i have gone ahead and built up a queue that i'll be starting over the weekend! thank you to everyone for your patience with me and this blog! i'm not the best at juggling, but i love & miss you all!! <3

helloooo...! i haven't been here in many many many hot seconds but i have been working on replies and queueing! this blog is gonna be queue only and basically semi-hiatus going forth! if you wanna plot/start new threads come give me a poke on discord! you're always welcome to send in inbox stuff as well. to help me back on my feet i will be dropping a couple of threads and queueing the rest of what i have. i appreciate and love everyone, hope everyone's been well!! sending much love <3

he nods, slight hum on his lips. whenever he becomes hysterical they only seem to make it worse. they can't even trust him with a necklace, but here they are arming katniss once a week, maybe more. at least he has a rope, he thinks. "think she'd give me special permission if i threaten to rip my hair out too?" it's something of a joke-- he would never. but it would be quite a threat for sure he thinks. "you don't want to see how far it goes?"

"i dunno. whenever i ask, these days. or when i start becoming hysterical again." the words slip from my lips, dry and quick, and i lift a shoulder in a shrug. "coin is worried i'll start pulling my hair out again if they keep me locked up down there." she's probably right. i always breathe a little easier after these. his question is met with a shake of my head as i find the game trail that leads down to the lake, the grass flattened by hooves and now my own feet. "no. i don't want to leave it."

finnick couldn't care less about looking like the capitol people. he's a fan of his wardrobe, his sweaters, and all the thin linens and stylings that make four such a unique place. it wouldn't be the same-- he's a fisherman, always has been. he doesn't think he could tolerate his hair being a foot taller than him, and anything beyond that of what stylists have already done to him. for a fleeting moment though he has to point out to himself that he does feel the need to be liked by them-- he's disgusted, and then again reminded how being beautiful is crucial. he is beautiful he supposes. his war wages on in his head as he nods along to haymitch. "one would argue that everything brought on by drinks is artificial..." isn't it? the numbing? the feeling that you can't be touched, or rather that you aren't hurting anymore? he doesn't mean it to be hurtful, and the words come out soft and quiet.

@65ths

               in   reality,   there   is   little   the   capitol   can   offer   him   that   he   wants.      only   the   drink,   because   they’re   damn   good.      everything   else?      he   doesn’t   give   a   shit   about.      never   has,   never   will.      ❝   nothing   else   i’d   want   to   steal   from   this   place.      trust   me,   i   would   rather   be   dead   than   be   caught   looking   like   the   capitol’s   people.   ❞      everything   about   them   is   so   fake.      the   hair,   the   make   up,   the   plastic   surgeries…      he   is   not   about   that   life.      it’s   a   struggle   enough   to   get   him   into   a   decent   suit   every   year,   never   mind   going   to   the   capitol   extreme.      ❝   this   place   is   very   artificial,   finnick.      i   don’t   much   care   for   the   artificial.   ❞

“prim will always have as much time as she wants here, free lunch or not.” he’d end it with the asterisk of closing time, but truth be told finnick thinks he could probably buy prim time even after closing if he really had to. his coworkers have done the same with their kids, and while prim is by no means finnick’s or related to him… well, she’s sweet and he has a soft spot for all the kids. especially the ones who come attached to caretakers who aren’t even old enough to drink. 

“i’m not yours?” he teases, taking the other small bag and gently tucking the other under his arm. the brown bag is caught by his arm and ribs, careful to not squeeze the actual contents. now sweets he cannot resist. a lunch is sweet, friendly, but actual pastries which by the looks of them have spoonfuls of sugar is… confusing. and entirely the correct way to get finnick to do anybody’s bidding. peering into the bag, he flicks his eyes up at her, grin widening, “wow, when you try to bribe you go all the way.” he motions for her to follow him, turning on his heels towards the aquarium’s food court. “come on, you don’t expect me to have these alone, do you?”

 ‍  ‍ she knows he wants to ask. the question sits expectantly on his expression and she cannot blame him, but she doesn't give herself up, instead folding her arms and waiting for him to voice it or give it up -- taking the brief pause to build up her answer. because you're always so nice to prim, could be one. i've noticed you take your lunch breaks late. has she? maybe you're a good guy and i actually like you. gag.

 ‍  ‍ when the question comes, katniss merely shrugs. “ maybe i'm just securing extra time for prim next time i bring her. i think you're her favorite tour guide. also, ” another, albeit smaller bag from her opposite hand is offered forward, the stamped mellark just barely visible from the rumpled paper. “ sweets? the diner in my town is heavenly. ” she'd grabbed a few different options; soft pastries with powdered sugar and glaze, crunchy ones with sweet fruits mashed in, the odd chocolate covered, fancy doughnut. okay, so she has no idea what finnick actually likes. maybe this is all overkill. what's the harm?

