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@flotsamodair
Independent, Active, Multi-Fandom and Selective - Finnick Odair
Carrd | Inbox Prompts | Self Promo | Character Study | My Finnick Fic
𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈 𝙸𝙽 . . . saltwater grief, victor’s silence, boy’s undoing. a crown gleaming like sun on water, hiding what lurks beneath. the boy they adored, the one they devoured. a body claimed by the Capitol, a heart that never made it back to shore
blogroll; @bloodpsalm @crowsalvation
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❛ Dishonesty breeds dishonesty. ❜
INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS accepting
“Are you accusing me of being dishonest?” Finnick questioned around a mouthful of sugar cube, his eyebrows arching as he stared at her. The sugar dissolved on his tongue, buying him time to decide how much offense he wanted to pretend to take.
A second later, he shook his head and gave her the most perfected Panem smile he knew how to give.
“I’ve never once been dishonest,” he lied smoothly. His eyes stayed on Lark, sea bright and controlled “I hope you can say the same thing.”
I'm not angry. I'm terrified. There's a difference.
✦ ⋆ 𖤓 ⋆ ✦ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 accepting
Honestly....Finnick didn’t really believe there was much of a difference when it came to Jackie being terrified and Jackie being angry. They looked alike on her. Her tone got the same cutting edge to it, her attitude came out the same way, and every part of her seemed ready to bite first and explain later.
But he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.
Instead, he nodded slowly, picking his next few words very very carefully. “Your feelings are valid, sweetheart,” he said, his hand grabbing the spear as he eased it away from her, more for his own safety than anything else. If something spooked her, he didn't want to find himself accidentally stabbed.
Once it was out of the way. “We’ll get through this together, okay?” he told her, like he needed her to believe it as much as he was trying to. “Terrified or angry, doesn’t matter. We will do it.”
✦ ⋆ 𖤓 ⋆ ✦ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 ··· a collection of injuries tended in silence, pain worn like armour, the intimacy of being seen at your worst. genre: hurt and comfort, angst, romance, drama.
• You're bleeding through your shirt. Don't tell me you're fine. • How long have you been walking around like this? • I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to see how bad it is. • You should have told me the moment it happened. • Hold still. I mean it. Hold still. • This is going to sting. Bite down on something if you need to. • You've been hiding this for days, haven't you. • Who did this to you? I need you to tell me who did this. • Stop being brave for five minutes and let me help you. • I've seen worse. I've also seen men die from worse, so let me look at it. • I found the bandages in the trash. You want to explain that? • Don't you dare apologize for bleeding on me. • Your hands are cold. That's not a good sign. • I'm not angry. I'm terrified. There's a difference. • Come into the light. Let me see your face. • You should have stitches. I know you won't go. So sit down and let me do what I can. • You're white as a sheet and still trying to stand up straight. • I could hear you in the night. I didn't say anything. I'm saying something now. • Don't look at it if it makes it worse. Just look at me. • It's not weak to let someone see you hurt. • You came to me. Of all the places you could have gone, you came here. • Lay back. You're not getting up until the color comes back to your face. • I'm not going to ask what happened. Not yet. First let me fix what I can. • You've been holding your left side since you walked in. Think I didn't notice? • This is going to leave a mark. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. • I've patched up a lot of people in my time. None of them scared me like you do right now. • You could have died out there. You could have died and I would have been the last person to know. • Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere. • You're allowed to make a sound. Nobody's watching. • I need you to stay awake for me. Just a little longer. Talk to me. • You're lucky the cut wasn't deeper. • Stop apologizing for needing help. Stop it right now. • I've seen what it looks like when someone's used to this. That's what scares me most about you. • Tell me your name. Tell me what day it is. Stay with me. • You're going to be alright. I promise you. • You went back out there after this? With this? • Nobody takes care of you, do they? That ends tonight. • I've been gentle with you. I need you to be honest with me in return. • You're safe now. You're here, you're safe, and I've got you. Just breathe.
@flotsamodair said: "maybe i have a crush on you. so what?"
