Today's Warm Up: Known As The Wandering Gate, The One Who Holds The Maddened Plane In Their Mind. Their

"I love you like all-fire"

Hobie should have a little old lady who adores him

The tribes of Tumblr appeared to worship Apollo as their primary patron deity, most often under the epithet Apollo Spairahemon ("Apollo the Ball-Thrower") as a god of prophecy and sport. His name was typically invoked to celebrate a user blessed with uncommon prescience. Moments of prophecy were considered highly sacred and were often recorded, and such texts are sometimes accompanied by an artistic depiction of the god — either his traditional masculine image or, unusually, in the form of a young woman, which appears to have been an earlier style before a conservative shift toward more conventional iconography — preparing to cast a round rubber ball that our scholars believe was used in the sport known as "dodge ball". Much as other cults regarded his arrows as bringers of disease and health, this community believed that being struck by this ball would bestow prophetic visions.

Some icons are reproduced below:

An earlier depiction (c. 2020) of Apollo as a girl clad in a simple tunic and playing with other children. Figures are smiling and the image is brightly colored, indicating a celebratory outlook toward knowledge of the future.

A later piece (c. 2022) that resembles the traditional appearance of Apollo. References to childhood and play are omitted, and the god carries a more frightening aspect; perhaps this icon represented grim omens rather than good tidings.

study buddies!

Advanced Rock Paper Scissors.

Original comic post

SMBC ◆ PATREON ◆ INSTAGRAM ◆ TWITTER ◆ STORE

I first started writing this story for a friend way back in 2014, at which point it was just a couple thousand words long (and not very good, in all honesty, but I forgive myself). After a dozen revisions and rewrites down the years I finally finished working on it in late 2022. Somewhere along the way it grew to be about 220k words, and it remains to date the largest piece of fiction I've ever completed.

It was always my dearest ambition to try and bind it by hand as a gift, but, you know, time passes. Unfortunately my friend and I fell out of touch around COVID but the characters (a mixture of hers and my own) are still very dear to me and I wanted to make a physical copy to commentate the special place they will always occupy in my heart.

I was aiming for a look similar to Everyman's Library / the style of some 19th century half bindings and I'm pretty happy with the result. Used rather a lot of open source woodcut illustrations for the chapter headers and the title page, and the whole thing is bound in red leather and some 19th century reproduction marble papers.

731 pages and typeset in 10.5pt Crimson Roman

get him

the longer i sit with it, the more i think that the saddest (not without some tough fucking competition, obviously) realization about sotr to me is that almost all the tributes really, truly, did not treat the games like they had a chance.

in the original trilogy—and even in The Ballad—the tributes felt like they were genuinely scheming and training and vying to win. with every other games, it seemed like the kids held onto this hope that they would be The One to make it, the one to become victor, even if they didn’t always say it aloud. despite the odds, they clawed as close as they could to victory, even if it meant playing into the capitol’s game and sacrificing their honor or morality.

but in this one? they come into the training rooms expecting to die. even the careers, though they swagger about and act like hot shit, feel younger than the careers have ever felt to me before. they collectively seem more resigned and bitter than in past/future tributes. their motives were all so unified against the capitol in a way that was reminiscent of the 75th games—where half the tributes were already a part of an organized rebellion to begin with.

while the theme of ‘i want to choose how i die, i don’t want the capitol to use me’ is prevalent in every book, this quell felt especially grim and determined. i kept expecting suzanne collins to undermine the camaraderie she gave the Newcomers. i kept expecting someone to decide ‘fuck it, i’m going for it on my own and i’ll backstab whoever i need to to do it.’ i kept expecting betrayal and desperation and a true competition.

but no—like wyatt, knowing his odds and choosing to protect the weaker—like ampert, knowing he’s charming and smart enough to make a decent bid for victor, yet rebelling anyways—like maysilee, knowing she’s near powerless, but spitting in the capitol’s face anytime she can—like all the newcomers, knowing they hardly have a shot, but absolutely refusing to betray one another—

they remained steadfast in their hope to die dignified and honorable, to die fighting against the true enemy, and that makes it so much more heartbreaking.

This month's #BirdWhisperer was the common pigeon!

reference by Kuanish Sarsenov

cant stop thinking about sunrise on the reaping. a revolution IS really just trying again and again and again and having HOPE that itll succeed this time. and oh god plutarch talking about how they would need better timing ... the 75th hunger games arena being a clock... im SICK