#finnick odair thought

[bruisedboys]

finnick is an avid pet name user (honey and sweetheart are his regulars for you!! he calls you honey like it’s your name <3) but his favourite thing to call you is “pretty girl” or “sweet girl” because you get so so so soooo flustered. heaven forbid he ever call you “good girl” because you’ll probably disintegrate. he saves that one for special occasions <3

[teenagecriminalmastermind]

mags flanagan was the victor of the 11th hunger games. she is probably one of the last people we know of canonically in the games who directly, vividly, remembers lucy gray baird.

she remembers the girl from district 12, who dropped a snake down someone's dress, who sang a song the day of her reaping as a fuck you to the capitol. the girl who charmed an entire country and won the games using sheer ingenuity.

she probably remembers reports of the capitol boy who served as her mentor, remembers the blond boy who broke the rules and stayed in that zoo enclosure with her. probably remembers the reports of him doing everything he can to save this girl. coriolanus snow. she remembers that name, tucks it away, connecting it with decency and integrity.

she probably, as a young girl, thought that maybe there was some good left in this world. if a capitol boy would put his neck and life on the line for a lowly girl from district 12, who would defy every social rule for her, then maybe there was some hope.

she probably remembers the rumours that floated around after those games, remembers how they said that blond boy ran away to be with her. remembers how no one heard from or about lucy gray baird ever again, and then next year she goes on to compete and win the games.

and then when the victors are made to be mentors, she looks for that girl, lucy gray baird, wonders if she could ask her questions about her games, about her life now, about coriolanus snow, the blond boy who changed the games themselves for her. but she is nowhere to be found. lucy gray baird is now a legend, passed down in hushed tones amongst the ones who still remember her. the girl who charmed an entire arena of snakes, the girl with the guitar, the girl who said nothing they could take from her was worth keeping.

and then she returns year after year, and a decade or so passes until she hears a familiar name. a name she expected died away in district 12 in obscurity, because there is no way the capitol would let his impunity pass unpunished, would they?

but here he is, president coriolanus snow.

she wonders how he's still here, and how he betrayed her memory, betrayed what lucy gray baird stood for, what he once stood for. but there he stands, impassive, cursorily shaking her hand before she stops herself from asking about the girl with the rainbow skirt.

then comes another victor from district 12, and she turns the games on their head, much like her predecessor. mags watches her, wonders if president coriolanus snow is thinking the same thing she is. when the quarter quell rolls around and finnick tells her about the burgeoning spark of a rebellion and how the girl on fire might be the one who fully set it ablaze, she agrees wholeheartedly to return to that arena.

she thinks about telling him about lucy gray baird and her story, but doesn't think he would believe her if she did. when she sees snow again, knowing certain death lies ahead, she finally asks him the question that's rested on her lips for half a century.

she asks him about the girl in the rainbow skirt.

[st0nesnglitter]

i’m on my knees PLEASE do reader realizing something non-sexual they do turns finnick on + him trying to deny it until he cracks 🤭🙏

Okay a little self-indulgent cause I’m an eyebrow scruncher (SUE ME I DARE YA)

this sucks

You were standing in the produce section of the grocery store, squinting your eyes to try and decipher Finnicks scrawly handwriting. As you see him come back with one liter of your milk you turn the list to him, looking up with a little line between your brows.

“Finn, what does it say here?” You ask, fingernail under the word.

But he seems lost for a couple of seconds, eyes big and glassy for just a beat, before shaking his head ever so slightly. He glances at the paper but quickly lifts his eyes back to your face.

“Um.. carrots” he mumbles.

You turn to go grab a bag of the vegetable but Finnick gets a hold of your wrist. His big hands take your face gently and kisses you, deeply. Way too passionate for a grocery run on a Wednesday. And when he pulls away he keeps his hands on your cheeks a little extra.

The incident leaves you wondering, but it isn’t until later you can connect the dots.

You were situated in your loveseat, wrapped in a blanket and a cup of tea forgotten beside you, reading your book. Finnick was in his opposite loveseat, eyes glancing over his book multiple times towards you. As you encountered a difficult sentence your eyebrows knitted together, re-reading it over and over.

