#hunger 'verse

[crispyjenkins]

All We Have is Hunger Chapter 8

summary: offering to murder someone is a love language, actually

two years later here’s another 2,500 words of jango being Gay and another one of my fuckin Obi-Wans having lung problems

[sah1x1s-archived]

Multi-Muse

Novella || Multi-Para || Canon & OC || Multi-Verse || Multi-Ship

30 || CST || NSFW

Muses and plots that span various media, such as films, literature, video games, mythology, and with the power of imagination.

With a touch of canon and a sprinkle of OCs, this blog might have just what you've been looking for!

Write with someone who's been in the RPC for about 17 years without the drama of the past 17 years! 😂

{Memes} {Rules} {Muses}

－ Ｐｅｎｎｅｄ ｂｙ Ｓａｈ． ᴰᶦˢᶜᵒʳᵈ ᵘᵖᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗ.

ᴾʳᵒᵐᵒ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @etherealxmuses ᵗʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ᴶᵃˢᵐᵃⁿᵈᵉʳ

[cannibal-pentecost]

[waywardangel-wilds]

I'm really milking the Katniss-is-short thing:

“That’s her?” The boy with dreadlocks whispers to his friend. He tugs somewhat nervously on the red vest of his grocery store uniform. “But she’s… short.” “Remember those videos from Mr. Drysands class? That’s her!” the other boy, the one with the face full of acne, insists. “She shot down that hovercraft like it was nothing.” She hastily turns away, throwing Peeta’s toothpaste for sensitive teeth into her shopping cart and hustling down the walkway in the opposite direction. They’ll just have to live without milk for the week. She’s leaving.

[lumosnox31]

Someone tell me I’m overthinking this

TBOSAS:

Emily Dickinson:

A mockingjay, the literal symbol of hope of the rebellion, is a thing with feathers- that sings the tune without the words - and never stops at all.

[toxintouch]

apéritif - an alcoholic beverage usually served before a meal to stimulate the appetite, it is usually dry or acidic rather than sweet. The word comes from the Latin aperire, "to open". ✦Vere x Oracle MC. ("They" Pronouns, no other identifiers used.) A little spice, but nothing above a T Rating. Other warnings? Joyful overuse of dashes & en-dashes. ✧𓁺 What, pray tell, can an Oracle offer a god? <- Previous: Deicide (both can be read completely separate) ✦Read on AO3

VERE: Apéritif

The alleyways are eerily silent. Absent is the telltale shuffling of human gangs awaiting unknowing stragglers, the skittering of Soulless and the fluttering whispers of many still worse horrors. All silent — silenced.  Quieted by the apex predator.  Such lower beings are easily subdued, hunger and greed and blood lust waylaid by want of self preservation.  Only the sound of their own breathing singing off the stone walls greets them as they tear down Eridia’s winding streets.

Their feet ache with every bound and twist, tendons protesting each abrupt turn, each sudden swerve.  Their survival hinges on their ability to remain unpredictable: their ability to foresee and adapt.  Their foe is faster, stronger.  He knows every inch of the city.  Their only chance is to anticipate him, steal seconds from the future and hope that mere seconds are enough.

Their mind swims, vision a blur of colors and noise – not just from lack of oxygen but from the strain of forcing their powers to the limit.  Tracing the hum of danger: barely visible, shadow-fast, oppressive—

The world spins and slows.  They hold tight to their adrenaline, fighting to stay just one step–only half a step, now–ahead.  They struggle harder; fight to pinpoint the immediate threat instead of finding themself lost in the tide of beating hearts and ticking clocks,  a single drop of water hitting the surface of a vast expanse of red...  Fluttering feathers and a sound too acerbic and pervasive to be music, a single solitary note: screeching, sorrowful and

Hot breath at the nape of their neck;

 a salivating, gaping maw.

They gasp, breath fleeing their hollow chest.  It echoes back to them, bouncing unnaturally off the wide streets of the Amaryllis District like a taunt.  They’re too open, they realize – exposed.  A scurrying prey animal, small thing that he gazes upon from—

They turn down the length of an alleyway lined in red lanterns and they feel him looming closer, stalking the spaces in between flickers of lamplight.

His eyes, glowing–from the right–an imprint of a future they can find behind their eyelids.

So they turn left, shadows passing over them as they fit into the narrow space between two buildings.  It’s a risk, but it’s all they have left.

The cramped space is more an alcove than a passageway, but they can feel—if not see—an exit.  

They force their breath down their throat, inching quietly, feeling along the walls with bandaged hands, grounding themself to this place and time, asking the city to open its hidden doors for them.