" Then maybe you should do something about it. Hm?" Billy teased playfully, beer in hand and a smirk on his lips. " You could have been laid by now if I knew you were into me." He winked, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a drink. " So you just flirt with other people to make me jealous? Huh. Makes sense now." It also made Billy feel so much better to know it was for his attention and not real. " You know I've said before I think you're hot." His eyes lowered slowly over the males body. " So where do you want to go from here?"
It was true. Finnick had spent most of the night flirting with other men and women in the bar just to see if he could get under Billy’s skin.
“Where’s the fun in admitting it?” Finnick asked, tilting his head as a cheeky smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Sometimes it’s more fun to dangle myself like a fish, barely out of reach.”
He copied Billy and took a drink from his own glass of vodka, letting the silence stretch between them as his eyes stayed locked on his. There was something satisfying about finally having Billy’s attention exactly where he wanted it.
“We could go to your place,” he offered, his tongue slipping out to catch a stray drip of vodka from his lip. His smile widened a bit. “Or I can go back to the dance floor and see what Thomas is up to tonight.”
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I'd love to do more here with Finnick<3
Like this if you want some prompts/memes sent to you (and I'll most likely continue them into a thread)
Cove didn't flinch as Finnick reached out, but his right hand moved with the practiced, ruthless speed of someone who had spent his life pulling knives and wrangling nets. He didn't drop the glass. Instead, he caught Finnick by the wrist, his grip like an iron shackle, stopping the boy's hand just inches from the amber liquid. The ice in the glass didn't even clink. Cove looked down at the tight grip he had on the fourteen-year-old, then slowly brought his forest green eyes up to meet Finnick’s furious glare. His face remained completely blank, a mask of pure indifference that didn't change even as Finnick shouted in his face. He didn't let go of the wrist immediately. He let the pressure sit there for a second, a silent reminder of the strength difference between a boy and a grown victor, before he finally tossed Finnick's hand back toward him. Cove took another slow sip of his drink, his throat moving as he swallowed the burning liquid. ‘ You think more deaths matter to me? ‘ Cove asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely empty of emotion. ‘ You think if you die, I’ll feel a single thing? I won't. I'll just go back to my boat, and next year, I'll sit in this exact same room with another kid who thinks they're special. ‘ He set the glass down on a nearby table with a soft thud. He stepped closer, using his height to crowd Finnick against the wall, his stern features casting a shadow over the angry boy. There was no pity in his eyes. No comfort. Just the harsh, unyielding reality of a man who had seen the bottom of the ocean and stayed there. ‘ You want me to tell you what to do? Fine. Here is your lesson, ‘ Cove said, his tone sharp and biting. ‘ Stop looking for a hero. Stop waiting for me to give you a magic trick that keeps you alive. The Capitol wants a show, and the other tributes want your blood. If you go into that arena acting like an angry child who wants to blame his mentor for the world being unfair, they will gut you in the first five minutes. ‘ He leaned in, his scent of moss and sharp alcohol filling the small space between them. ‘ You want to get back to 4? You want to make it back to the sea? Then shut your mouth, stop crying about what you deserve, and pick up a weapon. Because the second that pedestal rises, I am not your problem anymore. You are. ‘
The bravery Finnick had felt standing up to Cove started fading the second he was caught by the wrist. It didn't vanish completely, but did loosen up enough for him to feel the race of his heart under the training uniform and the rush of adrenaline that came with realizing Cove wasn’t some washed up drunk like he assumed. He still had his strength and wits about him beneath the surface of the alcohol and enough of it to stop Finnick like he was nothing more than a kid.
The anger, however, did not dim. Finnick was angry at himself, at Cove, at the Capitol, at District Four. Angry at everything that had gotten him into this situation and everything that refused to help him get out of it. Even as his back hit the wall and Cove towered over him, Finnick kept his jaw tight and his chin tilted up, refusing to look as rattled as he felt.
“They want a show,” Finnick repeated, brows lifting as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “We could give them one right now with me shoving a spear into your stomach.”
