#juri headers

[sailorjisunq]

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[astralcrewarch]

beating my brain w a stick. we don't want to make graphics apparently. only writing.

[iam-lnt]

I knew we would be friends since I saw your header image is France played by Juri-san 😔🌹

(talking everything about him for me, pls)

i specifically choose the banner to show both my fav hetalia character and the fact that i'm into hetamyu 🙂‍↕️ destiny has lead us to here AND you've unlocked that secret part in my photo album which is full of Juri-san screenshots (here's a peak) (I have more) (it's so refreshing to look at him grrr) (beautiful. France coming to life) (arrgghh)

[the1312daysofchristmas]

If you haven't done so already, I would love to hear you elaborate on You're Crashing and how it relates to the Fred Hampton Jr trial? My knowledge of him and the trial starts with your header text and google isn't exactly forthcoming on the climate of public opinion at the time it was actually happening. Also I just want to hear your thoughts since I heard it from you first, if that's ok

no problem. take what i say with a grain of salt, as im not american, so this isnt my history directly. additionally, this was before my time.

after the beating of rodney king at the hands of police, and the acquital of 3 of the 4 officers responsible, there were riots. the 1992 los angeles riots to be precise. these riots sprang up amid a backdrop of tension between black american and korean communities, and during these riots, a korean menswear store was firebombed. fred hampton jr, son of civil rights activist and martyr fred hampton, was found guilty for this, with the main piece of evidence i believe being that there were blisters on his hands. he and his supporters maintain his innocence for this event. many people, particularly black political activists, believe that his guilty verdict was mostly because he continued his fathers legacy in fighting for racial justice in america.

it is a known fact explicitly stated by the band that youre crashing but youre no wave is inspired by this trial (this is pre release, so the song names are different). this is demonstrated through the narrative told by the lyrics. the story ended before it began. the DA didnt need to give his closing argument, because the jury already believed it from the narrative spun on the news. 'everyones looking for relief/a bidding war for an old flame's grief' the old flame in this case being his father, from whom he picked up the torch. you could pay to close the case like a casket, because whats inside it is messy, and no one wants to see the dirty guts of the truth. the jury is stacked. the witnesses are well paid (too well dressed for the witness stand). the song heavily, heavily implies over and over, that this is not a fair trial, and that there is a foregone conclusion.

i feel as though its easy to argue this song is out of place, but personally, while its VERY on the nose and not really all that subtle (and i like that about it, dont get it twisted), i think it fits into the theme. i mentioned a while back that 'be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. then life seems most enchanted after all' refers, in the context of its association with this album, to the stars in hollywood. ioh is about media narratives first and foremost. its about fame, and celebrity, and painting a perfect picture, one that sells well. its all about the artifice ('style your wake for fashion magazines' 'i only think in the form of crunching numbers in hotel room collectong Page Six lovers' '"we need umbrellas on the inside" get me just right.') and in this case, it shifts its focus from media and celebrity into media and politics. which i find really really interesting.

[daryascurse]

𝙲𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙾𝚁

── Part III: Sui Juris

He thought of this in abstract as the water drummed over his ears, in pictures and memories more than an internal monologue – the weight of the graduation cloak under the beating sun, the sweat gathering above the upper lips of the sea of faces before him, the warm perfume he smelled more than tasted when his tongue pressed and split her in the classroom – “Fuck,” he said. The word bounced amongst the tiles.

chapter pov : 3rd person coryo, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns ❀ tags: masτurbation, fantasizing ❀ word count: ~3.6k ❀ ao3 ❀playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

See header "Caveat Emptor" link for table of contents/ chapter 1.

He was shaking as he stormed from the classroom. The once-bustling halls of the morning had settled from the seething churn of activity, trickled into a stream of the last few graduates and their families milling around. They came dangerously close to knocking into his shoulders as he barreled through the campus.

“Hey, Cor-”

The sounds of acquaintances greeting him fell into the rhythm of his feet pounding on the marble. Coriolanus had to clench his hands into fists. He let the strain curling through his palms be what drew his focus as he walked. It couldn’t be that he thought of the interrupted fullness that ached and throbbed there with each step. It couldn’t be that he instead thought of the ring box rocking into his calf, of the secret bruise he was sure to find tonight that was probably swelling already. He ground his teeth, muscles convulsing in his throat. Even Coriolanus’ jaw felt misaligned, the clenched bite sliding in a way that felt wrong, wrong, as wrong as the day had turned.

How he hated her!

How he must hate her, to have her strangle at his thoughts so!