Five more steps and they find themselves deposited at an impasse.

The alcove widens into a four way split.  North, south, east and west.

They freeze, rabbit hearted.  Their shoes stutter an awful protest as they jerk towards one direction, then the other, searching through possibilities in their mind.  Each path is screaming danger–no viable future–no possible escape–  

But they were so certain, they know they felt…

Too late.

Too long spent debating, making an unwinnable choice, pursuing once last empty gamble.

The shadows flicker and blur, dancing and boiling.  The deafening silence is severed, sliced through by fiendish fox laughter.  Animal cackling juxtaposed against their panting breaths, a discordant melody.

Adrenaline rushes them, hot in their bloodstream, beckoning their feet forwards for one last sprint.

He's on them all at once.

Vicious.  All teeth and heat and bite, devouring their air and their struggle in one fell swoop.  He swallows their gasping breath, tongue scalding against their night chilled lips as he chases the remnants of a scream.

His body is between their knees, arms around the back of their thighs, claws digging into supple flesh, lifting them.  Their back meets the wall as he presses them into it, his dangerous mouth descending.

It’s like being consumed.  Heat and haze and ravenous gluttony.  Each kiss bleeds into the next, teeth at their throat when they have to catch their breath, searing marks into their skin—a deliberately bestowed collar, something to match his own.   Clever lips—clever tongue.

The adrenaline in their blood twists, dips lower and settles in their core.  Their lips part around a pitchy, desperate little noise that makes him chuckle.

They laugh back, arching their back to luxuriate in the feeling of him thrumming against them like a second pulse.  There’s hedonism and revelry in this game of theirs—a dizzying concoction that mixes with the instinctual fear.  Kerosene pouring down their throat, stoking the flames of some heretofore hidden appetite.

He swallows their screams and their laughter the same.  Ravenous.  Savoring.  

A little blood, a little death.  Satisfaction for an instinct they can’t quite find the flavor of.

"Hmmm, you certainly are much more fun to chase these days."  He hums.  It's as close to a genuine compliment as they've come to expect from Vere.  “You work on that stamina a little more and you might even start to satisfy me.”  They huff, hands scrabbling at the wall for leverage – leverage; the word presses itself into their mind, insistent – and he watches them with eyes narrowed in amusement as they wrap their calves around his body and sink their teeth into his lip.

Repayment in kind.

(They wonder if it will be enough.)

[mrt-s]

Tribute to 102 of my favorite and some of the most iconic Movie Costumes (part 14/17)

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse 2018 (Gwen Stacy, Hailee Steinfeld), Costume Design by Veronika Rogoza, Katia Scarpa, Jason Latour, Robbi Rodriguez and Rico Renzi; Barbie 2023 (Ken, Ryan Gosling), Costume Design by Jacqueline Durran; Hannah Montana: The Movie 2009 (Hannah Montana, Miley Cyrus), Costume Design by Christopher Lawrence; Enchanted 2007 (Giselle, Amy Adams), Costume Design by Mona May; The Hunger Games 2012 (Effie Trinket, Elizabeth Banks), Costume Design by Judianna Makovsky; Who Framed Roger Rabbit 1988 (Jessica Rabbit, Kathleen Turner), Costume Design by Joanna Johnston.

[s-talking]

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐒 || ♬

+ a lil bonus !

[crabcanwrite]

We’re Okay, He’s Okay

Angstpril Day 27: Giving all they’ve got

Words: 1.2k

Fandom: The Hunger Games

Ships: Gale/Peeta/reader

Warnings: a/b/o, pregnant reader,

“If it weren’t for the baby”

One sentence managed to turn your blood to ice and made you whine as you scrambled to hug him tightly, burying your face against his neck. “How did you know?”

“It’s your scent.” He kissed you gently, making you blush. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“You might as well have a neon sign above your head.” Peeta wrapped his arm around your waist and let you relax in his arms. “Want to go back to our room?”

“Mhm,” you whined quietly but let him lead you offstage and into the elevator. He frowned as you clung onto him. “This changes things…”

You nodded. “1 has a lot of victors, but 12? It’s just you and Haymitch, and you’ll never let him go back.”

“I’ll come back to you, I promise.” an arm wrapped around your stomach, feeling the nonexistent baby bump.

You looked up at him with wide, sad eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” he pulled you into your hotel room and lay down, letting you squish yourself into his chest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Whose baby is it?” You could hear the sadness in his voice as he pressed himself against you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “Gale’s, it’s his baby.”

