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mrsnancywheeler · 3 months

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the river (6) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

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7.1k words

warnings: hurt/comfort, smut, angst, fluff, arguments, a wedding, pnv, unprotected sex, f receiving fingering, he doesn't pull out, cursing, allusions to trafficking, paranoia, violence, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, self-hate, dount, mentions of pregnancy but she's not pregnant, distrust, brainwashing, mentions of Snow, unedited, no use of y/n

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You looked so beautiful, so angelic, so unspeakably alluring standing in front of him in your borrowed dress. Never had he felt more excited than when he'd realized this was in fact the day you would become not just his wife in spirit, but legally, Mrs. Odair. The way you'd so delicately smiled up at him made him feel like his grin was more like that of a mad man, and maybe he was. Madly in love, madly obsessed, madly in need to spend the rest of his life with you. He needed the revolution to be over so he could have a billion kids that looked just like you, that laughed like you did, and smiled like you did. How soft your fingers felt when they brushed his lips with salt water was addicting just as it was when his fingers did the same to your lips. He felt blindly dazed by your smile as you recited the vows, Finnick barely remembered that there were cameras around.

Your genuine happiness was something he had come to miss, yet here it was once again. The feeling that made all the rough times worth weathering the storm, how unequivocally enamored of you he was with each smile and sweet word. Your sugary repetition of what the officiant said eventually waned, Coin had insisted on less flowery vows to keep the event concise, but that was okay because he'd spilled his heart before. It also helped that now he wasn't sure he'd be able to form any coherent proclamations of love when looking at you put him into a stupor.

“I, Finnick Odair, take you as my wife from this day forward. Together or apart, we will always be united. One life, one purpose, one destiny.” He'd never get sick of the way you were looking at him right now, like that same girl from the market that he'd approached all those years ago who was joyously stunned that Finnick Odair would even talk to her.

“You may kiss the bride." The officiant announced and Finnick had never been more pleased for his lips to touch yours. The salty and peachy taste that lingered on your lips that he adored, compounded with the sound of the children's choir beginning to sing, a confirmation that his official voyage with you had really begun. Ever so slowly he pulled away to gaze at you further.

“Hi." You whispered softly through your perfect smile.

“We're married." He whispered back, the giddy smile almost hurt, but he couldn't make himself stop. “Like actually married."

You nodded with a light laugh, "Yeah, we are!” The words left you so breathily before you'd kissed him once again and he wanted to drown in your lips. His mind seemed to echo the same words over and over again, a never ending stream. She's actually my wife. She's so happy and pretty and my wife. My wife. The way you danced and laughed was exhilarating, this was the you that the Capitol had chipped away at making a glorious appearance. You could have another breakdown tomorrow, but right now you shone brighter than the sun and it was all that mattered. It wasn't home, there was no sea breeze in the air, there had been no net to cover you both, or sending the couple off in a boat at the end for farewells. It wasn't even the spring time wedding you'd once whispered about on late nights, but it seemingly was exactly what you both needed.

Your feet had only stopped moving once the cake was rolled out, glorious in its waves of blue frosting. It truly left him amazed in the attention to detail of each sea creature so delicately placed. “Oh, it's perfect." You muttered, squeezing his hand.

Finnick nodded in agreement, “It's amazing." It was the closest to home as either of you could get, he ached to be able to know he'd be carrying you over the threshold of a tiny cottage by the sea, but he couldn't until this was all over. Until they'd won. So the cake would have to be sufficient enough and in the joy, it was. Especially when you so carefully fed him a bite of it, blue staining his teeth as he took the bite. Before the blue and green had just as equally begun to stain your lips when he did the same, and it made him feel so young again. A kid who'd eaten too many colored sweets.

Eventually the propo had to come to an end and with it, the fun and dancing. But his happiness didn't subside, even if it was no traditional reception of dancing all night, at least he could carry you through the door of the compartment and be with you for eternity.

“Hello, Mrs. Odair." He'd whispered after carefully placing you on the floor of the shared room.

“Hello, Mr. Odair." You responded absentmindedly, eyes so loving as your fingers played with his hair.

“We're actually married, officially married, forever and ever and ever."

“Yeah." You glowed, all of you was so bright. “Don't get cold feet on me now."

"Never.” He affirmed, kissing you again.

"Good because I'm rather attached.” He smirked and quickly pulled you back into his lips. Slowly, but surely your lips attacked him more feverishly, with more passion. It had been so long, but it was a feeling he missed so much, until your fingers had slidden down to the buttons of his jacket, where some sort of panic permeated his happiness. He longed for you more than he'd even let himself ponder, but he couldn't risk it when you were still at risk of a meltdown at any turn. So reluctantly he pulled away.

“Angel, what are you doing?"

He missed the cooling feeling of your skin the moment you pulled contact away and hated how embarrassed you suddenly looked. “I'm sorry, I should have asked, Finnick. If you don't want to, I won't.”

His hands reached out to assure you otherwise and caress the side of your head. “No, no, sweet girl, that's not it. You're all good."

For a moment you seemed relieved before the confusion seemed to settle back in. “Then what's wrong?” Finnick sighed, how could he tell you he was terrified that you'd have a mid-thrust mental breakdown that threw you into some kind of terrified hysteria? He sat down on the bed, preparing himself for the hole he was digging himself into. At the very least, talking to you about it now was leagues better than going along until you cracked.

“Honey, I just don't think it's a good idea."

“Oh, okay." Shit. He always ruined everything. You'd been so open and happy all day only for your voice to slightly break with a speck of insecurity. You were so sweet with the way you'd move on to pretend it didn't upset you somewhat and find something else to do.

“Not because I don't want you, trust me I do." The words tumbled out of his mouth as fast as he could form them to try and reassure you.

“If you want to, then what's stopping us? I do too."

"Honey, come here.” He patted down on the bed and you sat, carefully he grabbed your hands, hoping his warmth would provide some sort of comfort. “I just think maybe we should wait until you're feeling like there's less of a chance that you'll get scared when we're in the middle of something.

"I'm not gonna get scared, Finn, I want this.”

"You're not right now, but say you get hit with those thoughts that say I want you dead, which I don't, and I'm on top of you. That'd be scary for you.”

"I haven't had an episode for a couple weeks.” Your head turned to stare at the wall in front of you.

"You haven't had a major one and I'm so proud of you for that, but you've had some small ones. I don't want one getting bigger because of the circumstances.” Your hands pulled away from his, covering your face where stray tears must have begun to fall. “Hey, no, don't cry. I'm just trying to look out for you."

“I make everything so difficult, I'm sorry."

“No you don't, it's all okay."

Quiet sniffles filled the room before you laid your hands back down on your lap to look at him. “Finnick, I get you're worried about me and I love that about you. But I could freak out waking up in the middle of the night or when we're just cuddling. I want this, I want you, and if the worst happens then it happens and we cross that bridge, but I'm really sick of letting it control me.” He wanted you too, he'd felt guilty for any fantasies he'd had of you, but he had missed every part of you beyond belief.

“I just don't want to do anything you might not be able to handle, I'd need you to constantly communicate with me, so I know you're okay."

“I will, I promise."

You were so ethereal, he hated that it made parts of him throb when his brain had already found another dilemma. “I don't think they've got birth control here, or at least we don't have any."

“That's okay, I don't care." No, he couldn't do that to you. How could you handle being pregnant in the midst of everything else?

“It's not a good idea, angel."

“Why? We'll win the war soon and be back home." He wished it was that simple, but poor you having an episode would only complicate things.

“Honey, I just don't think you're ready right now."

“You're?" Fuck. Why the fuck would he say that.

“I meant to say we. We're not ready." Why was he so stupid? How could he manage to be trying to protect you so hard that he caused an episode instead? He'd have to brace himself for the mess he was causing.

“You’re lying to me. Why am I not ready?”

What he'd give for this blip to be over, to be at the point where there could just be children without all the worry about your health. "It's our wedding night, let's not argue. Let's go to bed, I'll read to you.”

But your walls were slightly raised and he could feel it as you stood up. "I wasn't trying to argue, I was trying to consummate the marriage. And instead of just saying you weren't feeling it right now and letting us move on, you said you thought I'd be a bad mom.”

"That's not what I said, don't put words in my mouth.” He said it too sharply and instantly regretted it.

“Then what are you saying, Finnick?” He despised the fact that he was only confusing you more when he was supposed to be letting you know what was real and what wasn't. The stress in your voice was evident as your arms protectively crossed around your body, foot tapping.

“That I don't think this is a good time for a baby, we should jump over a few more hurdles first." Finnick stood up, desperate to touch you, to soothe you. Trying to hide how mortified he was that regardless of all the talk he could still feel himself straining against his pants. “I just didn't say it right, I'm sorry, sweet girl."

"If you don't want to have sex that's fine, but stop trying to come up with excuses.”

