finnick

FINNICK ODAIR stood in the opulent Justice Building, his jaw clenched as he stared at the ornate Capitol decor that never failed to mock him. The shimmering crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, and gold-trimmed furniture seemed designed to remind him of his place in the Capitol's cruel machine. This place was supposed to represent justice, but to Finnick, it felt more like a prison—a gilded cage where the Victors of District 4 were paraded, manipulated, and broken piece by piece.

He was not alone. Standing beside him was Mags Flanagan, the eldest of the District 4 Victors, a quiet but commanding presence. Mags, the Victor of the 11th Hunger Games, had a lifetime of wisdom etched into her weathered face. Despite her frailty, she carried herself with a strength that had always inspired Finnick. She offered him a small, understanding smile as if she could sense the storm of emotions raging within him.

Across the room, lounging on a plush couch, sat Vicente Hill, the second-oldest present Victor and the winner of the 36th Hunger Games. Vicente had always been a man of few words, preferring to observe from the sidelines, but his sharp gaze often spoke volumes. His silver hair creeping through his brown ones gleamed under the chandelier's light, and his posture was relaxed, though Finnick knew better than to mistake it for indifference. Vicente carried the burden of his own scars, and his quiet demeanour masked a deep well of pain.

Beside Vicente sat Calypso King, the Victor of the 44th Hunger Games. Calypso's sharp wit and fiery temper had earned her both admiration and fear and even now, she seemed ready to lash out at the Capitol officials orchestrating this charade. Her dark eyes flicked toward Finnick with a mixture of sympathy and frustration, as if she couldn't decide whether to comfort him or berate him for the storm he was about to endure.

Finnick was the youngest of the group, the most recent Victor, having emerged from the 65th Hunger Games just a year ago. He still bore the physical and emotional scars of the arena, though he had learned to mask them with the charm the Capitol demanded. Mentoring was supposed to be an honour, a privilege granted to those who had survived the arena. But to Finnick, it was another cruel twist of fate. He had always hoped he'd never have to mentor anyone—especially her. His Liberty.

The television screen on the wall buzzed with static before flashing to life, displaying the footage of the reaping. Finnick already knew what was coming. He had heard the announcement, and seen the crowd part as her name was called. But seeing it replayed, watching Liberty Bird's face as she stepped forward, was like a knife twisting in his chest.

Her expression was a mix of shock and defiance, her steps hesitant but determined. She had always been strong—that much, Finnick knew. But this? This was a level of strength no one should ever have to muster.

The last words he had spoken to her echoed in his mind, haunting and unforgiving: "I hope you get reaped next time. Then maybe you'll understand."

He hadn't meant it. Not in the way it had come out. He had been angry, frustrated with her constant attempts to reach him, to break through the walls he had built around himself. He had wanted to push her away, to protect her from the darkness that had consumed him. But now, it felt as though the universe had taken his words as a challenge, twisting them into a curse.

Finnick muttered under his breath, though the words felt hollow. Liberty wasn't a child, not really. She was his age, and like him, she had been shaped by the harsh realities of life in District 4. But to him, she would always be the girl who had followed him to the beach, who had laughed with him as they raced along the shoreline. The girl who had tried, time and time again, to remind him that he wasn't alone.

And now, she was a tribute.

Finnick's hands curled into fists at his sides. The Capitol's cruelty knew no bounds. It wasn't enough that they had taken him, twisted him into their puppet, forcing him to smile and charm his way through their grotesque parties. Now they wanted to break Liberty too. And worse, they wanted him to help them do it.

"She doesn't deserve this," Finnick said, louder this time.

Mags reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she placed it on his arm. A silent nod pretty much said 'None of them do, Finnick' despite the sorrow it carried. 'But we have to be there for both of them.'

Finnick nodded, though the words did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He would mentor Liberty, and train her for the horrors of the arena, but every step of the way would feel like a betrayal. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, but how could he do that when the very act of mentoring her was a concession to the Capitol's games?

As the footage on the screen shifted to show the male tribute—some boy Finnick didn't recognize—he barely registered the announcement. His thoughts were consumed by Liberty, by the look in her eyes as she climbed the stage. She had always been stubborn, always refused to back down from a fight. But this wasn't a fight she could win on her own.

Finnick closed his eyes, his mind spiralling with memories of his own time in the arena. The blood, the screams, the constant terror—it all came rushing back. He had barely survived, and the cost of that survival had been unimaginable. The thought of Liberty facing the same horrors, of her standing in that blood-soaked arena, was almost too much to bear.

"Eh maybe she'll survive," Calypso said suddenly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "She looks a bit tough. Just like you were."

Finnick opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. There was a challenge in her expression as if she was daring him to crumble under the weight of his guilt.

"You don't know that," he replied, his voice low.

"No," Calypso admitted. "But I know you. And I know you'll do everything in your power to make sure she has a chance, she is the girl you are trying to protect, after all."

Finnick wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that he could help Liberty, that he could prepare her for what was to come. But deep down, he knew the truth. The Hunger Games weren't just a test of skill or strength—they were a test of will. And no amount of mentoring could prepare someone for the Capitol's cruelty.

As the screen went dark, the room fell silent once more. Finnick glanced at Mags, Vicente, and Calypso, their faces etched with the weight of their own experiences. They had all been here before, had all stood in his place, watching as another child was sent to the slaughter.

But for Finnick, this was different. This was Liberty.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt completely powerless.