Coriolanus exhaled, sharp, through his nose, and strode towards the main gates. He hated her. And acknowledging this fury that burned in his veins made him feel a little more comfortable. It was more familiar to wallow in hatred. Better than to spend time in the disarray, in the confusion, the unsettled dust with which she left his mind.

Her name burst from the speakers, another droning reminder to collect her diploma, and Coriolanus fought the urge to box his hands over his ears. The fury, so close to ebbing away, refused to settle in his curled fists, as if he might only be satisfied by beating himself half-senseless. Coriolanus was familiar in his strength enough for it.

Breathe, damn it.

So Coriolanus clenched his fists harder, then flexed them with a push, fingers splaying as if to wrap around a throat. He would refuse to think of her. He would simply refuse to open up the graduation program, to find her name again; there was no reason to flip to the back pages, to see if her plans were published in the same ink that let the school boast that alumnus Coriolanus Snow was off to become Head Gamemaker. Even if he could do that so easily. Again, the better choice – to forget her.

Yes, Coriolanus would forget her. He hated her for the disruption, but he would get that plan back on track, to create the perfect public image that he was painfully close to completing. He gave a curt nod to a waving student who clearly recognized him better than he did them, and made his way to the car still waiting. As he rode to the restaurant, Coriolanus kneaded his knuckles in his lap. The hot summer day roared past the windows, and he closed his eyes. He managed to bid her from his mind, allowing more important thoughts – of work, of the Games – to take their rightful priority.

Livia Cardew was the only one who made a comment when he made his way to his seat at the square marble table, her eyes oily and sharp. Like a rat. “Something kept you, Coriolanus?”

He shed the graduation robe and handed it to one of the restaurant’s white suited Avoxes. “I ran into Professor Waterford in the hall and it was hard to get away,” he said, adjusting the collar of his shirt and leaning around the centerpiece to shake Lucio Cardew’s hand before sitting. “My sincere apologies for making you wait, Livia. Mr. Cardew, Mrs. Cardew.”

Livia and her mother Antonia took mirrored sips of champagne on his left and right, the former’s gaze still narrowed over the lip of the flute.

“Lucio, please, Coriolanus,” came a mild, oft-repeated grunt soon railroaded by the sound of his wife.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Cardew said as she put her glass down. “That man always prattles on and on. I’m sure everyone else wanted to say their last words and well wishes, too. I’m thrilled we could even get a chance to congratulate you getting off stage.”

“It was certainly crowded,” Mr. Cardew said. He sniffed as an Avox came to place Coriolanus’ first course. “You’d think they’d have things better organized.”

“Well,” Coriolanus demurred cautiously.

“The administration’s always a mess,” Livia said, spinning her knife between her fingers. She drew an imaginary line over her poached egg with the tip of the blade before slicing through and spilling a river of gold across her plate.

“Darling, you won’t have to deal with them anymore now,” Mrs. Cardew said in a voice as smooth and rich as the sauce pooling into Livia’s eggs.

“Absolutely,” Coriolanus said, nodding.

Livia wrinkled her nose. “I certainly hope not. Mother, the bank’s much more well run than that stuffy old place, isn’t it?”

Coriolanus watched the gelatinous wobble of food on her fork and prayed she would eat it soon.

“Of course. And you’ll be training in my department, so you know if you come across any trouble, come right to me.”

Livia’s sound of satisfaction was muffled by the forkful of yellow.

“So, Coriolanus,” Mrs. Cardew continued.

“Yes?” He turned his head, grateful for the distraction.

“When do you formally take the keys to the kingdom from Dr. Gaul?”

She had picked up her knife as well, preparing to saw into her eggs just as her daughter was doing.

“Tomorrow morning,” Coriolanus said. “It’s a workday for the Gamemakers same as most of Panem, isn’t it?”

“What?” snapped Livia.

“No vacation time for you, eh?” Mr. Cardew said into the depths of his goblet.

“I thought we had plans,” Livia whined. “I wasn’t set on starting at the bank for another week.”

Coriolanus wrapped his fingers around the stem of his water glass. It seemed it would take little strength to snap it. Livia wasn’t likely upset at the loss of quality time, but rather, quality access to the Plinth fortune that she would otherwise try to squeeze out of him in such a time. Her shrewd, wealth-hoarding mother had taught her well, which was why the eventual union of the dynasties would be so beneficial to all.