“Why?” Peeta growled before taking a breath.

“He found me during my last heat; it was a bad one.” You kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry, he was good to me.”

“Are you sure?” He leaned down and inspected you for any bruises or cuts. “He didn’t hurt you? He took care of you?”

“I’m sure.” You shushed his growling and took his hands in yours. “He was more than gentle; you would’ve liked it.”

“Oh,” his face turned red, “well, good.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m still yours.” You kissed him gently. “No one else will change that.”

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to the whole open relationship thing; I didn’t expect the first guy you dated to get you pregnant.”

“Don’t be; it’s new for me too.” You laughed and kissed him again before wrapping your arms around him as he did the same. “Trust me, I didn’t think Gale of all people would get me pregnant.”

“I think the baby being Haymitch’s would’ve surprised me more.”

That made you nearly choke on air and make an odd half-coughing, half-laughing sound. “You couldn’t pay me enough for that, no offense to Haymitch.”

“Good” soft growling filled the room as Peeta ran his hands over your stomach. “It’ll be okay; I’ll make Haymitch promise to keep you safe,”

~

It was the first day of the games; you sat in Haymitch’s living room, curled up and watching with rapt attention.

You had been watching since the parade, only getting up to use the bathroom. Haymitch crouched down next to you. “Y/N?”

“Mhm?” You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, desperately searching for your husband.

“You need to stop.” A hand was placed on your arm, and the screen went black, making you jolt before starting to sob, “Haymitch!”

“I know, I know,” he pulled you into a tight hug, “but you’re gonna make yourself crazy.”

“But— but what if he dies?” Tears wet Haymitch’s shirt as you cried, and he made a strange half-shushing, half-growling noise.

Which made you laugh, “Are you trying to comfort me?”

“Give me a break; it’s been a while!” He groaned and picked you up unceremoniously, carrying you to the kitchen table and setting you down in front of it. “Sit.”

You huffed but sat down anyway as a bowl of stew was placed in front of you, which you scarfed down.

It was the meat Gale had brought by earlier; he’d said it was the best pieces. “I’ve eaten; can I get back to watching now?”

“No, now you’re going to take a shower and go to sleep in an actual bed.”

“Just tell me if anything happens, okay?”

“I promise.”

You managed to shower without breaking out into full hysterics, only to find yourself lying awake in bed.

It was too cold and too large and empty without Peeta next to you.

Dozing in and out of sleep left you unsure of what was going on, stuck between dreams and reality.

Finally a knock on the door snapped you out of it. You stumbled out of bed and to the living room, where Gale stood in the doorway.

“…Gale?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

“Y/N? You don’t look too good.” He ran to your side and wrapped his arms around you. “Baby, you can’t just watch the games 24/7.”

“It’s the closest thing I have to being with him,” you whimpered as he led you into the kitchen.

“He’s okay, I promise.” Gale pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled out a bag of meat. “Take a nap; I’ll make something for breakfast.”

“Mkay” you mumbled as you collapsed onto the couch.

This time, it was Haymitch who woke you and helped you back to the table, where Gale set a plate of food in front of you.

“Thank you.” You ate slower this time, trying to keep yourself from panicking. “Is he okay?”

“He’s okay.” Gale nodded and took your hand. “He’ll come back.”

“Okay.”

~

After a long three days of trying to survive by the lake, you were finally brought to District 13.

Gale lay curled on top of you in your shared room; it was a fruitless attempt at comforting you after another one of Peeta’s TV interviews.

You buried your face into his neck. “It’s gone, it’s all gone.”

“Shh, it’s not all gone.” He pressed kisses across the top of your head. “I’m here. We’ll get him back, Y/N, I promise you.”

Silence answered before you whimpered quietly and tightened your grip, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

After an impossibly long week you were finally allowed to see Peeta, as long as Gale was with you.

You practically ran into his hospital room, stopping just short of jumping onto him. “Peeta!”

“…Y/N?” His voice was flat, as empty as his gaze.

“I’m here, sweetheart; we’re here.” You laid your hand on his. Gale waved awkwardly and stood at your side. “Are you okay?”

“Gale?” Peeta looked up at him. “Why?”

“He, uhm—“ you sat down on Peeta’s bed “—he got me pregnant.”

Peeta tried to reach over but was stopped by the restraints before you could react.

He growled and bit at them, ending up biting himself more often than not. Gale undid the restraints, shushing him softly, “It’s okay, you’re free now.”

Peeta looked up at him and gave him a glassy-eyed look before nodding and reaching over to press his hand against your stomach. “Baby?”

