Finnick O'Dair @thecapito1darling - Tumblr Blog

I'm a legal adult and a devoted fan of The Hunger Games book series — and yes, that distinction matters here. Good grammar and genuine effort went into this work, though my muse has a habit of disappearing without notice, so I appreciate your patience more than you know.

Let me be clear about something: The Hunger Games is not a children's book. It never was. The universe Suzanne Collins built is dark, brutal, and unflinching — and I intend to honor that. Sensitive topics will surface in these pages, especially when it comes to Finnick's story. We're talking violence, sexual exploitation, and children being forced to kill each other.

If any of that makes you uncomfortable, no hard feelings — but this probably isn't the story for you.

#rules

raesource

munday questions

📅 How long have you been roleplaying, and what got you started?

🌊 Do you prefer plotting everything out or going with the flow?

🪞 How similar are you to your muse(s)?

🎭 What’s your favourite genre to roleplay (angst, fluff, horror, etc.)?

💖 What’s a trope you love and will never get tired of?

🚫 What’s a trope you avoid or dislike?

🎧 Do you associate songs with your muse(s)? If so, share one!

🥹 Do you ever get emotionally affected by your threads?

🛋️ What’s your ideal RP writing environment (music, silence, chaos)?

✨ What’s your favourite thing about your muse(s)?

⏳ How long does it usually take you to reply to threads?

📝 Do you prefer short replies or long, detailed ones?

🏆 What’s your proudest thread or RP moment?

🌐 Do you enjoy crossovers with other fandoms?

🕵️ Do you stalk blogs before following them? Be honest.

💕 Who are you having the most fun writing with, at the moment?

😶 Are you shy about approaching new RP partners?

🌟 Where do you get inspiration for your writing?

🖼️ Do you make edits, moodboards, or playlists for your muse(s)?

😭 What’s the saddest scene you’ve ever written?

✈️ If your muse(s) could go anywhere, where would they go?

🎁 What’s a random fun fact about you (the mun)?

💻 Do you RP mostly on mobile or desktop?

🌙 Have you ever stayed up way too late just to reply?

🎲 Do you like doing random starter calls or planned plots more?

🤔 What’s something you’ve never tried in RP but want to?

✍️ Has your writing style changed over time? How?

🎯 Do you set personal goals for your RP (activity, improvement, etc.)?

🧪 Have you ever experimented with a completely different writing style or format?

🧑‍🎨 Do you prefer original characters, canon characters, or a mix?

📊 How much research do you do for your threads (if any)?

🔐 Do you keep secrets about your muse(s) from other writers on purpose?

✏️ Do you write outside of RP (stories, poetry, etc.)?

⛰️ What’s the hardest part of roleplaying for you?

🧱 What helps you get out of writer’s block?

📐 Do you prefer long-term threads or short interactions?

🚪 How do you usually start a new thread? Dialogue, action, or description?

⛓️‍💥 Have you ever taken a long break from RP? What brought you back?

🧠 Do you believe muses “have a mind of their own”?

✂️ How much do you edit your replies before posting?

🎬 Has any media (show/movie/game) recently inspired your RP?

🌀 Do you enjoy chaotic threads or calmer, character-focused ones?

🌱 How do you develop your muse(s) over time?

⚡ What’s something small that instantly makes you excited to reply?

📥 Have you ever adopted ideas from other writers into your own headcanon?

⚔️ Do you like conflict-heavy plots or softer dynamics more?

🪫 How do you handle losing motivation for a thread?

📦 If you had to move your RP somewhere else, where would you go?

🛑 Do you have any RP boundaries or topics you will not write?

😤 Do you have any pet peeves when it comes to RP partners or threads?

💌 Do you prefer people to DM you for plotting, or just jump into asks/starters?

🔄 How do you feel about dropping threads vs. pushing through them?

🫶 What makes you feel most appreciated as an RP partner?

👤 Do you ever write characters very different from yourself on purpose?

📚 Do you reread your old threads? Why or why not?

🎮 If your muse(s) were in a different genre (fantasy, modern, sci-fi), what would change?

#meme

grab-an-idea

Send 🌑 to crawl into bed with my muse

#meme

tooledspies

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐆𝐈𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓.

send a pair + number into my inbox! i own none of these gifs and acquired them through gif packs.