“No, sorry,” he said. “My dear,” he added, and couldn’t restrain his lip from curling at the taste of it. It had made Mrs. Cardew smirk, her thick eyelashes raising to flicker at her daughter across the table, but it felt wrong. Too easily wrapped in sarcasm; and if Livia were to catch on to it over the coming years, it would be much more trouble than it was worth. He needed a different term of endearment, one less easy to spit from between his teeth. “I would have liked to do something special, but some last minute plans fell through.”

The ring box, somewhere buried in a cloak room now, sandwiched in his graduation  gown pocket against tens of other coats and jackets, still sat like a phantom weight against his leg. And with the reminder of the weight came the reminder of why he had forgotten. The reason he hadn’t proposed to Livia on that stage. He shifted in his seat.

An Avox whisked away his still-untouched plate to replace it with a second course, and Mrs. Cardew made a sound in her throat that implied she had more to say on the matter. Coriolanus barely heard her, watching the shadow shift across the back of his knuckles as the plate moved down above him.

He had no appetite.

Livia excused herself then. Coriolanus picked up his spoon and turned it listlessly in the lobster bisque.

“You know, Coriolanus,” Mrs. Cardew said in a meticulously measured tone. “After being with Livia for several years now, and speaking only as her mother who wants the best for her…”

She paused.

“Yes, I understand,” he jumped into the momentary breath, and cast a glowing smile her way even as soup slid back into the bowl. His fingers were tensing on the spoon. “I am truly sorry to disappoint any expectations, Mrs. Cardew.”

“Antonia,” she said, singing the turn of vowels over her tongue. Mr. Cardew made a mild sound of agreeance.

“Well,” she said after another pause, the time in which Coriolanus almost thought himself free of this line of conversation, “I must say, as old-fashioned as I may be in this, there certainly are specific expectations her father and I have in mind.”

“Yes, Antonia.”

He shifted his foot under the table, but no amount of fidgeting relieved the tension. He almost wished he could stand up and walk right out the door.

“As much as we’ve welcomed you into our family, a family indeed acts in mutual support, doesn’t It? Well, dear,” she added in a clearly exaggerated haste, “of course you would barely know, no fault of your own – but of course, we’ve raised Livia to understand these expectations as well.”

The rage frothing under Coriolanus’ skin was palpable, itching, consuming all of his senses and spoiling any last trace of an appetite. He’d known this was coming. He’d known that marrying was necessary, and that marrying Livia Cardew was strategically best. He’d committed himself to this plan. He’d played this game in the years since stepping out of the zoo enclosure, carefully and reluctantly coating the saccharine candy shell as the last necessary theatrics before he could take a genteel bow and retire to a watchful eye backstage. And as advantageous as the Cardew family bank connections would be, he’d known it would come with strings, with veiled condescension, with the last remnants of old money snobbery who may be impressed with his ability to claw his way back up with the Snow name, but would never forget that it fell in the first place.

And yet, even though he knew Snow would fall on top, being told how it must be done filled him with anger.

“What did I miss?” Livia said as she slid back into her chair. The tone of her voice did nothing to spur his attitude on, even as the lobster bisque steamed in savory aroma on the table.

When they bid her parents a cordial adieu and gratitude for the brunch – in which the grand tableau of Coriolanus attempting to pay for the bill was more forcedly demure than usual – Coriolanus felt the weight of the ring box almost drag his steps off-center. He knew Mrs. Cardew was right, loathe as he was to admit it, loathe as he was to put it off further in response. But it wouldn’t even be a smug rubbing in their face to reveal that he’d had a ring all along, throughout the double-tongued lecture at the table. There would be whining about how this wasn’t proper, this wasn’t the proposal Livia deserved. And what could he say? That he’d meant to do it on stage in front of everyone? That he’d had a plan? That some whore distracted him?

The anger was consuming him, each delicate clink of cutlery and humming tone of his tablemates conversation only serving as irritants he couldn’t flee from. It was worse, worse than he could have imagined, as the self-discipline he’d believed himself to have. She had genuinely rattled his resolve.

Despite himself, he was thinking of her again. And he needed to think of her alone.

He was thinking of her when he took a different car back to the penthouse, claiming that he’d promised to join Festus Creed and his family for a drink and knowing she would turn her nose up at the invitation to join. Coriolanus instead took the car to the cobbler, thinking of her as he purchased a pair of satin pink slippers with genuine mother-of-pearl soles. At least, that’s what the salesman said as he peddled the most insensible shoes Coriolanus had ever seen, but he wasn’t thinking of the practicality of the gaudy gift that was just an expensive bribe for some free time. He was thinking of her, thinking of her still when he returned home and watched Livia pluck the ribbon to shreds in greedy haste to open the box. It may not have been what the Cardew family expected him to mark the occasion with, but he was able to pretend it had not been a hasty purchase and rather something wrapped and hidden away for this very moment. It was good enough to please her, for her eyes to soften ever so slightly.