"Angel, I do, I'm just…I've gotten so focused on trying not to set anything off that I've started planting the thoughts instead." He should be stronger, more able to read you so that he wasn't the one instigating the thoughts. Instead he was becoming overly paranoid himself, he hated the idea that he could need care when he was finally trying to care for his girl. “What I meant was, I think we should wait until the war is over for certain, so I'll just pull out." Slowly he approached you, hands softly urging your arms to uncross.

He could feel the way you began melting into his touch and it made him feel whole again. "Do you actually want to? I don't want you to feel like you have too because I'm in a mood.” Your eyes glistened with a sincerity that warmed his heart as your arms succumbed to his movements.

"Wanna make my sweet girl feel better, want to make it up to her.” He could basically hear your heart pounding and he loved that you still got somewhat flustered.

“You're absolutely sure though, right? This isn't just you-" His lips on yours cut off the further listings of any anxieties. Free hands searching for the zipper on the back of the dress as he quickly slid it down. He only pulled away long enough to make sure the dress had successfully become a pool at your ankles before his lips were on your chest. “Finnick?" Your voice snapped his head from his assault to look at you, who looked so sheepish to say anything at all. “Can that wait? I'm just… you know.”

With a smirk he raised his head, makitsure to stand fully back up as he looked at you. "You're just what, angel?”

"Finn, you know.” Your fingers messed with his jacket sleeves as you avoided his gaze.

Softly he pecked you on the lips,"Communication.” Another quick peck, "Need you to say it for me.”

"Finny, please don't be mean.” Fuck. Pulling out that nickname ever so sugary sweetly made him want to cave, to get straight onto taking care of you for life. “Already spent all that time arguing."

"Not being mean, angel, we just have to practice using our words.” You lifted his hand to your face, touching the heat of it to your face, which was oddly hot already considering how cold your hand was, per usual.

Your breath fanned across his hand as you quietly gave the confession, “Been aching for you all day, Finn."

“All day?" His hands moved to slowly unhook your bra, “Waited so well for me." The way you needed to just be coddled and taken care of was evident, he wanted nothing more than to love on you any way that he could. He let the bra fall to the wayside so his fingers could focus on how soaked your panties had become. “Can tell you've been waiting." It had been so long it was no wonder you were shy under his gaze. “Gonna make it better, show you how sorry I am." He could fall into the endless depths of your eyes that drew him in and fall forever with a smile on his face.

“I love you." The way you said it so tenderly made his heart skip a beat, he couldn't help but smile and place a small kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I love you, sweet girl.” Your fingers slipped up to continue the unbuttoning of his jacket which fell into a pile on the floor.

“Are you sure-"

“Yes, I'm sure." Finnick tried to back up this assurance through his eyes, hoping you could read through the depths of his soul. He slid his shirt off and you nodded, a signal that you had accepted what he said as truthful. Your fingers had settled on the button of his pants which you'd slowly undone as he stood there in utter awe of just you, all of you. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, leaving you on a nearly even playing ground. His fingers made their way to your hips, to the hem of your underwear to start pulling them down and the way your skin was so cold was startling. You'd always been freezing to the touch, but it made him feel guilty that you'd been stripped of any warmth besides his fingertips. “You're basically shivering, angel."

“You're burning up, so I'll be okay." It was true, the way your body temperatures aides the others had felt like another way you were made for each other. So slowly he'd pulled the panties off your body until they hit the floor as everything else had. Without another word your lips had crashed onto his which he used as an opportunity to slowly guide you towards the bed while you were lost in the feeling of his lips. He laid you down as your hand on the back of his neck dragged him down with you.

He took the opportunity to slide his fingers into your core and reveled in the feeling of you moaning into his mouth. A sound he hadn't heard in so long that it rang in his ears like music, a symphony that he could listen to for days. “You're so perfect." He muttered through the seconds you pulled away for air. You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head, “Yes you are." Finnick reiterated, thumb finding your clit causing another moan into his mouth the moment your lips had reattached to his. “Melodic to my ears angel, so perfect." Your hands tugged at his hair and he couldn't suppress the groan that came out.

"Love you so much, Finn.” The way you talked through the whimpers every time he added more pressure to your bundle of nerves made him an obsessive man. Your lips had become swollen from your prevalent addiction to his mouth, but you didn't seem to care, whining when he pulled his head just out of reach, trying to tug him back down.

He began thrusting his fingers in faster, mesmerized, as he always was and would be, by the way your face contorted with pleasure. “Love you too, angel, love my wife so much." In his daze of fascination you were able to pull his face back towards your own, fingers knotting in his hair.

Your voice was airy as you smiled softly through small whines,"Your wife.” He felt the clear heat your face exuded when he pressed his forehead to yours, it felt like your souls were one.

"My beautiful, perfect, gorgeous wife.” Your lips raised just enough to steal another peck from him as he kept rubbing harsh circles onto your clit. For a while he became enraptured just by your sounds, he didn't know how long had passed as he took in every small whimper to the loudest moans that you tried to cover.

“Oh my god, Finn!" You writhed slightly, a tell-tale sign of how near you were to release.

"You close, sweet girl? You gonna come for me?” He does his fingers up, as well as the intensity of his circles. Lips meeting yours once again as you nodded, eyes scrunching closed.

“So, so close." He began kissing at your neck, beguiled by the somehow lingering smell of the ocean on your skin.

"Come on, you can let go for me, sweet girl.” His kisses trailed down to your chest once again, utterly addicted to leaving the lingering feeling of his lips wherever he could. Upon your release the climactic end of the symphony blessed his ears and he was certain that if it was somehow possible, it had certainly made him harder. "So good for me." He slid his fingers out of you, the need to taste you winning when he brought them to his mouth.

“Need you inside, Finny, please." Your hands lead his face back close enough to kiss as you tried to catch your breath.

“You sure you're ready, angel?” You nodded eagerly, legs lifting to cross around his torso, pulling him closer.

“Yeah. Are you?" Your voice was so sugary sweet and addictive, every part of you was, if he died he was sure every part of you would consume his senses first.

“Yeah." His hand moved to softly caress your face, moving small strands of hair that had begun sticking to it away. Carefully he lined himself up with your entrance, stroking your cheek before he slowly pushed himself in. The sounds of both of your moans mixed in the air, intertwined as your bodies were. “Feel so good, angel. Fits so perfectly, you were made for me, we were made for each other." It was true, he wouldn't be complete without you. He'd gone his whole life needing nothing more than you, in every sense of the way, you fit one another flawlessly. He felt so sensitive that he was scared he might already be on his way to the climax, which he only dreaded because of how close he felt to you when he was in the warmth of your walls. That you were as close as you possibly could be, yet he still longed to be nearer.

“Faster, please?" It was nearly incoherent as you babbled through your whines, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, as if you were still somehow trying to pull him in further. He happily obeyed your plea and sped up his ministrations, thrusting through his own climbing pleasure as he moaned. “Missed you so much, Finn. Can't live without you, you're-" Your own moans interrupted your train of thought and you took a moment to regain some type of verbal composure. “Only ever wanted you, only needed you. Meant to be." He was able to decipher your proclamations through the whines and over the sound of his own noises, it brought him ten times closer to feel so basked by your love.

“Not gonna let anyone hurt you ever again, I'm gonna take such good care of my wife. Promise." The security you both needed, that you both ached for and could only be guaranteed once the reign of Snow had toppled entirely. You looked ethereal, your face scrunched up with each noise you made, hair splayed out around you, eyes glazed over with adoration and pleasure. He was so hypnotized by the way love seemed to have filled every crevice of the room and whisped around that he barely even registered that he was at the very top of his climax. He'd let go at what felt so suddenly that he'd simply thrusted further inside of you as you moaned at your own release. It wasn't until the thrill had mostly passed that he remembered his own fears. “Shit, shit, shit.” He muttered as he pulled out of you completely.

You sat up almost instantaneously and he could feel the panic radiating off of you. "What, are you okay?”

You were so sweet. "Yeah, I'm fine, sweet girl. I just…" He trailed off, staring at you, wide-eyed, anxious to help at any indication something was wrong. For years, nearly a decade he had loved you, something that somehow seemed to be constantly, rapidly increasing. Besides all the troubles you'd both endured he knew there was nothing he would trade any of it for if he knew he could have you and now that life you both yearned for was just in grasp. Finnick had and would dedicate every second he could to sustaining that dream and keeping you afloat, and if he could do that, he could do the same if you did get pregnant. He sighed and leaned closer to you, “Nevermind, angel, just didn't pull out, but it's okay. We're so close to freedom I can taste it and I want a family with you so bad. Finally going to be able to have our perfect little family and perfect little life." He crawled into the bed near you, kissing your face.

“You really want a family with me?" Your eyes were wide with an adorable hope, like you hadn't really accepted that he really wanted to be with you. He scoffed like the doubt was ridiculous.

“Of course I want a family with you, my sweet girl, I married you." He pulled you as close as he could get you, foreheads pressed together once again, making his heart buzz with contentment.