[ FF ] / [ MF ] / [ MM ]

#meme

gamechxnger

🤒

Send 🤒 for your muse to find that my muse is sick and refusing to rest

Scott knew Finnick was stubborn, but even he was surprised how stubborn he was being in the moment. A mutual friend had sent word to Scott that his fellow champion was sick and needed to rest, but was refusing help at every turn, and thought that maybe Scott could talk some sense into him. Locating him near the docs, Scott could see even from where he stood the man felt like hell.

"Finnick, what the fuck are you doing man?"

thecapito1darling

Getting out of bed with a fever licking through him, Finnick stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the frame before he could fall. His usually sea-smoothed skin—bronzed and cool as driftwood—was flushed now, heat blooming across his cheekbones and down his throat. Damp curls clung to his forehead, and even in the haze, there was something unfairly striking about him, like a storm that knew it was being watched.

When Scott asked what he was doing out of bed, Finnick glanced over with a crooked smile, the kind that always carried trouble behind it. He dragged a hand through his hair, slow, deliberate, like the fever hadn’t quite stolen his swagger. “I’m burning up,” he said, voice rough but still edged with that lazy charm. “Figured a shower might save me.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting despite the exhaustion, and stepped a little closer than necessary. “Don’t tell me you’re offering to help,” he added, winking his left eye, as if he hadn’t just nearly collapsed moments before.

#gamechxnger

thunderousmemes

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 — 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

(soft light, tangled sheets, and the kind of silence that says everything)

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖

“You’re awake… I was wondering how long you’d let me watch you sleep.”

“Stay here a little longer. Just like this.”

“Your heartbeat feels calmer than it did last night.”

“You look different in the morning. Softer.”

“I could get used to waking up like this.”

“Don’t go yet… the bed gets cold without you.”

𝐖𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊… 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓

“…So, are we pretending that didn’t happen?”

“Be honest—do you regret it?”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen between us.”

“I don’t know what this means. Do you?”

“If you want space, say it. Don’t make me guess.”

“We crossed a line last night, didn’t we?”

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒, 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

“You should’ve heard yourself last night.”

“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll never leave this room.”

“If you keep touching me, round two is happening whether you like it or not.”

“Want me to remind you how you begged?”

“We really broke the bedframe, didn’t we?”

“I’m not done with you. Not even close.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏

“Last night felt… different.”

“I didn’t expect to fall asleep in your arms.”

“Tell me you don’t regret it.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Why does this feel like more than it should?”

“If I kiss you again… it’s because I mean it.”

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐘 & 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

“We really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Someone’s going to notice we’re both missing.”

“This is going to make everything harder.”

“We’re in trouble if anyone finds out.”

“I don’t know how to act around you now.”

“Last night changed something—whether we admit it or not.”

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 & 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅-𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏

“You stole all the blankets again.”

“I made coffee… but don’t ask me how drinkable it is.”

“Shower with me? Save water?”

“You look cute when you’re confused and half-awake.”

“Breakfast or round two? Choose wisely.”

“Please tell me you remember last night… because I definitely do.”

#meme

@2birds1song

#heh heh

2birds1song

* 𓅪 ─── 𝓚. 𝓔. "thinking? oh no." the brunette sarcastically replies, sounded like a horrible thing if finnick was thinking for too long. but of course, it was just light banter for now with the smirk playing on her face-- something that didn't wear itself across her visage often. ignoring him calling it an attack, she skips right to the key part, "of course i'm enjoying it. and no sugar cubes bein' shoved in my face." which she would count as another positive and rare thing.

thecapito1darling

He laughed at that — a real one, shorter and less polished than the ones he usually dealt out, caught somewhere between surprised and genuinely pleased. "The sugar cubes offended you that much," he said, not quite a question, turning it over like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. He reached up, scratched the back of his neck with a casualness that sat just a little too comfortably on him, and then — for once — didn't immediately reload with something clever. Just let it sit. "Alright," Finnick conceded, the word easy and unbothered, gaze drifting ahead of them before sliding back to her with that same quieter version of the smirk, "no sugar cubes." A beat. "I'll consider it a personal challenge."