“Maybe you could wear them out with the girls to drinks tonight,” Coriolanus said, knowing that he was speaking too on-the-nose but hoping she wouldn’t be shrewd enough to notice.

He was right.

“Darling, these might just have to be house shoes,” Livia said in her patronizing way as she turned them in her hand, running her finger over the sleek iridescence of the soles. Coriolanus had a flash of fear in his stomach for a moment, realizing for the first time that this gift could confine her to the apartment rather than heed his words to coax her away. “But I was thinking of it, you know, going out with Victoire and Davina tonight. Maybe Carina.”

“Oh, were you?” Coriolanus couldn’t care to think of whose faces matched the names she was throwing out.

“Well yes,” Livia said. “Carina and Davina are sisters, so I have to ask them both if I ask one.”

Coriolanus couldn’t care less, so long as she and Carina and Davina and any other well-educated graduate now seeking an early retirement with a ring on their finger would be out of his house. He was thinking of her incessantly now, unable to shake the memories of the morning, like cobwebs knotted high out of reach in the archway. He got his wish with a few more subliminal nudges of approval throughout the evening – of course she should go out and be with her friends. She should take her valise of powders and lipsticks and get ready with Vittoria or Victoria or whoever lived closest to their favorite oyster bar, with pounds of seafood arriving fresh from District Four thrice daily now. They should proceed to the rooftop for cocktails afterward. In fact, she should take her favorite sleeping mask in case they all spend the night. It’s past dinnertime now, she should call the car soon.

She blew a kiss at him out the door in her haste, and Coriolanus didn’t even pretend to catch it.

Instead, he latched the door. He moved without thinking, heeding a primal instinct he hadn’t indulged since his early teen years. Coriolanus turned about, not even waiting to hear the muffled groan of a departing elevator before he unzipped his pants. He didn’t even try to walk to the couch. He moved his hand in a firm grip, back and forth, and came quickly, down the close of his fist to spatter down the front of his nice slacks. It was messy. But the release for a moment made him feel the cluster in his head relaxed enough to think clearly. Coriolanus moved methodically in the aftermath, carefully stepping out of his pants and balling the fabric together. He shed his clothes like snakeskin and wrapped them together to discard in the laundry.

Coriolanus took a shower next, feeling his heartrate slow at last under the cool streams of water. He washed away the burning humiliation of the morning stumbles, the painful brunch with the Cardews. The June night was settling in to be a hot one. He thought of this in abstract as the water drummed over his ears, in pictures and memories more than an internal monologue – the weight of the graduation cloak under the beating sun, the sweat gathering above the upper lips of the sea of faces before him, the warm perfume he smelled more than tasted when his tongue pressed and split her in the classroom –

“Fuck,” he said. The word bounced amongst the tiles.

He needed her, and in his bedroom, he toweled off his wet hair with a vigor that rubbed his scalp near raw. Coriolanus remembered being in primary school, for a moment, the last classes he had taken in rows of carved mahogany desks before the effects of war in the Capitol tore formal schooling asunder. There’d been only a handful of students left that day in geology, when the teacher was explaining earthquakes – the natural ones, not the way the floor shook and buildings swayed as bombs fell.

“It’s easy to imagine that small earthquakes can release pressure among the plates and prevent something bigger,” the teacher had said, tapping the diagram on the chalkboard. “But those little ones aren’t enough to relieve the fault lines of the energy strain. The tension stored on the fault still needs an intense release of energy. A big earthquake.”

The release in the foyer had soothed his mind from the tempest of the morning, but it was far from enough. All the blood in his body was still pumping downwards, the aching weight of the morning still too much to ignore. Coriolanus shoved the comforter down on his side of the bed, droplets still dappled across his shoulders, and took his cock in his hand again. Vague, comforting images flitted across his mind automatically before he thought of her.

She was behind his eyelids, the shape of her face against an unknown background. First, she stood in the classroom, then, she was lying back in the chair in that strip club basement. He opened his eyes, and he could imagine her there in his bed for a moment. He squeezed his fist hard, harder than he’d done before, as if he could pretend it was her hand, her mouth, her cunt.

“Fuck,” Coriolanus let out again in a grunt.

He needed her. He needed to fuck her. He needed to brace his hands against her ankles, feel his fingers wrap around her legs, inhale her scent of sunlight. He would raise them over his shoulders, pushing a faint moan out of her. It would break from her perfectly shaped lips, her breath sighing high into the room.

