#I have no answers its just interesting to think about

[theyluvivi]

"STAY THE F*CK AWAY FROM ME"... CLIENT!CHRIS.

You're drunk. You'll admit that, but it's the good type of a drunk—Not the wallowing in pity type of drunk.

You're at a party with all your girlfriends and you look good, like really good. And you feel good. You're finally standing on business.

Actually. You blocked Matt and Chris on everything, and even though you wanna unblock Chris, just a teensy a bit, you refuse to let yourself be used like that ever again.

It's the reason you don't date in the first place.

Men fucking suck.

The one that his arm wrapped around you right now is okay, though. His name is.... Luca? No, not Luca... maybe Luke? Lucas? Something with an L. You and him went shot for shot for earlier, which probably wasn't a good idea, but he's fun, you're having fun.

He's nice, like super nice. You could see yourself self liking him, you see him waking up in your bed and not immediately trying to leave. Plus, you can tell that's he's actually into you and not just talking to you in hopes in getting into your pants.

Plus, plus he has friends for your friends. That's even better.

He's the complete opposite of Chris. Blonde, tall, actually interested in you... dating him wouldn't be bad.

You giggle at the story he's telling you, biting your lip when you notice how red he's turned just from you smiling at him. "You really broke your arm like that?" He playfully rolls his eyes, "You try getting getting a ball out of a tree that high!"

You laugh so hard you shed a few tears. You even throw your head back. "It's not funny!"

When you finally stop laughing, you just grin at him, "It's a little funny," You take a gulp of your white claw, frowning when you realize that you finished it. "M' going to get another one of these? Do you want a drink?"

"I'm good." You nod, giggling again when you hear the squeak he lets out before you get up from the couch you guys are sitting on and wander off to the kitchen. You're chilling, searching around the kitchen for a cooler or at least a cup to pour some vodka in.

And you can feel the shift in the air, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You turn slightly, and you don't need to see his face to know he's here. You're able to recognize him just by his beanie.

He's spots you almost immediately. You're fucked.

You swallow hard. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath because you know that he's walking to you and that even if you were to sprint, you wouldn't be able to get back to your friends.

You don't have another moment to prepare, as soon as you open your eyes he's there, in front of you. "What?"

He scoffs. The fucking audacity— "Are you fuckin' serious?" You just cock a brow, tilting your head at him with the most unamused look on your face. "Blocking me on everythin', posting on your story grinding on some random dude—"

Oh, that's how he found you. You tune the rest out because you don't care how he saw, but—Him acting like he doesn't do the same thing?

"Are you fuckin' serious?" You accuse, "You do the same shit to me but when I do it back I'm the bad guy?" He crosses his arms, brows lowering. "You knew exactly how I was when you let me fuck you—"

"So you get to go out and fuck every girl on campus but when I go to a party and dance with a guy, its a fuckin' problem?" His jaw clenches, eyes searching yours as he slickly tries to look away.

"Answer me, Chris." You know you're about to cry, that feeling in chest getting stronger by the second. "Chris, I swear—" You say, voice still as strong as ever. "You didn' even—" He murmurs, "Shut the fuck up." He flinches, his eyes widening as you raise yell at him.

You can feel everyone at the party staring, even your friends. But, you don't care. You need to get this out.

"We're not together—we were never together, but you think you get to control me? Use me for a quick fuck and some weed? You're crazy." Hot tears run down your face, ruining your makeup.

"You're a terrible person, Chris— the shittiest, most terrible person I've ever met— And I hope everyone that's in your life realizes that and leaves you—" You shove him, voice starting to get wobbly, "Y-you treat girls like they're toys— you treated me like I was nothing—" You take a deep breath, refusing to let the sob in your throat come out.

"I never wanna see you again." You finally get out, words that have been on your mind since this entire argument started. You wipe your face, attempting to walk off, "Dea—" He grabs your wrist, "I'm serious." You yank yourself out of his grip.

"Stay the fuck away from me."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizmez @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @t0riiiis @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @badgallrora @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @mattswifeyy @sweeethrt @bee-43 @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns

a/n: ummmm who missed their most toxic situation ship!

[peterparkouryo]

impossible to ignore you | ‹𝟹

‹𝟹

prompt; The boy from the train asks you out on a date.

warnings: disgusting amount of fluff and slight angst in beginning bcuz reader is delusional.

word count: 1k

a/n: twitter is my new addiction pls follow @/arvinsfav i'm tryna reach 1,000 followers ilyyy. also i am so so sorry this is so bad, i barely read fanfics now so my inspo of words and storytelling is kinda horrible bcuz of the writers block :( forgive me i promise to do better next time.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

-

You found that school has always been a drag. No matter how many social events Midtown tried to throw at the student body, nothing could ever make you enjoy an eight hour torture of sitting through classes (lunch excluded). 

However, there was one good thing that made just a little bit of appreciation in you getting an education slightly important. 

Peter Parker.

After properly meeting him on the train a few weeks prior, you found yourself seeking him out, wanting to know whatever you could about him without making it stalkerish, or overall weird.

A couple of your friends mutual to the boy had told you how insanely sweet he was, and even though he has his disappearing moments, he still finds a way to be there when needed. To you, that's a certain admiration you revel in with anyone.

Sure the two of you talked here and there, but given your growing infatuation to the boy, its a more so awkward exchange than genuine chemistry. There were even times you had to ask yourself if you were the problem or if he's just not as people person as you thought he was.

For instance, today in Spanish Class, you were stuck on the Spanish word for 'Phenomenal', so naturally you ask the smartest person in the room for help, and since you were in a sort of acquaintance relationship with Peter, you turned and shot your question to him.

Peter's reaction to your question however was far from how he interacted with you the weeks before, and you felt something stir in your gut, a bad feeling almost. Not only did he half answer, but he lacked eye contact.

You read somewhere that during conversations, eye contact is a super important thing to have and it shows that a person enjoys talking to you, and they're hearing what you're saying by maintaining such an aspect.

Maybe the little overlydramatic side of you could be reaching and he might just be really shy, but it also made no sense, because Peter did seem like he liked your company, at least for a little while.

As your thoughts of what if's invade your mind, you walk down the hall after asking your math teacher if you may use the washroom (he made a dumb math joke before you left), you notice a familiar set of brown curls exit the boys' washroom, and you stop in your tracks just as he did.

You look him over in his blue Midtown sweatshirt, which he probably got from school spirit week, holding a hall pass from the detention classroom. 

"Hi." Peter says.

"Hi." You say back.

The strained silence set an unwanted tension between you both and Peter quietly fiddles with the makeshift pass in his hands before clearing his throat.

"You look nice today." He softly smiled at you and you blink in genuine confusion as the butterflies in your stomach flutter at his compliment.

"Thank you." You respond and awkwardly place your hands behind your back.

A few more seconds of quietness go by.

"I hope you know I'm not ignoring you on purpose, or—I don't want you to think I hate you or something." Peter explains, to your relief.

Being under the impression the boy hated you, or just fizzled out interest overtook your mind more than you'd like to admit.

All you could do is nod in response, thankful but still a little worried.

"It's just...I don't really know how to talk to you." Peter admits and continues, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you or anything." You reassure, smiling in hopes he believes you.

Peter looks around in deep thought and takes a deep breath. You could feel his nervousness practically oozing from him.

"Look, I'm just going to say it because my aunt told me I should be more confident and upfront, no matter the outcome—" He rambles and you furrow your eyebrows with a confused smile. "I really like you, I know its technically been a few weeks, but I don't know..." Peter shrugs.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach listening to his words, hearing the boy you were so infatuated with and even asked around about openly admit to liking you. It was almost impossible to ignore the feeling of happiness rising in you.

"You like me?" You bite the bottom of your lip and grin.

"Well, yeah." Peter shows you a half smile.

"I like you too." You ultimately admit.

Peter's half smile turns into an even bigger one.

"You do? I mean—That's awesome, maybe..I could hopefully, successfully ask you on a date? If you want to go, not forcing you or anything." He watches and waits for your reaction.

You felt like you were in a dream and one simple pinch would wake you up from this fairytale.

"I would like that." You agree and you swear Peter's smile grows inhumanly larger.

"Okay, cool."

"Cool."

A more comfortable beat of silence goes by.

"I should probably get back to...dentition before the Coach think I skipped or something." Peter explains to which you nod in understanding.

"Right." You press your lips together as he starts to walk past you.

The boy stops in his tracks and turns to face you. "Is it okay if I take you to a science related museum for our date? Because I know some cool facts unless you think that's lame, then we could go to Delmar's or something, but if you don't like sandwiches either—" You stop him before he continues with his habit of rambling.

"Both is fine." You chuckle and Peter nods at your submission.

"Okay, both it is."

Peter turns around and unknowingly fails to notice you watch him just about skip his way back to detention and you smile at the adorable gesture.