“you wouldn’t stab anybody or anything?” he raises a brow at her. he doesn’t expect katrina to stab anyone, but if he was coin, he probably wouldn’t take his chances either. to arm the killers of the compound? for whittling? he can’t help a laugh. he knows she’s entirely serious, he’s seen her little wooden creations over the years, heard about them, but he thinks its about as safe or sane of a request as it is to hand finnick a little shoelace or string. they are security risks. “and what would you whittle? the toast?” forget the knives, they’re so far underground where would she ever find a piece of free wood lying around?

“Well then, good thing I don’t plan on stabbing you.”  Finnick is someone she’d be glad to have watching her back, both in terms of skill and who he is as a person. Trust is a word she doesn’t use lightly, but he’s at least more trustworthy than many other people she’s met.  “I know.”  She shoots a not-so-subtle glare to the guards. Sure, the measures might be for their own safety and all, but honestly, it was bothersome.  “I want my fucking knives back. It’s not like I’m going to stab anybody or anything, I just want to whittle with them, but nooo. Stupid welfare and security risks.”  Her tone might sound a bit childish, but she’s homesick and tired and bitter at the seemingly repressive rules 13 has so many of the victors under. Maybe a bit of childishness is warranted.

“the people i care about?” tally’s got his attention, for only a stunned, almost offended moment. “the people i care about?” he feels not unlike a jabberjay, parroting back to her the words. “the people i care about are about are either dead or something worse. there’s no better for me— there isn’t anything for me.” his head shakes. mags, annie, and what about everyone back in four? where are any of the rest of the victors? surely if they’re not in the capitol, holed up with all the lovers and traitors then they’re probably already gone and buried— snow will have made sure of that. 

his shoulders shake, but instead of any sob there’s something of a twisted laugh. “no one in this place is level headed— not even the everdeen’s cat.” finnick turns his head back to the screens, but rather than stay frozen before them he surprisingly puts one foot in front of the other and starts to move towards the hall. 

When Tally was a kid, one day she found a little hurt bird. She took it home, gave it water and some seeds, talked and sang to it, fell asleep at the table beside it. She’s never been able to turn away from something or someone in need of help. And even if she doesn’t have any frame of reference for what he was like before, it’s glaringly obvious that he’s not well. 

There’s a moment where she has to mentally remind herself not to go up and put a hand on his shoulder, maybe even hug him - physical touch isn’t everyone’s thing, Tally - instead, she just stands there. Hands fidget, her head tilts.  “Finnick.”  Her voice is gentler this time.  “You need to rest. Which, I know, easier said than done, but… it’ll be better for you and the people you care about for you to be healthier and more level headed.”

“she might,” finnick points out, a two sided dark joke. she’ll die certainly if he doesn’t get her out, and she’d die with the target on her back that the games have placed even without the rebellion. it’s not so much a joke as his other comments have been though— it lacks a chuckle afterwards, even if a light curve on the sides of his lips remain. a far better thing to call his statement might be a request. peeta is persuasive, especially where it concerns katniss. if there’s anyone who might help to get it into her head that finnick is worth listening to, it might be the lover boy. “but i think finnick goes quite swimmingly with everdeen or mellark— whichever way you two decide to go about the surname.” the baby’s not even real, but finnick can’t help but think about how doomed an everdeen-mellark baby would be in a world like this— it’s the same thing he’s always thought about a baby of his own, if such a thing were even possible to begin with. 

he lets out a laugh without thinking. usually, everything is carefully thought and planned out. a clever mask to make sure that the capitol and people alike don't take him for weak, confuse katniss with something she's not, but finnick has a way of making that mask slip in a way that doesn't threaten. he allows him to show pieces of himself that to a naked eye doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. but he knows finnick is the same. the capitol darling was mostly, he was sure of it, an act. he understood when he won but the years that followed ? peeta couldn't imagine it as more than his masking on a larger scale. for what, he wasn't sure. and now, peeta quite literally owed him his life. he stops laughing, a sigh escaping him as he shakes his head. ❛ i think katniss would rather die before we named it after you but i can be quite persuasive so maybe there's still hope. ❜

“oh katniss, you keep me plenty entertained by just being you,” he grins towards her. it’s hardly an untrue fact. he finds the brunette to be much more captivating when she goes unscripted— acts as herself, does as she pleases, no matter how nonsensical it might seem to others. not counting her trust issues or paranoia that might get her killed, but finnick can hardly blame her for either thing. sometimes, it’s those things too that get him to chuckle. 