He would push into her then, watch his cock get slowly swallowed by the wet tightness of her cunt. Coriolanus groaned, adjusted his fingers, tensing his thighs at the memory of how it had felt, at the knowledge that a memory was far from enough. He needed to fuck her, drive deeper and deeper, the back of her thighs hammering against his chest. He needed to be holding them, the plush of her flesh between the spread of his fingers, not his own cock. Each rock of his hips would thrust down into her, not the mindless clenches of muscle and hips jerking feebly upward into bed.

The comforter at his feet was growing too hot of a cover, but even in irritable awareness of this, Coriolanus couldn’t stop and throw it off of him.

He would feel her clench around him, his grip on her thighs tightening in return. He would feel her along his length, every bit of him sucked into her. Her hands would be weak, falling across her chest – no, Coriolanus changed the image without too much thought to take him out of this fevered fantasy – he would bind her hands. She would be held up against the headboard, unable to move beyond how he maneuvered her. She would cling in agony to the fine iron vines, pushing her voice higher and louder in frustration and relish.

“Please,” she would say, as he’d heard her beg, and the thought of it made him groan again as if he could respond to her now. “Please, please.”

He needed to fuck her. He needed to fuck her hard. She would throb around him when he sank deep and held still for a moment, and she would make another plaintive wail when he let her shaking legs down and braced himself over her. He would have to pull out, but he would kiss her, capture her lips and taste the beading sweat. He would hold himself over her when he entered once more and when she cried out again, begging again, he would come. She would be dripping him when he pulled out, and Coriolanus came now at the thought of it, of seeing the milky ooze from the folding petals of her cunt as he filled her.

Coriolanus opened his eyes and exhaled hard enough to banish the ghost of her from the room. His fingers were sticky, the sheets spattered with stains turning dark in the evening light from the window. He couldn’t even think of cleaning them, which he should do whether or not Livia gave the extra reassurance that she wouldn’t be coming home.

He thought, dimly, with the last strings of coherent thought he had, of her. Coriolanus had been a fool to think he could forget her, and he could almost admit that to himself. She intoxicated his senses, his very thoughts. He needed her. He needed her, just as vitally and indispensably as he needed Livia Cardew, but in a wholly different way.

He closed his eyes and, in a rare moment, allowed himself to think of another young woman – the one other “her” to plague him. In the concrete jungle of the Capitol he was free, far, from the wild crossings of brambles and branches seeking to trap him beneath an everblue sky with the screaming echoes of her sounds. He’d shot down the filthy birds, maybe shot her down as well, and cast the cursed singing far from his ears. Only she had made his blood run like this. Only she had haunted him so pervasively, so continuously. Until now.

He had tracked down a wild thing like her before. He could hunt again.

Part IV: Cui Bono Fuerit

[kujikawaiiart]

I-no and Juri header comm~

[inkyquince]

read 'remy knows positions that bailey has only had night terrors of' and got so hard i had to sit down. im a bailey stan but ur right. bailey-remy fuck off when i will be judge jury and willing test subject

i like that line so much i need to put it in my header.

in that fuck off remy will be pulling out the reverse cowboy-cowgirl double flipper fuck, scoring an easy 10/10 and bailey would be thinking about missionary makes his knees hurt.

[pinksparkl]

Spoilers for Questioning the King

Dayummmm (I feel like I need a drink after that, but it's so late and I wanna sleep...)

First off, a huge round of applause to Erik for voicing William bc Hedral wasn't available. I could tell there was something different about the voice, but initially just chalked it up to it being literally 2 years since his last appearance. He hit all the major quirks of the monarch's accent and performed his role well.

And the shattered cassette cover is not giving me much hope... (Inversion Aftershock flashbacks...)

The "they will have it [an explanation] when I give it" had me sitting at attention. William means business.

I love the difference in how both men reacted; how calm and mature Vincent was as William explained his reasoning, and Sam just letting him have it.

It was like the difference between dry anger and wet anger. Vincent has been a Vampire for a bit longer than Sam, has had the (dis)pleasure of being Invoked (even though one was for his survival and the other was at his own request). It feels like he heard what he expected from William, and is disappointed that he was right.

Sam seems like a more level-header guy, but he's very passionate about the things that are important to him, and with his background, he's obviously not too fond of overzealous authority. Add in the fact that our fave Southern vamp has made the decision to not live for eternity, he's not willing to put up with unfavourable conditions in that finite time.