You nodded and kissed his cheek, making him blush dark red. He whined softly, “Mine?”

“Technically ours,” you gestured around the room. Peeta growled gently, “Is he safe?”

“Yes, love, I promise.” You scooted over and motioned for Gale to sit down. “He won’t hurt any of us.”

“I promise, Peeta.” Carefully, as if he were made of glass, Gale pulled Peeta into his lap. “You’re safe here.”

“Katniss can’t hurt us?” His voice was small and wary. “You’ll protect me?”

“Yes, love.” You curled up against him as Gale pulled you both into his arms. Peeta whined and hid his face in Gale’s arm. “Sorry.”

“For what?” You reached up to run a hand through his hair, finding tears on his face.

“Acting like an omega” 

“You can act however you want, baby.” Gale leaned down to kiss his head. “You’re still our alpha.”

“Your alpha”

[stummylover69]

*slams this here and runs away*

[crispyjenkins]

hunger 'verse "crispy has lost control of their life again" celebration sneak peek

will be starting a wip wednesday sort of thing maybe next week (which will include more than star wars related stuff since that's where most of my time is going these days), but wanted to do a lil celebration today 'cause i recently exceeded a thousand hours in skyrim, in less than a year, and that's quite an achievement for someone who said they'd never even touch an elder scrolls game so here's a lil sneak peek at the next and penultimate chapter of all we have is hunger! i'm really excited for the second to last scene of the whole fic but i haven't even started writing it yet so here's this instead~ (told y'all there would eventually be qui-gon—punching)

When Jaster Mereel comes at him fist-first with no prologue, Qui-Gon sighs and accepts it.

  It’s far from the first time he’s been punched in the face, and it’s not even the first time Jaster has done so, but the sharp impact is as nausea-inducing as ever, even having expected and braced himself for it.

  “If I thought you could accept, I’d challenge you to an honour duel right here, right now, Master Jinn,” the man snarls, panting more from the effort of restraining himself than the actual blow.

  It probably says something about Qui-Gon, and his many recent blunders that he isn’t sure which exactly Jaster is pissed at him for.

  “However,” Jaster grits, watching him hold his nose with a snarl of satisfaction. It doesn’t look like he’d drawn much blood, but Jaster hadn’t held back either, Qui-Gon’s eyes watering even as he stands there and accepts Jaster’s rage. “As it is, I won’t ask you to set aside your own culture to satisfy mine, but make no mistake: you would not win.”

  “I am aware,” Qui-Gon coughs, and is actually relieved he can’t see how the others scattered in the courtyard are taking such a violent interruption of their afternoon. “May I ask for what you’d be challenging my honour?”

  Scoffing, Jaster forces himself to relax, and props his helmet on his hip. “Obi-Wan.”

  “... Unfortunately, you’ll have to be more specific.”

  Jaster bears his teeth in a mirthless smile, but doesn’t actually answer Qui-Gon’s question. “Where is my son?”  he asks instead, looking around the courtyard as if Jango Fett would appear from the small crowd their altercation has gathered.

  With a sigh, Qui-Gon holds his sleeve to his nose and avoids the glare of one of the handmaidens. “Presumably with Messere Naberrie,” he says, “though I should warn you that there is another Jedi from my Temple that may be with him as well.”

  “Plo Koon,” Jaster agrees with a satisfied nod, “I look forward to seeing him again. Jinn.” He gives Qui-Gon a perfunctory nod of farewell and doesn’t wait for a response, marching into the palace proper like the military man he is.

  Qui-Gon lets out another sigh.

-

[titansandcurses]

best movie soundtracks of all time:

spider-man: into the spider-verse

the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes

sinners

[cherrywhite]

One thing I love about Hayward in s1 is ya, sure, he's a cop. But most notably, he's not even a good cop. 

Hear me out. This isn't saying Hayward does not have the intuition one would associate with your typical, glorified cop from tv shows (in chapter 40, Hayward is absolutely right in that he immediately figured Carpenter out the moment he spotted her in Marcel's Crossing) and other instances, like chapter 43, shows that he has good reflexes for moments under fire (is the first to notice Brother Philly and co. at the door and pushes Carpenter out of the way). Not to mention that Hayward was on the force since he was 19, and to survive on the force for that long means he surely had plenty of solved cases under his belt, regardless if pressure has slowly built up by the time we're introduced to him.

No, when I say he's not even a good cop I mean in the sense of: he's not good at what cops actually do. 

