#writing hunger

[novlr]

Do you have tips on writing a character who hasn't eaten in a while?

Hunger is more than a mere rumble in the belly; it is a powerful human experience that intertwines emotion with the physical, influencing a character’s actions and shaping their decisions. Whether it is the gnawing emptiness of a missed meal or the desperate ache of long-term deprivation, hunger can be a compelling force in storytelling.

Behaviour

Persistent thoughts of food

Increased irritability or lack of focus

Hoarding behaviours

Overprotective around food

Frequently visit places where food can be obtained

Partake in activities that distract from hunger

Eager to accept food-related invitations or tasks

Unusually willing to consume foods they normally wouldn’t

A gradual decline in energy or enthusiasm

Show obsessive behaviours

Interactions

Easily agitated in social situations

Conversations frequently divert back to topics of food

Bartering or trading items of value for food

Impatient when waiting for food in group settings

Feel shame or embarrassment when their hunger is noticed

Increased generosity when they have food, knowing what it’s like to be without

Reluctance to share food or an obsession with equal portions

Withdraw from social interactions to avoid exposing their hunger

Probe others for information about potential food sources

Relationships could be strained or strengthened through the sharing or withholding of food

Body language

Slumped or listless posture due to low energy

Stomach clutching or other physical manifestations of hunger

Fidgety, restless movements or a loss of coordination

Fixation with watching others eat or staring at food

Slow, lethargic response to stimuli unrelated to food

Exhibit rapid eating behaviours when food is available

Frequently licking lips in anticipation of eating

Increased response to food-related stimuli, like smelling food from afar

Distracted gaze, as if looking for food opportunities

Display physical signs of malnutrition, such as physical weakness, hair loss or sallow skin

Attitude

Pessimistic or short-tempered

Single-mindedness focus that prioritises food

Impolite or a lack of social graces

Increased risk-taking behaviour through desperation

Manipulative

Fluctuating moods

Sense of hopelessness

Heightened sense of gratitude for any food received

A less discerning perspective on what is considered ‘edible’

Reevaluating personal values and priorities

Positive story outcomes

Lead to resourcefulness and problem-solving skills

Strengthening of relationships through shared experiences of scarcity

Hunger may catalyse a character’s personal growth or shift in perspective

Lead to communities coming together to support each other

Characters might discover new talents or skills in their quest to find food

Act as a motivator for a character to overcome obstacles

May lead to intense moments of satisfaction or relief when resolved

Build an appreciation for the simple things in life, including basic sustenance

Show how hunger can become a catalyst for social or political change.

Can be the driving force behind a character’s ultimate success story.

Negative story outcomes

Chronic hunger can lead to physical and mental health decline

May push characters to commit acts they would normally consider immoral

Show the breakdown of social order or relationships

Result in a character’s loss of dignity or self-respect

Can have a debilitating effect on a character’s ability to achieve their goals

Character development might take a dark turn, showing a descent into obsession or madness

Tragic endings, such as starvation or conflict over resources

Expose societal inequities and drive wedges between groups

Illustrate the loss of innocence, as characters are forced to confront harsh realities

An insurmountable barrier, leading to unfulfilled potential or unfinished journeys

Helpful adjectives

Ravenous

Starving

Famished

Hollow-stomached

Craving

Unfulfilled

Pining

Empty

Desperate

Gut-wrenching

Aching

Parched

Gaunt

Gnawing

Consuming emptiness

Insatiable

Malnourished

[rjalker]

and now suddenly at 1am I am ravenous

the downsides to actually being able to eat a slightly decent breakfast and lunch >:(

tip for writers: characters who are constantly going without enough to eat will not feel hungry until they've actually had a proper sized meal.

You'll know you should be eating something, but you will not get stomach growls or anything until you've actually had a decent meal and had time to digest it. Hours later you'll actually physically feel hungry.

this is one of the things that really annoyed me about Life As We Know it, besides all the bigotry. That author clearly had no clue what she was talking about. Everyone always gets this wrong.

do not tag this as whump I'm tired of that ableist shit. Yes you can reblog unless you're gonna be annoying.