You smiled before looking for reassurance once again, which he was happy to deal out. “And you're gonna stay with me, right? Never gonna be a part or split up again?"

With all the sincerity possible he caresses your face again, “Never gonna leave you again, I promise, angel." You were blissfully pleased with his answer and kissed him once again.

But maybe Snow was right, even if it was unintentional, Finnick Odair was a liar and he in some ways resented himself for it. Yet it felt like there was nothing else for him to do when weeks later he found out about the squad Coin was putting together and he was absolutely certain that regardless of the shared training, the promises, he had to be on that squad, and you absolutely could not be.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick couldn't remember the last time he'd be physically ill, but since you entered the arena, he'd spent every day fighting the nausea. The Capitol's medicine certainly helped, but when he got feverish he barely wanted to take the concoctions. No if you died, he'd let himself die of fever to be with you. This was all his fault for ever even breathing in your direction, for caring, and now he'd have to suffer for it. What kept him going was how he had to be presentable and therefore healthy enough to get you sponsors, to rally for you. So he downed the medicine and copious amounts of caffeine to try and stay awake, he couldn't risk missing anything regardless of the alliances supposed to keep watch when you slept, he knew how fickle those could be. He rallied harder than he ever had to keep the public opinion on your side, you were sweet, delicate, a hopeless romantic, trying to stay alive for love, so pure, naive, a princess being forced to slay the dragon. Per usual people gobbled up any word that fell from his mouth and the sponsors came when called.

Then the rain started and he prayed that the arena would flood, you could swim, you'd survive that way, but it didn't flood. Raindrops just pattered down as the temperature dropped and then in what seemed like a matter of minutes, a few days into the rain, you were sick. Never had he been so grateful to have withheld the money for gifts beforehand because now he could get you what you needed to stay alive. Your lips were turning blue and he felt like he was tripping over himself in anxiety to send it to you. The sound of the rain echoed in his ears as he desperately waited for the blanket to arrive. For you to be warm, to stay alive. That night was the first one he had let himself cry, where death felt so imminent that he was plotting ways to go with you.

You persisted, you were like that. He felt his spirits rise as you continued on, so smart, so resourceful. His stomach wasn't in complete knots until suddenly your facade was slipping. What the fuck were you doing? What the fuck were you saying?

“Seems there's a lot about you I don't know then.” Conway stood and stared at you, Finnick could feel the illusion cracking through the screen. It was never going to continue forever, but this was too soon.

You tried to be quick on your feet, to throw together words to save yourself. “I’m not saying that I want to, just that sometimes you have to do what it takes to survive. Even if it's difficult -”

Conway interrupted your attempted safe and in that moment Finnick's stomach dropped. “Untrue?" Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck himself and Conway and fuck your slip of tounge. The stress had clearly gotten to you and was messing with how articulate you usually could be with your words.

“Yeah, I guess."

Finnick couldn't help but start muttering out loud, “No, no, no, no, don't say that. Angel, please.” He felt like he was going to cry again, you were on the edge of a cliff and the rocks were cracking.

“I'm sorry if that upsets you, I'm just doing what it takes to get home." Of course you were, you were doing what you had to, like every victor had, but you shouldn't have said it. It definitely didn't help that the frustration was evident in your voice. There must have been a brick of lead in the bottom of his stomach. Now he could never be home with you. Conway knew, there was no way he didn't.

“It’s okay, I understand.” No he didn't. “It's just hard to come to terms with, when you remember that this is all designed to bring that out in us. To see the other side, not through rose colored glasses.” Then he kissed you and Finnick knew the tides had turned. You needed to catch on, you could not be the prey, not now. Say you have to pee and run. Dart to wherever you can and hide.

Yet you didn't, you stuck by his side, and didn't follow when he and the male tribute from 7 went off alone for a second as you all ate. Finnick felt numb as the two discussed how they would get rid of you and the girl from 7, eyes red and stinging as he stared at the screen. He was helpless, he could only hope you could get his telepathic message that you were in danger. You didn't and your death warrant had been signed.

He saw how disenchanted Conway was by you when you killed the girl from 2. How dare he be disgusted when you were doing exactly what you had too in order to survive. Finnick was screaming at you through the television when Conway led you away. Stay. Stay by the girl from 7, let her take out the threat of Conway. Don't go with him. It was so hard to watch, but he persisted because he had to make sure you were alive. Finnick despised the way Conway was luring you in, he didn't care if it was hypocritical, you needed to survive, to come back home to him. When Conway's lips crashed into yours as he pulled the knives, your only protection, out of your hands Finnick felt like he'd lost all grip on reality. He threw a glass at the screen which shattered with a resounding crash, bubbly liquid cascading across the room, but he didn't care. Not when you were being led straight to your death, a ticket to a train that kept you forever away from him on this Earth.

You appeared so innocent and trusting, but with a glance Finnick could tell how scared you were, that you knew something was no longer quite right. Then the foot tapping started and if Finnick's stomach could get heavier then it did, too obvious. Any chances of you being able to play the role of the naive ingenue were long gone because Conway knew what it meant too. Then you did as Finnick had begged you to do long before, you ran. Predator and prey. You ran, he chased. Conway's long legs gave him an advantage as he sprinted after you, calling your name out in the tense air. You tried to hurtle yourself upon the closest tree and Conway had pulled you down in seconds.

This was it, the end. Finnick could feel his eyes welling with tears as his yells intertwined with your screams of begging Conway to let you go. He didn't know when he did it, but the coffee table had been toppled over on the floor, objects scattered across the carpet. Conway spewed on and on about how he knew you didn't love him, your heart was clearly owned by another, and how he was getting back at you now. You fought like hell, trying to squirm your way out of his arms until a knife was firmly plunged in your side. The scream you let out was so gut wrenching that let himself crumple onto the floor. Knees pulled up to his chest, face wet with a steady stream of tears, he was so helpless, so broken to not be able to save you.

You, however, made the tides change when your hands, now covered in defensive wounds, sharply forced themselves into Conway's eye. He screamed, trying to cover it, and you'd instantly darted up. Suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel again, you were so smart, you'd halted him long enough to grab the spear. Finnick held his breath until the cannon went off, you'd overcome it, and he hated that he'd doubted you would.

Regardless of the fact that there were two tributes left, part of the weight on his chest lifted. He knew the feeling of how adrenaline pushed through the body to get you through every kill to the victory when one was in the arena and he could see it in you. His eyes stayed glued to the screen and he felt like he was stuck to the floor. Fingers knotting into the carpet as he anxiously watched. Time passed agonizingly slow, it hadn't been long, but each second you were still in there was hell. A hell that burned his chest just as yours must have been was the girl from 7 was holding you under the water. Just hold your breath, don't panic, just keep holding it as long as you can. You were an excellent swimmer, you could do this. Your body flailed about, trying to break free, but the other girl was firm in her hold. He'd sink into the bathtub himself, go overfill it and drag his head under, force the instincts to hold his breath wouldn't kick in.

Oh how the Capitol would mourn but love the tragedy of every single lover dead. The story they would tell of how heart wrenching it was. A story that wouldn't be told because you'd found the spear and quickly thrusted it upwards. A cannon echoed. You'd won. You'd come back to him. He'd be yours. You'd be his. You'd be each other's. Tears of relief, of happiness racked through his body. Fate had granted you both more time, he would forever be indebted for it. He shot up from the floor, staring at you, “I'm gonna be with you so soon, angel, right with you. Never gonna leave." He'd do whatever he could to be with you as soon as possible, to hold you once again, it was exhilarating to know the work had not been in vain. He'd have to comfort you, console you, but it would all be worth it just to be with you once again. He couldn't even dream of ever leaving your side when he had you so securely back, the one person he loved more than life itself.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick thought he'd had plenty of preparation for how you might respond when you found out that he'd convinced Coin you weren't mentally stable enough yet to be on the squad. He'd done it to protect you, to make sure you were safe, but he needed to be involved. It felt like a no-brainer that he had to help really take the Capitol down, take Snow down. Your emotions made his skin bristle with cold, you were stormy, hurt, betrayed. Which he hadn't done, he responded, he'd done it to save you.

“How could you do that to me?" Your voice shook as you wiped away the tears creeping up in your waterline.

“Angel, I can't let you go out there and die. I'm just keeping you safe." He tried to get closer, if he could just touch you that could reassure you of his pure, loving intentions.

“You think I'm gonna be safe when you die out there and I'm stuck completely alone?"

“I won't die." His eyes were pleading and yours were full of a white hot rage he'd never had directed at him on full blast before.

“I went through all the same training as you, I am my own person, you don't get to make decisions for me.”

“I don't want to control you, I want to keep you safe." How could you not understand? He sighed and took a step closer, which you countered. "Honey, I don't doubt that you're getting better, but this is war and if something happens that makes you go off…” Like him dying, like you being out there with him when his soul left the binds of the planet. “You could be a danger to yourself."