Almost completely forgetting your bladder needed relief, the five minute conversation finally coming to an end, you make your way to the girl's washroom with a more confident pep in your step.

taglist:

@victoriousskylar @ietss @astrogirl0666 @hahehwjavaja @superlegend216 @b4tm4nn @imawhoreforu @sunsettee @myfangirlinessononeblog

[reachartwork]

@tangentiallly holding myself to my promise and explaining this;

so, in the deep dark awful days of the evil past, about four years ago, this was in fact something you had to do - you would have to train (or, more likely, finetune an instance of gpt-2 so that you can bend it into the proper format permanently) an ai on math problems in various ways of phrasing and then it could do math, kind of, but not really.

this thing you're describing is called "natural language processing" and its been a personal white whale for a great many people in the field of computers. and i won't say modern large language models have solved it, exactly, but gpt and its many descendants are one of the most interesting things to happen to the field of natural language processing because, with their giant "all of human written text" brains, they can in fact Just Understand Natural Language. so nowadays the paradigm is in something that the companies all stupidly named "tool use", a term i stubbornly refuse to use, sticking to my good friend Max Woolf's "function calling".

how this works is simple. the ai has access to a suite of "tools". for example, it has a sandboxed python environment where it can run predetermined functions like "add(int a, int b)", and all that does is add both numbers together. this is a gross oversimplification, but what happens is that if you ask what's one plus one, the ai can tell what you're asking in basically any format, because it works off language and sentence patterns, not regex or rote recognition, and then think to itself (air quotes around think) "hmm, the user is asking me to add one and one. that seems like they're asking me to call the "add" function, and if i am understanding correctly, they'd like me to set one value to 1 and another value to 1. so i will call add(1, 1) and return the result", which is 2, which it tells you. and then you give the ai a bunch more functions, like multiplying, or performing calculus, or whatever sort of code you want it to run, tell it how to recognize a: its being asked to invoke a tool, and b: how to "extract" the parameters you are asking it to run with from your message. and it turns out LLMs nowadays can just sort of do that if you set up the infrastructure correctly.

i am not sure if this 100% answers your question but, generally speaking, for simple tasks like sentiment analysis, the field is sort of solved. the great problems are conquered - now, like a zachtronics game, we just get into making them faster and smarter.

hope that is interesting.

i know there is a very famous image that went viral a couple of months ago that is about like what kind of math an ai can do. and it looks like a times table, and it looks like ai stops being able to do multiplication at 13 x 13 or so. and so that is what everyone interpreted it to mean because they did not actually read the chart.

okay! cool. i found the chart. here is the chart.

this seems like a very easy chart to dunk on. you're telling me it can only do 8 x 13 87.5% of the time? that's crazy. i can do it at least 90% of the time

look at the chart again. that's not the number 8. that's 8 digits. it can multiply, accurately, in seconds, 8 digits by 13 digits, 87.5% of the time, using just language processing. i can guarantee you there is no big book of math problems containing all the various permutations of 8 digits by 13 digits that it has memorized. it turns out if you throw a bunch of information into a box and shake it really hard, the ability to do math falls out (along with a bunch of other stuff) and we really don't know why yet.

ai is weird!

[himasgod]

idk if its okay

but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.

thank youuu

ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER

Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge

How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?

I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3

Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.

You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.

Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.

"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"

Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"

Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”

Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.

"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."

Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"

“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."

Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.

Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.

"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"

You laughed.

“Oh, Ace…”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"

His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.

“—and who they’ll never be.”

Then he pulled back, smirking wider.

“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”

Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.

And then he saw it.

Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.

He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.

"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"

Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.

"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."

Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.

"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"

Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.

"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."

He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.

"And if I don't?"

Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.

"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."

There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.

You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.

"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.

"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."

He turned to you, his expression softer.

"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."

Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.

You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.

"Do you know him?"

Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.

It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.

"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.

"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.

The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.

"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."

Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.

"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.

"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."

The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.

"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin

"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."

The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.

"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."

He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.

The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.

Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.

"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."

"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.

Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.

"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."

He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.

"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."

The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.

You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.

"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."

He winked at you.

Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.

"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.

Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.

"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"

Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And who are you? Their manager?"

Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.

"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."

Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.

"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."

Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."

Azul shook his head.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."

He glanced at you, lowering his voice.

"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."

[strialternatives]

You mentioned in the tags of I think your comic of Akira and Akechi traveling that Akechi is first-aid certified in multiple countries. Does this mean something to any headcanon’s you have about what his adult life would be like? I love your palace au and i’m really interested in how he recovers afterwards!!

If it was just a joke then you don’t have to answer :)

that actually wasn't a joke! :D it started off as a "taking care of akira" investment that got outta hand ya see-

some background first! in my head shuake wind up traveling after Akechi's physical therapy and Akira takes an "extended leave" from uni then just. never goes back.

they travel China, then Thailand--near all the countries in east asia. at first, its about putting some distance between themselves and tokyo and all that metaverse ptsd baggage no one wants to acknowledge or talk about-

not that they don't have talks. they talk a lot, they have a lot of hard talks in hotel rooms, during quiet moments, about everything and nothing at all. akira is devastated to learn that his future husband is a dog person.

then, literally as they're about to book the plane back to tokyo, after months and months of travels and late night talks--akira offhandedly, mentions that he's always wanted to visit paris.

there's no reason for them not to. akira has an absurd amount of metaverse money, akechi has the key to a good chunk of shido's offshore assets. akira picks up languages quickly thanks to his personas and so does akechi.

and it kinda spirals from there. after that they only drop by tokyo for holidays and planned thief get-togethers.

akira's the type of wild card that picks up confidants everywhere he goes, he likes to help the people he connects with, and sometimes that comes with dangerous situations and hospital visits.

(the two of them are nosy, reckless and don't know how to mind their own business to save their lives. and akira is so kind to others and willing to help and his and akechi loves and hates him for it so, sooo much.)

at first akechi learns how to patch (his) idiot up for his own peace of mind, its manageable, he's used to patching up real world wounds. his initial mementos explorations were full of trial and error, after all.

--then there's this awful business with the russian mob that akira's gotten involved with during that part-time bodyguard gig protecting some small time lawyer's child during a court case and, well. he's two years in, somewhere between learning how to suture a stab wound from an underground doctor and looking up tameki-san again,

akechi realizes he's in this for the long haul. that he has to--unfortunately--lock in.

and he's GOOD at it, akechi likes being good at things.

he's not planning on being a doctor or anything, can't stay in one place long enough for a degree. but, picking up certifications still scratches an itch he wasn't aware he had. to heal instead of hurt--it helps that it starts with akira.

anyway, sometimes when he's bored and they're in one place for more than two weeks he'll go hit up foreign clinics who need a temp helper.

[specialagentartemis]

#hey does anyone know what the deal was with the claims that Friday the 13th and Easter are actually pagan feminist fertility holidays #that were appropriated by the patriarchy/Catholic church? #because I feel like I'm going crazy seeing cnn quote that tumblr post from years ago #like which one came first (bc I can't find that post) and how true are those claims

@assclarinet Wh... what do you mean CNN is quoting tumblr posts. What.

Anyway. These claims go around constantly and they are just as sourceless as anything else in that post.

And as it is Easter Season, let's address them:

Was Easter actually a pagan feminist fertility holiday appropriated by the Catholic Church?

Short answer: No.

Long answer:

Easter is the theological core of Christianity. There is no Christianity without Easter. Easter is the holiest day of the Christian calendar, because it is the theological crux of the entire religion: that Jesus died, and then three days later he rose from the dead, his sacrifice having redeemed the world of sin and his resurrection ushering in a new age. Easter is a very Christian thing.

That's not typically what people who say this mean, though. They don't mean the Christian holy day of Jesus's resurrection Easter Sunday, they mean the hegemonic spring holiday in the culturally-Christian world that is pseudo-secularized Easter.

Was placing the central element of Christianity in the spring a way of co-opting pagan spring fertility festivals? No. It's fairly central to the Last Supper-crucifixion-resurrection narrative that it happened at Passover. The Gospels pretty well agree on this part, though there's conflict in the scholarship of whether the Last Supper was a Passover meal proper or happened a day before. (The seder as it is understood today wasn’t performed the same way back then, so it wasn’t properly a seder, either.) In early Christianity, the association of Easter with Passover was theologically significant--Jesus was (and is) called the Paschal lamb, equating Jesus's sacrifice with the sacrifice/slaughter of a lamb for the deliverance of the people from death. The timing of Easter is one of the few Christian holy days calculated based on the logic of the Jewish luni-solar calendar. It's not the same exact calendar, and they don't always directly coincide, but it's the same basis.

Early Christianity grew out of Judaism, and its relationship to Judaism, its self-view as the culmination of Judaism, remained significant to figures like Paul who have defined Christian thought and Church organization ever since. (Here’s a standard view on this presented from a Jewish perspective.) (This is a super interesting perspective from a Congregationalist Christian theologian with a keen interest on the Jewish roots of early Christianity.) (Here’s also a really interesting interview with provocative Jewish philosopher Daniel Boyarin about it.) Christianity and Judaism probably started really developing in different directions sometime after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, with the next few centuries seeing the rise of Rabbinic Judaism as well as the influx of pagan gentiles adopting Christianity and bringing their theological and philosophical backgrounds into it.

The upshot is: Easter is in the spring because Passover is in the spring.

Does the name "Easter" come from Ostara or Ishtar? No. These are the etymologies I see proposed to say, see! "Easter" steals the name of a pagan fertility goddess! And that's a super English-centric way of looking at the world. In most European languages (and let's be real, when people talk about Christianity stealing pagan holidays, they usually are thinking about, like, Celts), the name of Easter comes from the Latin "Pascha" which was adopted from the Greek "Pascha" which, wow, sounds an awful lot like Pesach, the Hebrew name of Passover. Because Easter was associated with Passover. Even in English, the formal, liturgical word for "pertaining to Easter" is "Paschal". So only in Germanic languages like German and English does the name of Easter come from non-Paschal origins.

Also there is no connection to Ishtar.

The etymology of "Easter" is super obscure, though.

Well, there was an Eostre, right? And the Easter bunny tradition was stolen from the pre-Christian Germanic pagan festivals for Eostre or Ostara? Ehhhhh. Dubious. This Library of Congress folklore blog post by a folklorist who has studied Middle English has a lot of well-cited information suggesting that most "received wisdom" about the pagan festivals or Eostre/Ostara that featured a hare derive from the Brothers Grimm in the 1800s. Jakob Grimm cites a single source for the evidence of a goddess Eostre, an 8th century Christian monk's writing.

Eosturmonath has a name which is now translated "Paschal month", and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her/its name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance.

Definitely possible, even likely, there was some syncretism in the celebration activities there, but it's hard to prove what, and to what extent.

Grimm is the one who postulates the existence of Ostara based on this, using the methods of historical linguistics to derive a cognate with the old German oster-month. Note that the Grimms were 1) linguists as well as folklorists, and the idea of Ostara appears to come from linguistic hypothesis moreso than actual gathered folklore, and 2) very invested in nation-building through their folklore project. No other sources for Eostre or Ostara exist, though modern linguists have hypothesized a connection to the Vedic Ushas and Greek Eos as Indo-European dawn-goddesses. (Also hence the word "east.") So Eostre and Ostara may certainly have existed as Germanic goddesses/personifications of the dawn, but probably not fertility. And the month around April, as the return of spring, was associated with the dawn goddess. If so, Eostre gave her name to Eosturmonath ("Eostre-month"), which is when Easter fell (see above re: the timing of Passover), and so Eoastremonath became Easter-month became Easter. "Easter" then likely derives from the name of the month, not the goddess directly.