[cringengl]

Re reading the original hunger games is so funny bcus katniss can literally read haymitch's mind like what. I'm dying of thirst but haymitch hasn't sent me water, that must mean that there's some nearby!! And one kiss is one pot of broth!! Like she even acknowledges that it's strange when she's like oh to peeta this would just be a pot of broth. Haymitch will give her one look and katniss knows immediately what he means and she's right every time

Meanwhile peeta is like your dress really suits you and you look nice :) and katniss is like he's trying to kill me

[the-overanalyst]

it's always so fascinating and heartbreaking when a character in a story is simultaneously idolized and abused. a chosen prophet destined for martyrdom. a child prodigy forced to grow up too fast. a powerful warrior raised as nothing but a weapon. there's just something so uniquely messed up about singing someone's praises whilst destroying them.

[timelesslords]

thinking about how the hunger games were designed to prove that without society, order, government, someone to rule, we devolve into little more than animals, and how the games themselves prove over and over again that this is not true. We see it in every single game we witness.

Katniss placing flowers around Rue's body in the arena. Thresh sparing Katniss because she was kind to Rue, even though he was making it that much harder for himself to win.

Haymitch going back for Maysilee after hearing her scream even though their alliance had been broken. Haymitch holding her as she dies the same way Katniss did Rue.

Coral's "I can't have killed them all for nothing" when she realizes she's not going home. Lamina cutting down Marcus at great personal risk. And, my favorite moment in tbosas, Reaper collecting the bodies of his fellow tributes, his peers, even the ones who tried to kill him, into a pile. Taking the weapons from their hands. Closing their eyes and crossing their arms in the best approximation of a proper burial he can manage, covering them with the Capitol flag as a makeshift shroud.

The Games bring out the worst in people, yes. But despite the extreme circumstances, despite the exterior pressure of the Capitol, despite the fact that it could mean pain and heartbreak and death, it also shows that people have an enormous capacity for goodness. That even in a situation purposefully designed to make empathy impossible, people can't help but have it anyway.

Snow looks at the Games and all he can see is what's inside himself-- this pure animalistic drive to conquer and defeat. He kills and it feels good and he thinks that everyone else must feel that way too. He doesn't realize (maybe can't realize) that he is the exception, not the rule. He cannot see outside himself, outside his own warped perspective, to realize that the fact that people do show humanity in the games proves his entire worldview wrong.

[shinynewmemories]

Broke: "Katniss was only with Peeta because of their shared trauma from the Games and the events that followed. After what they went through together, there was no one who truly understood her like Peeta. But if Prim and Peeta had never been reaped, Katniss would have ended up with Gale/stayed single."

Woke: "The Games and the events that followed brought Katniss and Peeta together, but there was something special between them since the day with the bread. Katniss had a subconscious interest in him since they were 11, and after the reaping she couldn't help but fall for him due to their close proximity. The Games weren't her reason for choosing Peeta, but they were a catalyst for their relationship."

Bespoke: "The Games did more to hinder Katniss and Peeta's relationship than to help it. In fact, without the Games to complicate things, Katniss would have fallen for Peeta fast and hard. The Games and the events that followed were responsible for countless barriers to their love including (but not limited to):

1. Instilling in Katniss a distrust of Peeta that did not come naturally to her

2. Forcing her to act in love, regardless of the authenticity of her feelings, in order to survive

3. Broadcasting every moment they shared, no matter how intimate/private, onto every screen in every house in the country

4. Driving them apart due to the pain and confusion that followed the inevitable end of her "star-crossed lovers" act

5. Making their relationship a political tool of manipulation and oppression

6. Leading Snow to hold Katniss personally responsible for defusing the civil unrest within the Districts by means of their love story

7. Forcing them under threat of death to act in love for the rest of their lives, thereby taking away their agency and ability to choose each other out of real love or desire

8. Robbing them of a future together, even if they wanted it, by returning Katniss to the Games and ensuring the death of at least one of them

9. Traumatizing them in ways they'll have to deal with for the remainder of their lives

10. So many other things

The Hunger Games is NOT the story of how Katniss fell in love with Peeta due to or even during the Games. It's the story of how Katniss fell in love with Peeta IN SPITE OF THEM."