Lol at Darlin' needing to "blow off some steam" though I had lowkey hoped for them to rip William a new one with his plan putting their pack - their family - in danger.

William's "I won't be" in answer to Sam asking "what happens when you're wrong?" literally sent a chill down my spine! The self-assuredness! That is a man who has asked himself that same question and come up with the numerous ways and reasons why he will not fail.

The dedication to his goals is admirable, but wow... judge, jury and executor much. What if someone who thought of William as a friend/ally was to find themself on the wrong end of a deal? Will they be expended as quickly as the Bennetts were?

So now Sam has officially left the House of Solaire... (is that joke of him joining Shaw Security not a joke anymore, 'cos i doubt he'd want to stay employed by the property company if he can't totally trust William and his actions)

And Vincent... he has to choose between a) staying with his adoptive father (who, fun fact, he's now known longer than his bio human parents!!) and accept the fact that he (or Lovely) could be asked to do something morally wrong or b) leaving what he's grown used to over the past 23 years and possibly also lose any protection the clan offers.

It's tough. Vincent obviously loves William, and vice versa, and this conversation needed the nuance of their multiple bonds (Maker-progeny, King-prince, father-son), which I feel it did, in part.

Vincent's question of "are we all... Porters?" really cemented his fear. He doesn't want to be made to harm and kill people, even if it is for the right reasons. Yes, he killed Adam, but that was a spur of the moment thing. There was no planning. It was that or watch him attack someone who he felt a close connection to, despite only knowing Lovely for a combined hour(?) at that point.

In a way, I think he kind of wanted his cake ane eat it too... to live in the safety of the clan, have his happy, dysfunctional family, know about the bad things but never be made to dirty his hands. William said that Vincent is no longer a Newborn, he's an "experienced Vampire" but Lovely isn't. They were only Turned two years ago. Vincent will have to factor that into his decision of whether they even can be safe without the clan, at least in the short-term.

...and I know Fred and Bright are all but written out of the story, but what does Sam leaving mean for them? Obviously they can make their own choices, but wouldn't it be weird for them to stay aligned with William when Sam doesn't want to stay?

All in all, I understand all of the perspectives. William made a difficult call. It was for the "greater good" and was executed correctly, but a little more communication would've helped the whole situation and the trust between all parties involved, and maybe a bit of democracy in proceedings would also help, instead of William having the final, and only say in the matter. Sam is in the right for not wanting to be a part of this, as is Vincent for feeling conflicted either way.

[rosesakura]

Hiii!!! First of all, love Suga as your profile pic!! And love the header imo hehe

But for the ask game! How about 2, 11, 19? I tried to keep it short so I won’t bombard you with them lmao

Happy writing, I love you! 🫶

hehe thank you!! I was getting tired of Tsukki and I haven't made any art recently so Suga it is <3

thank you for the ask :D but you can always send me as many numbers as you want for these things hehe

as usual, I rambled a lot, so under the cut :) I love you more <3 !

2. Talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and sad "fuck your plan, here's what we're actually doing."

basically ALL kuroken and daisuga scenes in Unravel -- they were not supposed to be such major parts of it but they took over as I wrote them and read more of them. especially the last kuroken chapter where kuroo almost dies lol. also in kintsukuroi, Kenma was not supposed to be sa'd -- that literally came out of nowhere. also in thantophobia: turquoise chapter 4 was a huge surprise, especially the scene with the cop.

11. What's something neat you've learned while doing research for something you're writing? Also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

okay I don't know if this counts but I was researching Japanese funeral rites for the stars are already dead and I found this one article talking about cremation and it said "In a Japanese style cremation, the coffin is placed on a tray in the crematorium. The family then witnesses the sliding of the body into the cremation chamber, scarring small children for life." And while I am not judging and fully believe this, the way this is written absolutely SENT me and I always think about it.

I do try to do basic research on things, especially because I mostly write for anime that takes place in Japan. I try to look into specific customs and places, but I'm usually not too specific. With the Unravel series, there is also a lot of medical and jury stuff, and I actually do a lot of research on healing times and severity of injuries now. I also do research on characters, looking for little details about them that I could include in a throw away comment (like Mattsun working at a funeral home post time skip, so he easily could tell what the zombies were)

19. What are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

ohhhh this one is hard. Honestly, I don't read much other than fanfiction nowadays ':) I'm a poetry fan because I like the pretty way words can paint a picture and try to be somewhat poetic with my writing sometimes, so I'm a big fan of Keats, Mary Oliver, Wordsworth. Virginia Woolf is frustrating but I love her, and Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar). Ocean Vuong is another author I love right now.

