“can you handle it?”  the question’s half-rhetorical   and half-serious, but she’s curious as to what the answer might be.  considering the outcome of her games, willa knew better than to underestimate johanna’s willpower when she wanted something.  and she knew what she was wordlessly referring to; morphling, however, wasn’t an easy drug for first timers — she herself was convinced that the only reason she didn’t have it so bad the first time was because her body was so desperate to be free of tension and anxiety.  but maybe johanna was the same.  “or maybe you could give me an idea of how strong we’re talking about here.  i’m no expert, but...”  willa pauses, a smirking creeping onto her features.  “i know my stuff.”

“fuck off.” my voice is unfamiliar to my ears. maybe it’s the way the sound of it reverberates through these halls, off of the sheer flat grey of the walls around us. even the hospital screens don’t do enough to soften the strange ringing that follows every sound. if i let my eyes drift closed i can almost see my father in a mineshaft, hands braced on the walls as they shake and the heat and smell of burning rises, rises - - - i let out a long, slow breath and turn on my side, away from johanna, arm curling so the morphling drip is harder to get to.

it’s not that johanna couldn’t just manhandle me back around and hook herself up to the drip instead. i know she could. but i’m missing a fucking organ and even through the controlled doses of morphling the pain lingers. for a split second i miss capitol medicine and then hate myself for thinking of the blissful waking and disconcerting moment of realization that i could hear again after the first games. after a beat i roll over and look up at her, holding my arm out.

it feels wrong to refuse johanna what little comfort she can get, even if i want the relief from the persistent ache in my ribs. “they sent a camera crew in here earlier.” proof that THE MOCKINGJAY LIVES! SHE WILL BE BACK, CAPITOL! i’d grinned and bared it, for my prep team more than for anyone else, and the makeup is still heavy on my face, rosy cheeks and healthy glow despite the stitches and bruising. “i think the propo is going to be more demoralizing than uplifting.”

She had seen the footage cut delicately into propaganda, Katniss' quiet confession, and the silence of regret over her inability to join them. At one time they had made a promise that when they die for the Capitol they would do it together. Then he had to die like a fucking hero leaving her alone and brutally alive again. Yet here he was, a little fucked up but still wholly breathing. ❛ You were dead. ❜ Her hand was shaking, her body was shaking, maybe her mind was even breaking. ❛ I saw you die! ❜ / @axes-and-ashes​ 

The first thought that crosses his mind when he wakes up is that he’s not very pretty anymore. The second is thank fuck. 

He wakes up after the Capitol is taken by Thirteen, but it takes him more than a few tries to remember that fact because the edges all bleed together. Finnick suspects that is less the mental disorganization label that Thirteen loved to slap onto anyone who wasn’t productive enough for them, and more the fact that the differences between the two -- the Capitol, Thirteen -- grew less and less apparent by the day. He’s somewhere in a building that could be in either place, being told that they won and just rest. 

Whatever winning entails, Finnick is not privy to it. Maybe there are gaudy celebrations in the style of the Capitol, or some uniform chanting in Thirteen’s. All he knows is at least here, he gets some sunlight. His fingers are too stiff to play with his knotted rope, and even if they weren’t it’s not here. Something so small wouldn’t be salvaged. Maybe -- maybe he’ll ask Prim for another one. Instead, to occupy the time, he fascinates over his new scars. At one point someone said something about limited medical supplies with an inherent apology, but this is the first time in a while that he has not been laser sculpted into a new form before even waking up. 

There are things they didn’t bother to fix after his first Games, but they were all below the surface: the scar tissue under his shoulder blade, his bad wrist, his hip. The rest had been remodeled before the sedative wore off, and that was only the first time. After rough clients or accidents, or when his teenage features started to become more adult -- nips and tucks erased every blemish. He had joked before about having no idea how much of him was left, but like every joke it wasn’t very funny and it was entirely true. 

Now he brings up his arms and even though the marks are a little faded with the amount of healing he’d been able to get, they’re there. When something hurts, he can see the reason: a yellowing bruise, a scarring gash. Teeth marks. He hasn’t looked in a mirror yet but he can tell there’s even one or two across his face, and as the days pass he takes it all in with something that almost feels giddy. That’s his body. These are his scars, earned fighting his way out of a pile of mutts to spite the Capitol’s last attempt to get their claws in him. He won. 