[feral-ballad]

Alex Dimitrov, from Love and Other Poems; “The Weather of Our Lives”

[Text ID: “someone presses their teeth / to your skin and shows / just how needed you are.”]

[petranaradulovic]

i wrote about how every subsequent Hunger Games book feels like Suzanne Collins grabbing a certain section of readers by the scruff of the neck and shaking them to finally get the fucking point 

[auroralwriting]

𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦

pairing: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: your stylist must hate you, putting you into a corset so tight. thank god finnick odair is there to save you

warnings: female reader, finnick and reader are friends with implied feelings, mentions of capitol people being awful people, finnick being a sweetheart, no use of y/n

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that you hated Capitol parties. They were always extremely extravagant, filled with the most obnoxiously unaware people you had probably ever met. Being a Victor was nothing less than a major pain in the ass. You lived, but you also lived with the pains of the Capitol and Snow breathing down your neck every five seconds.

It wasn't uncommon for Victors to be invited to parties in the Capitol. It was actually rather unusual for them not to be invited. After all, they were the real Capitol stars. So, here you were, drinking some bubbly liquor that tasted incredibly awful in comparison to any other drink, fake smiling and laughing with some socialites who wouldn't leave you alone for more than two minutes at a time.

Their stories were very unimpressive. Dull and lifeless, like how someone stepped on a bug while shopping, or how another ate so much they had to throw up six times. Stories from the Districts were always better. Folk stories or real, it really didn't matter. At least they were interesting and not about something stupid like fashion or gossip.

The worst part of the whole night was that your stylist must've hated you. You wore some long, pirate-esque, flowy skirt with the most painful heels that had ever been made along with the tightest corset you'd ever worn. It was squeezing all of your insides in all the wrong ways. If you turned the wrong way or breathed too hard, it really hurt. You were sure if you bent over, you'd crack your ribs. It was torturous to be wearing such a thing.

You managed to laugh at all their jokes, share stories back and forth, and pretend to be interested just long enough to tolerate the pain. But now it was becoming a little bit too hard to manage. It felt like you could no longer breathe normally. You were all too aware of your breathing. If you stopped thinking about it, there was a chance you'd stop completely, at least, that's what you convinced yourself. Your fake smile seemed harder to keep up as a socialite finished their story.

"Honestly, isn't that just the most terrible thing you've heard?" You fake laughed, nodding along as best as you could with your circumstances and disinterest. "I mean, I couldn't imagine anything more awful that a broken heel!" How ignorant. Ever heard of The Hunger Games?

"I would have thrown a fit it if were me," another socialite said, seeming very remorseful.

A different one nodded, "Truly the most nightmarish ending to your evening."

As you stood there, you wondered if it could it be possible that the corset was getting tighter. There was no possible way it could have been, but it sure felt like it. The squeezing was becoming incredibly unbearable. Every little breath ached your ribs and sides. You were positive there would be bruises in the corset's place tomorrow. Maybe the injuries you'd sustained during your Games a few years ago weren't so bad seeing as you were sure you were about to suffocate and die right there on Snow's courtyard.

"The only nightmarish ending I can think of is leaving this party without a lovely lady on my arm." It was like the heavens had graced you with Finnick's presence. If you could have released a breath of relief, you probably would have. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen," Finnick turned to you, giving you a small smile. You returned it, strained, but you returned it.

Oh, sweet Finnick. He was your best friend. His presence was so comforting no matter where you were. It was times like these you wondered how he could just waltz over when you needed him the most. You weren't sure how he did it, but you were damn thankful that he did. You were hoping he would get the hint that something was wrong without needing to raise all hell to make it obvious.

"I can't see you having a hard time leaving without a gorgeous, lucky woman on your arm," the first socialite said to Finnick. She must've hoped it was her. "After all, you are our Golden Boy."

Finnick chuckled, smiling with those gorgeous teeth of his. "Well, someone has to keep the standards high."