SIGF is my favourite fanfic writer, she's amazing at fire emblem stuff, and I always have her in the back of my mind when I'm writing and aspire to write as well as she does. A couple other fanfic writers inspiring me include luneiris, just_quintessentially_me, ChaoticFriendly, Mooifyourecows, to name a few (gotta stop before this turns into a rec list lol)

[gamesception]

lets read rgu chapter 16.5 extra

I'm not sure what the point 5 extra is about. It's not a separate chapter from regular old chapter 16. Are we doing a comedic side story? I'd like that. This chapter header promises some Utena/Anthy time, & I'd also absolutely be down for some time spent building up their relationship, something the manga needs to put some more time into before introducing Akio, if indeed manga Akio is going to be a thing.

After not really enjoying the duel with Miki, i'm honestly looking forward to whatever we're doing next.

We've referenced this a couple times, but yeah a lot of decisions that went into the anime weren't made with Saito nor was she even informed of them until pretty late. This is a cute little side comic about Anthy's dress, but I imagine other changes in direction were more frustrating.

A cute little story from Chuchu's perspective. Also I like the detail of Anthy being a terrible cook, something the manga shares with the anime, and a fun little humanizing detail, of exactly the sort I've been saying manga Anthy needs.

In the anime Anthy's terrible curry was eventually revealed to be to blame for a freaky friday style personality swap episode, that was pretty fun. Are we doing a version of that here?

Anthy cooking is soo cute. Mayo, haha.

Anthy tastes the curry and thinks its coming along well, Chuchu disagrees and takes it upon himself to add some curry powder, but...

He accidentally ALL of it?! ...chu...

I'm crying. This is great. The manga absolutely needed more of this. Come to think of it, this kinds of plots generally involve Nanami in the anime, and the lack of these comic asides to this point is the main reason I was sad that she wasn't here.

But making room for Anthy to be a bit more of a goof is a fantastic trade off. She's needed to be more of a character for a while, and in particular we need to hget to know and like her as more than just the Rose Bride before all the Akio stuff kicks in.

So anyway, yeah, we are doing the freaky friday thing, and it's every bit as fun here.

Yeah, this is great.

But of course they decide they have to switch back, and quickly hone in on the Curry as the cause, but in manga land Chuchu not Nanami was responsible for the added spice, so instead of Nanami & her friends traveling to India to find more Chuchu has to venture to the grocery store - a trip of roughly equivalent epicness for a creature of Chuchu's size.

But oh, no, that villainous Saionji has purchased the last of the curry powder! And he'll only hand it over in exchange for getting Anthy (Utena) to meet with him, since she's been avoiding him ever since he lost her to Utena (Anthy).

As in the other version of this story, Saionji wants to continue his love journal with Anthy.

In the anime, Utena as Anthy wrote a big 'fuck you' to Saionji, but here neither Utena nor Anthy want to deal with it, so it's up to Chuchu.

Yeah, if anything this is funnier.

But Saionji already gave Chuchu the curry powder before reading the note, so...

And yeah, we end more or less on the same note, with Anthy and Utena back to normal but Chuchu and Saionji swapped.

I do miss the anime-only joke where in the end it wasn't the super hot curry powder but rather Anthy's bad cooking that caused the explosion & personality swap, but overall this little comedic side story was every bit as fun and funny here in the manga, and a wonderful palate cleanser after all my Juri and Miki complants.

[sarah-skylark]

CW: SUICIDE BAIT IN FANDOM SPACE AND SOCIAL MEDIA

Fandom. World. We need to talk about how often go kys, go die, fuck off and die, how about you kill yourself are used way the fuck too much these days.

Too many people out there act like suicide baiting is a joke or a light jab or a normal-ass thing you can say to people in response to something that upsets you.

You DO NOT get to call yourself progressive and forward and suicide bait.

You DO NOT get to brush it off and go- whatever they should know I don’t mean suicide bait for real

You DO NOT get to post in your header a list of mental illnesses and personal information you want respect, patience, and understanding of and suicide bait others for theirs

You DO NOT get to pop up in a fictional fandom and suicide bait because you dislike their headcanons.

More controversial: You DO NOT get to tell a right-winger, TERF, politician, racist, homophobic misogynist pastor fill-in-the-blank-hateful-person to kill themselves because that is the exact person you want changing their mind because they become the strongest Allies.

-

I paid attention this week online because classes are starting and all our staff goes through a mental wellness course prior to the kids coming. In one week I saw casually slinging suicide bait or jokes over killing themselves with a tasteful asterisk sometimes to avert censors multiple times a day on every social media.