“I’ll be a danger to myself here too."

“There are doctors here who can take care of you, sweet girl. Please, I love you and need you here." Finnick tried to ignore the pressure of tears building up.

“All they'll do is sedate me and I'll never recover. I have to go with you, Finnick, you can't let me rot away alone." You got closer, hands finding his face. He adored the feeling but he couldn't savor it when your eyes were digging into his, bargaining with the depths of his soul. Which would not bend, it couldn't fold to you, no matter how much he wanted to be attached to you for every waking and sleeping moment. You must have sensed this incoming rejection when your face became stony and your grip began to slip away.

He tried to pull your hands back towards him, to keep contact, “It's just a couple of weeks, then we'll be free. We can go home together, live our lives, and have our perfect family. Just one more thing I've got to do."

You fully pulled away and he grieved the loss of contact. "You're punishing me, for leaving you in the arena, you're trying to get back at me for it.”

He shook his head as quickly as he could, "No, I'm not. You were just trying to follow the plan, I don't have any grudge over that, sweet girl. You did what you had too.”

"Like how you're doing what you have too, now?” The air felt stagnant in the silence of the beat as you stared at each other. You stepped closer again, hands grabbing his arms, pleading. “I know I was terrible, that I'm terrible, but please don't punish me for it. Please, Finn, don't do this to me." His head ached, his heart ached, everything ached.

“You're not a terrible person, I love you, and you can't go."

“You promised me-" You choked for a second on the tears in your throat, “You promised you wouldn't leave me." He thought about how you'd done the same and hated himself for thinking it. That was the thinking you already assumed he had and that's what he had to fight against.

“I know and I'm sorry, honey. It won't be long." Once again you pulled your body away from his, you looked so betrayed that it felt like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. “I promise."

He felt like he watched something frightening click in your brain, “You promised last time too." Your voice was low before your hands started moving rapidly around while you spoke. “This is you trying to get into my head, they were right, but you're in my head instead. You're trying to psychologically get to me, oh my god, I get it now."

“No, no, no, no, no, no, honey, no. That's not real." Another step forward and you stumbled slightly as you quickly went backwards.

“Yes, you've been toying with me this whole time. That's why you keep pulling shit like this, you're trying to break me.” He was always digging himself into much deeper holes.

"Angel, I'm not. I'm trying to keep you safe. I swear, the stuff you're thinking, that's not true.” Your arms crossed around your chest. “This is why you can't go, this is dangerous."

“I'm not crazy!" You looked at the ground, shaking your head as the tears began falling.

He stepped closer, “Nobody's saying that, you're not crazy. I know that. You just need some more time."

“If I needed more time, why wouldn't you stay?" You pointed at him, “You are a fucking liar and I wish you'd just have killed me instead of playing mind games on me."

You moved around so frantically that he had no choice but to grab you and he wanted to die himself when you flinched and shrunk into yourself. “I don't want you dead. I'm keeping you safe, I know I lied, I didn't mean to and I am so, so sorry.” His own dam protecting him from tears had broken and he began to cry. "I will come back so we can be together forever because I love you, that's what's real. When I'm gone and you're confused, know for a fact that I love you.”

“You can't go. If you go, I have this horrible feeling something bad will happen. Please, Finn, just stay with me.” The way his chest squeezed with guilt was nearly unbearable.

"I have to go.” He whispered and the way you completely broke down made him wish he'd never gotten close enough to be the one who hurt you like this. He caught you before you hit the ground and held you close. "We have time, I've got you, sweet girl. It's okay.” He soothed, rubbing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth to try and call you down.

When it was finally time for him to, the doctors did have to sedate you. It left him with echoes in his ears of how pleaded with him and how you cried. The thought of how much he would really be betraying you if he died kept him going. Every step of the journey was thoughts of you, echoes of you. Wondering if you were still sedated and how he'd make it up to you when you could finally be together again. Free from the reign of the Capitol and together. At least you were safe in District 13, you'd be upset, but protected until the world was ready to stop reigning terror on the two of you. That was until Coin sent in the replacement members for the squad and Finnick was sure he would absolutely lose it when you and Peeta walked off the craft, straight into another set of trials and tribulations determined to tear apart his happiness.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you all so much for reading and all the fun discussions we've been having about all the details, I love you all so much. as always likes, reblogs, comments, feedback is all very very appreciated. love you all so so much 💋

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simp-ly-writes · 4 months

Text

Chapter Two: Trust

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.3)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: As the days pass-by with your stay in Hazbin Hotel, your relationships with the guests only grow. New faces beside old from histories past as you navigate the options that this new chance at living provides you.

Warnings: 5002 words, mentions of violence Nonconsensual touching and mental health, possible gore and death.

A/N: this one is action packed people, buckle your socks on and turn your crocks to athletic mode- we are moving this plot forwards!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

When you wake up the next day and sit at the bar, half-listening to the new set Angel Dust is performing later tonight as you swirl you fresh cup of tea, dipping your biscuit ever so gently and watching the ripples that your actions create. Becoming lost in the small pattern you summon forth your blade, standing on the bar top as Husk voices his complaints while grabbing the cloth once more to clean up your mess.

Charlie comes running from underneath the stairs screaming, your blade is pointed to the direction just behind her, teeth bared as you growl in wait. “Woah, woah, woah, there hotstuff- what has you so turned on?” Angel Dust comments, stopping their vivid descriptions for the moment to observe your attacking stance.

“Everyone! My dad just called and I have a meeting with heaven-or well Adam!” Charlie announces as your shoulders fall, blade dipping and eyes going wide. You shake your head furiously annoyed at the King's decision- she was going to be torn to shreds if she went to that meeting. “Princess, what exactly did your father say?” You question, now sitting on top of the bar as your legs swing slightly back and forth.

In that next moment Charlie ignores your question and breaks out into song as Vaggie chases after her, “I can do this! This will be a happy day in hell~” “Charlie, this is only a meeting,” her girlfriend resorts but the princess is unlistening as she runs out the front of the door, dancing her heart out, twirling around lamp posts and before you know it, she is out of sight.

You place your elbows to your knees, head in your palms as you grip out the remainders of your hair. “Husk- I am going to need a glass of wine” “coming right up.”

Lucifer had locked himself away in your study once again, a remaining staff member placed a tea set in the small living room before exiting. The King sat with his back to the door, tinkering away with his latest installment of duck- this one would read out the first chapter to your history book. Tinkering with the voice box and animating the feet to walk in circles, the King rested his head against one of his hands, eyes turning closed, “Chapter One: The Fall…”

The King did not know he had fallen asleep soon afterwards, day and night mixing together as every waking moment appeared as dull as sleep. But at least when he rested, in his dreams he saw you, waiting there for him, wanting to hear about his latest inventions and revolutions. You never bowed nor kneeled for him, only sitting beside him with bright features and not a speck of stress.

Yet this latest dream world he found himself slipping into while sitting at your desk, the duck all long forgotten to the shiver that ran down his spine. Ghostly finger tips trickled lightly down his shoulders and spine, coaxing it to relax as he hummed out- stretching to receive more like a needy cat. He relished these touches, it was as if these hands knew of every vein in that area- sparking them to light as he practically buzzed with content. Yet the touches got lighter and lighter before becoming only a drifting thought, an illusion that had the King shivering cold when he awakened once again.

You did not know how this video camera had been placed in your hands but you followed every command that Vaggie ushered, from angle to the zoom, you were practically a breathing tripod as you filmed each section to the new commercial in production.

The camera shook as you did your best not to laugh at the dead-panned look that Husk was giving you down the lens, rolling his eyes as Vaggie yelled “action!” once again as you listened to the tape roll. Alastor leaned down beside you, watching the small screen with a humm, “I still think radio is better- don’t you?”

“Cut! What the fuck, Alastor. I already told you- no talking while filming!” Vaggie outbursts while crossing her arms and tapping her foot rapidly against the carpeted floors. “Ah well all the more reasons that show how useless this technology is,” the Radio Demon responds before turning around and slipping into the shadows without a trace. “Action!” is yelled to the set once more as you stand still, awaiting the princesses return.

Charlie comes back through the Hotel doors, turning around to shut it softly behind herself as tears slip silently down her cheeks in frustration. She knocks her head against the wood before groaning and turning away, jumping up slightly in shock as Vaggie pulls her into a hug. “How did it go? Did they listen?’” Vaggie questions while pulling away and grabbing her hand, walking them both over to the sitting room where the rest of the hotel's inhabitants wait.

As the Princess tries to come up with lighthearted words to convey the utter disappointment she faced during the meeting, her stumbling of words is overshadowed by Vaggies excitement as she pulls them down to a couch in front of the television. “Alastor pulled some strings and it is about to air.”

“I pulled a few limbs too” Alator teases out with a dry laugh, you stand beside his chair and pluck a hair from his head as he whips his head around, a smile growing in menacing size as your’s mirror his own. A joy fills you to the brim watching as it falls and he faces straight once more.