"I'm sure you won't have trouble leaving here with a lucky man, either, darling." Your eyes shot over to the third socialite who had addressed you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak anymore.

"I'm sure I won't." Your voice felt strained. Did it sound strained? You hoped it didn't. The last thing you wanted was to look like you were suffering.

Finnick, however, could sense the tone in your voice from a mile away. You were his friend, after all. Probably his best one if he was being honest. The sharp nod you gave, the raised, airy tone to your voice were all very worrisome signs. His eyes searched your face for answers you tried to hide from any prying eyes. However, the way you tugged down at the bottom of your corset was.. something. Were you anxious, uncomfortable, upset? Finnick couldn't place it. There were just too many missing details. He knew something was wrong. It was like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box.

The conversation continued onwards. Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Finnick's hand that moved to softly rest on your lower back. You couldn't decide if it was for comfort or in case you passed out from lack of oxygen. You assumed it was for comfort. The good news was that if your face turned blue, you'd match the shades of your outfit for the night. If you considered that good news. Maybe it wouldn't look all that displaced after all.

Only one singular minute had passed and you quickly realized that not even Finnick's welcomed gesture would be enough to help you. You felt yourself begin to panic, the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. The more you panicked, the more your breathing would increase. That would only cause yourself more pain and frustration, not to mention it would double your anxiety. What a horrible domino effect that would be.

Keeping your cool was becoming impossible. You tried to hold as still as a statue to keep from moving and upsetting the corset more, but it was proving very difficult. Holding your breath wasn't really an option here, so the only thing to do was try and remain calm.

When the first very sharp pain radiated through your ribs, you knew you were done for. You sucked in a very noticeable breath, thankfully, only Finnick had heard. The conversation had continued, but the words had fallen deaf to your ears. It had been long forgotten amid your growing panic.

"Ah," Finnick said, abruptly pausing the conversation, "we completely forgot, but we're meant to meet with the president. If you'll excuse us." Finnick was pushing on your lower back, now. He guided you through the crowd, up some stairs and into one of the first open rooms he could find. The moment you were inside, you pressed on your stomach, trying to give yourself comfort, but ultimately failing. "What's wrong?" Finnick quickly asked, approaching you with worry in his expression. "Sweetheart, talk to me."

Now you were positive you couldn't talk. Your head felt dizzy and your tongue felt numb. You shook your head, tears brimming your eyes as you scratched at the corset. Finnick's eyes were darting to your hands and back to your face over and over, trying to understand what you were trying to convey to him.

You opened your mouth, trying to find words, but all you could manage was an awful wheeze. Your lungs and throat burned like fire. You were sure your face was turning red. Finnick's eyes widened as he quickly grabbed your shoulders, turning you around so your back was facing him. You felt his hands on your back again, but this time, they had a mission. Finnick grabbed a hold of the ribbon of your corset, not so much as grunting as he tore it apart.

The moment the ribbon tore, you gasped, sucking in as much air as you could as you fell to your knees, holding the front of the corset to your chest as you heaved, the air feeling so incredible that you took note to never take breathing for granted. Finnick was by your side in a heartbeat, hand on your back rubbing soothing circles on your now exposed skin. "It's okay, you're okay. Slow, deep breaths. Don't rush, nice and slow." His voice slowly worked the panic out of your system, your inhales deep, but exhales shaky and unsteady.

"I couldn't breathe," your voice was soft, almost as if talking were still too much to handle, "every breath hurt."

Finnick nodded, "I know, honey. I know, it's alright now. You're okay." You looked up to Finnick, watching his expression. He no longer looked panicked, but he still looked just as worried as before. "Do you need anything? Water?"

You shook your head. "Sit with me? Please?"

The two of you sat against the couch, sitting on the floor looking utterly exhausted. It was obvious the night had worn you both out, from the socialization to your near suffocation. Your head fell over, leaning on Finnick's shoulder as his head rested on top of you own.

"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?" Finnick quietly asked. "I heard the waves will be perfect. You can bring that book you're reading and we can have lunch."

"That sounds nice," you hummed, "I'd like that a lot."