The story of Ostara and a hare was, as best I can tell, invented in the 1800s during a time of renewed interest in European paganism as, again, nation-building projects.

Hares, eggs/chicks, and flowers are all perennial symbols of spring and new life in Europe, so it wouldn't be surprising if older celebrations in springtime used them, and those got transferred onto Easter celebrations because, hey, spring, dawn, sunrise out of the night, new birth, resurrection, new life, it all kinda goes together. But it wasn't a holiday that was "appropriated by the patriarchy/Catholic Church,"; at most it was traditional spring festivities transferred onto the new spring festivity. This happened a lot.

As for the second question...

Was Friday the 13th a pagan fertility holiday and that's why it's been made unlucky now?

Short answer: No.

Long answer:

No one really agrees on why Friday the 13th is unlucky, but it probably also comes from Christianity. Friday is the unlucky day because it's the day that Jesus was crucified. 13 is the unlucky number because that's the number of people at the Last Supper. I've also seen several people online reference that Loki was the 13th guest at the feast where he caused the death of Baldr, but I can't find an actual source for that, and it feels very Christianity-influenced. The most influential records of old Norse/Icelandic mythology were written down in the 1200s, well after Christianity was the primary religion of the region, and Christian influences on Norse mythology as we know it now cannot be wholly discounted. So I'm somewhat skeptical Loki is the origin, either.

But also, and this is where I get more into personal hypothesizing, 12 is a very strong and auspicious number in a lot of cultures. There are (typically, approximately) 12 full moons in a year, so lots and lots of calendars split the year into 12 months. 12 is a good number for timekeeping and subdividing: Ancient Egyptians were the ones to develop 12-hour days/nights, and Mesopotamians the ones to split time into units of 60. There were twelve tribes of Israel, twelve disciples, twelve Olympians, twelve labors of Hercules, twelve constellations in the Greek zodiac and twelve years in the Chinese zodiac cycle. English has unique number-names up to twelve before we start going three-ten, four-ten, etc. We like twelves! Particularly in cultures influenced by the Mediterranean sphere. So I can imagine prime thirteen is ungainly, awkward... unlucky.

(Also, the idea of splitting the week into a cycle of 7 days originates from Judaism in the Biblical book of Genesis, continuing into Christianity and Islam from the same origin. The whole concept of "Friday" is inextricable from Abrahamic religions.)

There's no evidence it was ever a sacred pagan day for sex or anything like that. It just wasn't.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

The new welcome home update makes my head go burr. Here, have this set of headcanons I wrote while possessed by a tiny wizard. (The tiny wizard that makes me write)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Julie, Frank, Howdy, Poppy, Sally, Barnaby and Wally & Reader who asked them what they think about death

Julie

★ When you first bring up the topic, her grin widens, clearly unfamiliar with the word. "Death?" she repeats. "Thats a funny word! What kind of game is that?" Her eyes wide and curious. Assuming you wanted to share some new game with her.

★ As you explain its meaning, her grin softens. “So… things just stop? They don’t play anymore? Not ever? That sounds so sad.” For a moment, Julie's playful demeanor faulters. Attempting to wrap her head around such a thing. "Are you sure that's right?" You nod, feeling some guilt for breaking the news to her.

★ But Julie, being Julie, tries to bounce back. She reaches out and places her hands on yours. “Well, maybe it’s not really the end! Maybe it’s like when the flowers take a nap in the winter, and then they wake up all bright and happy in the spring!” She says, trying to comfort both herself and you.

Frank

★ He understands death more than the other neighbors. Life cycles and food chains are critical for any ecosystem to function. That he knows well. Frank even has several books about the topic! But that's different. Animals are not people. When you bring up death, he gives you an impromptu lesson about how life cycles work.

★ Frank begins by saying "death isn’t merely an end” in that factual tone he so often uses. "It's an integral part of the natural cycle!" You already know that, but let him have his fun. Educating you on a topic you're more than familiar with.

★ However, he assumed that human lives were different. You weren't an animal, bug or plant. So why would someone like you die? The thought never crossed his mind. You'll need to break the news to him as gently as possible. Good luck.

Howdy

★ When you ask him, Howdy tilts his head and looks at you for a moment. Trying to figure out if you're being serious. "Well now, usually a question like that would cost a pretty penny." You nod. "But this time" he says, pulling out a chair for you "it's on the house." With a nervous smile, He gestures for you to sit.

★ He explains it to you in the simplest way possible, like you're a child. "Death's kinda like when the store closes for the night. The lights go out, the shelves are empty, and everything goes real quiet." While speaking, he keeps his tone soft. Again, treating you like a child.

Poppy

★ "Oh! What an... Interesting question" she says. Honestly, the topic makes her a bit nervous. Nevertheless she answers you "That's what happens if you aren't careful, and... break." As she speaks, she fidgets with her wings. Showing her discomfort.

★ Her nervousness is understandable, given her tendency to avoid risks and stay in her home. Where its safe. “But, um,” she adds quickly, attempting to lighten the mood. "We just have to take good care of ourselves, and each other. So nothing bad happens to us."

Sally

★ She knows it as a plot device. "Ghosts, ghouls and other terrible monsters come from death!" Sally explains. Waiving her arms around dramatically to emphasize the point. "Why, it's simply perfect for a spooky performance, dear friend!"

★ To her, it’s less of a sad reality and more an opportunity for storytelling. It's a tool for drama. Not something to be feared or mourned. As she goes on, it's clear that Sally doesn’t fully grasp the weight of death.

Barnaby

★ Barnaby doesn't like thinking about death. When you ask him about it, he treats it like a joke. “Death, eh? Well, that’s what they call it when somebody goes to live on a farm.” His tone is light, steering the conversation away from anything too serious. “You don’t need to worry about stuff like that, kid.”

Wally

★ When you ask him what he thinks about death, he tilts his head. Trying to recall where he's heard that word. “Death?” he repeats. "it's when someone goes away, isn’t it?" If you had to guess, Barnaby told him that.

★ He never really dwelled on death before. To Wally, life in Home had always been a continuous loop of joy and games. Death was a word he’d heard in passing, but it never stuck out as something important or relevant to his little world.

★ The more he learns, the more curios he becomes. “Does it happen to everyone?” he asks with a morbid fascination. “Do they know when it’s going to happen? Or is it... a surprise?” Despite how unsettling his questions are, it’s clear he’s genuinely trying to learn.

[cxrsed-angel]

Things Unsaid| (qz!joel miller x fem!reader)

wc: 6k

warnings: angst, fluff, and smut. emotionally constipated joe, age difference/gap. unprotected sex, oral!fem receiving, medically inaccurate wound and injury description (sorry i wasnt that interested in looking it up) protective guard dog joel. alcohol consumption

a/n: this has been in my drafts since s1 was released i think this was inspired by ep 1/2 so its longed over due with posting this

summary: protective joel confronts you when you return from a run late and injured.

You're supposed to be back from your run a couple of hours ago, but running into a few runners and FEDRA pushed you slightly off schedule. You walk into your apartment, ready to wash up, change into comfortable clothes, and go straight to sleep. As you walk in, you see a figure sitting on your couch in the dark, immediately raising your suspicions. You reach for your knife instinctively, ready to stab whoever had broken into your place, but you stop, recognizing it is just Joel, for whatever reason. 

Joel had been waiting for a few hours, and as each hour passed, he got more worried and more stressed. He thought about if you had been caught by Fedra for smuggling, were you in jail? He didn't even want to think about the possibility that you had been bitten; he knew you would immediately kill yourself, knowing you wouldn't let yourself turn. He couldn't stomach the thought of you being out there, dead, alone, and he would never know. He knew you and him were just fooling around and that he was one the repeating it was nothing serious, but lately, he had started to care about more than he was willing to admit if he was being honest. He started to repeat more so to remind himself. That it wasn't serious. He was nothing more than an old man you'd fuck for reasons unknown to him. Despite the fact that he was definitely feeling things he hadn't felt in a long time. 

When he sees you enter, he's immediately met with a wave of relief and probably a hundred other emotions he can't name or explain. At the very least, he knows you're alive, but quickly replaced with anger and annoyance. 

“Where the hell have you been!” his voice booms through the previously silent apartment, laced with irritation, annoyance, and strictness. He looms over you with his broad and large frame. 

You watch as he stands up from the shitty couch from the 80s most of the apartments get. You take a minute to look at him before rolling your eyes at his attempt to intimidate you. You sigh, setting the knife you had almost stabbed him with on the old wooden table in the middle of your kitchen. You really aren't in the mood for Joel yelling at you for no reason. You never answered to him before, and you sure as hell wasn't gonna start now. 

Joel remains standing, his arms folding in front of him, as he looks at you, waiting for an answer.  "Well?" he asks again, this time with a lower volume, but still his voice is strict and low. 

You sigh again, tired. Tired because the whole smuggle run your partner 20 something year old asshole who kept trying to hit on you. Tired because you had to take a different route back into the QZ because FEDRA was at the usual entrance. Tired because even after that you were still caught by FEDRA and previously mentioned asshole just ran, leaving you. Tired because FEDRA took advantage of the fact that your "guard dog" Joel wasn't there and decided to rough you a bit. Maybe more than a bit. There were 3 or 4 of them, too many for you to take all at once. They beat you up pretty badly, You knew they weren't going to hurt you up too badly or all hell would break loose. You're so caught off guard by his presence but also confused as to why he was even there in the first place. 

“Joel what the fuck are you doing in my apartment? And why the hell are you yelling at me?” you ask just as pissed off as Joel, you take your shoes off, and set your pack down by the couch looking at him for a bit, but he just stares back not saying you anything.  "Well, if you aren't gonna speak…" You mutter, turning to go down the hallway to go to your bathroom, when you feel his large, calloused hand on your arm, pulling you back to him. You turn and face him as you eyebrows frown staring back at him really pissed off now.