“You guys made a new commercial?- thats, that's amazing!” Charlie states, tears welling behind her yellow eyes as your own crinkle at the edges. But just as the commercial begins to air, the news channel flickers over top with a screeching woman yelling, “BREAKING NEWS” over the still image. “Extermination day is coming sooner than expected as the hour glass falls faster than ever-seen before, be prepared because death is coming to us all in the new year!” the announcer comments before the screen fades to black.

Everyone looks around at one another before Angel Dust lets out a singular, “Well fuck.” That leaves the whole room laughing, partially at the blunt tone and the other for the impending doom that haunts every minute that ticks by.

After some much needed sleep on the recent news, Charlie calls every down for a team meeting back in the sitting room. “Well… we are just going to have to work faster and try harder- team!” Charlie states while standing up in front of the group, clapping her hands together in order to hide the trembles knocking around her skin. She bites her lip, a small drop of gold falling and burning the run below as Vaggie wipes the rest away.

“Charlie, you are a great friend you know but all of hell is losing their complete shit after the broadcast- even my boss,” Angel Dust comments as his phone blows up. You watch as the Spiders head fluff furrowing into itself, their fingers quickly moving across the screen to reply.

“Well sinners are desperate… desperate enough to try anything just like this hotel!” Vaggie adds. “That is an amazing~ idea!” Charlie replies, now jumping on the heels of her feet as you rub your face tiredly, sipping your tea as you observe the scene playing out before you. Angel Dust pats a seat beside them, sticking up their leg as you cringe back in disgust.

But just as you are about to take that next sip, the wall behind you blows out, pieces flying around your head as your cup shatter and you swear out, “fucking Hell. Can’t even drink warm water without someone pissing in it.”

Your angelic spear appears in your hand without a second thought as Alastor teleports beside you, a sinister smile dictates the static electricity ringing through the air as every hair on your body stands at attention. You call for the Princess to retreat with Vaggie and Angel Dust as the Radio Demon rises with his coffee in hand, pissed to see the stain left on his tailored jacket.

Sir. Pretentious commands the vessel, hissing violently as he points in your direction, “Your powers have grown since last time Alastor, animating the dead I see? Well those powers are no match for me and my egg army- you’ll see!”

“Who are they?” you yell out to Alastor, snapping your fingers for a tentacle to appear from the ground, bursting through the ships window and casting forth the snake's body as they become pinned down by the point of your spear. Alastor hums out, extending his hands forth as a put emerges and engulfs the ship hole.

“No-one important, deer. Such miniscule names only take up valuable space in our minds,” Alastor states before spinning on his heel and heading back inside the Hotel, humming a tune. He only pauses as you state back in a blunt tone, “You did not answer my question, or have you forgotten who I am, Radio Demon? I need the name for records.”

“I did not know you were still working for the King, General. Thought you were dead-no?” the Overlord resorts while inspecting the cuffs of his suit. “What can I say, I live to serve just as much as I die.”

“Sir. Pretentious, is that all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” you finish the conversation with as Charlie yells for you to let the attacker go. With one small cut against the serpent's neck, you watch as he slivers down the hill and back to the city core.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement when you opened the door, mere hours later to find Sir. Pretentious waiting for entrance, his hat in his hands and a few straggling eggs in tow. You roll your eyes, not bothering for a weapon as the man holds up peace signs to make your eyes roll. Charlie allows the former attacker inside as you keep a close watch from behind, taking a place just outside the room by leaning against the main staircase, listening in.

“I didn’t come looking for a fight, when I heard that you were helping people on the picture box- I came straight away!” He hisses out while taking a seat. Charlie lights up like a holiday display as she moves right into bonding exercise while Angel Dust voices his complaints against the entire situation at hand. In doing so, you retreat slowly back to your room.

You awaken to the sounds of hurried slivers dashing down the hall and closing a door to Alastor’s study just a bit too heavily. The Radio Demon was out hunting tonight, what- you did not bother to know, only nodding as he left.

Sir. Pretentious stood with his back turned to the door, a camera he was setting up between the various books that littered the shelf had you growling out in displeasure. “And what do you think you are doing, you absolute snake?”

The door clicks open behind you once more as Angel Dust’s eyes go wide to the scene and the sight of you in night clothing as your skin only slightly peaks out, glowing in the moonlight. “You slippery little shit, working for the ‘V’s’ are you?” the Spider questions out, slamming the door closed behind himself.

Angel Dust throws a punch as you stand back, letting them fight before various footsteps can be heard approaching from down the hall. You pull the pornstar back, locking their arms in your own, “if you wanted to hold me so closely, you only had to ask baby~” Angel Dust purrs out to you as you old fast, face unmoving as Charlie analyzes the damage.

The Serpent cries out, knowing himself to be a failure as he drops the watch from his wright and slams the camera broken by the spine of a book. He sits on the floor defeated as you let go of the Spider- the room now in a still. “Make it quick,” Sir Pretentious states, tipping their head in your direction as you look to Charlie for confirmation.

She holds up her hand as you make no moves to summon forth a weapon. Vaggie and Angel Dust begin their protests as your mind begins to drift off into another memory, fading away from the current as Charlie begins to sing a song of forgiveness- it falls dead on your ears.

You find yourself in the dark void once more, the ground before you ripples, matching the patterns found in your teacup from mornings before. The dripping of water can be heard, growing in volume before becoming that of a waterfall pouring over your head. You gasp from the cold drench it covers you in, clothes sticking to your form as you shiver and grasp to conceal warmth.

You venture forth, as each step you make disturbs the pattern underneath your feet, hundreds of mini ripples how overpower the larger steady ones as a flicker of white in the corner of your eyes has you gasping and turning to meet it. But just before you can it blinks out of existence and reality comes crashing back as the waterfall catches up with you, basking you in its frigid waters once more.

“But sorry is where it begins~” the Snake and the Princess sing out together in harmony as your berings return to form. You stumble slightly, grasping the bookshelf behind you for support as Angel Dust looks over their shoulder, gun falling to their side as they cock their head- a silent asking if you were alright. You only nod once before making a wobbled stand and exit the study back to your room to take shelter underneath the covers. Under their warmth, sleep cannot find you as your eyes stare upwards, glossing over the intricate lace designs covering the canopy bed.

Time had become a blur as a week has already slipped by from that restless night that joined many others. You were fading in and out more as the days went by. Now you were found nearly asleep on the bartop as you listened to Husks baritone grumblings that soothed your ears.

Sir. Pretentious was giving a presentation on his latest invention, the lack of attacks getting on his nerves as he anxiously invented weapon after weapon in his hotel room. Vaggie spoke out against these actions as Charlie was visibly struggling to come up with a learning opportunity from this outburst. “People are being nice because they want you to feel welcomed,” the x-eyed woman states with crossed arms as the Snake hisses out in contemplation to these words.

He looks around the room to find Husk cleaning a glass beside your head as he flips the bird and Angel Dust follows suit. Nifty only mocks his lack of aggressiveness, proving her point by stabbing a nearby bug that has the reptile rears back in fear. “I have my doubts about that…” he finally answers back. Yet these would be the least of his worries when it is announced that Charlie would be taking away his weapons stashes and eggs as Alastor would find a way to house them temporarily once back from his break.

A glass being slammed against the bartop has you standing for attention before glaring at the cat-man when no danger is in sight. “Sleep in a bed, not at my bar,” he simply states before taking in the new boxes of alcohol from the door and unpacking them against the back display shelf.

As you make your way back up to your room, using the elevator as your powers flicker from the lack of rest or sustenance once more. Alastor is there to greet you with a wide, yellow smile when the door chimes open. “You arrived just on time- we are leaving for a meeting,” the overlord sign-songs to you before entering the elevator and clicking the first floor.

You stand beside one another without making any glances, “And why would I do that?” you question.

“I feel as if history is repeating itself- haha!” your eyes roll at this statement before crossing your arms, looking upwards as the numbers tick down.

“You are my new Right-Hand, are you not?” Alastor questions out with a crackle in his voice.

“When did you become royalty? Never thought you to be the type to like being-”

“A-A-Aah!” Alastor tuts out with the wave of a finger, as if mocking a child. You move to bite that finger before feigning innocence with wide eyes fluttering like nothing happens, rejoicing at the terrified shutter that makes its way down his spine.

“So… who are we meeting exactly?”

Alastor provided no further explanation as you followed beside him,a few shock gasps coursed through the street before the Radio Demon silenced the crowd with the raise of a hand. Your back arched forwards slightly, anxious off all the attention in such close proximity- it felt suffocating. A body nears behind your own as your finger curl together in a fist, turning around sharply you see Zestial tilting his head down towards you, his lips curl upwards as he offers a kiss to the back of your hand.