You hear Finnick clear his throat, lifting your eyes to him with a tilt of your head.

“Something wrong, Finn?” You ask softly, placing down the book open in your lap as you reach over to draw shapes over his ankle.

“No, no.. just keep reading, sugar” he mumbles, golden cheeks tinged with pink.

So you do. But as you try to emerge into the writing you notice how Finnicks eyes doesn’t leave your face. So you close your book and sit up a little straighter.

“I can tell there’s something on your mind, Finn” you say, head tilted with a little crease between your brows.

He stares at you blankly for a moment, cheeks still flushed, before reaching up to scratch his neck.

“It’s just..” he starts “just when your brows scrunch together like that.. I-i don’t know”

You smile, very amused by his confession, and you place your hand back on his ankle.

“It turns you on?” You ask with a slight giggle, scrunching them together on purpose for him.

“Fuck off” Finnick scoffs, turning away from you with a slight pull on his pants.

“You can’t be serious!”

He looks at you with an annoyed little pout, dragging his finger over the back of your hand. You look down at his touch, then up at him again, eyes lingering on his groin. A not so subtle tent residing there.

“Really? Right now?” You ask him, shaking your head slightly, “you get that turned on?”

“Well shame on me for getting hard for my girlfriend!”

reqs are open

[billydunneapologist]

girlhood is starting and ending the day reading fanfics ab ur fictional crushes. i swear it’s apart of my routine now.

[moon-mirage]

“No, wait,” says Finnick. “Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.”

Well, there's so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. “Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” I say in a soft, singsong voice.

His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. “Aa!”

Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off.

When I recently reread the series, this moment was just pure gold. It was so funny and silly but it also felt so earned among the rest of the books and it’s such a great way to start off their alliance. They deserved this moment so much.

Also, it’s not mentioned that they’re making faces but I couldn’t resist and had so much fun with it. :D

EDIT: OMG I just realised I screwed up the reading direction!  I have no idea how that happened and I noticed just when I was about to post it. Well, it’s a manga now?! 🙈

[loveliestlovelygirl]

finnick odair runs the tightly woven string over his palms and through his fingers and ties it into knots, efficiently making a fishing net with his own two hands. You sit on the pier together, your feet dangling off the edge and over the dark waters. Intently, you watch him in admiration for his handiwork. You know that you could never keep up with him though you both grew up in District 4. He’s just very good with his hands in ways that you are not. Those are the same hands and long, nimble fingers that work magic inside you and touch where no one else has. Watching his hands and fingers move, bend, and manipulate the string into knots isn’t quite enough to tempt you to beg for him to take you there… right here, right now. But it is enough to make your heart race and your soul drown in memories of all the times he’s held heaven in his touch.

add yourself to my taglist!!

[seduzist]

Please write some finnick angst!!!

this takes place on mockingjay pt 1, when peeta, annie and johanna were being tortured by snow, reader takes annies place.

-

you heard the same scream, over and over again, you felt bad for whatever victim they’d be torturing at the moment but part of you was happy that wasn’t you and the other was mad because you couldn’t sleep with so many screams of absolute pain and suffering.

you just wanted to go back, go back to finnick, to your home, to the place where they took you off, to the place where you earned, where you fought w/ your life to have, where other 23 teenagers died just for you to have it.

then you heard it, from across the hall, heavy steps in your direction, they opened your cell, they came closer, you adjusted your sore eyes at the clarity of the hall since your cell was w/ the lights off, and then you saw him. finnick.

“finnick…”

your eyes fills w/ tears and he comes closer, both happiness from seeing you and pain at your deplorable state in his face, he puts his hand on your face, carefully and gentle, like he always did, caressing your cheek w/ his fingertips.

“y/n, i’m here.” you couldn’t stop yourself from crying at the sound of his voice, joy and relief filling your chest. the presence of him was indescribable, a smile couldn’t leave your lips even if everything hurts from the beat you just took.

the screams stopped, all you could hear was his voice. he was the only thing in the world, no pain, no hurt, no screams or punishment, no torture, just finnick, just the love of your life rescuing you. “it’s okay, my love, i’m gonna take you from here.”