#2birds1song

#LOL #fanart #not mine thanks god for pinterest

sugar-and-spice-roleplay-memes

Send 🤒 for your muse to find that my muse is sick and refusing to rest

Specify for multi muse blogs

#meme

thecapito1darling

Finnick leaned heavily against the sterile doorframe, his knuckles entirely white around the handle of his aluminum cane. Beneath the loose hospital clothes, his lower half was a mangled landscape of jagged scars and torn muscle, a brutal souvenir from the Capitol’s underground mutts. Every inhalation ground against his fractured ribs, sending sharp, breathless spikes of agony radiating through his chest. Yet the second he registered her wide, terrified stare and heard his name scrape from her throat, he immediately forced his posture straight. He swallowed back the bitter taste of pain and painted on his signature, blinding smile.

He had spent the last weeks enduring absolute hell in the rehabilitation ward just to earn this exact moment. The agonizing hours of physical therapy, forcing deadened nerves and shredded tendons to hold his weight again, were driven entirely by the thought of Annie and the child growing in her belly. He refused to be a broken, bedridden man for his family. Taking a slow, excruciating step into the room, he locked his trembling knee and refused to let a grimace show, seamlessly transforming a wince of pain into a familiar, playful smirk.

"I know the lighting down here is terrible, but I'm not a ghost, Annie," he said, his voice a low, soothing rasp. He stopped just a few feet away, leaving the space open for her to cross if she chose, rather than crowding her shaking frame. Slowly, he lifted his free hand and turned his palm upward, offering her the warm, calloused flesh. "Come here. Feel my pulse. I promise I'm still just as obnoxiously alive as ever."

withereth

HIS PRESENCE SHOULDN'T TERRIFY HER when it's historically done little else besides bring her comfort . she doesn't flinch , doesn't move a muscle as she stares him down . thoughts swim in her head , trying to make heads or tails or the matter . why had nobody told her ? shouldn't that be a given , even a legal right ? not that anyone cared for those much around here . finally , she sighs . shoulders slump , eyelids relax just enough to not make full moons of her green gaze . not at peace , really , but forcing herself to regulate . it's a process .

she squeezes her calf muscles hard enough to hurt , just short of a cramp , grounding under the unflattering gray jumpsuit . does the same to her hands , fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms . maybe that counted as pinching herself , providing some strange assurance that it wasn't a fucked up dream . annie takes a step towards him out of earned good will , eyes moving down to his outstretched hand . so much of him looked the same , and yet so much was different . ❝ obnoxious is right , ❞ it's a poor attempt at a joke , but her tone doesn't quite show it , trying too hard to remain even .

eventually , her hand lifts , fingertips brushing against his palm as if he might disappear when contact was made . but he doesn't . finnick is warm , as close to flesh and blood as any of the victors are after all that's befallen them . the swell of her stomach is still slight , easy to miss for those unaware , easy enough for even her to forget for a moment . annie's eyes close and she is nineteen again , they are only themselves , without this baggage . when she opens them again , they are back , and he is finnick . her finnick . ❝ don't go away again . ❞ she looks up at him , firm in her statement . it'd felt like a betrayal , having no proper chance to say goodbye . ever so cautiously , she takes his hand in hers , years of callouses matching his . ❝ you are here for good , right ? here with me ? ❞

thecapito1darling

"Do you know how lucky you are? You'll be the only woman who gets to have me until my last breath." Finnick’s voice was a low, teasing purr, his old Capitol charm bleeding seamlessly through a raw edge of physical exhaustion. He dragged a large, calloused hand through thick, tousled waves of reddish-bronze hair, letting the loose curls fall carelessly across his forehead as he took another agonizing step toward her. Beneath the loose fabric of his sweatpants, the heavy titanium screws in his shattered leg ground together with absolute, sickening friction. He swallowed the sharp spike of agony instantly, his broad, muscular shoulders tensing for just a fraction of a second before he locked his knee and forced his towering frame to stand straight.

"Besides, it's far too late for you to return me to the store, lady," he murmured, finally closing the remaining distance between them. The sheer width of his chest cast a warm, solid shadow over her as he reached out, resting his palm gently over the soft swell of her belly. The sharp, sculpted lines of his jaw softened completely, and a remarkably tender, unguarded smile broke across his face. "Especially since we'll soon be three."

