Cw// Reaping, mention of death, panic attacks, comfort, social anxiety.
As soon as you heard your name called at the reaping, everything started to blur. Your old life—your parents, your friends—faded into the background. The second your name was spoken, it no longer felt like it belonged to you.
On the train, you stared out the window, barely registering the scenery rushing by. You didn’t bother talking to the other tribute; the idea of forming any connection only added to the already unbearable weight in your chest.
You didn’t even notice your mentor enter the room until he sat down in front of you. “Hello there,” he said with a smile, as if this was all completely normal—as if, in just a few weeks, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life in an arena designed to kill you.
You were too nervous to respond. Your throat felt tight, and a heavy pressure pressed against your chest. It was like you were teetering on the edge of a panic attack. The walls of the train car felt closer with every passing second, and you couldn’t stop fidgeting or catch your breath.
“Breathe.” His voice cut through the haze, steady and calm. He placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you. It was clear he’d seen this before—panic, fear, helplessness. “You’re safe right now. I promise you, by the time I’m done training you, you won’t have a single doubt in your mind that you can win.”
His words were soothing, but it wasn’t until you forced yourself to meet his gaze that something clicked. This was Finnick Odair. The man whose name was whispered like legend in District 4, the youngest victor in history.
Your stomach tightened, and your nerves surged again. What could you possibly say to someone like him?
“I-I don’t think I can do this,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the train. “I’m not like you. I’m not… strong.”
Finnick leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression softening as he studied you. “Nobody thinks they’re strong when they start this. I didn’t either.” His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial, as though sharing a secret. “But strength isn’t just about muscles or weapons. It’s up here.” He tapped his temple. “Survival is about your mind, your instincts. And trust me, you’ve got more of that than you think.”
You wanted to believe him, but the lump in your throat remained. “How do you know?” you asked, your voice shaking.
“Because I’ve been where you are,” he said simply. “And I came out the other side.”
For a moment, the weight of his words silenced the storm in your mind. Finnick Odair had been you once—terrified, uncertain, thrown into a nightmare. And yet, he had survived.
“Here,” he said, pulling a small wooden trinket from his pocket. It looked like a tiny carved fish, smooth from years of handling. “This was given to me when I was in your shoes. It doesn’t have any magic powers, but it reminded me that someone believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.” He handed it to you, his smile soft but earnest. “Keep it. You’ll need reminders of home.”
You took it hesitantly, running your thumb over its smooth surface. It wasn’t much, but somehow, it made the panic ebb just a little. For the first time since the reaping, you felt the smallest glimmer of something you hadn’t dared to hope for—hope. You turned the small carved fish over in your hand, feeling its smooth edges, the tiny grooves where someone had painstakingly etched out its details. It felt warm, like it carried a little bit of home with it. The thought stirred something deep in your chest, and you swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice still shaky but sincere. It was the first thing you’d said with any certainty since the reaping. Finnick smiled, not his earlier casual grin, but something softer, like he understood the weight of the moment.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs. He looked so calm, so unbothered, like he wasn’t sitting across from a tribute destined for the slaughter. “You’re stronger than you think,” he added after a moment, his tone lighter. “Besides, I have a feeling about you.”
You looked up at him, surprised. “A feeling?”
He shrugged. “Call it a mentor’s intuition.”
Before you could ask what that meant, the train slowed, and the intercom crackled to life. “Approaching Capitol Station,” a mechanical voice announced, cheerful and detached.
Your stomach twisted. The Capitol. It had always been this distant, almost mythical place—bright lights, extravagant people, larger-than-life screens showing the Games. But now, it was real, and you were being brought there like an offering.
Finnick must have noticed the shift in your expression because he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Look, I know it’s overwhelming. The Capitol is… a lot. The people, the cameras, the way they’ll treat you like you’re some shiny new toy. But you can’t let it break you.”
“How?” you asked, the word coming out sharper than you intended. “How am I supposed to pretend I’m okay with all this?”
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” Finnick said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You just have to play their game long enough to survive. They want a show, so give them one. Be memorable. Make them love you.”
The thought of standing in front of the Capitol’s citizens, smiling and pretending, made your skin crawl. But you knew he was right. If you wanted a chance—any chance—you’d have to play along.
The train came to a stop, and the doors hissed open. Finnick stood, smoothing out his shirt before glancing down at you. “Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Time to meet your audience.”
You hesitated for only a moment before taking it. His grip was steady, grounding. As he helped you to your feet, you realized just how much taller he was, his presence both intimidating and reassuring.
The station was blinding, a whirlwind of lights, colors, and noise. Capitol citizens were gathered, their outlandish outfits glittering under the fluorescent lights as they clapped and cheered. Camera flashes erupted in quick bursts, and you instinctively shrank back.
“Stand tall,” Finnick murmured, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder. “They’ll smell fear if you let them.”
Drawing in a shaky breath, you straightened your spine, forcing yourself to lift your chin. You felt the weight of a hundred eyes on you, but Finnick’s steady presence at your side kept you from completely unraveling.
As you stepped off the train, you realized this was only the beginning. The Capitol, the Games, the fight for survival—it was all ahead of you. But for now, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the carved fish still clutched tightly in your hand.
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Read part 2 here; https://www.tumblr.com/mscresta/770879367841759232/tribute-parade
Finnick x tribute reader.
Cw! anxiety, public crowds.
This is part 2! Read part one here: !!!!
It had been a day since you arrived in the
So age wise
Finnick is about 19-20
Debra ( Nick’s adopted sister) 17
Nick 21
So I drew Finn deb and Nick when they were younger so I wanted to do something when they were older.
I wanted to show deb and Finn’s relationship fin is loud angry and something mean to everyone even Nick but I wanted to show he’s a little bit gentler with deb