When Johanna enters, practically breaking down the door in all of her righteous fury, Finnick cannot match her anger or her despair. He watches her as she stares at him, as she crosses over to the room, as she looks ready to finish him off herself. He listens as her words come out furious and shaking, and his gut twists but he’s here and himself and now Johanna is here too and damn it, how can he be upset? 

He grabs her hand. They don’t grab each other when they can help it, but -- hell. They won, right? Let’s break a rule. Finnick grabs Johanna’s hands and marvels at the feeling of the roughness of their skin together, rather than the softness he’d been living with on his own flesh since the Capitol had been remaking him. 

" SHRIMP! HEAVEN! NOW! " (Jo @ Fin) / @axes-and-ashes​

       ❛ ... Can you not say that while you’re eating shellfish with a knife ? ❜ He’s no fool -- yes, there’s always a threat implicit in just about everything Jo tells him -- even when they are as hidden as they can be, huddled in the corner of a party while everyone coos and oohs and aahs over the screens and someone else for a change -- but this? Honestly, he’s more disappointed in the lack of subtlety than anything else. So he gives her a look. 

       ❛ You’re usually more creative than that anyway. ❜ And, looking his death wish right in the eye, he leans over, grabs the shimp she’s speared off of her dulled knifepoint ( knowing full well the damage she can do with blunted cutlery alone ), and pops it in his mouth. Deliberately. 

THE   IMPLICATION   IS   CLEAR.         of   course   it   is,   and   it   settles   like   sour   wine   in   his   stomach,   though   it   never   shows   on   his   plastered,   sparkling   smile.      it’s   too   bright   and   too   wide      —      too   fake   against   his   painted-on,   glimmering   skin.   

the   derision   she   feels,   the   venom   she   spits      —      finnick   tastes   it   every   time   he   goes   home   to   district   4.      but   it   doesn’t   make   it   any   easier   to   bear.      the   capitol’s   whore,   they   hiss   behind   his   back,   turning   on   him   the   way   they   feel   he   turns   on   them.      it’s   a   poisonous   irony   they   don’t   understand.   

johanna   mason   is   brand   new.      she   doesn’t   know   anything   yet,   but   she   knows   this.      she   knows   the   famous   finnick   odair.      of   course   she   does.   

@axes-and-ashes​

it's hard not to feel guilty. ever since they had got to thirteen, annie couldn't help but feel a sense of dread every time she laid eyes on peeta or johanna. while they had all faced their own personal horrors in the capitol, the young woman felt as though she had somehow gotten off easier. unlike her two fellow prisoners — her scars weren't visible. she knew that she should have checked in on them. made sure that they were at least doing okay. but every time the opportunity presented itself, she found herself backing out and making excuses. she instead took to asking finnick about the others.

❛  you  &  me, we’re not the same.  ❜ @axes-and-ashes​ 

       ❛ No, no, I’d need to be at least two inches taller for that. ❜ Finnick winks, an easy grin pulling up just one corner of his mouth. It’s nothing, it’s breathing, it’s lounging back in his seat while the Games flicker across the television screens and the crowds chatter around them. One lady’s hat is so swirling and large, a cascade of purple frills and feathers, that she momentarily blocks the screen closest to them. He should do something about it -- lather the charm over himself and sweet talk her into moving, or even move himself and Johanna somewhere with a better view -- but he does the selfish thing and breathes a sigh of relief. 

       ❛ We can’t all be winsome and sun kissed, I guess. ❜ There’s a ghost of a laugh in his voice, mostly manufactured and a little teasing and even less bitter. ❛ I happen to know at least a few honored citizens with deep pockets who don’t like the sweet and airy thing. ❜ And then there’s a layer under his words -- something real. His eyes cut over to an older woman in the corner dressed in fashionable and understated greys, her expression severe. Then he looks back at Johanna pointedly. ❛ I’m sure some people would appreciate your... unique outlook. ❜

SHE’S   NEW,   AND   SHE’S   UNEXPECTED.         she’s   the   first   non-career   victor   since   well   before   finnick’s   win,   and   she   acts   like   it.      he   doesn’t   know   all   of   the   details   behind   johanna   mason’s   story      —      behind   what   happens   after   her   victory   tour      —      but   he   knows   that   she   does   something   bad.      and   she   knows,   he   can   only   assume,   what   it   is   that   he   does,   too.      he   grins,   sharp   and   too-bright   in   the   dim   light   of   the   club.      it   is   just   the   two   of   them   by   the   bar   for   now,   as   finnick   collects   a   drink   for   the   senator   lounging   in   wait   behind   them,   and   johanna   nurses   a   glass   herself.