It was never going to happen. Finnick knew it, and Cove knew it too. The Capitol would never allow that kind of display and even if they did, it would most likely hurt his chances at getting Sponors. Still, he couldn’t stop the words from slipping out, not with all that frustration swimming its way up his throat and nowhere else to go.
The embarassing part was knowing that his words were nothing more than words. It had made him feeling stronger until he was no longer able to take it back, and he was still standing there with Cove towering above him.
Finnick turned his head to the side, breaking away from the stare before Cove could call his bluff out loud.
“Got it” he muttered, voice lower now but still dripping with resentment. “Play it just like you did, huh? Grab a weapon and kill anything that moves.”
Realizing it was just the young victor from four, the attempt at performance dropped as her head pressed back to the cool marble, "Oh... we have to be, don't we?" the words don't sound rehearsed this time, the tone shaking and losing it's exaggerated articulation... as if somewhere buried was Effie's real voice... somewhere buried was the real her... it was just impossible for her to keep up when her body ached from the same use of it over and over for two decades of her life... there were some aches so deep that the morphling had not dulled it in years... "I'm terribly sorry... you must want to be alone..." She mumbles, the tone sounding genuinely concerned before she shrugged her shoulder a little, rustling the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, "You can have this if you're cold..."
That was the most human he had ever heard her sound.
Finnick loked back toward the sea of lights stretched out around them. “No,” he shook his head, his voice more real than the one he used inside. “It’s okay. You can stay.”
He glanced over at the shawl around her shoulders, and a tired smile touched his mouth. “You can keep that,” he added, nodding toward it. “I’m from 4. I'’ve been cold before.”
It was a little joke and there was no bite or practiced charm behind it meant to make anyone laugh.
He didn’t look at her too directly because the Capitol was always staring, always taking, always wanting proof of whatever weakness it had managed to create. He wouldn’t do that to her, he was going to offer her privacy as much as possible.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said after a beat, his fingers curling loosely over the edge of the railing. “I think we both came out here for the same reason.”
His mouth twitched again, but this time the smile barely held.
“Too loud in there.”
Now he could tell from the few glances he took at her that she was either drunk or on something, and he wasn’t sure if he felt bad for her or jealous that she’d managed to find something strong enough to numb whatever this place did to people.
#ilya baby get behind me
𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓕𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓴-
𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈 𝙸𝙽 . . . saltwater grief, victor’s silence, boy’s undoing. a crown gleaming like sun on water, hiding what lurks beneath. the boy they adored, the one they devoured. a body claimed by the Capitol, a heart that never made it back to shore
Finnick Odair Independent, Active, Multi-Fandom and Selective
carrd ©
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❛ Dishonesty breeds dishonesty. ❜
If looks could kill.....Finnick’s current expression wouldn’t, but he was doing a good enough job pretending to be bored by the lecture he was being given. His eyes stayed on Luien, unimpressed, mouth twitching like he was fighting the urge to smile just to make it worse.
“I’m not being dishonest,” Finnick shrugged. “I’ve never been dishonest in my life.” His brows lifted slightly, the tease slipping into his voice. “Bet you can’t say the same.”
@flotsamodair
CW: substance use and non-explicit depictions of sex work
Maybe he wouldn’t have tried so hard to win if he’d known that this was what being a Victor was all about.
Long nights of being looked at, talked to, grabbed. Hands on his arm, his waist, the back of his neck, fingers catching at whatever piece of him they thought they were owed because they had sponsored him in. Having to force a good attitude and put on a flashy grin because the punishment involved more people than just him.
Finnick had finally managed to get a few minutes to himself and slipped out of the party while the party went on without him. His shoes were somewhere inside, abandoned after some Capitol woman had said it was more 'organic' for him to be barefoot like he would be on the beach.
He thought no one would miss him as he escaped to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. They never missed him as much as they missed the version of him they could drag back into the room.
But he was wrong thinking he would be alone out there.
