Finnick Odair | Victor of the 65th Hunger Games (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fishermansweater) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2019-12-07 09:57 pm
fishermansweater) wrote in redshiftlogs2019-12-07 09:57 pm
Entry tags:
ψ after the smoke clears when it's down to you and i ... | CLOSED
Who: Finnick and Annie
What: Some long-overdue emotional decompression
When: late November to early December
Where: Double 017
Warnings: Description and depiction of depression, PTSD, anxiety, suicidal ideation, drug use, and discussion of mental health. Also possibly mentions of torture, kidnapping, and sexual assault/abuse/slavery.
Sometimes, Finnick loses track of time. It happens when it's too hard to get out of bed, when food, beauty, even his beloved swimming, fall away in favor of ... nothing. It hasn't been happening much here, not since he'd been reunited with Annie and so many weeks of misery had seemed to disappear into the joy of being reunited and having her safe with him again. But it's been a part of his life for so long that it's not surprising that it happens again. Not that he notices at first. Time just seems to slip away, and he doesn't want to go down to the lake or check to see if the bots at the spa have stopped trying to enforce baths in medication, or go to the agricultural level to work on the fish farm. He skips meals and doesn't notice through his mental haze, and doesn't realize it's been days since he left his and Annie's quarters.
It's like being back in the hospital in District Thirteen, except that nobody's stopping by to bring him medication or to expound theories about the damage electrical shock might have done to his mind when Katniss brought down the arena. There aren't any head doctors trying to get him to talk about his past or his relationship with Annie, either. There's just Annie, Annie who makes food and brings it to him, who goes out to do the things he's not doing. Who doesn't ask him any questions harder than whether or not he's hungry.
He's more grateful for her quiet presence than he can say.
The day does come -- eventually, and he has no idea after how long -- when Finnick goes to the bathroom while Annie's out and catches sight of his reflection to see a face that's haggard, cheekbones too sharp, chin covered with many days' worth of beard growth. It's enough to remind him t shower, to shave, to actually put on the soft robe he'd stolen from the spa and curl up on the couch in their room and wait for her to get back.
It's something.
What: Some long-overdue emotional decompression
When: late November to early December
Where: Double 017
Warnings: Description and depiction of depression, PTSD, anxiety, suicidal ideation, drug use, and discussion of mental health. Also possibly mentions of torture, kidnapping, and sexual assault/abuse/slavery.
Sometimes, Finnick loses track of time. It happens when it's too hard to get out of bed, when food, beauty, even his beloved swimming, fall away in favor of ... nothing. It hasn't been happening much here, not since he'd been reunited with Annie and so many weeks of misery had seemed to disappear into the joy of being reunited and having her safe with him again. But it's been a part of his life for so long that it's not surprising that it happens again. Not that he notices at first. Time just seems to slip away, and he doesn't want to go down to the lake or check to see if the bots at the spa have stopped trying to enforce baths in medication, or go to the agricultural level to work on the fish farm. He skips meals and doesn't notice through his mental haze, and doesn't realize it's been days since he left his and Annie's quarters.
It's like being back in the hospital in District Thirteen, except that nobody's stopping by to bring him medication or to expound theories about the damage electrical shock might have done to his mind when Katniss brought down the arena. There aren't any head doctors trying to get him to talk about his past or his relationship with Annie, either. There's just Annie, Annie who makes food and brings it to him, who goes out to do the things he's not doing. Who doesn't ask him any questions harder than whether or not he's hungry.
He's more grateful for her quiet presence than he can say.
The day does come -- eventually, and he has no idea after how long -- when Finnick goes to the bathroom while Annie's out and catches sight of his reflection to see a face that's haggard, cheekbones too sharp, chin covered with many days' worth of beard growth. It's enough to remind him t shower, to shave, to actually put on the soft robe he'd stolen from the spa and curl up on the couch in their room and wait for her to get back.
It's something.
no subject
"Well. I guess those doctors had some good ideas." There are a few more notes of scepticism in her own voice. She'd had her own dealings with them. Mostly, she had no issues. Most people were kind, in a similar no-nonsense way that she's always liked in the districts. But others... wanted things. Like her to be functional, stable, enough to smile for the cameras.
She hadn't liked them, much.
"Would writing it down help? I mean, um. You've always been good with words."