“How art thou, peacekeeper? Thy return could not hast came at a better time.” You smile up at the ancient overlord, your friend older than that of the King and Queen as you unravel your fist. Alastor leans on his microphone, as a light buzz appears in the air, his smile softens only the slightest bit as he leans forward to ask, “Doing well, old friend?”

Yet Zestial pays no attention to the man, attention solemnly on you and your answer. “As best as I can during times like these, you comment on how my timing is good- how so?” You fix the cuffs to your coat as you speak, flicking off small bits of flesh that have been offered to your group as you near a large modern tower.

“An answer yet to be discovered,” Zestial finishes before opening the door for you and Alastor with a small bow as you voice your thanks in return. When entering the lobby, various elevators zoom past you, carrying overlords from far and wide as your palms begin to sweat. You lean towards Alastor, harshly whispering in his ear, “Why the fuck have you brought me here, Alastor. All of these demons would gladly hand me in for favour.”

“And that is where you are wrong, deer. You see that your presence is the least of the group's concerns when extermination is on the horizon. We have souls to keep and screams to feed our ears,” Alastor speaks aloud while pointing to a chair near the top of the table for you to sit at.

Various eyes cast their way over your form, taking in your appearance with greedy eyes and cash-grabbing smiles. They know of your price dead or alive, for nobody was present at your royal funeral. But other than their looks, no actions rose out from the crowd, glued to their seats in wait. You take this as your cue to investigate the room, raking through your mind each of their atrocities throughout history and the tallied souls they keep.

These numbers you count serve as comfort in your head, leveling back on the facts you pride yourself on creating and upholding. Yet the more you find yourself dwelling in the past, the greater your heart aches to return to all its known. All those court hearings you attended way back when that happened in a similar fashion. Just this time you got forced into a seat at the table rather than standing at the judges side, whispering in his ear your opinions to be voiced.

Oh the simpler times, you think to yourself. Those starting moments before you would go on to take over those meetings in his place as Lilith’s pregnancy continued. A slam of the door has your attention swerving back as you grip the table for reassurance.

“Welcome Hell's sovereign overlords. I have invited you all here because you represent millions of souls tied to your very name. Souls that will be taken by the extermination in only a few months time rather than by our own claws,” Carmilla Carmine states, hands casting over the table to point at each individual in the room, her finger swirls overtop your head before she continues.

“We need to minimize the impact and on that matter, Alastor and… General. Welcome back,” she states in a thoughtful tone until the door slams itself open once again as you wince at the holes forming from the impact. A short, pony-tailed woman stands on top of the table, walking over to an extra seat with a phone glued to her ear. You wince at the obnoxious accent she carries, “yes I know Vox-darling, they are ALL a joke. Kisses, see you soon!”

“Nice of you to be joining us, Velvet- will your colleagues be joining us?” Carmilla asks with annoyance coating every word. Velvet rolls her eyes, throwing her phone on the table while leaning forward to cast a series of insults as you look to Alastor and question out, “I apologise for sounding like a broken record in advance, but who are they exactly?”

Alastor’s laugh is projected throughout the room as a head-grinding ring echoes in everyone's mind until the room is silent once more. But just as the deer-man is about to speak, an Angels head gets casted on the table, hopping animatedly before stopping just in front of your hands. Gold pours out from its slashed neck as you wince, going to grasp your own.

“If these holy rollers can be killed, well the game has changed,” Velvet announces, seemingly taking over the meeting as your head cat's back and forth between the two women like a tennis match.

“We not know how this perished. May it be not by a demon's hand after all. If we rush to war- they purge all of Hell,” Zestial retorts while sipping his tea loudly, he casts his eyes between you and Carmilla worriedly of your reactions just as the table erupts to their own smaller conversations on the matter at hand. But just as Velvet shoves a finger his way, Carmilla's chair scratches against the tiles, grating your ears once again as Alastor’s twitches in displeasure. “You have no respect…” Carmilla starts with before entering a lecturning display against the smaller woman's apparent arrogance to the room's guests.

You applauded Carmine’s performance as she casts you a split second smile before Alastor adds on, “That was a productive meeting, now we really must get going, who knows what Hell has spawned at the Hotels door this time-hm?” You nod once in reply, going through the room to shake hands with everyone, even Velvet who wipes her hand on her shirt afterwards, looking you up and down for a second as your eyes begin to flicker red for the faintest second until Alastor throws you both through a door back to the Hotel’s lobby.

You were not surprised in the slightest to find the Hotels events room staged with a BDSM act. Blinking twice before entering the room, a tall feline figure wrapped their tail around your waist, purring in your ear as you stood still, glaring at Angel Dust. Alastor had left you in his dust the split second after seeing into the room but you were glad to see Vaggie pulling Charlie away from a pervy succubus- hell bent on having the royals attention.

The feline’s eyes narrowed sensually in your face as they curved around your figure tighter, a claw of theirs drifted its way up your arm and towards your neck. Elbowing them in the gut, their groan of pain was the only pleasure you had found in that room before Vaggie announced another way for the Hotel to build trust in one another. You looked towards the Princess at the mention of this, catching her eye for a moment before stepping through yet another door way- this one led you to a burning battle ground.

Screams emerged from every crack and crevice as your hand twitches, readying yourself for an attack. Vaggie appeared to hold no qualms while an arrow just skimmed by her head, Charlie yelled out in horror- eyes flashing red before the demon that ceased to exist behind the group. “This is where I learned to build my trust, and I will see to it that you ALL find the same,” Vaggie announced while pointing her spear to each and every one of you.

In the next moment, hotel guests were being thrown over the wall and dispersed into the war zone below. You sat on the ledge, waiting to step in as an anxious Charlie sat beside you, swinging her feet back and forth as she winced at Angel Dust’s apparent enthusiasm to gutting a man. Vaggie was a prominent force on the field, you smiled watching someone command such strength- helping others and with these thoughts in mind, your head tilted towards the Princesses and you spoke.

“Thank you,” you start with as Charlie’s eyes meet your own, narrowing the slightest bit to show her confusion. “What are you thankful for?” She asks, her feet still kicking as she searches your eyes for an answer.

“For being the person your mom would respect and the person I wished to be if only I held more strength. Thank you, Princess…” you trail off with as tears spark in your eyes, Charlies feet still, falling against the brick wall as she looks away from you, her eyes squeeze shut as her own tears mirror your own.

“What were they like?” Charlie timidly asks, “What were they like before me? I read your journals and books, yet they never brought me any closer to understanding- they feel like such different people now…” She trails off, the wind picking up her golden strands as a few stragglers hit your face.

You lean forwards, trying to catch her eyes once more as you state, “Both your mother and father were wonders to behold- time will never change that…” your voice trails off, trying to choose the right words and describe the correct moments for a time like this. “I did not truly know them for my first century in hell but on that day when a raven that would soon become my own descended from the red skies above- ushering me forwards- I allowed them to. They were spirited even with their dreams taken away. The Queen held onto enough hope for the population of Hell as your father sculpted her every word, it was the only beautiful sight to be held in Hell and the first demons could only respect them for it. Without their leadership, their sacrifices…”

You struggle to continue as Charlie's eyes dart around, trying to come up with a new topic of conversation. “Why did you call my parents by their titles, why do you address me as such? You all were friends- were you not?” Charlie asks while playing with her hair, she is shy about this question before hurriedly speaking up once again, “It is is personal-erm, private! It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me!”

You laugh at her cuteness before holding up a hand to stop her rambles, “I was still a servant to them-'' Charlie bursts out into laughter, she grips her chest as tears form around her eyes again, “Now THAT is a lie,” she states while wagging her finger in your face as your face falls to one of confusion.

“My parents LOVED you, they just loved you- simply put. Not as a servant, not as a child or friend. They fell in love with you… and it was when you died, that love they shared died too…” Charlie takes a deep breath as you are at a loss for words, eyes wide in processing the information. “...you may not know this but my mom began to hate you, hate that even with you gone, you were somehow a consistent presence. She-she told me one day that even I made her remember you along with some other words and a week after that she left… a-and I haven’t seen her since.” Charlie cries out, falling into her lap as her breathing becomes staggered.

You rub up and down her back, humming out to soothe the girl as she grabs your white jacket, knuckles turning white. In muffled tones, she still speaks, “my dad loves you- still does I am sure of it, even when we do not speak he always shows it. You were the last topic we talked to each other before I left… the last time we hugged…”

You lean your head down, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair before pulling it out of her eyes, “I am sorry, Princess Charlie…”

“I am sorry too…” Charlie picks herself off, her smile flickering at the edges as she fixes her hair, “next time my father is around, whenever that will be… promise that you will at least look at him even if he does not notice. You deserve to see yourself loved, I am sorry for what I made you blame yourself on and sorry that you ever thought to be only admired for your work- I am ever guilty of it among many others.”