“You didnt answer my goddamn question.” He grumbled, his voice still low as you looked back at you. He didn't raise his voice this time but you could tell his was upset, you couldnt tell what pissed he was at, but it was written all over his face. 

You didn't understand. It wasn't like you guys were a couple; it really wasn't any of his business. You were confused. You never acted this way when he came back late from a run.

“You knew I went on a run, not that I have to answer to you.” You snap back, hoping he would drop it, but you knew he was more stubborn than that. You try to walk away again, but his grip on your arm doesn't loosen. You sigh and stare at him, waiting for him to say what his problem is.

He stares at you, glaring, “You still haven't said why you were so damn late. Did something happen?” He raises his voice at you more, frustrated, Youre still unsure what has him so pissed but you tired and you didnt need joel berating you so late at night on top of the already shitty night you were having.

“Look, Joel! I’ve had a rough night already, with the douchebag I got paired with, having to come in a different route, and getting beat up by FEDRA. So the last thing I needed you bitching at me over nothing so please drop it. Promise you can yell at me in the morning for whatever reason. But right now, my face hurts like a bitch, so please, please just….drop it!” You plead, hoping the little outburst convinced him to leave you alone and go back to his apartment. 

But you're met with a blank expression for a moment. Then you see his eyebrows scrunch up, and you watch as the anger dissipates from his face as he takes in all of what you had just said. 

He looks at you, slowly reaching your face. You let his calloused hand hold your chin softly, lifting it to the window, looking at your face in the light, trying to gauge how badly you got beat up. He looks closely, noticing the small cuts and purple bruising forming on your cheek, yet the way your face illuminates in the moonlight, he still thinks you look beautiful regardless. He was pissed at the fact that someone had hurt you, but his concern was stronger. He stays silent, not saying a word as he examines your face. 

His brows frown as he breaks the silence that the two of you have been sitting in for the past few minutes. 

“You got beat up darlin'?” He asks softly, like your mini rant from earlier just sunk in. You hear his voice soften as he says the pet name, making you flustered and catching you off guard. 

Normally, he would only call you names like that when you were in bed, and he was ball deep inside you. A few grunts of "right there sweetheart" or a "I'm bout to baby," in that deep southern voice. You always knew it was just the heat of the moment, especially because he never took it out of the bedroom, and you never questioned it. You knew what your arrangement was. You both agreed to just a friends with benefits situation, so you never brought it up. 

You didn't understand the flip, from yelling at you the second you entered your apartment to softly holding your face and calling you darling. Maybe on a different day, you'd savor the moment of affection, but tonight, you couldn't handle the mental ping-pong, back and forth. 

“Joel, I can't do this back and forth tonight. Are you pissed? Are you not pissed? I don't have the energy for it.” You tell him, and he notices the exhaustion in your voice. He doesn't say anything, which you took as a sign of him dropping it. He stands up and goes to the bathroom, comes back with the medical supplies you were going to grab earlier, and pulls a chair up as you sit down at the table. He sits down in front of you, close to you, his knees brushing against yours. Making your face feel warm, but you couldn't tell if it was from the bruises or his proximity. You watch him put rubbing alcohol on a clean towel as he reaches to hold your face again. 

“Come here, let me see,” he spoke softly as he sat in a chair. 

“I can do it, Joel,” you muttered quietly. You didn't want him to take care of you. To clean your wounds, or maybe to see the small knife wound that was on your side. Either way, you didn't need him taking care of you. You pull back slightly and make an attempt to grab the alcohol to clean the cuts yourself, but he pulls it out of reach.

“Just let me see, let me do it,” he insists again, and this time, you give up, not having another fight in you. You nod, agreeing, allowing him to clean your cuts. He lets out a small sigh "so damn stubborn." He mutters under his breath as he helps you take off your jacket. 

You cringe, remembering that you may or may not have been stabbed slightly by one of the FEDRA guards. You didn't forget about it, you felt the stinging pain since it happened, but you didn't expect Joel to be here. You close your eyes, knowing he's going see the bruises and wounds you got from FEDRA. Seeing the stain of blood from the stab. 

Joel hangs your jacket over the chair. He slowly lifts your shirt up, gently helping it up over your head, and sets it with your jacket. You sit in the chair in your sports bra, trying to come up with something to say. 

"At least take a girl out before getting her naked." You joke, hoping to ease the tension and hoping it will make him less mad when he sees the bloody bandage you hastily wrapped around your torso, but you are wrong. 

“Who did this!? Was this FEDRA? Where was that little shit you were paired with while you were getting beat up!” his voice was stern as he yells. His intense stare never leaves the wound on your side. Joel slowly removes the bandage, seeing where you had been stabbed by FEDRA. Joel immediately saw red when he saw it. It wasn't very deep or fatal. He knew you were gonna live, but it didn't mean he was okay with it. He wished he knew what guard did this, he wanted to know who he had to go beat up.

“Joel-” you try to calm him, to tell him to let it go, but it wasn't worth it, you know if you told him anything about the guy who did it he would go out on a man hut which you didnt want, but he insisted asking again.

“Who?” He was trying to be calm and not start shouting, but it was still obvious how mad he was. He knew you could handle yourself, but that didn't make it easier when you got hurt when he wasn't there. He heard from Tess what time you were supposed to be back. When you were an hour late he started to think the worse, if you had come back any later he would’ve been out there searching for you, he would go through all of Boston if he needed to. He knew your situation was just casual, but it didn't stop him from worrying about you.

“It doesn't matter,” you said exhaustedly. He sees it in your face how tired you are, and he finally listens for the first time tonight and drops it. He removes the bandage you sloppily put on it. It looked pretty bad if you were being honest, considering the quick wrap-up you did just so you could get home. You watch his eyebrows frown as he continues to stare at it. “You’ve had this the whole time.” his eyebrows raise as he questions, but you just close your eyes and nod.

He grabs some alcohol and a cloth. “This is gonna hurt, ” you nod and lean your head against your arm on the table. He puts some of the alcohol on to a cloth, you felt the burning sensation once he puts it on the wound.

You curse as the burning continues, instinctively grabbing his arm, squeezing it in pain. Your eyes shut as you try to calm down, but it is just too much. You try to take deep breaths, but it doesn't help much. You bit down on your lip, hoping it would be over soon.

“I know, baby, I know. 'M almost done.” Your heart warms at the pet name again, it takes your mind off of how painful it was. Deep down, you know it didn't hold any meaning or weight. He probably just said it, paying no mind to it, just trying to calm you, or so you tell yourself. When he finally finishes, wrapping it much better than you did before. You watch him put the medical kit back, and you grab a bottle of whiskey you assumed he had while he waited for you and take a couple of large sips. You intended to drink your weight in whiskey until black out and forget about this whole night. 

Joel glances over his shoulder, turns around, and sees you practically chugging the bottle of whiskey. He takes it away from your lips. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.” He puts the alcohol away and finishes putting the stuff away.

You frown your eyebrows at him for taking the bottle away and grab the bottle back to drink it, enjoying the burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. 

“It’s my booze. I smuggled it to drink it, not sit on the counter and stare at it.” You snap a bit before taking another large sip. Right now, it was the only thing that could make the pain disappear and take your mind off Joel being so caring and calling you baby. Maybe if you drink enough, you can stop your stomach from doing flips at the thought of him calling your baby. Or you can stop the achy feeling in your core every time Joel touches you tonight. You feel yourself getting more worked up, turned on as you think back to his hand on your jaw and your cheek. Him calling you baby, darlin', his attractive southern drawl each time he said it.

You take another big gulp of the whiskey, but again you feel the bottle rip away from your lips again by his large hand, some of the liquid spills down your chin and your chest.

“Okay, well ya don’t need to finish it one day. Had more than enough.” Joel scolds you lightly as he sets the bottle on the counter in the kitchen and grabs a towel to clean your face; again, he brings his hands on your chin, cleaning the whiskey off your chin. Making you warm again.

You look at him for a minute before getting up from the table and changing into more comfortable clothes in your bedroom. You return back to the living room and sit on the couch, starting to feel the alcohol’s effects. Joel comes and sits next to you, sighing a bit. 

“Look sweetheart I-I uh I’m sorry about earlier. It’s none of my business why you were so late coming back hom-here.” He hopes you didnt catch how he almost said home, but he figured you were too drunk or tipsy to notice.

You snuggle up against him starting to doze off “I was fine, you worry too much old man, it’s why you’re turning gray” You reach up and play with his hair for a couple of minutes before he gently grabs your wrist and put down in your lap he felt himself warm up trying not to get flustered, but he knew you were just drunk and affectionate.

“Darlin', I’m bein' serious-” he goes to say more, but you interrupted him.

“I am too. I’m sorry I made you worry tonight I just didn’t plan for-”

He sighs and cutting you off this time. “I know just don’t like seeing you bloody and hurt” you lay your head against his shoulder and close your eyes, you felt your heart beat faster from being so close to him, you knew it was the alcohol but you felt fuzzy and warm inside, you smiled slightly before trying to hide it. “I know Joel. I’ll be more careful.”

Joel looks down as you place yourself against his shoulder, getting more comfortable leaning against him. He covers you a bit more with the blanket and is quiet for a few minutes before he speaks.

“I-I haven’t felt this in a long time and I can’t handle losing you I-uh-it scared the shit out of me when you didnt come back I thought-I-just couldnt handle something happening and not being there for you. Joel looked down trying to see your face, what your reaction was, but all he saw was you asleep on his shoulder. He sighs and laughs to himself. “Yea she would be asleep right now.” He taps your arm gently, waking you.

“Come on, let’s go to bed, darlin'.”

You frown at him waking you up, feeling your head spin a little, and finding it hard to focus. “I think I drank a little too much,” you slurred as you see him smile,e laughing at you, only a little bit. He watches as you blink slowly, trying to get your bearings.

“Yea don’t know why you drunk straight whiskey like that.” he’s never seen you drink like that. You usually don't allow yourself to get drunk, always saying you couldn't afford to be, having to be alert at all times, and he didn't blame you.

“To make the pain go away,” you respond with a slight attitude, like it was obvious. You go to stand up but lose your balance, falling to the floor. Joel sighs and helps you up. His hand grabs your waist to hold you up. You lean more of your body weight on him as he helps you over to the bed.