“you’re not missing out on much. i’m mostly with your good pal, gale. they have us running drills together, he’s not so bad with a bow.” there’s a small glance over, “something tells me that has to do with you.” he doesn’t mind gale, although the two rarely see eye to eye. they’re there to train and that’s really what matters. 

 ‍  ‍ foggy gaze follows his form until he sinks onto the floor next to her chair, and it still lingers lazily on his mop of sun - kissed curls as she lets her head tilt back to the wall. a grunt, “ got to entertain you somehow, don't i? ” baseless banter. anyone knows that katniss usually prefers her time spent in quiet. especially when her shirt is damp and sticky, and her bones ache in ways she's certain they shouldn't. but chatter comes easily with finnick.

 ‍  ‍ an inhale, and she lifts her head to look where he had gestured. “ yeah. should be out any minute. ” she's actually getting the hang of assembling a rifle, and had been right behind katniss the last time she checked. her boot shifts, nudging finnick's calf. “ so how's it with the big shots? ” soldiers older than fifteen. people who actually get to wield their special weaponry. katniss is envious, but she's long since accepted that's her punishment for ignoring the schedule the first few months. and she's glad that finnick is up, energetic -- similar to the victor she had known in the quell but real.

“am i not allowed to call and ask about you?” he looks at his phone, thinks back to the numbers he punched in— it’s a physical bit that lacks much sense considering katniss cannot see him. “my mistake, jo, i thought i’d dialed katniss.” he’s not so much eager as he is curious about how leaving four feels for anybody outside of its toppled over borders. he doesn’t have anyone else to inquire the question with, but home has naturally always been a healing place for both himself and annie. it’s not katniss’ and yet he saw some of the calmness come to her as it usually did to him. he chuckles into the receiver, leaning back against the kitchen counter. 

with a free hand he gently pokes at his son’s nose— baby secured in a chair besides him. if anyone might enjoy finnick’s humor and exaggerated expressions maybe it’s him, who has his arms out stretched and clapping towards the dangling phone cord that finnick keeps well away. “you didn’t answer my question. are you bored?”

the tug of a smile on her lips isn't as begrudging as it once was, the sincerity finnick odair always manages to pull out of her eliciting an amused breath that crackles through the receiver. katniss leans against the jut of the wall with the tangled cord of the landline pinned by her shoulder, ankles crossed and a wrinkled nose directed to the window that faces the street of victor's village.

“ i'm good, finnick. ” stable -- present, even. she's felt more grounded ever since the waters in four. it'd been a hard thing to leave, but she hated the thought of keeping finnick and annie's company for so long when they had a son to tend to. twelve is . . . still twelve, but it's been easier to bear since her return. “ are you sure you shouldn't be asking yourself that? you seem a little too eager to talk to me. ” then again, the only other person she's spoken to across the phone is dr. aurelius, conversations usually ended prematurely by her own hand.

“that’s certainly a fair request.” finnick wishes more than anything that he had some peace and quiet. god what he would give for a little bit of that. “do what?” he pops a piece of a cracker in his mouth. “the limelight?” finnick’s lips push together into a straight line, head tilting. “after so long, it’s nothing really. it gets a little dull even.”

His wink prompts a playful roll of the eyes. At his question, however, brows knit slightly together as if to say, really? as she pauses for just a second. "I don't want their limelight. What I'm owed is some peace and fucking quiet." The idea that she would be asking for peace and quiet is something her child self would have found hard to believe. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it."

“we haven’t thought much of it,” he admits. both annie and finnick hadn’t celebrated their birthdays in years— or at least there was nothing more than a small gesture shared between them. mags had a couple times baked him something for the occasion. but a celebration simply wasn’t ever something either of them wanted, least of all finnick whose birthday parties have been nothing but undesirable memories. but his son— his son will be one, and isn’t that something beautiful? “but something tells me we might have visitors with or without sending out any sort of invitation.” beautiful doesn’t begin to cover the feeling of warmth in finnick’s chest at the thought. 

She smiles, both at the baby’s enjoyment of the little fish and Finnick’s own happy reaction. It reminds her of when her niece had just been born, of the way that her brother would grin at his little baby. That same kind of love in their eyes.  “You’re very welcome,”  she says in response to the kid’s babbling, speaking in that soft voice that’s used with children. Considering the amount of people who already love this little boy, it’s no surprise his birthday is going to be full of treats. “I’ll bet. You guys planning on having a birthday party?”