He shifted his heavy weight carefully, letting out a short, breathless laugh that carried the true weight of his effort. With a slight tilt of his head, he gestured toward the far corner of the room, where his aluminum crutches sat entirely abandoned against the wall. "Do I deserve a gold star? Look at that. No hands."

#au: mockingjay #i'll trim this once I'm home.

"I've spent my whole life being exactly what everyone else wants to look at. Just for tonight, I only want to be looked at by you."

#starter #work better with hunger games characters #open #sexual sunday

panemrising

He had been wrong about him. He had been wrong about a lot of things. It was hard to admit, partly because he was so stubborn, and perhaps a little bit was due to pride. A lot of it, he knew, had to do with ignorance. None of which was a fault of his own. The Capitol wanted people to be oblivious; it was a fault in the system, and it was by design.

It was hard to imagine that @thecapito1darling was partying in the Capitol and being mistreated by the system, instead of living a life of luxury along with it. Seam gray eyes looked at the man from District 4 not with pity, but with a want for forgiveness.

" I misjudged you. " It angered Gale to know that he had fallen for even the smallest bit of Capitol propaganda.

thecapito1darling

Move. Finnick locked his jaw until his teeth ached, bearing his entire weight on his forearms against the parallel bars. Below his waist, his body was a ruined landscape of surgical steel and grafted skin. The heavy metal screws drilled directly into his shattered femurs ground in protest as he dragged his right foot forward. Sweat slicked down his bare back, stinging the massive, jagged ravines where the lizard mutts had nearly torn him in half. The meat of his lower spine was still knitting together, leaving thick, angry ridges of scar tissue that pulled violently with every shuddering inch.

Through the blur of pain-induced tears, he caught a familiar silhouette stopping at the entrance of the ward. Gale Hawthorne stood in the doorway. Instantly, Finnick swallowed the ragged groan pooling in his throat. He used his upper body to steady his violently trembling legs, throwing his shoulders back to paste on that blinding, practiced Capitol smirk. He even managed a playful flutter of his eyelashes, expertly burying the fact that he was currently one misstep away from a screaming collapse.

"Oh, finally deciding to join the Finnick Odair fan club, Hawthorne?" he drawled, his voice a smooth, obnoxious purr. He forced another excruciating step, his white-knuckled grip on the rails the only thing keeping him from hitting the linoleum. "I'm flattered. To think all it took was a suicide mission into the sewers and almost becoming a chew toy for Snow's reptilian blenders for you to finally succumb to my charms."

#panemrising #au mockingjay

Post-mockingjay

When the lizard mutts closed in and the rest of the squad scrambled for the ladder, Finnick dove into a recessed, heavy-steel maintenance hatch built to shield Capitol engineers from toxic sewer surges. He slammed the pressure-lock shut a split second before the concussive blast of the Nightlock detonation warped the metal door, effectively entombing him in a makeshift bunker while the survivors above assumed he had been torn apart. Trapped in absolute, suffocating darkness, he relied entirely on his District 4 instincts—tracking the faint, shifting drafts of the subterranean utility conduits the same way he used to read ocean currents—to blindly drag his shredded, venom-laced body away from the city center. Days later, he forced open a heavy industrial ventilation grate on the Capitol's outskirts and collapsed in a bloody, unrecognizable heap directly inside a secured rebel Forward Operating Base, where panicked field medics immediately plunged him into a weeks-long coma that kept his survival a total secret until the war was finally over.

#au verse #post mockingjay #yes my finnick is alive

graytitaniumalloy

Where did that smile come from? What had he said to bring that on? Grayson certainly wasn't complaining he was just surprised by the sudden change in demeanour. Not to mention, this kid sure seemed spritely despite the upcoming weeks. He looked old enough to have his name entered, too. Unless he was just really tall for his age. Still, Gray gave him a little smile in return.

Watching the other kick off his sandals, Gray took that as a yes, and did the same, wriggling his toes in the soft sand. A tiny little crab ran across the surface.