“Come on, I need to get you to bed,” he says softly, and he tries to lay you down on your bed. He watches as you try to stand up on your own but fail again, and then he places a hand on your hip, steadying you.

You smile and caress your hand along his chest poorly, not having the best coordination, but it was clear to Joel you were trying to be sexy. “Are you trying to get in my pants again, Texas?” You smile up, looking at him with big eyes, hoping the answer is yes.

“No trying to get you to sleep,” he says flatly as he tries to get you off of him. Joel didn't expect you to care but he realized he was wrong when tears start to form in your eyes, he looks down at you confusion falls over his face as you pout and more tears starting to fall more.

“You aren’t-you don’t want to fuck me anymore is it-it’s because-do you not like me anymore.” you babble through your cries as Joel helps, leading you to your bed as he holds you up. A hand on your lower back, he won't lie, he doesn't think he's ever seen you cry like this, it had caught him off guard. Seeing you emotional and vulnerable for the first time. But then again, he wasn't the most open guy either.

“N-No darling… its because you’re drunk off your ass, ask me again when you're sober I’ll say yes,” he said softly, trying to calm you as he lays you down on the bed, wiping wipes the tears that were on your cheeks with his rough hand. You gaze up at him as you relax into the bed.

You swallow hard, trying to stop the tears. “You promise?” you ask, sobbing as you lay on the bed. Laying your head on the pillow for a few seconds before sitting back up to look at him. Eyes watery and teary. Deep down, you feared that once he stopped sleeping with you, he would stop talking to you and hanging out with you, and you thought that fear was coming true tonight. You knew you were just sleeping together, nothing more, but you’d take that; it was better than him not being in your life at all.

Joels stares back softening his gaze. He nods as as he reassures, “I promise, sweetheart, just go to sleep.” Once he was sure he was in the bed and comfortable, he turned to leave and went to sleep on the couch. But your voice stopped him. you grab his wrist softly, not wanting him to leave.

“You’re gonna lay down, too, right?” you ask quietly, looking up at him. He could tell you were still unsure. That there was still some doubt. It catches Joel by surprise, he usually didn't sleep in your bed. If he did, it was more out of convenience, not on purpose. But he was always glad when you did ask. He always slept better next to you. He comes back to the bed and lies down next to you. he didn't want to overstep or make you uncomfortable, so he tries to lay down a bit far, not wanting to cuddle against you. “Of course. Now get some sleep.”

He watches as you slept next to him, cuts scattered around your face. He wondered how you got them all. He felt bad you never got to experience being carefree and young, going out with friends, drinking having fun, instead you had to deal with this shit since you were young. You had lived in this world longer than before it was like this. You didn't have time to enjoy it and be a kid. He knew you had to grow up super fast. He didn't even want to think about how you said you’ve been on your own since you were 13 and what you must've gone through by yourself.

When Joel is sure you are asleep, he slowly leaves your bed, grabs his jacket, and puts his shoes on before leaving your apartment. He knew you said to drop it but he couldnt, he couldnt let them get away with hurting you. he went out asking around it only took about a hour to find out the FEDRA officers that were on duty during the time you were out, within two hours he had found the agent who stabbed you by bribes and threats. He went over and made it clear that no one should lay a finger on you again.

You wake up feeling the bright sun shining through the windows and a sharp pain all over. Your head is pounding, and you don't want to leave the warmth and comfort of your bed. You slowly roll over, looking at the empty space next to you. You swear Joel was next to you when you were falling asleep. Maybe you were dreaming or just wishful thinking. 

You wake up seeing Joel enter your room. He sits on the bed with a new bandage and better disinfectant than the alcohol last night in hand. “Hey, here’s some aspirin and some other stuff I stole from the medical building. I'll ask Tess to stitch you up, okay?” He tells you as he starts to clean your wound until you stop up.

“I can do it myself,” you mumble as you reach out for the stuff wincing as your arms stretch. He hands you the aspirin and water, rolling his eyes at how stubborn you are. Joel watches as you struggle to sit up to take the aspirin. He thought about how different it was seeing you be more vulnerable and emotional last night when you were drunk. Letting him help you in bed, asking him to lay with you, dropping your guard, and letting him in a little. But it was short-lived. In the morning, you're back, guarding your emotions and shutting him out. He couldn't blame you, though he was just as guarded as you.

“Shut up, you can barely raise your arms.” You know he was right; it was more painful and sore than last night. You reluctantly let him lift your shirt up so he could change the bandage and clean it. 

Once he’s done changing the bandage, Joel sees your face in the sunlight and feels sick once he sees your black eye, mad at himself for not protecting you, for not being there with you, for letting them hurt your pretty face. He wished he was there, he knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. But beating up that officer last night made him feel better.

“I didnt know you had a black eye, couldn't see it last night.” he mutters as he held your face between his fingers, examining it more.

You feel yourself get warmer with him being so close, you smile at the comment. “It would explains why my face hurts like a bitch.” Trying to lighten the mood, but you could tell he was pissed. He doesn't respond or laugh, he just continues looking at the face to see anything else he might’ve missed last night.

“Yea, well, the aspirin should help. Wish we had ice or something,” he said dryly, not finding your comedic relief funny. His glare was still strong.

“Sorry, I was very drunk last night. Im sure I said some dumb shit haven't gotten that drunk since i was young.” You don’t remember much after falling asleep on the couch, but you knew you were touchy and more sensitive when you were drunk. You weren’t sure if you had told him something you would regret, but Joel didn’t say or act differently, so you assumed it was fine.

Joel ignores the first part, focusing on you saying when you were young. He scoffs. “You're in your twenties, you are young,” he responds dryly. You could tell he was still upset at the state you were in. You're trying to make him feel slightly better about it, but it hasn't worked so far.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot I was talking to someone who was alive when dinosaurs were still around.” You joke, but he doesn't react. He continues, finishing cleaning your wound, and his hand comes up holding your face. You feel his rough hands rub against your cheek. You see the cuts on his knuckles, and by how fresh they are, you assume he had gotten back at FEDRA this morning. He holds your face in his hands. It was quiet for a few minutes before Joel spoke up.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there, baby. I—” You were caught off guard by his affectionate action as he caressed your face. You stared back into his brown eyes. You saw how he was looking at you. It was softer. He looked at you like you had never seen before, and you didn’t know what it meant.

“Joel-” you feel the heat rise on your face; you look at him, staring at his eyes, the wrinkles from the years, scars and cuts on his face. His brown eyes and greying beard. You're silent for a few minutes before you feel your mouth opening 

“You're so pretty,” you mutter quietly, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

You see his lips smile for the first time today, “I think you're prettier, sweetheart.” You stare at his lips for a second before slowly leaning forward, pressing your lips onto his, and you feel his lips follow. You close your eyes as you relax against him. You’ve kissed him before, but only during sex. It was quick and messy, and you both knew it was just the heat of the moment. You’ve never kissed him like this, you could tell it meant more. It was slower, not fueled by lust.

You feel him pull away first. You panic, thinking he is going to be mad. He could tell by your wide eyes. He shakes his head slightly, reassuring you before kissing you again. You feel Joel slowly moving, joining you on your bed and lying next to you. 

He leans over to continue kissing you, but you put your hands on his chest, stopping him. You couldn’t handle having sex with him as just a casual thing anymore, it was too much. It would hurt more when he would go and sleep with other people you couldn’t do it anymore. You were scared that he wouldn't want anything to do with you after, but it more knowing it didnt mean anything more.

“Um Joel if we- um-if we do this, I can only do this if it’s more than casual. I know you've probably been sleeping with other people and I’m not mad or anything I know what we agreed but um I like you, have liked you for a while now and I can’t do this knowing it’s just a friend with benefits situation.” You swallow nervously, not knowing what he is going to say. You fiddle with your finger as you stare down at the sheets, too nervous to meet his eye. A part of you was waiting for him to say he’s not interested, that you’re just a good fuck and reliable outside the walls, nothing more. That he didn't have any feelings for you.

But he proves you wrong. You feel his face caress your face, making you look at him. “Sweetheart, I haven’t slept with anyone since I started sleeping with you.”

Your eyebrows rise in shock. You haven’t slept with anyone either, knowing you couldn’t be with anyone but him, but it still surprises you. He smiles at your face. “What thought I was sleeping with everyone in the QZ?" he teases, making you laugh. 

You know him well enough to know he very rarely lets people get closer enough to fuck them you just thought him and tess would be. “No, no, just thought you and Tess-” but he cuts you with a quick shake of his head.

“No, not in a long time. Before I even met you, and we're better off as friends.” He says quietly as he stares at you intensely and you gaze back at him. He leans forward and pressing his lip onto yours again, kissing you softly, you close your eyes as you feel his hand cupping your face. You're nervous, feeling your body getting warmer in excitement. You wrap your hands around his waist, pulling him closer to you. His lips parted, allowing you to slip your tongue in. You grab his waist and lie down, trying to pull him on top of you, needing to be closer to him. Your back hits the bed gently, and you expect his lips to follow yours, but he stays hovering above you.

You open your eyes and frown your eyebrows, looking at him, confused as to why he stopped kissing you. He looks at you before glancing to your side where your wound was, and then you understand. He didn't want to put too much weight on you while you were hurt. You reach your hands up to his hair, running your finger through it. “You're not gonna hurt me, Texas, I swear,” you say quietly, reassuring him.

He looks at you, then to your side one more, still hesitant. You hear him sigh before he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Alright, but I’m being gentle, nothing too rough.” He sits up and starts unbuttoning his flannel, admiring himself as he does so.

“Aww, I really wanted you to throw me around and tie me up. Maybe slap me around,” You joke, your voice laced with sarcasm. You watch as he stops unbuttoning his shirt to give you his famous deadpan stare. Not a hint of amusement in his voice before he continues to take his shirt off as he rolls his eyes at your joke.

“Shut up," he shakes his head. Give me an IOU on throwing you around, okay?" 