“did you win? the games? finnick?” that’s the last thing your brain remembers.

the games. he’s chosen. he has to go, again.

“yes! i told you i would come back for you, my love.” he kisses your forehead again, his lips soothing you to the point where you almost believed him. but when he looks at you again, you understood.

“you didn’t won, finnick.” the smile faded off of your face and he looked at you confused. “katniss exploded the games, no one wins this time.” more tears fall from your face but now they didn’t tasted like happiness.

you closed your eyes, hearing his confused voice asking multiple questions to you, allegations that he won again and that you were wrong, but when you opened it, he was gone, the door of your cell was still closed, the darkness in the room was still present and there was no finnick standing there kissing your forehead.

it was all a hallucination, again.

[eternalbuckley]

i absolutely hate being called honey for a few reasons but i‘d do anything to get called honey by sam claflin/finnick odair.

[moethewriter]

Hunger games Renaissance is so real. Could you do a fic where finnick and r live by the water after the rebellion. Idk I'm just picturing a quiet life which they deserve !!!

Ask and you shall reciecve! I love how we are all going through a hunger games renaissance hah! This was slightly nervewracking to write! I've been out of the game so long! --- TITLE: And I shall give you, WORD COUNT: 1k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x Reader WARNINGS: NONE TAGS: Lot's of stupid fluff and introspection (in some ways) by the reader SUMMARY: A quiet life had always seemed impossible, until it wasn't A/N: So this isn't beta read and quite literally my FIRST fanfic in four or five years! A bit rusty but I hop eyou enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing Anon! I'm always open to constructive criticism on how to make my writing, and your reading experience better! Lot's of love, Moe ___ The first thing you noticed was the stillness.

The waves gave no sense of urgency, no rushing and rumbling to its next destination … just a subtle lull as they crashed ever so lightly against the rocks along the shoreline. It was oddly warm for an Autumn day, but you weren’t complaining. The warmth was something you cherished, and longed for.

The warmth brought laughter, and it brought many days laying in the sand as you spoke in hushed whispers, basking in the heat of the day. The warmth brought Finnick’s smile, that you so desperately loved, as he ran through the waves to cool himself, waving shells or sea glass or anything interesting he had found, gathered for your collections. 

It had been over a year since the rebellion and any moment spent with him was magical and everything you ever could have wanted. The quietness of your small home by the sea, the domesticity of your day to day life as you both grew and both allowed yourself to become okay with the stillness … Love had gotten you by, if there was one thing you could always count on it was being loved by the man with who had the biggest heart in the entire world.

“For you.” He had said, holding out a small crystal glass that shimmered in the sunlight, he doted on you day in and day out, though you insisted it had never been necessary.

But Finnick did not care, instead saying that you had all the time in the world to be spoiled, and he was more than willing to give it to you. In return you made sure he never wanted for anything, if he was willing to give you the moon, you were more than willing to return the stars. 

“Thank you.” You said, gratefully taking the glass of lemonade, and sipping it.

Things always seemed more gentle now, an odd thing after how you had both lived for so long. There had never been roughness between you, never a moment of doubt but the world you had been born into didn’t allow for moments like this to be had. But now … now  you were content and you were … happy. Happiness had been so foreign at first, allowing yourself to feel it more than you ever had before … the tiniest glimpses of it showing through your life. It had always seemed so impossible reaching it, but alas here it was … shimmering beneath the sunlight in District Four. 

You think in a way you had always known that happiness could be found with Finnick.

You think of the boy who had stood up for you all of those years ago, Finnick. The boy who had been through too many things far too young … Finnick. The boy who had become the Capitol Darling … Finnick. The boy who had always had your heart, and always would … Finnick.

But this Finnick … The Finnick who brushed your hair and made dinner. The man who built your house piece by piece on a vision you had both created together. Finnick who held you like you were the most beautiful treasure in all of Panem. 

This Finnick who is so at ease that a smile could come from seeing a bird fly over your home from the balcony, or when you simply said “I love you.”

This Finnick, your husband and the man who had never given up on you. 

He leaned in to kiss you softly, holding your face with a touch so light you could barely feel it. 