When he saw Effie was already there, Finnick almost turned around. Not because it was her, but because the Capitol made everything seem dangerous. A person crying could be a trap. A person falling apart could still smile in your face and sell whatever secrets you gave them in comfort to the highest bidder.
Finnick’s expression changed at the sound of her voice breaking when she greeted him. The weariness didn't vanish completely, but a bit of concern did start to take its place.
“Hey...” The word came out more like a question than a greeting as he took the final few steps toward her and stopped at the railing. “You okay?” he asked, though even he knew it was a stupid question.
Cove didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just leaned back against the wall, watching the fire in Finnick’s eyes with a cold, almost bored indifference. In his right hand, he gripped a glass of alcohol, the ice hammering against the sides. He knew what Finnick saw when he looked at him. It was ironic, really. That he thought winning the games would be all cuddle and fun. ‘ You think I want to forget? ‘ Cove asked, before taking a slow sip of his drink. He let out a short, hollow breath that wasn't quite a laugh yet. ‘ Forgetting is for people who think there’s a version of themselves worth saving. I know exactly what I am, Finnick. I’ve known it since I was twelve. ‘ He straightened up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the younger boy. He looked at Finnick and didn't offer a single word of comfort. No tips on the career tributes, no advice on the arena, and no lies about making it home. ‘ What do you want me to do? Lie to you? Put some nice capitol colored bow around a severed head to make up for the things you've seen? You want it on a platter? Grow up. ‘ He took another sip, the alcohol doing nothing to soften his stern expression. ‘ You’re angry because I’m not helping. But if I give them a map and a pat on the back, they'll go in there thinking someone is watching out. They'll be slow. Soft. Soft gets you killed. Is that advice enough or do you want a hug and tears and an apology? ‘
“You don’t want to forget, yet you’re a drunk every waking second of your pathetic life.” Finnick grumbled it under his breath. His jaw locked tight as he glared off to the side, trying to bite down on the rest of the anger before it could come out in a way that made him look as young as he was.
It didn’t work. Not with Cove standing there like the world had already ended and Finnick was stupid for being furious about it.
His eyes snapped back to him, and what he did next was impulsive. Finnick reached out, aiming to shove the drink from Cove’s hand with all the rage burning under his skin. It wasn’t just Cove. Not really. Finnick didn’t like him, no one did, but this was bigger than one pathetic excuse of a mentor.
It was the Capitol. The arena. The cameras waiting to eat him alive. The fact that everyone around him either smiled too brightly or drank too much or acted like sending children to die was something he should learn to accept with grace.
“I might as well put a ‘come kill me’ sign on my back like Twelve has.” His eyebrows furrowed, his voice escalating as he looked Cove over like he was nothing more than a fish rotting out in the sun. “You want more deaths on your hands? Because until you get a tribute to replace you as victor, you’re going to have them.”
“Tell me what to do.” His mouth twisted, bitterness cutting through every word. “Or I will make certain to haunt you."
What I am living for and what I am dying for are the same question.
The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood
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Johanna: What are you drinking?
Finnick: Vodka.
Johanna: Straight?
Finnick:
Finnick: No, bi.
Johanna: Not YOU, the VODKA!
Stiles knew beforehand that Finnck would not just give in to his demand; it was bold of him to even let the words come from his lips in the first place. Teeth bite at his bottom lip, watching and waiting to see what reaction he was going to get. ❝ Something tells me you don't take orders in any form..❞
His heart started beating faster in his chest, almost in time with the others' movements as the space between them shrank until there was NONE left.
The moment his chin was grabbed, he swallowed hard, a chill running down his spine, as their eyes locked. Every action that followed only made him shiver more. ❝ You see, the thing is, I am not good at taking orders either... sooo, me saying please is not going to happen.❞
“That is such a shame.” Finnick’s voice dropped into a husky whisper, the corner of his lip unable to fight the turn into a smirk. “I like hearing people say 'please'.”
His thumb brushed over Stiles’ lower lip and his eyes narrowing as he searched the other’s face for any sign of weakness in that stubborn little act.