You nod, laughing, getting more turned on at the thought of him "throwing you around." You run a hand down his stomach before grabbing his waist again and pulling him onto your lips, making him hover over you again. His fingers unzip your shorts and pull them down with your underwear, you kick them off.

You think he is gonna come back to kiss you but your surprised when he starts kissing your stomach, getting lower and lower till he reaches where you need him most, you feel place soft kisses on your clit, before licking it a couple of times, you whimper as you feel your hips shudder under the pleasure. 

"Joel," you moan as he eats you out, his hands spreading your thighs. Your eyes roll back, moaning as you feel his large fingers thrust inside you, replacing his tongue. 

"Gonna cum baby?" 

You nod as he returns going back, licking your folds. You grab his hair, lightly tugging on it, getting his attention.

He looks up at you raising his eyebrows “what?” you lose your train of thought when feeling his finger lightly stroking your clit, you let out another moan before finally being able to piece your sentence together. “Joel I need you to fuck me please” you begged more disparate than you would admit, you see him smile and lean down kissing your clit on more time, before you watch him take off his jeans and boxers. You see his hard cock, admiring for a moment feel yourself getting wetter.

You cant’t take your eyes of him, desperately wanting him in your mouth, you know he probably wouldn’t want you because your wound but it was worth a try, when comes back over to you, you reach out stroking his cock and batting your eye lashes “Joel can I suck you off please.” you tried buttering him up hoping you jerking him off would forget about your injury. He watch as he slowly came undone as your hand began speeding up, but it wasn’t enough.

“No,” he answered flatly before letting out a quiet moan, you pout a little before he places a quick kiss on your lips. “you’re lucky i’m fucking you don’t push it, you can suck my dick youre healed l” you nodded disappointedly but you knew it was long shot. You continue moving your hand slowly up and down on his cock. he moans louder, he removes your hand and moves so he’s hovering over you while you lay down against the bed. He brings two fingers up to your mouth, having you suck on them before pushing them into your cunt, his fingers spread you open as the curl inside you. Feeling your wetness drip down his fingers as he increased his speed fucking his fingers a little faster.

“Joel…please need you,” you whine as you feel yourself tighten around his fingers. You squeeze your eyes shut as you bite your lip as his fingers get you closer to your release. Your hand grabs his wrist, holding onto it for support. You feel his other hand come to your clit, slowly rubbing circles as your hips jerk up because of his touch.

“c’mon baby can feel you’re close aren’t you, c’mon sweetheart cum on my fingers.” you feel him speed up his finger a bit more as you moan at his words. You moan out his name probably too loud considering how thin the QZ wall are but you didn’t care, too focused on you that pleasure as you cum onto his fingers. You open your eyes as you come down from your release. You watch as Joel slowly removes his finger from you and puts them into his mouth, making you whine.

“Joel please I need you, please fuck me.” you watch as he smile slightly before he placed his lips on yours. Leaning over you more as your hand comes up to his waist. He removes his lips from yours.

"This is gonna be different,” was all he said before returning his lips back on yours.

You knew what he meant, you knew he didnt want to be like all the other times, when you just had a quick fuck before going about the rest of your day, no post-sex cuddles or pillow talk. He wanted to take his time, appreciate you and your body unlike before. Show you that you were more than just a fuck buddy.

You nod as he leans down and kisses you, slowly for a few seconds before pulling away. “So fucking beautiful sweetheart." your face heats up at the compliment, you feel the head of his cock slips into your wet folds. Your eyes flutter closed as his slowly and gently pushes deeper inside you. 

"Joel." you moan, as your nails dig into his shoulders, feeling him. 

"Fuck baby so tight. Can't believe you thought id fuck any other pussy." he moans moving slowly inside you, careful not to hurt you. Digging your nails into his shoulders. "Joel. Joel. Joel." You moan as he continues thrusting his thick cock deep inside you, slow and gentle and perfect, bringing you to your release. Joel follows closely behind, cumming inside you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily with you. You bring your hand to the back of his head, running your finger through his curls with a content smile. He kisses your forehead, resting there for a few seconds before slowly slipping out from inside, causing you both to moan a bit. Joel lays down next to you, pulling you under his arm. 

"How ya feeling?" he asks softly, almost in a whisper. 

"Im fine relax, your dick is good miller but not good enough to reinjured my stab wound." You tease as Joel purses his lips as he stares at you, his cheeks turning a bit red. 

"Didnt hear ya complain' 5 minutes ago." He turns, lying on his side, back turned to you, but you know it's just so his good ear can be unhindered by the pillow. You lie down slowly, wrapping your arms around his back, being the "big spoon." He rubs your hand as it lands across his stomach. 

"Not complaining, just saying." He sighs, letting out a small chuckle. 

"Just take a nap. I'll ask Tess 'bout more painkillers, okay?"  You nod, resting your head against his back, closing your eyes. 

"Okay, but know that I 'm still holding onto the IOU about throwing me around Texas."

"Shut the hell up, you're ridiculous." He's quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Bring it up in two weeks, and I'll think about it.

[midnight-bay-if]

if you were stuck in a room with your characters. And they know you wrote their story. How would it go?

(Oh, damn... This is an interesting question, and a surprisingly heavy one to answer, haha.)

S: I think S would be mostly content, although they wouldn’t hesitate to question the motivation for the disconnect with their family. However, they would ultimately regard their other hardships as character-building. What are a few sleepless nights in exchange for the inner strength and the position they now hold with a new family they cherish?

Rain: They would probably hate me. Honestly. It would require significant inner strength and support from S and Taj to keep their anger in check. Yet, even that might not be sufficient to suppress their desire to harm me.

Taj: Taj also wouldn't be too fond of me, but their anger isn’t as explosive as Rain’s. They are more likely to give me the cold shoulder, despising me so much that they actually turn silent, not even bothering to shoot me a quip or give me an unflattering nickname… because as much as they would hate me for creating their own tumultuous history, they would hate me more for Rain’s.

N: Complicated. Their life included scarring moments, but they have experienced a life of overindulgence and extravagance. They would likely resent the change that thrust them into warfare, ultimately depriving them of their position, but it has had its consolations... the MC being one of them.

Umbra: They would be more upset about the story I wrote for the MC than about themselves, but just as Umbra feels gratitude toward the MC, some of that would be extended to me, the author, because they were given a chance at life in the first place. Still, they would have preferred an easier journey, a chance to be a softer person, someone with less bloody history, and who experienced a bit more gentleness.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Do you think tpdgsgtgc!Jason had any love interest before being kidnapped?

This is a great question, anon! My answer got kind of long, so it'll be under the cut.

I think as a kid, Jason was much too focused on survival to actually develop any sort of attraction to others. Or even if he did, he was quick to dismiss it in favor of more pragmatic thoughts. Tragically, I also think that, growing up on East End, it's likely that Jason's early exposure to "romance" and sex would be from the prostitutes he would often see in the darkened corners of the street. 

He'd probably be exposed to sexual acts way too early in life. The walls are thin in East End, and privacy when it's had, is often just a thin curtain separating the act from the rest of the world. Prior to coming to Wayne Manor, I think Jason had quite an unhealthy view of sex--something quick and loveless more akin to the rutting of animals than anything actually intimate. 

Jason's view of love would be equally, heartbreakingly cynical for one so young. I think at that point in his life, he'd think of love in the same way animals do: love is to share one's shelter with another, to look out for each other in times of danger. It might keep you warm, for a time, but it was never enough. It was nothing compared to a warm meal to fill that empty space in your belly or the feeling of finding somewhere safe to bunk down for the night.

After his adoption, I'd like to think that he developed a healthier view of it. He's (sadly) a romantic at heart, and the wealth of books in Wayne Manor allowed him to explore  these feelings in a safer environment. I'd like to think that he enjoyed reading classical love stories, maybe even a few modern ones, as well. 

He's still a cynic, East End has left its marks on him and he bears the scars right down to the bone. But sometimes, Jason would read some novel well into the night and wonder, you know? To have someone look at him the way the books would describe? To feel the butterflies in his stomach in the presence of someone new?

And a part of him would think to himself: wouldn't it be wonderful to have something like that? 

 think while in Bruce and Alfred's care, he'd be a little more at ease. Without the constant fight for survival, he'd feel safe enough to experiment. 

A few random flirtations, an experimental smile thrown in some pretty girl or boy's way. Maybe a few exchanged numbers (although Jason would definitely be the type to prefer letters). Maybe even a few dates, courtesy of Alfred, who'd give him out-of-date but still strangely charming tips.) 

Nothing serious, in the grand scheme of things. 

(And yet, at that age, it like everything. The fleeting looks, the secret smiles, the rising butterflies in his stomach.)

But then, he got kidnapped by the Joker and it all went up in smoke. 

He's back again into survival mode. Not really thinking of anything else except the next meal, the next fight, the next safe place to lay his head at night. 

It's only recently that he's starting to think about romance again. And even then, he keeps it strictly contained to books. 

(And yet, once again, when his mind drifts to you, a part of him can't help but wonder--) 

[hvnsinureyes]

omg queennn its okay i was tryna put 🚪 🥃 like b*ckshots um anyways! whats wrong with me haha!

or just like from the back in general idk i #need him bad

warnings | nsfw— reader gets her back blown out, steph doesn’t know how to use a phone (i think i’m funny)

author's note | OHHH that makes sm sense, i was like "you want to door whiskey with steph?? is that new slang??" but its okay anon, we can be crazy together ❤️

steph walked into the kitchen, knowing he had no real reason but to bother you. he "casually" goes to grab a bottle of water. you didn't think anything of it– there was nothing off about him, no signs of frustration, sadness, or anger. he didn’t say anything at first, simply lingering around, eyes flicking over to where you sat with your nose buried in your book.

to anyone else, it might’ve seemed like nothing. but you knew better.

ever since he realized l another away game was soon to come, steph became clingier than usual, practically attached to your hip at all times this whole week. it’s his way of savoring as much time as he can with you, even though he'll be back in a couple of days. 

dramatic, but you love him. 

the fridge door clicks shut. "away game soon," he mutters, taking a sip from the bottle. you hum in response, more focused on the book you're reading. in your defense, it's getting to the good part. steph frowns– more of a pout actually, yet he denies it every time– at the lack of attention. "gonna be gone for a bit."