He felt so much lighter these days, so free and full of life like the boy you had once known. 

“Anything for you.” Finnick smiled back, a smile that could make your heart race a million times faster. He traced your jawline with the pad of his thumb, outlining every possible scar and mole that dotted your skin, and kissed your temple. “Always.”

“You flatter me, Mr. Odair.” You whispered, leaning into his touch. “Has anyone ever told you, you have a silver tongue.” You teased, a bright smile spreading across your face.

“Maybe once or twice.” He chuckled, pulling you into an embrace as you both hit the sand with a soft  ‘thud’, your body relaxed instantly against his despite the roughness of the sand below. “But no one’s ever been you.”

“No one’s ever been you either, Finn.” You tell him, leaning in to kiss his jaw, a small gesture and one of love.

Though everything seems to be filled with love these days, and you didn’t mind one bit. 

“Maybe soon we can start on the painting.” He whispered into your ear, fingers running through your hair, unknotting any tangles that had come from the sea water during your early morning swim. “After all … you are my muse.”

“I’d love that.” You said, softly, closing your eyes.

You held onto one another for what felt like hours, but you knew time had barely passed. The sound of the waves, the quiet chirping of birds in the distance calling to their brothers and sisters. The ocean breeze and sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine, as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. The sun casting its light on both of you, bathing you in the beautiful rays of daylight. 

Moments like these were no longer few and far in between. The days you spent together, and the time you had to now truly be committed and fully loved would never stop. Even those days, the long terrible days that seemed to darken the doorstep of the new life you had built, were far easier to bare knowing that you had him, and he had you. The life that you had always wanted, no longer a simple dream of two teenagers sitting under the stars wishing and hoping that you would be free.

“A quiet life.” he had once told you, under that moon. “That’s what I want after all of this.” And now under the sun, it was the life you did lead.

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

Just thinking about how weird it must have been for Finnick to win at 14 and how not only did he go through the arena but he also became a celebrity.

Most victors win a little older so the Capitol probably wasn’t used to having to wait for their victors to grow up. That must have felt really disorienting for like 18-20 year old Finnick because they wanted him to get older but they also didn’t want him to get old.

I have a headcanon that the victors sort of become their Games in the eyes of the Capitol, so even as they age they represent the kid who survived that arena. So for Finnick, he would’ve had to be the fourteen year old victor while also being old enough that the Capitol doesn’t feel bad about objectifying him, all while trying to protect his people at home.

The celebrity culture in Panem sounds really demanding, especially for the victors who are seen more as commodities. We don’t get as much insight into this in canon because Katniss isn’t a part of Capitol society for very long, but it’s a topic that I find really interesting.

(Also after the war Finnick embraces things like gray hair and other signs of aging because he’s finally allowed to age naturally and not exist for the pleasure of others)

[solar-halos]

i think if thg characters were playing monopoly annie would steal the monopoly money but still lose anyway. finnick is the banker but he looks the other way bc she’s pretty. when johanna notices she just literally fucking pounces on annie. haymitch takes this as his opportunity to steal even more monopoly money. katniss is already asleep by the first few rounds bc she doesn’t like how long the game is taking. idk i just thought i should share that

[bruisedboys]

no bc oml finnick odair would absolutely start giggling like a little girl whenever reader compliments him. he's literally like a lovesick teenager 🤧😭

and if reader traces his dimples ?? dear god it's over for him

the dimple thing yes!!!!! thank u for the thought angel and your support!

finnick odair x fem!reader

You’re half in Finnick’s lap, gazing up at him as he reads. He keeps asking you if you’re bored, but you’re not, you just like watching him. He’s got a lovely face — a handsome, sharp jaw, golden sunkissed skin, thick blonde curls and stormy eyes. You think you could look at him all day, and more.

“Honey,” he says without looking at you. His neck is warm under your hands. Your hands, which are climbing him like a tree, desperate and greedy where they push over his t-shirt and his warm, warm skin. He sounds amused as he turns a page of his book idly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say airily. “Just looking at you.”

Finnick chuckles. It rumbles low in his chest, and you feel it where your hand is pressed to him. Your body warms through at the sound.