“i’m not fighting you for it,” his own grin evident, “it wouldn’t be fair.” he meets the arms wrapping around him with the same affection— although one hand lands in percy’s hair instead. “that makes two of us.” lowering himself slightly to make the embrace more matched in height, he lets them both enjoy the hold for just a mere couple of moments. after that, he has little mercy, lifting his younger brother up and over his shoulder. “NOW, let me help you get started on moving out!” up and out of what finnick has claimed to be his own room he takes them both, turning the corner into the room right beside it— percy’s. he dumps the other onto his own bed. 

he can't help but pout. it's been so long since they've spent more than a couple days at a time together, and while he loves mags, he just wants to see his brother more. but as finnick replies, percy's expression immediately brightens. nine days. nine days, and they'll be back under the same roof. his face breaks out into a gigantic grin, ducking out of the way of the hand towel. " you'll have to fight me for it, " he teases, his toothy grin never slipping. he lets out a laugh, before rushing forward and wrapping his arms around his brother. " i can't wait for you to be home, " he says happily.

squawk is nothing short of music to finnick’s ears— for now. he doesn’t think about how it’ll be that noise and many more that keep him up for nights to come. for now it’s nothing more than a vocalization of the exact reaction annie makes. like mother, like son, finnick can’t help but think. the baby’s smart. “i suppose he does have the most say in the matter.”

he watches annie, breathes in the way she studies their son with such care. he wonders the same thing he’s wondered for years, the way her mind whirrs. he doesn’t need to see it, and he’d never make such an invasive request, so he lays idly beholding a process so unfathomable and brilliant. after all, it’s that same mind that conjures the name of their born, but it slips past her lips so quiet that he misses all of it. he shakes gently the closed hand still around his finger, eyebrow raising up. his head tilts, dropping from up high to where he can maybe catch a better glimpse at her face, and get her attention.

once again, annie pulls a face : brows furrowing, mouth flattening into a grimace. the baby has a REACTION of his own, letting out what can only be described as a high pitched squawk. it makes her grin, this warm melted feeling in her chest that hasn’t gone away since he was first placed, squalling, against her breast increasing ten-fold. “ i think he just gave you his opinion on that. ”

shifting slightly, and hiding her wince as well as she can when it feels like every single muscle in her body screams in protest ( if she really thinks about it, she physically feels almost as she did after her games - aching and overworked, limbs exhausted ) , annie props herself up HIGHER onto one arm and furthers her study of their son. soft skin, rounded cheeks, ridiculously long limbs inherited from both of his parents, a shock of wispy curls. his eyes have barely opened, and they’re the hazy blue that she’s been told all babies have, but she’s certain they’ll turn to the same stormy sea-green of his father. she’ll bet money on it. he’s so fresh, so new, untouched by the world and the years of pain and turmoil that led to this moment. green… fresh water…

“ irvin. ” she breathes, moreso to herself than anything.

his posture shifts, chest lifted, shoulders raised. deverra often has that effect on him. pisca he could drive to madness, but finnick’s far more careful with deverra, especially as of late. maybe it’s the annie of it all— the extra secrets. eyes flicking away, he’s filled with nothing but shame. for himself, for what he cannot give her, it is all so plentiful. he’ll carry her kiss and her necklace as far as they’ll let him on this trip if nothing else. “wait,” he shouldn’t do this, “you could come see me off… at the train stop. mags could use the companion on the walk back to the village after.”

her expression shutters, seaglass eyes going blank - easier to do so than to let the sadness and hurt show. she can still feel his touch upon her arms, in her hair, against her lips. it BURNS, like saltwater in the back of her throat. the necklace she made for him sits against clavicle, where she had snuck a quick kiss as she tied the cord. there’s a figure darkening finnick’s doorway, his escort come ahead of schedule. annie shies backwards, putting even more space between him and her. “ i should go. ”

@4thdistrict sent : [ 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 ] 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙

“unhand me” is so good. and always appropriate to say. like literally unhand me

"i listen to his stories!" offense covers his face. finnick pays a great deal of attention to everyone's stories, bayard's included. what he lacks is any sign of that attention, often busying himself with some physical task and rolling his head back and forth like the words don't reach his ears. "there's nothing to do, but listen to his stories when he traps you out into a fishing trip, or a boat ride."

"you just get us the boat, and you'll have helped plenty. i'll keep us afloat for a trip." it's a promise. one trip at a time, he will try. this time he feels good enough to shoulder most of it, but should she ever want to take the ropes he won't get in her way. he knows better than to ever do that.

“ it’s just because i bring him orange bread. and listen to his stories. ” there’s an ache just behind her eyes - her hands come up to cover them, palms pressing and pressing. she drags them downward, keeping her eyes shut. her voice comes out muffled : “ it’s a yes, but i don’t know how much help i’ll be. ”

it isn’t easy for her, to admit when she doesn’t feel steady, pride and stubbornness rearing up in her chest. she can man a boat decently enough, has memories of her grandfather lecturing her and her siblings on the necessary art of it years ago before he passed. but today her limbs feel like rubber, the floodwaters that swamp her mind not quite receded yet.