After a few more quiet minutes, you realized both of your absences would start to look rather suspicious. You both knew that it was long past time to go back to the party, but the silence you shared was too nice to give up just yet.

"Thank you for saving me," you thanked, looking over and up at Finnick.

He shook his head with a soft exhale, "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I got you up here in time." Finnick slowly stood up, holding your head as he stood so you wouldn't fall over. He held out a hand to help you stand up.

"Wait, I can't go back out there like this." You could. The Capitol people would love it. Seeing you holding the corset onto your chest to cover yourself. You knew deep down that the position you were in would make the people go wild for you. It was the kind of attention you weren't looking for. The kind of attention you never looked for.

Finnick didn't hesitate to take off his poet shirt, leaving his upper half bare, besides his shark tooth necklace. He didn't even need a second thought. The moment you started to speak, he knew what you were going to say. It was an easy choice for him to make. He would do anything to protect you.

Denying Finnick's kindness wasn't something he'd let you turn down, so you accepted. Finnick turned around while you put it on, only turning back around when he heard you fumbling with the sleeves. He helped roll them up so they weren't as long, while you began to tuck it into your skirt.

"You'll get cold," you commented worriedly, remembering what the chilled breeze had felt like on your own skin not too long ago.

"Then stay with me and keep me warm," Finnick replied, a small smile on his face. You chuckled airly, smiling back at him. "You look beautiful. They'll think we both just did a small wardrobe change. And that's what we'll tell them if they ask. I doubt they will. Capitol isn't all that observational."

You looked at Finnick, biting your bottom lip, "I wish we didn't have to go yet." You wished you could stay in this room with Finnick all night. Unfortunately, that was no option.

He seemed to agree based on the way his smile turned lopsided. "Just think about all the fun we'll have tomorrow. The waves, the wind, us. I'll even bring us some coconuts to crack open."

"And my book," you insisted. "I'll read it to you."

"My favorite activity," Finnick nodded. He held his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Let's get this night over with." His offer was easily understood, even if he didn't say it. Let's get this night over with together.

[licorice-and-rum]

Something that really hit my like a punch about SOTR is how Suzanne Collins decided to write Haymitch's relationship with the women in his life because (in a clear contrast with Snow) even in his times of doubt over them, even when he's talking about Drusilla (fuck her btw), he still has a level of respect Snow didn't show for any of the women in his life in TBOSAS.

He sees Maysilee and Louella as sisters and each of them have strengths he admires deeply — in contrast with Snow thinking of Tigris (his actual cousin) as someone whose appearance "invited abuse."

Even Lenore Dove's most worrisome characteristics come for Haymitch from a place of care and love for her, from a desire to keep her safe, not to control her. Haymitch loved Lenore Dove for who she was, regardless of her rebelliousness maybe causing trouble for him. I don't even have to mention the contrast to Snow, right?

Even Effie, whose alienation certainly annoyed him, is talked about in a way thay shows and extensive highlights her empathy beneath her propagandized opinions. Haymitch never disrespects Effie or thinks of her disrespectfully despite the fact that is hinted that she has some behaviors that annoyed him. Snow, however, thinks of his female classmates with a irritated tone that visibly undermines them and their good traits.

Even the contrast between Drusilla and Gaul. Right, Drusilla is not as powerful as Gaul when they're presented to the reader, and Haymitch and Snow come from very different places, but Drusilla is the closes thing Haymitch will get to a powerful ally from the Capitol. Yet, he rejects her (in a quieter way than Maysilee does but still does it) almost right away because of her obvious cruelty. It doesn't appeal to him is the slightest like it does to Snow.

Also, the contrast between how Snow and Haymitch see the sacrifices the women in their lives make with the former disgusted at Tigris and the later showing how much he loves his mom (also) because of all the sacrifices she made to keep him and Sid alive and well, even if it devastates him (like the fact that they don't have a cake in the birthdays in fairness to him not getting a cake or the loss of the shirt his mother had so carefully sewn together for him).