Finnick Odair stood tall, his posture rigid, as he watched Liberty Bird finish her final moments with her family.

The silence in the air was thick with tension, and the weight of the moment pressed heavily on him. Beside him, Mags Flanagan stood silently, a steady hand resting on his shoulder. It was the only physical comfort she could offer, and though Mags never spoke much, Finnick had learned over the years to understand the language of her gestures.

The touch was simple, but it carried more meaning than any words could convey. Mags knew the pain of these moments all too well, and she understood what it was like to send another soul into the Capitol's hellish game, the very same game that had claimed so many before them.

Next to Mags stood Vicente Hill, his eyes lost in the distance. He wasn't looking at anything in particular; his gaze seemed to be focused on a place far beyond the walls of the Justice Building, beyond the Capitol itself. Vicente had been through it all—the bloodshed, the betrayal, the loss—and now, he stood as if a ghost of his former self. He didn't speak either, but then again, he never did. His silence was a shield, protecting him from a world that had taken everything. Finnick respected Vicente for that quiet strength, even if it often felt like it was as much a burden as it was a gift.

Calypso King, the fiery Victor of the 44th Hunger Games, stood with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her posture was defiant, almost rebellious as if she were daring the Capitol to come forward and tell her how to feel or what to do. Calypso had always been the one who wore her emotions on her sleeve, her sharp tongue often cutting through the room like a blade.

Yet now, there was a visible tension in her stance. It wasn't just the weight of the games, but the responsibility of being a mentor, of knowing what these tributes would soon face. She was angry. She was scared. But she was also resolute, and Finnick couldn't help but feel a small sense of comfort in knowing she was there, standing beside him.

They were all waiting for the tributes. Liberty Bird, the girl he had once tried to protect, and Grayson Oswald, a boy he had never met but who was about to become a part of this twisted reality.

Grayson, at seventeen, was older than Liberty, and Finnick could tell from the brief interactions he had seen that he had the raw strength of a fighter. His body was toned, his movements calculated, and there was a sharpness in his eyes that suggested he had been trained for this very moment. He was no stranger to combat, no stranger to the harsh realities of life in the Districts. Finnick could see the potential in Grayson, much like he saw in Liberty. They both had that spark, that hunger to survive—but Grayson's experience gave him an edge. He'd seen more and fought more, and that was something Finnick couldn't deny.

But what concerned him the most wasn't Grayson's experience. It was the dynamics that would play out once the Games started. The Careers were always a threat, and it wasn't just the trained tributes like Grayson who posed danger—it was the alliances that could form, the alliances that could break, and the decisions that would be made when it came down to the wire.

Finnick had learned this all too well from his own experience, and now, he couldn't shake the thought of what might happen when the bloodshed started. Would Grayson and Liberty form an alliance? Would the two of them stick together, or would they be forced to choose between each other and survive?

Finnick couldn't help but wonder, the longer he stood there, whether his own survival in the Games had given him more of an advantage than Grayson. After all, he had been through it. He had made it out. He had seen the games from both sides—the deadly competition and the twisted politics of the Capitol.

He knew the tricks, the strategies, the horrors, and in some ways, that experience had shaped him into someone who could manipulate the system. But would Grayson have the same instincts, the same gut-wrenching sense of what it took to survive, to outlast the others?

He had to admit, Grayson was a formidable opponent. But so was Liberty. Finnick's thoughts flickered to her. She was strong, but Finnick couldn't help but feel a deep, gnawing sense of fear for her. The Games were never kind, and he knew from experience that the Capitol had a way of breaking even the strongest souls. He had seen it happen time and he heard it, and now, Liberty was standing on the edge of that same precipice.

But Finnick didn't want to think about that right now. He didn't want to think about the brutality that was about to unfold. He told himself over and over again that they would survive. Liberty and Grayson would be fine. They had the strength, the grit, the determination. They had everything they needed to make it through. But the reality was that survival in the Games was never just about strength. It was about strategy, timing, luck—and, ultimately, the choices they made at the moment when everything came crashing down.

The Careers were always the biggest threat. The trained, ruthless tributes who were raised to play the Games, to kill, to win at any cost. Finnick knew the Capitol would push them to be more aggressive, and more cunning, and in the end, it would come down to who could make it to the final few. The alliances, the betrayals, the subtle dance of power—it was all part of the sick game they played. Finnick had survived the arena because he had been able to read the signs, understand the players, and choose when to fight and when to run. But would Liberty be able to do the same?

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. He hoped Grayson would at least form an alliance with Liberty. It was the only way he could imagine them both making it out alive. They would have to trust each other, and watch each other's backs. Finnick knew how important that kind of partnership could be—how quickly trust could become the difference between life and death. But when it came down to it, there was no guarantee. There were always other players, and other factors that could tear them apart. And when the Capitol had its claws in the game, there was no telling who would be left standing at the end.

Finnick clenched his fists at his sides, the worry settling deep in his chest. They would survive, he told himself. Liberty would survive. Grayson too, if he could just hold onto his humanity long enough. It was a matter of strength, of will, of luck. And most importantly, it was about the choices they made when the time came. If they could stick together, if they could outlast the Careers, maybe they would stand a chance.

But as Finnick watched Liberty take her final steps away in, he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that nothing in the Games was ever truly certain.

an: I did not put faceclaims for any of the tributes
including grayson--i want it to be your choice!