"yep. i saw on the calendar."

"you not gon' miss me?" he steps closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, like the big baby he is.

"steph, i always miss you." you sighed, finally looking up at him.

"i miss you more." he whispered, and before you could roll your eyes, his mouth was on yours— soft and needy, tongue brushing against your bottom lip, like he was asking for permission. you open your lips against his, letting him in. as much as he annoys you, you can never get enough of steph.

"i know you will." you pull away, book already forgotten. "now, what do you want?”

but steph didn’t answer. instead, he leaned in, lowering his head until his lips found that sweet spot on your neck. a kiss. then another. slow, wet, deliberate, trailing down further. your breath caught as he dragged his mouth lower, grazing your collarbone, hand sliding over your thigh— he didn’t need to say anything else.

“i wanna spend time with you,”

“steph—” you moaned, your voice trembling slightly, heat blooming deep in your belly. “you mean fucking, don’t you?”

“same thing.” he pulled back enough to look you dead in the eyes, his smirk lazy, but dangerous. “we could make another tape,” he said, thumb now tracing slow circles on the inside of your thigh. “have something to remember you by.”

“don’t you have enough of those?”

“we’ve done every position but one…”

"fuckkk yes," steph groans, voice raspy. "throw that ass back, just like that baby," doggystyle— that’s what was missing. the flash from steph’s iphone shines on your back, camera focused between your ass and steph’s hips, cock rutting into your pussy. you don’t know what it is, the presence of the camera or making sure steph really has something interesting to watch while he’s gone, but you end up showing out each time.

“guess you’re not the only one who’s gon’ miss me,” he muses. you’re dripping all over, juices sticking between your thighs and coating his dick. it’s hard not to when he’s slamming into that spot, making your toes curl and leaving your body shaking. “this pussy will, won’t it?” you nod, but that’s not enough for him.

“words, baby, we can’t see your face.”

“yes, yes, it’ll miss you!”

“good,” he murmurs, entranced by the feel of your tight walls. “b’cause imma miss this most of all, this nice ass pussy,” with his fingers digging into your asscheek, he takes back control of the pace, fucking into you harder. your moans only encourage him to go faster, rougher— hammering into you like there’s no tomorrow. “it’s all mines,” he says, you don’t hesitate to respond.

“all yours, no one else’s,”

“you close, ain’t you?” it’s not a question, more of a statement if anything. steph can already tell by the way you’re squirming beneath him. you can already feel the bruises and discomfort you’ll get from sitting down, but that’s not important right now, you’ll make him make it up to you later. steph’s free hand goes under, quickly finding your clit and rubbing frantically. he’s desperate, wanting you to feel the same high he’ll to get soon enough.

it doesn’t take much though. you scream out from the friction, senses heightening as you gush over the couch and his fingers, whimpering as he continues even after your orgasm. “steph— t’much,” he’s moaning, deep in his throat, from how you’re squeezing him. you’re just as enthusiastic, fighting through your fatigue to grind into him, back arched and in perfect sync with his hips. he’s almost there, also needing that push. you already know.

“inside, baby, c’mon,” you say, looking back at him, “f—fill me up. i need it, i wanna feel you,” steph’s hips stutter against you before he completely stills, both hands grabbing your hips as he cums deep inside, hips completely pressed against you. you feel the spurts of cum fill you up until you’re stuffed full of steph. it’s silent except for your small pants, the both of you basking in the moment…until he says,

“…i don’t think it was recording.” what? steph grabs the phone from where it fell on the couch. there was no video, he didn’t even open the camera app. turns out his flashlight was on the whole time instead.

“are you kidding me?”

steph just grins, sheepishly, as if he didn’t just take you through an intense workout for a good 10 minutes. your body is sore and aching, goddamnit—

“one more time?”

“no.”

[inkblotsonmyhands]

----- SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING BY SUSANNE COLLINS + BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES + HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY-----

one thing about me is that i loooove to overanalyze a piece of media. i just finished reading sunrise on the reaping after highly anticipating this book for a couple of months and now need to put down my thoughts about it somewhere so here we are.

for the majority of this discussion, im going to be comparing sunrise on the reaping, the ballad of songbirds and snakes, and the hunger games trilogy as three stories. im regarding the entire hunger games trilogy as one story because i see that as the story of katniss. the ballad of songbirds and snakes is the story of snow. sunrise on the reaping is the story of haymitch.

i think sunrise on the reaping is the worst hunger games book. that doesn't mean it's a bad book; it's just that the original trilogy and tbosas (which i personally loved) set a very high bar. i'm starting this off with a disclaimer that, although most of this post is criticism, i definitely did enjoy reading the book and i think it's generally pretty good. it's just not incredibly good.

this story explores two main themes: the first being propaganda, and the second being the question of why an oppressed population does not fight against authority. i think it tackles the theme of propaganda pretty well. we see multiple instances of media being altered to represent a certain narrative. haymitch operates within the games as a character he makes up, the "rascal" and tries to put out his own propaganda, but the capitol beats him at his own game and uses the rascal against him. there's also the posters in district 12 and the capitol, haymitch's reaping, louella's death and lou lou, and certainly many, many more examples im forgetting to mention. this is done well. however, i don't think the book does an amazing job at tackling its second topic. the thing is, susanne collins' books have a pattern of posing a question which, by the conclusion of the book (or series, if you look at the hunger games trilogy), the main character answers for themselves. the hunger games is about just war theory, which asks what is an acceptable cause for war and what are acceptable actions during a war. the series explores different takes on the answers to these questions through different characters, most prominently peeta and gale. simply put, gale stands for violence and peeta stands for diplomacy. by choosing peeta at the end of the series, katniss makes a decision about her own stance on the topic. the ballad of songbirds and snakes is about the social contract theory. snow has to decide what the purpose of the hunger games is, and he concludes by the end of the book that the hunger games exist as a representation of the natural state of man as described by thomas hobbes. sunrise on the reaping asks why haymitch, all the tributes, district 12, or the entirety of the population of the districts do not rebel against their oppressors: snow, the peacekeepers, ultimately the entire capitol, who they outnumber easily. and haymitch's answer to this question is... nothing. he just thinks about it a bunch of times but doesn't get anywhere beyond that. and yes, the reason he doesn't manage to answer that question is probably because he is busy attempting to carry out a rebel plot and failing, which is reasonable, but the story as a whole suffers from that question remaining unanswered. the propaganda point, while well done, is not a question. the book is just showing many examples of something. interesting, but not necessarily engaging. the other hunger games books invite the reader to think about the moral question of the book themselves and give deep insight on the main character through the way they go about answering it. sunrise on the reaping largely fails to do that with the kind of depth that the other books did.

this brings me to my second point. sunrise on the reaping (before the epilogue) ends with haymitch on a complete low, having failed to carry out his rebel plot and lost his family and girlfriend. the hunger games ends with katniss still traumatized and recovering, but free of the oppressive regime. the ballad of songbirds and snakes ends with snow ready to rise to power, having destroyed all evidence of his wrongdoing, and the one person who knows it all vanished. basically, the other two stories do not end on entirely sad notes for the main character. there's nothing wrong with a sad ending in a book, but it definitely took away from my enjoyment of the book because there was no reward at any point. the entire story felt futile, and, to make it worse, i knew throughout the story that it was going to be futile. the happy epilogue is also not particularly rewarding because it has basically nothing at all to do with the events of the book. i would say that the book's sad ending didn't even really impact me because it wasn't a surprise. the saddest moment to me was probably louella's death, but it had been so long since that happened by the end of the story that it didn't really compound at the conclusion. even then, louella's death was not particularly devastating, because i barely had any attachment to the character.

i think sunrise on the reaping suffers most severely from being an unplanned prequel. what i mean by this is that it was obviously not planned out while the hunger games trilogy was being written. this is absolutely normal and expected; the ballad of songbirds and snakes was also obviously unplanned. the difference, however, is that tbosas takes place 64 years before the start of the original trilogy. the only character from tbosas who is present in the main books is snow himself, and he's the villain who is not having regular intimate conversations with the hunger games' main character and multiple other characters. snow is in a position where his backstory could really be anything and it wouldn't throw off the hunger games; it would only recontextualize it. do i think susanne collins' had thought up lucy gray baird when she said that district 12 had only had two victors before katniss and peeta? no, not at all. she may have had a vague idea that she wanted district 12's first victor to have a history with snow, but i highly doubt she was a fully realized character. in fact, i would guess that the reason why she said two victors but only introduced haymitch was to give herself a nonspecific character she could come back to later. if you asked her while writing catching fire, "who was haymitch's mentor in his games?" her answer may have been "the first district 12 victor", or "that's a secret", or "i haven't decided", but you know what i think was definitely, definitely not the answer? "katniss's unlikely allies, wiress and mags."

sunrise on the reaping reveals that haymitch was close to many significant characters from the hunger games trilogy, then says that the reason why we get no indication of this in those books is because he decided to distance himself from everyone after snow ruined his life. the fact that he knew all these people so closely, though, does recontextualize a lot of the hunger games, but instead of adding fun gotchas, it just makes a lot of the story baffling. for example, we are told that haymitch is so traumatized from his games that he doesn't associate at all with any of the people he knew from that time in his life—yet, when beetee, who hatched the rebel plot that got beetee's own son killed and ruined haymitch's life, hatches a new plot centered around haymitch's childhood best friend's daughter, her boyfriend, and several other people he knows, haymitch simply goes along with it with little to no protest. if haymitch is apathetic to everyone and everything, why isn't he apathetic to the concept of revolution entirely? isn't his motivation not hurting himself and his loved ones no matter what? another example is the dynamics of the youth of haymitch's time in district 12. if maysilee, merilee, and astrid were the best of friends before the games, how is it that by the hunger games trilogy merilee and astrid had basically nothing to do with each other?