Suzanne Collins didn't just made her mission to say a big fuck you to people who were romanticizing Snow, she showed us what we all should expect from a man (again btw) and you gotta respect her for it.

[pixlatedvampire]

It’s best to introduce your Hag slowly through the door first to not scare the others

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[whenthewallfell]

So I've seen a few band!Everlark aus and they tend to have Katniss as a singer songwriter, but tbh I really don't think she'd be a good lyricist. She's closed off from her emotions and doesn't like talking about herself or her opinions, and I just can't see her allowing herself to be that vulnerable.

But you know who IS an established creative, who's known for his way with words and penchant for describing his favourite colours via similes? Someone who isn't intensely private and would actually be willing to put his emotions out into the world?

Imagine, if you will, Peeta writing excruciatingly honest confessions buried under metaphor and clever wordplay. Writing album after album of the most heartfelt love songs for Katniss to sing back to him with a voice that charms the birds from the trees, knowing full well that she'd never look close enough to realise who they're about. Imagine him hiding in plain sight, driving their band relentlessly towards fame so that she finally gets the recognition she deserves, so that she can finally see herself through his eyes.

Imagine Katniss bringing these lyrics to life for the world to hear, unsure why someone like Peeta, a boy shining brighter than the sun and with words that could move mountains, would ever waste his time on her. Imagine her dedicating herself to their band in an attempt to repay him for the gift of words that changed her life forever. For the chance share that gift with others and have them see what she sees, these glimpses of the worlds locked away inside him

[queuestarter]

bare

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: blood

link to the request → reader's clothes get ruined after the blood rain and finnick helps her rinse them

open to requests !!

You can hardly see as you stumble out from the dense jungle, Johanna mere feet behind you.

“Fuck,” you groan, spitting out a mouthful of thick, hot liquid. “What is this shit?”

“Blood,” Johanna says, coughing behind you. You can’t see her, but you can hear the aggravation in her voice. “We just got covered in blood.”

You feel arms wrap around you and you start to fight back on instinct. “Calm down,” the person holding you says. “It’s just me.”

Finnick.

You turn around in his arms, not caring that you’re spreading the blood from the jungle all over him. You haven’t seen him since you were on the pedestals and all of the emotions that you’ve been forced to hold in since then rush out. “Finn,” you cry, tears clearing a pathway on your red cheeks. “I’m dirty.”

You wipe your eyes in time to barely make out Johanna making her way towards the ocean and you instinctively follow her. The outfit that you’re wearing is waterproof, but the blood has seeped through it somehow, leaving every part of you stained with blood.

Finnick follows you to the water, gently guiding you past the lightly lapping waves.”I’m so dirty, I need to clean off.”

“Let me help you, love,” Finnick says, gently unzipping your suit and exposing your skin. “Let’s get a little deeper, okay?”

You nod and step further into the tide. You don’t like the ocean, and being from District 3 you can’t swim. But the presence of Finnick’s hand on your waist anchors you and makes you feel safe.

You first use the salty water to clear your vision fully and the first thing you see is Finnick staring down at you, worriedly. “None of this is mine,” you assure him. “It just started pouring on us. I thought I was going to choke on it.”

Finnick says nothing, just continues to rinse off the blood from your upper body. “I have to take the rest off, my love.”

You nod and grab onto his shoulders as he takes off the rest of the suit. You’re left in a sports bra and underwear, leaving you a little bit uncomfortable that you’re going to be half naked in front of the entirety of Panem. The abundance of scars from your games are displayed to the cameras, showing off the torture that you’ve had to go through.

Once all of the blood has been washed away, you step out of the ocean. You can’t put the jumpsuit back on because it still has to dry out. You frown and wrap your arms around yourself protectively, knowing there are cameras all over displaying you to the world.

“You’re gorgeous,” Finnick whispers, pulling you close to him. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

You press a kiss to his jawline and sigh, making your way over to the rest of the victors that Finnick has collected over the course of the day.

You’ll be out of here soon enough.

-

[aloneinthedark-eagle]

Böööö 😰🥶😬

[heuheu-art]

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fun fact! goat pupils will stay horizontal no matter which way their head is tilted