One of the very first things Felix reminds him is to not "forget his gun this time." Implying that this has happened before, enough times for Felix to sound audibly tired about it (and he does have to go back for his gun at least two times in season 1). When Mr. Finch points a gun at him, he sits on the ground for a conversation. When asked, Hayward is confused as to why Daggler would need a knife when they find Carpenter and Faulkner's abandoned car, the thought of slashing the tires never even crossing his mind. And instead of immediately taking her into custody with no warrant whatsoever aside for his hunch, he sits down with Carpenter for an amicable conversation and a meal; only later showing his hand long enough to warn her that he's a cop and he's on to her. He's a cop and he has the Stink on him; because s1 Hayward is a bad cop. Because he does not immediately resort to violence. 

(And this isn't to dismiss his role as a cop entirely, something we're never fully privy to; chapter 3 alone shows us how his mere position as a cop was enough to cause a death that could have easily been avoided, because that role prevented Hayward from providing Mr. Finch with the actual help he needed.)

Daggler is such a ridiculous, exaggerated character but he's also the picture perfect cop. The Lieutenant-Colonel sends Daggler of all people, when they think Hayward can't solve the case. And, look, we don't really know what Daggler's position on the force is compared to Hayward, but he's clearly trusted enough to be sent, to be the exception to personal gods and keep a rhetorical god. Clearly trusted enough to close the case efficiently. Yes, Daggler is utterly ridiculous when put next to Hayward but that's because Hayward is a bad cop. Daggler is the ideal: he gets results quickly (by losing patience and immediately assaulting the bookseller), he takes perps to court and wins (with the use of The Coiling Speaks, not a liar's god btw), and he knows how to tell a compelling story (because of course Carpenter tried to attack Hayward. And of course the Good Cop shot and killed the Heretic to Protect His Partner). Good publicity all around.

S1 Hayward shows that there is no "good cop;" because being "good" is antithetical to what's expected of cops. There was no way he could continue being good and being a cop, it's why the Stink was beginning to creep up on him. "You're one of them nice coppers." says Mr. Finch. Nice. Not good. Because so-called good cops are probably the first to get sacrificed; because these institutions are not built with morality in mind.

[felixravinstills]

Based on the romeblr one that gets reblogged every week to my dash.

[toxintouch]

Deicide - the killing (or the killer) of a god. Vere x Reader/Unspecified MC. ✦Read on AO3

VERE: DEICIDE

“Fuck fairness. Life’s not fair.”

If life were fair, this would all have happened differently. In a different time. Long before Eridia was even a smear on the maps, back when he wandered the world as a deity. With fresh air in his lungs and sweet blood on his teeth. He'd track the tantalizing scent of you for days once he'd caught it on the wind. His mouth would water at just the echo of your taste; perhaps he'd have to stop for a snack just to keep his palate from tingling.

(But then–the lutist hadn't tasted of you at all, though the delightful promise of you had been heady–vibrant–thrilling to all of his senses. He'd dined on the composition of your suffering, the warm fear in your breath, the quick jump of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He'd kept the taste of you on his tongue, but still, he couldn't chase it fast enough to be satisfied indulging in another.)

He'd wreak havoc on the world to find you. Hunt you.

Let the people who hid you from him stew in terror at his approach. He'd eat a hundred unsatisfying appetizers just to bring the stench of death to those who dared...

Vere would demand you. Cast his shadow on your little shithole of a village and bear his teeth until they hand you over to him.

(And fuck. The way you'd smell up close–the new intricacies he could discern when he loomed over you, his snout bigger than your body. Would you tremble for him, would you fall to your knees?)

Vere should be your object of worship, your every thought and fear and desire, but instead he begs you for scraps. He twines pretty words around you when his chain is loose enough to reach. He tempts. He enraptures you with silky promises when you should be his by right.

Hundreds of years he's wandered looking for a counterpart, some hidden corner of his soul hopelessly devoted to the thought of a kindred spirit– not quite Human, not quite Monster.

You've been owed to him since his lonesome birth. He's ached for your presence ever since that first betrayal, a stinging knife lodged in the soft flesh between his ribs.

 Oh, but he'd have been a kind god to you. Eventually. But you? Selfish, loathsome, greedy little thing. Forever playing keep-away,

( –defiant eyes and quivering lips, in the damp corner behind the Wet Wick, cloying smell drowning out the odor of vermin– )

content to consume his thoughts and mind, ask all your questions and give nothing back.

He's been starving for you for so long. The least you could do is let him take a bite.

[lovebeatriceplz]

My favorite fathers/ father figures in media

Happy father's day ♡ ( to those who deserve it)