For not liking Hoziers album. For using she/her pronouns for the Muriel character in good omens and he/him for Crowley. For a suggestion of buying a crochet needle at Hobby Lobby. For someone not wanting people to smoke weed in their apartment cuz they don’t like the smell. To a lesbian because she preferred not to date amab women. To a writer because they didn’t like the plot twist in the book. For people who secured Taylor swift tickets when the poster didn’t.

This is not cool, y’all. This is triggering to people on the edge or with suicide related trauma. Scrolling past dozens of kys type messages a day is damaging. It’s not a funny slang thing to say. I’m not ‘too old’ ‘you don’t get our humor’ ‘it’s just a thing’ ‘you don’t get it’ OKAY NO suicide bait is bait and crowning yourself judge and jury on who’s opinions are worth life or death never comes out right and making light of it because you are pissed off and full of rage because someone used a particular pronoun for a character or drew them a way you disagree with is straight up bullshit

[tomatoluvr69]

Keep getting emails that Bruce Springsteen is coming to [hometown]* which is of little interest bc I don’t live there currently but then I remembered I have a fucking allegheny county jury summons for the exact same day which would be the fucking weirdest double header impetus for a trip home lol

*ok I just redacted this even though I doxx my hometown every single day on this blog lol**

**ok I just saw that I left the county in. Oh well. If u feel like expending the effort to google it u deserve to know my erstwhile residence and loml

[julystruck]

babygirl ily. what does ur header say

adultman ily. it does in fact say julystruck. the jury is out whether i like this header or not

[pricetagofficial]

Day 10: Ice Skating

Pairing: Hal Jordan x Reader

Warnings: Not much, just Hal trying to be a smooth motherfucker.

A/N: Welcome to day 10! We are almost halfway to Christmas! It's been a minute since I've written for Hal, and I miss him. He is a character I hold dear to me and I am glad to come back to him. Header by me, divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Hal was home for the holidays, Ferris Aircraft gave him time not flying and he wasn't needed for any Justice League business. So that gave the two of you the chance to really spend time together.

What started as an afternoon spent watching movies, turned into an itinerary of things you wanted to do for the holiday season. It was filled with all sorts of fun activities, some you do every year and some you wanted to try.

One of those things you wanted to do with Hal this year, was to go ice skating.

You've been before with your parents when you were younger, and in that conversation you had learned that Hal had never been. That was something you wanted to fix.

So here you were, on a nice winter day at the local skating rink in Coast City.

Sitting on the bench, you laced up your skates and rose to your feet. Looking around, you saw families, couples and even just groups of friends staking around. Laughter and chatter filled the air, making a smile grow on your face.

Turning to your right, you saw Hal was still sitting on the bench. His skates were on, but he made no movement to get up.

"Hal, is everything all right?"

Looking up at you, he adjusted his bomber coat and gave you his signature grin.

"Why wouldn't I be, I get to be with you, baby."

Rolling your eyes, you held out a hand to help him stand.

Hal wobbled a bit but managed to steady himself.

You knew then and there, that this was going to be fun.

It only took a few minutes for you and Hal to make it onto the ice, and you called it. Hal had finally found something he wasn't naturally good at.

Skating ahead, you turned and slowly skated backwards watching as Hal kept a hand on the railing as he tired to figure his balance.

"Where's all that talk from the other night? I thought you were going to, and I quote 'Kick ass at this'?"

Hal looked up and made a face at you. "I still am, I'm just still trying to figure this out."

A soft smile grew on your face, heading back towards him you took his hand. Gently, you held both of Hal's hands as you led him around the rink.

You watched as he slowly grew into it, stumbling less and less with each lap around.

"You know, I think I'm going to keep to the skies. Don't need to keep my balance up there."

A laugh escaped you, "I think the lack of oxygen is finally getting to you, makes your balance all wonky."

"Who needs that when I have you to keep me grounded?"

"You think you're so smooth, don't you?"

Hal laughed, managing to pull you close. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he smiled down at you. "Is it working?"

You tossed your head from side to side in a playful manner. "Jury's still out,"

Leaning up, you pecked his lips with a smile. "I love you, Hal."

"I love you too, beautiful."

[girlrichie]

got this fat envelope in the mail from the [redacted] justice centre and was like the hell is this. who’s suing me. is it my former employer. then I see it’s her name and take it upstairs to her and I open it and am met with a header that reads SUMMONS TO JURY DUTY

WIFE GOT JURY DUTY

[dallahae]

Rocket Punch "Juicy" headers

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