“I can see that,” he drawls. He peers at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning like a fool, pretty teeth peeking through prettier lips. “Are you enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

You think he’s teasing, but you're too enraptured by his nice voice and his bruising smile to do anything about it. You especially like his dimple. You bring your hand to his jaw clumsily, grab hold of him with your fingers and poke at the indent in his skin with your thumb.

“What are you doing?” Finnick asks through startled laughter, though his neck grows rapidly hotter under your touch.

“Your dimples are so nice,” you say earnestly, your thumb now tracing over the corner of his mouth. “You’re really pretty, Finnick, you know that?”

Finnick gives a breathless sort of laugh. “What?”

He drops his open book onto his lap to look at you. There's something in his gaze that you don't quite understand, but it sends your heart into a riot anyway.

“What’d you say?” He asks, though you know he heard you just fine.

“I said you’re pretty,” you say sheepishly, shrugging one shoulder. You feel very warm under his intense gaze. But he is pretty, and you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, and he deserves to hear it. “Or handsome. Whichever one you prefer.”

Finnick blinks at you, his blonde crush of eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. He closes his book and puts it to the side.

“Sweet girl,” he croons, all sticky sweet and husky.

He gets his hand around your leg where it's half hooked over his, and pulls you firmly into his lap. His fingers mould to your hips, gracing a slice of your skin as your shirt rides up. You go happily, planting your hands on his firm chest, and try to act like this isn’t exactly what you wanted.

The way his heart pounds under your palm doesn't go unnoticed.

“I like them both,” he says, earnest. He kisses you once, chaste, and then pulls back, his forehead pressed to yours. His warm breath washes over your mouth and you get so dizzy you could pass out in his arms. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you, mouth quirked into this half smile that has your stomach doing backflips, eyelids hooded.

He works his fingers behind your ear to draw you in, as if he can't get you close enough.

"You really think I’m pretty?” He murmurs.

"Yes," you nod, breathless. "So pretty."

Finnick's answering kiss tells you he really appreciates the compliment. You figure you’ll have to compliment him more if he’s gonna react like this.

[st0nesnglitter]

Finnick is such a “yes ma’am” man.

He’s so head over heels for you, he’ll do anything for you.

“Finn could you-“

“Yes ma’am, I’m on it!”

[dangerouslypassiveaggressive]

A Terribly Organized Almost-Essay About Suzanne Collins and Why I Think She Writes

Lukewarm take because it's been years, but here it goes: if there's anything I've learned over the years, it's that Suzanne Collins is not a people pleaser. (The author, at least. I don't know her personally lol). And she be pleasing the people, that's not what I mean! I just kept hearing the same question being asked over and over again. "Why Snow? Why him?? Why not anybody else? Really?? A prequel about HIM??" It really made me think.

And don't get me wrong! I'd slash someone's tires for a Finnick prequel just like the next person (Suzanne please!), but that has never been the point of her writing. The Hunger Games novels, and by extension, the prequel book The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, aren't just fun fiction reads. Yeah, they're gripping. The world-building is superb. Young people are at the center of it. And all these characteristics are great, but the thing that draws us in, that keeps us consuming her media like hungry little caterpillars, is that they are, time and time again, a captivating and accurate criticism, analysis, and deconstruction of the broken systems society experiences in the real world. I can only speak from my own experience as a Mexican American woman in the United States, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

The Capitol is colorful and fun and interesting and horrible and sadistic. And it is all those things because it is a symbol of our own real-world 1%, except our own glittering Capitol members here in the real world feed us the hope that we may reach their status if we only work hard enough for long enough. The Hunger Games system never makes that claim. In fact, they are fed the narrative that the system only works because they're stuck where they are. Suzanne Collins is taking everything one step further in her writing because it is a type of satire, a critique of the things we already know. So as an author, she blows it out of proportion so that her reader will say "look at this! How ridiculous! How would someone let the system treat them this way!" And it is ridiculous, it's downright laughable that an entire society, an entire country, would let itself be oppressed in such a cruel way by just a few people in charge instead of rising up and- oh wow, yeah, I see it. She wrote about us.

