories and strokes her hair

Give me Finnick holding his son for the first time, too overcome with joy to speak, leaning against Annie’s shoulder and kissing her temple every few minutes because he’s so happy to have the two people he loves most together and safe and happy

Give me Finnick carrying his baby around when he’s a few days old, his muscled arms looking massive around such a tiny baby 

Give me Annie kissing the baby’s forehead and cheeks and nose and tiny earlobes and fingertips and toes

Give me Finnick shooting out of bed each night when the baby cries and insisting that it’s his job and Annie needs to sleep even if Finnick is always the one getting out of bed to help and is probably only running on caffeine and sugar

Give me Finnick presenting his baby to all the victors proudly and getting overly offended when Johanna makes an unnecessary comment about his absolutely perfect newborn son

Give me Annie curling up next to Finnick at night after they’ve finally gotten their son to fall asleep and telling him that she’s never been happier, and Finnick agreeing and thinking for the first time in his life that maybe all the pain the both of them went through was worth it

Give me the life that the Odairs deserved dang it Suzanne Collins