A nightmare to tune? Gray tilted his head, "I'm not sure. My Dad has been pretty busy. Maybe that's part of it." He was pretty confident the main issue was the time of year. "I know he's had to wait for parts to come in from 3." He scuffed his foot in the sand, and found Finnick's shoulder bumping against his. His eyes drew up, the corners pinching into a smile. He was fully unaware of how calculated the move had been. Maybe he'd make a new friend! "You got it! Well, I don't know about sneaking in," Tony was already on edge as it was, "but you can come by and I can ask him if you can see the workshop. I doubt he'll mind." With that, Grayson tossed a look towards the water and back to Finnick. "Race you!" He took off, towards the water's edge.

thecapito1darling

Finnick’s ears pricked at District 3, quick as a gull spotting something shiny. Parts from that far out meant Grayson’s dad wasn’t just fixing scraps—he mattered. Finnick’s eyes lit up like it was simple curiosity, all easy and bright, but underneath he was already turning it over, weighing it, figuring where it might fit for him. If he could walk into that workshop without sneaking, no trouble, no questions—well, that was better than stealing a look. And if Grayson did the talking for him? Even better. Finnick tipped his head, flashing a quick grin. “District 3, huh? That’s far. Your dad must be pretty good, then.”

The second Grayson shouted and took off, Finnick didn’t even think—he just moved. His toes dug into the sand and he shot forward, fast and clean, no wasted steps, no extra noise. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t calling after him—just chasing that line straight ahead, like he’d already decided how it was going to end. He pulled even, then edged past, shoulder brushing close on purpose. “C’mon,” he tossed over his shoulder, breath steady, a hint of a smirk in it, “you said race.”

#graytitaniumalloy

withereth

plotted starter for @thecapito1darling

WAR DOES TERRIBLE THINGS to every living soul . annie would guess it isn’t kind to the dead ones , either . but to her , she’s sometimes surprised that she hasn’t wound up dead . months without sunlight , without the sea , without her very essence have left her hollow . she ceases her complaints on the ill - fitted jumpsuits and scratchy sheets , even fights her way through a majority of the over - salted meals , desperate for normalcy .

when the news came , though , that delicately balanced peace comes crashing down . finnick . missing , presumed dead . she screamed until her throat was raw , fingernails digging into her scalp around ears that had long since stopped listening , felt her kneecaps echo her pain as they hit the concrete . she doesn’t know for how long , days must have passed before she was fully lucid and willing to rejoin society . by then , she had no reason to speak unless absolutely necessary which , by her account , was almost never .

when annie sees him in front of her , she looks as though she’s seen a ghost , though she looks like one herself . the bags under her eyes are heavy , only exacerbating the wide eyed stare . ❝ finnick . ❞ she rasps , voice hoarse from disuse . she doesn’t dare show emotion , doesn’t dare reach for him . her slight frame shakes like a leaf , chest swelling and constricting so deeply that it hurts . tears spring to her eyes and dampen her lashes , but they don’t hold sadness . she must be too far gone , either she’s crazy or dead , and both prospects fill her with terror .

thecapito1darling

Finnick leaned heavily against the sterile doorframe, his knuckles entirely white around the handle of his aluminum cane. Beneath the loose hospital clothes, his lower half was a mangled landscape of jagged scars and torn muscle, a brutal souvenir from the Capitol’s underground mutts. Every inhalation ground against his fractured ribs, sending sharp, breathless spikes of agony radiating through his chest. Yet the second he registered her wide, terrified stare and heard his name scrape from her throat, he immediately forced his posture straight. He swallowed back the bitter taste of pain and painted on his signature, blinding smile.

He had spent the last weeks enduring absolute hell in the rehabilitation ward just to earn this exact moment. The agonizing hours of physical therapy, forcing deadened nerves and shredded tendons to hold his weight again, were driven entirely by the thought of Annie and the child growing in her belly. He refused to be a broken, bedridden man for his family. Taking a slow, excruciating step into the room, he locked his trembling knee and refused to let a grimace show, seamlessly transforming a wince of pain into a familiar, playful smirk.

"I know the lighting down here is terrible, but I'm not a ghost, Annie," he said, his voice a low, soothing rasp. He stopped just a few feet away, leaving the space open for her to cross if she chose, rather than crowding her shaking frame. Slowly, he lifted his free hand and turned his palm upward, offering her the warm, calloused flesh. "Come here. Feel my pulse. I promise I'm still just as obnoxiously alive as ever."

#withereth #post mockingjay au

transparentdreamruins

#finnick face claim

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Finnick O'Dair