You nod your head, agreeing to her words without being able to find your own. The battle gradually slows from underneath your feet as Alastor comes to greet you all- a feast he has prepared back in the Kitchens as the group cheers, dropping their weapons and hugs emerge. Everyone chats, celebrating their victory as glasses chime in tune. You raise your own towards Charlie as she tips her to do the same.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @tati-the-fangirl @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @amarokofficial

#luficer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes

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scouts-mockingbird · 6 months

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I want the Hunger Games AU where Rue survives up to the point where they announce that two victors from the same district can win. I want Thresh, still crouching in wait in the tall grass to suddenly stand up and start to search, because he doesn't know Rue, but she's a child and she's from home and now they can both make it back.

I want him searching for her, and finding her, scared because she never managed to find Katniss after they destroyed the supplies, and promising her that they'd find a way out of this. I want him teaching her to fight and her teaching him to hide, to make himself light and small so he can flee when he has to.

They make it to the end, the last two to survive after Katniss sacrifices herself to save Rue and Peeta dies from his wounds. The rule change is announced, and Thresh is ready to die because Rue's just a kid, and as much as he wants to see his family again, it's not worth that. But Rue refuses, sets down her weapons, and looks at the cameras and says she's not leaving without him. If the Capitol wants a victor, they have to accept two.

I want the version where a revolution wasn't started because of two teenagers in love, but because of two kids from the same community looked at each other and said "I'm not leaving here without you".

#the hunger games #rue hunger games #thresh hunger games #hunger games au

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saionjeans · 4 months

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end of the world is such a brilliant epithet bc it so obviously evokes the notion of a total apocalypse. a revolution that disrupts order so greatly that the world must necessarily collapse. the world is an egg, a coffin, a society. smash the world’s shell. the power to bring revolution. like end of the world, the term revolution evokes both upheaval and limitations, the maintenance of order. to revolve endlessly, to perpetuate the cycle ad infinitum — for eternity. end of the world does not mean the apocalypse in the traditional sense. in fact, it actually signifies the borders akio imposes within his constructed narrative. he is end of the world because he dictates the world accordingly; it does not exist beyond his defined limits. he is the centerpiece on the carousel, the man with the camera, the constellations in the night sky. to be the end of one’s world is to exert control in such a way that one cannot imagine a world beyond them. for example, touga is nanami’s end of the world; her life lacks meaning beyond her proximity to his. “if anthy could leave all along, then why didn’t she?” one may ask (she’s not a victim, she’s a villain!) — because the coffin is cozy. because the coffin is small and the world is vast. because the coffin is all you know. anthy attempts suicide because it seems easier than the alternative. because she does not know how to leave. but the end of the world is not her apocalypse, her destruction, her abuse. it is the act of pushing open her coffin door to let a crack of light seep in. it is the possibility, the potential, to actually see the bars of your frame for what they are, and to simply, bravely step beyond them. to leave. to live.

#u #analysis #manalysis #akio #anthy #utenanthy #nanami #touga #i said i’d expand on this didn’t i

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absent-o-minded · 3 months

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Tiny YR S3 Analysis

Just wanted to compare the parallels between these two hand holds in 3x05 and 3x06:

(Please ignore the shitty screencaps, I tried my best)

In terms of composition, these shots are identical. A hand-hold centre to the frame, in a car with the camera placed in the middle. However, they're underpinned by different narrative contexts.

Here, the first shot from 3x05 is drenched in darkness. The actual lighting inside of the car is dim enough to obscure both of their suits, which almost blend them into the seats and so it becomes hard to distinguish between the two of them - The only focussed light is on their conjoined hands. Notably, the actual touch itself is tentative, almost like the bridging of an awkward divide on the way to the palace. Neither of them are sure what the touch actually means. Even their sleeves fall over their wrists and interfere with the actual act, so we only see the bottom half of their hands. Simon reaches out first and places his hand in the open sliver between the two seats before Wille accepts and laces their fingers together. It's an assured squeeze that reads as: "I'm not sure what will happen. I'm nervous." "I am too."