moving on. lenore dove suffers from a serious case of tell-dont-show, admittedly because she was off screen for most of the book. i will say that i found it very difficult to care about her and their relationship given how little time she spent actually doing anything in the story. her most important moment, i would say, was the conversation she and haymitch have the morning of the reaping, where she says that the reaping is not an inevitability, although i did think that haymitch didn't actually engage fully with that idea and there could have been more done with that line of thought. i also found her death to be, for lack of a better word, silly. lenore dove's death hinging on her happening to find a bag of poisoned gumdrops in a wholeass meadow and haymitch happening to feed them to her is just too chance-y to me and not the kind of calculated move snow would pull.

going further, snow fully ranting to haymitch about the covey for no reason and basically voluntarily revealing to him that the first district 12 victor was his sweetheart also seems very out of character for snow. it is definitely in character for him to be obsessed with lucy gray even after such a long time; but i found the verbal reveal of it all to haymitch rather contrived.

i don't want to end on a negative note, so im going to talk about some things i did like about the book. like i said before, i think the point about propaganda was displayed well. i think the book's greatest strength, however, is that it shows how long the revolution in the hunger games was in the making. admittedly, the failed rebel plot isn't wildly interesting to read, but i appreciate how it shows that the rebels successfully managed to break the arena in the 75th games but had been at it for years. i would also like to add that most of the criticisms i have stem from understandable causes, like lenore dove being tell-dont-show because she simply cannot be present during the games. the main thing i think didn't really need to be done was the abundance of cameos. i think a couple small cameos would have been a nice nod, but the way almost every character we got to know in this book was present in the humger games was a bit much to me.

in conclusion, sunrise on the reaping adds an interesting new perspective to the world of the hunger games of the role of propaganda in an authoritarian regime and the slow, failure and sacrifice-ridden rise of rebellion. its shortcomings betray the traps of writing an unplanned prequel to a very tightly woven and intricate story, but is still overall a decent book. in fact, i would say that without the hunger games and tbosas for context, sunrise on the reaping is a wonderful book, but given those masterpieces exist, the most i can truly call it is "decent".

essay clear.

[randomfoggytiger]

Do you think Mulder viewed the office space as "our" office space or as "my" desk and Scully's area over there? How do you think Scully saw it?

There are times when Scully seems more comfortable sitting at his desk than others. At first view, I thought she was comfortable at his desk in "Never Again", but upon further viewing, I interpreted her as maybe hesitant sitting there and Mulder not minding her sitting there and seeing it as an "our" space until he threw his little tantrum of saying that he worked hard for the xfiles while she was just assigned to the xfiles. That is where I saw he, even as much as he tried, was still territorial of his space even with Scully. At the end of the episode, I got a sense that she didn't feel like she belonged in the space and that she probably saw it as his office because she walks in, pauses a minute, looks around, and then moves once he enters his space and "allows" her in. Even the way she sits down is tentative and how she sits in the chair is uncomfortable.

I think there is a point when Mulder welcomes the office to be a communal space because we see the pregnancy book and the couple of pictures of them, but when does that happen? Is it an "us" spabce? Who, in your opinion, would put up their couple pictures in the office? I think it would be Mulder because he is more of the sentimental one and he is already seen as someone who puts up his sister's picture, so he likes to literally see what he values and what matters to him. Interestingly, he doesn't have a picture of his mom on his desk or at home.

I don't recall if the Mulder/Scully pictures are up in season 8 &9, in his home office in IWTB, or in the Revival. Did you see the pictures return, or did they just get rid of them?

TL;DR:

The desk functions as a mouthpiece for the current state of the relationship. Mulder considers it theirs, though he sits behind it; and thinks Scully's insistence on having her own means she is drawing away from him. Scully, meanwhile, reads his lack of forethought as lack of consideration; andm consequently, withdraws.

I'm pretty sure she did have a desk in the early seasons. At some point that went away; and that, too, is interesting-- that perhaps Scully didn't ask for another one because she, too, felt like Mulder's desk was communal... until she began to doubt her place on the files.

Lack of vulnerable communication really affected Scully's perception and Mulder's translation, a crack that split open in Never Again and was resolved (mostly) in Field Trip.

Lastly, I think the office pictures were stored away; but I'm not 100% certain. Samantha Mulder remained, though.

Too Long, Wanna Read:

I think Mulder saw it as an "us" space by the close of Season 1 (if not right after the Pilot.) However: he does have a protective streak, eagerly willing to share territory only IF he and his ideas are taken seriously. Not territorial so much as battered by the world, and sore.

In Never Again, he's stung by Scully's "Refusing an assignment? It makes it sound like you’re my superior" and snaps at her dismissal. Yet, he's immediately shaken by her "And it's become mine," asking in a smaller voice, "You don't want it to be?"

The episode was about Scully's other fathers and endless lines, but it was also-- at its core-- about the lack of communication between both partners. Mulder believed Scully wanted to be there... but did she, really? Did she truly value the work, or was she just there to do her job as a scientist? And likewise, Scully thought that Mulder needed her there but came to wonder if her presence had left any impact on the files.

It's a question they sort of answer by the end of Season 4 and into Season 5-- Scully wants "to work... for my own reasons" in Memento Mori; and she comes back to work-- and Mulder-- as soon as she can (by Detour.) However, Mulder is still holding back; and that breeds, again, a sense of displacement, i.e. The Pine Bluff Variant and The End. By Fight the Future, he's forced to speak the truth; and Scully is stunned over how deeply he valued and needed her.

Then in Season 6 they have no files, and must rely on each other again: Season 2 but with a clearer understanding of their current dynamic. Then they get the files back and flitter about in limbo. And finally, we get a resolution to Never Again, in a way-- Field Trip, where both are in a place where Mulder can just say what he's always thought:

"Scully, in six years, how... how often have I been wrong? No, seriously. I mean, every time I bring you a case we go through this perfunctory dance. You tell me I'm not being scientifically rigorous and that I'm off my nut, and then in the end who turns out to be right like 98.9% of the time? I just think I've... earned the benefit of the doubt here."

He's jaggedly forthright and it hurts her feelings (of course); but it's the same sentiment that she's subtly (and not-so-subtly) maintained all the years they've worked together (in all the Vince Gilligan episodes, particularly): Mulder, there are no such things as vampires; Mulder, there isn't a bug person creating zombie people; Mulder, we didn't see a spaceship in Antarctica; Mulder, you didn't see me on the Queen Anne. Mulder's dark thought in the back of his head is that Scully has felt this way, truly, for years-- since the start:"Tell me you think I'm crazy"/"Mulder, you're crazy." It's a toothless speculation when all is well... but not so much when things are rocky between them.

Scully, in Never Again and Field Trip, feels dismissed and reduced, simultaneously not communicating her own hurt-- or becoming uncomfortable when doing so-- and not realizing that her partner is suffering in the same way. His "passion, dedication, and strength" that she relies on is something Scully is afraid to fully trust, just as she's afraid to fully commit to any one path or afraid to let anyone in too close. Mulder and Scully are both avoidant, scared people who would rather circle the drain than spell out their grievances; and because of this, she would rather "do the work" and hope her message comes across (i.e. hope that he doesn't consider her a spy or a burden or someone who "held you back", as she's sometimes wondered, and feared, from the start) than speak the truth out loud.

As much as Mulder prizes her challenging honesty and her unbending scientific rigor, he also feels dismissed by it-- just as Scully feels overlooked by his zeal for the work or the next "truth."

Field Trip resolved that divide; Biogenesis-Amor Fati widened both their minds (literally and figuratively); and Millennium was just the conclusion of their arc together, with Closure and all things book ending their separate, personal journeys.

So: Mulder always thought of the place as Scully's, that the space in the back was "hers"-- that she had claimed it. This was news to Scully (and not good enough, understandably); and when she challenged it, he offered to get another desk. That never went anywhere, and the topic was never brought up again; but I think there's a part of Scully that just accepted things the way they were. And to Mulder, that meant integration.

Was it resolved completely on-screen? Not really. Was it a part of their relationship that became habit between them? I think so. I also think Scully only returned to the "your and my desk" dividing lines-- or lack thereof-- when she was questioning her place in the world and peace in her choices (Never Again's lasting legacy and "other fathers", all things's identity and peace and "other fathers.")

In short: Mulder considers the desk (and basement) "theirs"; but because he didn't explicitly communicate this for nearly six years, Scully was left to decipher her place there depending on her current confidence or fluctuating sense of displacement.

[heartspiraling]

i think that the stigma on “misogynist” and “abuser” have been developed so deeply that it only means physical harm and manipulation… so now its why i wouldnt say that laurance is this, but hes also not too far from it either. dgmw i understand wholly about the difference between genuine care and obsessive behavior. but for my interpretation of laurance, he just seems so pushy. i wouldnt say hes blatantly misogynistic. but hes influenced by societal normalities, he pushes himself to protect aphmau as a soldier to a lord, as a lover, as a man to a woman. he doesnt want to leave aphmau alone because hes afraid she will be harmed, but he also doesnt want anyone else to get close to her. his dislike for aaron is because hes so close to aphmau despite him being an enigma. it seems that he views her as an object to achieve, constantly making love professions, and not really considering her emotions. but all the same, people are entitled to their own emotions, laurance can declare his love all he wants, there is no harm, just like aphmau can reject his love all she wants. and to some point, laurance starts to get anxious at the fact that aphmau is maturing, she doesnt joke with him anymore, she talks about business, and most of all, shes always accompanying or being accompanied by aaron. and while he was respectful for most of their time together, we cant forget he was also a little isolating. he killed a whole tribe, he tried to keep any guy who had interest in her, or who he thought had interest, away from her. and i think that at the point where laurance overheard aphmau was pregnant with aarons child, it was like his last straw. and he just lashed out. he declared an answer from aphmau about who resides in her heart. and he seems so entitled to know it, dying to know who she loves, even though hes aware its not himself. the whole time of being with her and this group, he only considered himself and garroth as “contenders of her love”, but he never considered that aphmau would find someone outside of the two of them. he seems entitled. and since the words misogynist and abuser have such a hefty connotation, it doesnt seem right to label him these. so in turn, i think ill see him as entitled…

Me when I'm in a mischaracterizing competition and my opponent is someone who says Laurance is a misogynistic abuser:

[thethespacecoyote]

contemplating what exactly it was about ford that made bill feel important now

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?