Suzanne Collins just organized everything neatly into boxes- well, districts. Because every district comes with some form of product that they manufacture, but much more importantly: a class. We go in order from 1-13. District 1 manufactures luxury items and District 2 makes weapons (but mostly trains Peacekeepers), so they have the most privilege and wealth. On the other end, Districts 11 and 12 are the agricultural and coal mining districts, respectively. That's back-breaking work. Not to mention District 11 puts kids as young as 12 to work, and District 12 is poverty-stricken and starving. "But what about District 13?" You may ask, "They make nuclear weapons! Why aren't they up there with 2?" Fantastic question. If we know, and the people of Panem know, that the hierarchy is very clearly set by literal number order, why would one of the most powerful and competent districts be given more power and be put at the top? Placing them at the end lets them believe that they aren't powerful or competent. I mean, jeez, look at 12 and they're before 13? I wouldn't believe I could make it on my own either. (We know now that's not how things go down, but it's a clever power move regardless.)

But after all this, would it hurt Suzanne to give us a single book just for fun?

Yes, I believe it would, that's the whole point. We're not meant to fall for the Peeta/Katniss/Gale love triangle. We're not meant to be interested in Finnick's secrets and early life. We're not meant to want to know the morbid details of how Haymitch won his Games (with double the contestants! Ooh. Aah.) We're meant to be horrified at every turn, at every story. We're meant to ask ourselves how things got so bad, how anyone let this happen. Suzanne Collins has written wonderfully fleshed out characters that grip us and make us want to know more, but the point has never been them or even their loved ones. It was never about Katniss or Prim or Peeta or Finnick or Annie. It's always been about the systems that let this story happen, and where Suzanne got her inspiration: the very real lives we lead. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes shows us the same thing.

So why Coriolanus Snow? Because he is the catalyst to a broken system that only serves the powerful. If Suzanne were to write a novel about any of our much more beloved characters, then she would be writing the exact same book over and over about the same oppression happening in the same system. She does not write for the sake of bringing her very well-written characters to life, but to flesh out the poverty, the starvation, the power struggles, the horrors they experience. We know this because she writes a lot of her characters as symbols. (Coin, for instance, as the symbol for a power-hungry figurehead, or Prim as the innocent during war.)

Snow is living in a slightly different biome than what we know from The Hunger Games series. He has to make sacrifices and decisions for him and his family, but it's different. It is a view and critique from the inside looking in. This is not Katniss getting to experience the Capitol for the first time and understanding just how terribly unfair everything is. This is someone who is very aware of the way things work and playing the game to stay in power and keep their privilege. Not only that, but it's someone who feels entitled to all of it. In this novel, Suzanne plays around with power and people's position in it. What if a mad scientist was in charge? What if the creator of the thing that brought a semblance of peace was just as horrified as the reader? How far is one person willing to go for power? What if we saw the dawn of a world we're already familiar with?

So I hope she keeps writing, because I love seeing our world through her eyes and the parallels she writes from our world to hers of the injustices happening every day. Even though we'll probably never get the stories we crave, but that's okay. Keep putting those kids through hell, Suzanne.

[loveliestlovelygirl]

finnick odair means business when he offers to cook you dinner. It also means he will be MIA until he calls for you late in the evening time, giving you the whole day to get ready for the special night if you please. He goes out in the morning on his rowboat and fishes for flounder lurking on the murky bottoms of the sea. He only brings home two fish, no more, no less. Just enough for you both. He prepares the fish himself. Sometimes, you watch. And when you do, it’s clear he’s been doing this his whole life. It comes so naturally to him. When it’s his turn to make dinner, he won’t let you do anything. He won’t let you bring side dishes or dessert. He gets moody if you argue with him about it. When it’s time to eat, he sets the table and pours white wine. He always offers to cut your fish for you, but you always refuse because of your pride. All he wishes for in return for his endeavors is a smile from your beautiful lips and sweet love to warm his bed all night long.

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[screenshotsonpinterest]

I did not walk out of tbosbas crushing on mass murder crazy poison man finnick-odair-killing president snow

But if Tom Blyth asked me to bark I’d-