This scene has garnered a lot of analysis for its parallel to the Kristina x Wille car scene in S1 where people have commented on the reversal of blocking - Wille now assumes Kristina's position and Simon equally assumed Wille's. We now know that this arrives before the birthday explosion, and so it's also a touch that signifies confronting the inner workings of an oppressive environment (the palace). It's nerve-wracking and cautious and consolidating, but it's also doubtful. We, as spectators, pick up on visual and physical cues and so we begin to see the hand-hold as an visual indicator that the unity between the two characters is about to be disrupted.

~~~~~

However, the shot in 3x06 reads entirely differently. The first thing is that the shot is bathed in light. It's a bit like an embrace, contrasting the previous presentation of a cold backseat, Simon and Wille are literally basking in the sun. Most importantly, there is a light flashing on Wille as it seeps in from the windows, illuminating his spot as a person who is newly free. Simon sits to the left with the natural light (no abundance of light) because Simon has always strived to be free. He has never turned away from the light. As he said earlier in the episode: "I never gave up on us. I gave up on the royal court." For Simon, the issue was never the fear of being free, but the constraint of not being free. For Wille, fear hung over his shoulders just like a King's robe would. Being free was an aspiration, never a reality.

But that has all changed. The light is let in. It stands similar to a spot-light, where Wille finally lets the sun hit his body and not have it scorch him, but rather enlighten him.

The actual act of holding hands is no longer bridging an uncomfortable space; It's an assured togetherness. It is the two of them acknowledging everything that has happened and knowing that a future for the two of them is no longer a "possibility", but a truth. It's giddy and confident and safe.

It's also the final touch of the season, and so it had to speak louder than dialogue ever could - Which I think that it does. Throughout S1 and S2, we understood that physical touch was always done in private, or if not, it was done discreetly with the knowledge that it was fleeting. S3 saw the transition from private to public, but not without the fight to touch and not have it be seen as a revolution. To just let it be what it is. And THIS is what the show has been working towards for 3 years. It can all be summarised with this simple, final hand hold in a sunny car that's racing towards a future that finally, finally resembles their dreams. It's not overtly revolutionary, it's not a grand gesture; It's just theirs.

#yr s3 spoilers #young royals season 3 spoilers #young royals spoilers #young royals #tv analysis #young royals season 3 #this is all I could write amidst my burnout so I'm very sorry #I'm desperate to sink my teeth into the analysis of this season because it was fantastic #but also because the cinematography of this season was SCRUMPTIOUS it was beautiful #as we all know I love when parallels parallel because it's not only a great aesthetic motif but it's also narratively telling #these things are put in for a purpose and I love dissecting things #I hope to do some longer analysis' when I'm feeling more up for it but I hope this makes sense!#lisa ambjörn #rojda sekersöz

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 10 months

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Suicidal Tendencies - Go'n Breakdown

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carlyraejepsans · 5 months

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> YOOOOOOOOOO 👀👀

The room goes dark, a convenient puff of air snuffing out the flames in the fireplace. For a terrifying moment, as your eyes struggle to adjust, you are blind.

"Beauties and gentle-beauties," the robotic voice booms again, "Welcome…"

A drum rolls into a crescendo.

Then from blind, you are blinded.

The light returns like a blade, cutting a sharp circle around you and Sans' figures. He's not alone in the spotlight, however.

"To tonight's melodrama!" The King concludes with a flourish.

Like a switch being flipped, the room explodes into noise and color. Colorful heart shaped lights dance along the walls, produced by drone-like machines that flutter in the air from the open window as soon as the cues are given. Cameras, screens, microphones. They fill the once quiet room with their mechanical whirring. From somewhere above you, confetti rains to the floor.

The King flashes a dashing smile at the cameras. At least, you think he does. As close to a smile as he can get in his rectangular form, anyway.

He waves one arm in the air, saluting; the other clasping Sans' shoulder in apparent good humor. Sans' smile is frozen but unfazed.

Privately, you're relieved for him that skeletons don't have much in terms of soft tissues. That grip looks like it would bruise.

"Everyone give a big hand to our two wonderful protagonists!"

The King lets go of his bodyguard to clap along to the audio track that automatically begins to play. Sans shrugs his shoulders—the characteristic gesture masking any signs of physical discomfort—before popping a lazy salute at the cameras.

Your terrified eyes meet his for a moment, but he doesn't seem to acknowledge you.

"My dear viewers, I must first of all offer you an apology. Dragging you out of your beds at this ungodly hour… where have my manners gone. However! An unforeseen development has recently unfolded."

He's fast. He's very fast for something that moves like a military grade unicycle. In the blink of an eye, he's by your side. The colorful panel of his face is unreadable; the lights of the improvised studio catch on the golden crown atop his head.

"The ghost of tears…"

His gloved hand reaches up to gently grab at your chin and turn your once crying face to the cameras.

"A midnight rendez-vous… turned to tragedy."

As fast as he came, he's gone, rolling to the centre of the room and spreading his arms to his sides with pathos.

"Could this be? A heart wrenching tale of unrequited love?!!"

Where you stare dumbfounded and frozen, Sans laughs. He takes a few steps forward, planting himself right by Mettaton's side, then throws a wink, first at you, then at the cameras.

He doesn't break a sweat. The movement is so natural it seems like second nature. You wonder, for a second, just how long he's been working for Him.

"oh you know. nothing like some light heartbreaking and entering to end the night, am i right?"

A rimshot rings out. You're not sure why, but you feel like it wasn't part of the planned sound design. The king's robotic laugh sounds even hollower than usual.

"Of course! Of course! My agent's penchant for humor is more than well known. But!"

He turns to you—and with him your knees to jelly. The King tilts his royal microphone at you, teasingly. Threateningly.

"Everyone is waiting for the real scoop, darling! Our special human guest. What do YOU have to say in all of this?"

#undertale #mywriting #sans #mettaton #THERE. HAPPY? CONTINUATION

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invisibleicewands · 4 months

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Michael Sheen: Prince Andrew, Port Talbot and why I quit Hollywood

When Michael Sheen had an idea for a dystopian TV series based in his home town of Port Talbot, in which riots erupt when the steel works close, he had no idea said works would actually close — a month before the show came to air. “Devastating,” he says, simply, of last month’s decision by Tata Steel to shut the plant’s two blast furnaces and put 2,800 jobs at risk.

“Those furnaces are part of our psyche,” he says. “When the Queen died we talked about how psychologically massive it was for the country because people couldn’t imagine life without her. The steel works are like that for Port Talbot.”

Sheen’s show — The Way — was never meant to be this serious. The BBC1 three-parter is directed by Sheen, was written by James Graham and has the montage king Adam Curtis on board as an executive producer. The plot revolves around a family who, when the steel works are closed by foreign investors, galvanise the town into a revolt that leads to the Welsh border being shut. Polemical, yes, but it has a lightness of touch. “A mix of sitcom and war film,” Sheen says, beaming.

But that was then. Now it has become the most febrile TV show since, well, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. “We wanted to get this out quickly,” Sheen says. With heavy surveillance, police clamping down on protesters and nods to Westminster abandoning parts of the country, the series could be thought of as a tad political. “The concern was if it was too close to an election the BBC would get nervous.”

I meet Sheen in London, where he is ensconced in the National Theatre rehearsing for his forthcoming starring role in Nye, a “fantasia” play based on the life of the NHS founder, Labour’s Aneurin “Nye” Bevan. He is dressed down, with stubble and messy hair, and is a terrific raconteur, with a lot to discuss. As well as The Way and Nye, this year the actor will also transform himself into Prince Andrew for a BBC adaptation of the Emily Maitlis Newsnight interview.

Sheen has played a rum bunch, from David Frost to Tony Blair and Chris Tarrant. And we will get to Bevan and Andrew, but first Wales, where Sheen, 55, was born in 1969 and, after a stint in Los Angeles, returned to a few years ago. He has settled outside Port Talbot with his partner, Anna Lundberg, a 30-year-old actress, and their two children. Sheen’s parents still live in the area, so the move was partly for family, but mostly to be a figurehead. The actor has been investing in local arts, charities and more, putting his money where his mouth is to such an extent that there is a mural of his face up on Forge Road.

“It’s home,” Sheen says, shrugging, when I ask why he abandoned his A-list life for southwest Wales. “I feel a deep connection to it.” The seed was sown in 2011 when he played Jesus in Port Talbot in an epic three-day staging of the Passion, starring many locals who were struggling with job cuts and the rising cost of living in their town. “Once you become aware of difficulties in the area you come from you don’t have to do anything,” he says, with a wry smile. “You can live somewhere else, visit family at Christmas and turn a blind eye to injustice. It doesn’t make you a bad person, but I’d seen something I couldn’t unsee. I had to apply myself, and I might not have the impact I’d like, but the one thing that I can say is that I’m doing stuff. I know I am — I’m paying for it!”

The Way is his latest idea to boost the area. The show, which was shot in Port Talbot last year, employed residents in front of and behind the camera. The extras in a scene in which fictional steel workers discuss possible strike action came from the works themselves. How strange they will feel watching it now. The director shakes his head. “It felt very present and crackling.”

One line in the show feels especially crucial: “The British don’t revolt, they grumble.” How revolutionary does Sheen think Britain is? “It happens in flare-ups,” he reasons. “You could say Brexit was a form of it and there is something in us that is frustrated and wants to vent. But these flare-ups get cracked down, so the idea of properly organised revolution is hard to imagine. Yet the more anger there is, the more fear about the cost of living crisis. Well, something’s got to give.”

I mention the Brecon Beacons. “Ah, yes, Bannau Brycheiniog,” Sheen says with a flourish. Last year he spearheaded the celebration of the renaming of the national park to Welsh, which led some to ponder whether Sheen might go further in the name of Welsh nationalism. Owen Williams, a member of the independence campaigners YesCymru, described him to me as “Nye Bevan via Che Guevara” and added that the actor might one day be head of state in an independent Wales.

Sheen bursts out laughing. “Right!” he booms. “Well, for a long time [the head of state] was either me or Huw Edwards, so I suppose that’s changed.” He laughs again. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say.” Has he, though, become a sort of icon for an independent Wales? “I’ve never actually spoken about independence,” he says. “The only thing I’ve said is that it’s worth a conversation. Talking about independence is a catalyst for other issues that need to be talked about. Shutting that conversation down is of no value at all. People say Wales couldn’t survive economically. Well, why not? And is that good? Is that a good reason to stay in the union?”

On a roll, he talks about how you can’t travel from north to south Wales by train without going into England because the rail network was set up to move stuff out of Wales, not round it. He mentions the collapse of local journalism and funding cuts to National Theatre Wales, and says these are the conversations he wants to have — but where in Wales are they taking place?

So, for Sheen, the discussion is about thinking of Wales as independent in identity, not necessarily as an independent state? “As a living entity,” he says, is how he wants people to think about his country. “It’s much more, for me, about exploring what that cultural identity of now is, rather than it being all about the past,” he says. “We had a great rugby team in the 1970s, but it’s not the 1970s anymore and, yes, male-voice choirs make us cry, but there are few left. Mines aren’t there either. All the things that are part of the cultural identity of Wales are to do with the past and, for me, it’s much more about exploring what is alive about Welsh identity now.”

You could easily forget that Sheen is an actor. He calls himself a “not for profit” thesp, meaning he funds social projects, from addiction to disability sports. “I juggle things more,” he says. “Also I have young kids again and I don’t want to be away much.”

Sheen has an empathetic face, a knack of making the difficult feel personable. And there are two big roles incoming — a relief to fans.

Which leads us to Prince Andrew. “Of course it does.” This year he plays the troubled duke in A Very Royal Scandal — a retelling of the Emily Maitlis fiasco with Ruth Wilson as the interviewer. Does the show go to Pizza Express in Woking? “No,” Sheen says, grinning. Why play the prince? He thinks about this a lot. “Inevitably you bring humanity to a character — that’s certainly what I try to do.” He pauses. “I don’t want people to say, ‘It was Sheen who got everybody behind Andrew again.’ But I also don’t want to do a hatchet job.”

So what is he trying to do? “Well, it is a story about privilege really,” he says. “And how easy it is for privilege to exploit. We’ve found a way of keeping the ambiguity, because, legally, you can’t show stuff that you cannot prove, but whether guilty or not, his privilege is a major factor in whatever exploitation was going on. Beyond the specifics of Andrew and Epstein, no matter who you are, privilege has the potential to exploit someone. For Andrew, it’s: ‘This girl is being brought to me and I don’t really care where she comes from, or how old she is, this is just what happens for people like me.’”

It must have been odd having the prince and Bevan — the worst and best of our ruling classes — in his head at the same time. What, if anything, links the men? “What is power and what can you do with it?” Sheen muses, which seems to speak to his position in Port Talbot too. Nye at the National portrays the Welsh politician on his deathbed, in an NHS hospital, moving through his memories while doped up on meds. Sheen wants the audience to think: “Is there a Bevan in politics now and, if not, why not?”

Which takes us back to The Way. At the start one rioter yells about wanting to “change everything” — he means politically, sociologically. However, assuming that changing everything is not possible, what is the one thing Sheen would change? “Something practical? Not ‘I want world peace’. I would create a people’s chamber as another branch of government — like the Lords, there’d be a House of People, representing their community. Our political system has become restrictive and nonrepresentational, so something to open that up would be good.”

The actor is a thousand miles from his old Hollywood life. “It’d take a lot for me to work in America again — my life is elsewhere.” It is in Port Talbot instead. “The last man on the battlefield” is how one MP describes the steel works in The Way, and Sheen is unsure what happens when that last man goes. “Some people say it’s to do with net zero aims,” he says about the closure. “Others blame Brexit. But, ultimately, the people of Port Talbot have been let down — and there is no easy answer about what comes next.”

#Michael Sheen #Times #Interview #Nye #The Way #A Very Royal Scandal

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