#because it doesn't express what I want it to how I want it to

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

hi, i wanted to ask what you think about those japanese zoo's training exercises were someone dresses up as an animal and pretends to have escaped and all that, are they effective? what do U.S zoo's do to train for things like that?

They look silly, but they're a real emergency drill! They force people to think through how they'd problem-solve in real time and in the physical space, which is a very different experience than just thinking about it.

There's no consistent requirement for emergency drills in the US federal regulations for zoos, but there is a contingency planning one. Facilities licensed by the USDA have to identify and create plans for addressing likely emergencies they may have to deal with, which is everything from like natural disasters to animal escapes. That's all done as paperwork and provided to the government to prove they've done it.

BUT. That doesn't mean that zoos and other animal facilities don't do more planning on their own. Some of the third-party accreditations (it might be all of them but I don't have the docs in front of me to confirm) require regular drills for all types of emergency scenarios.

Now there's a slight problem there - a real escape drill, run fully on grounds with real people and stand-in animal, interferes with the daily operations of the zoo. You might not have to physically shut all the guests into buildings during a practice leopard escape, but you do need them to not get in the way, and you don't want to scare people who think a drill is real, etc. So there's an alternate option.

US zoos frequently run emergency management drills as TTRGPs!

Like, they use a printed scale map of the zoo and roll dice to randomize the situation. This is absolutely recommended as a strategy by the Zoo and Aquariums All Hazard Partnership: there's a whole webpage about it, including instructions for the Drill Master.

There are in-person drills, of course, because you have to practice dealing with these problems in meatspace. But a lot of them are done tabletop! I cannot express the extent of my mirth when I first encountered this in the wild at a conference about a decade ago, when the idea was really taking off. It was Very Serious Zoo People on a Very Serious Topic about preventing Really Bad Things from happening... and then suddenly there was a d20 on the screen.

[damnibreathealot]

hi hiiii I love your writing, can't believe you just started🥹

I'm feeling a bit in a rut, was wondering if maybe you can write simon sucking tits in an attempt to cheer us up?

simon 'ghost' riley sucking on your tits in an attempt to cheer you up after an argument!

✎ | nipple play and cunnilingus! shitty proofread.

✎ | ooo, yall are freaky!! mhm, i like it, and also, i hope you don't mind me adding the argument + cunnilingus bit! ALSO YAPPED SO HARD, AND THIS IS KINDA SHITTTTT!!!

merry christmas/happy christmas eve!!

you and simon had an argument about an hour ago. it was some petty argument about simon not taking out the rubbish like you told him to before you went to work. just coming home and seeing him not doing the shit he was told to after a stressful day at work just ticked you off.

now, he was stuck with the silent treatment. he always manages a way to cheer you up after an argument, and depending on how serious the argument is, it would end with him getting you a gift and showering you with kisses or sex.

today, he decided to go with sex. he walked into your room, the way you were laying on your shared bed with a pissed look on your face, just scrolling through your phone, told him everything he needed to know.

you didn't even acknowledge that he came into the room, nothing but a slight squint of your eye and the neutral expression on your face dropping to a slight frown.

he plopped down next to you on the bed and wraps his arms around you waist. you didn't even pay attention to him, even after that. just still scrolling through your phone, texting your friends here and there, still not taking notice to him. like he's a ghost.

(hehe! get it? because his nickname is ghost and he... no? ok...)

that's when he decides to take action, pressing kisses against your neck and leave hickeys in his wake. his gaze follows back up to your face. you still haven't budged? that's alright. he'll break you soon.

he pushes up your shirt and notices how your hard expression falters a bit. he grins and stares at your tits. he presses firm kisses against your breasts, paying close attention to how your your eyes flutter slightly when his tongue rolls over your nipple.

he quite literally worships your tits. just enough to see you break. hickeys all over them, his lips wrapping around you nipple while using his finger to tease the other one with his finger. he sucks your tits sore. this is watch breaks you. he finally makes you break when he hears you softly mutter out his name.

he decides to tease you, his hand trailing doing to the waistband of your pyjama shorts. just tracing his fingers teasingly around your pelvis. he chuckles at your frustrated sigh,

"don't be a fucking bastard simon. you know what i want."

"no, quite frankly, i dont. have to tell me first."

"make your wife beg when she's pissed off at you??

"ya make good point." he shrugs. he can't deny that. he slips his hand underneath your shorts. he groaned when his hand came in contact with your soaked pussy. his finger thumbs at your clit, rubbing the poor nub. his other fingers slip down and sink into your tight hole. a shakey breath leaves his lips when your pussy deliciously claps around his fingers.

he knows you want this. been so stressed out lately. you don't even want it. you fucking need it.

he takes his hand out of shorts just when you're about to cum. you give him a sharp glare, and you were about to give him snarky comment, but you quickly close your mouth once you notice him shifting his position. he tugs down your shorts and knickers.

he doesn't hesitate to press his tongue flat against your swollen nub before swirling all around. the way it throbs against his tongue has him fucking hooked. his fingers return back into your pussy, nice and slow. he finger-fucks you. his fingers curl just into the right spot in your gummy walls. the place to make your toes curl and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

he keeps going until you're screaming his name, and your juices flood against his fingers and on his tongue. he fucks you through your orgasm and then pulls his fingers out of you – looking you in the eye as he licks his fingers clean.

"forgive me now?"

you glare at him – once again, "fuck off."

[bisuhq]

under the mistletoe!

includes : (mouthwashing) anya, curly, daisuke, swansea.

summary : you get caught under the mistletoe!

warnings : gn! reader. mutual pining/early relationship.

ANYA

Has been waiting for you to notice the mistletoe above you both, she doesn't want to initiate the good old tradition but she definitely wants to participate in it.

When Anya glances upwards for the umpteenth time, you finally decide to follow her line of vision, noticing the mistletoe that hung above you both. Glancing down at Anya, you notice the slight flush to her cheeks, and realize she's noticed it the whole time.

"You know," Your voice drops to a whisper as you take a step closer to her, "If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask." Cupping her cheek gently, you lock eyes with hers.

She mumbles something under her breath- something about being oblivious, causing you to chuckle in agreement. You definitely wish you had noticed it early, so that you could've spent more time kissing her. With that in thought, you don't waste another second.

Your lips press against hers, savoring the sweet flavor of cake on her lips. Anya wraps her arms around your neck, deepening the kiss with rare resolve. Pulling away is a struggle, not wanting the kiss to end, but when it does you at least get to revel in the beauty of her dazed expression.

CURLY (pre-crash)

Tries to play it off as a joke in case you don't like the whole tradition, subsequently forcing you to make the first move and leaving him a little embarrassed.

When you both noticed the mistletoe hung above your heads, you had hoped it meant that Curly would finally kiss you. Instead, he awkwardly tries to crack a joke. "So... You come here often?" He winced at how bad that one liner sounded, wishing the ground would swallow him hole- but when you stifle a laugh (because it's cute how hard he's trying), he seems to relax a bit.

"Only when I see a handsome, lone Captain standing here." You reply, enjoying the way he seems to brighten at the answer, him responding in a husky 'is that so?'. Taking a step closer, your hand finds his chest. "You know, if memory serves right, tradition is that those standing under the mistletoe are to kiss, right?"

"Mmhm, big fan of tradition." Curly hums, nodding in agreement. Taking that as your cue, you lean in to kiss the handsome man before you. He sighs blissfully into the kiss, but pulls away all too quickly for both of your sakes.

"Yeah, definitely a big fan of tradition." Curly says, a bit in awe of the kiss, before deciding he's definitely not done kissing you yet.

DAISUKE

Thinks he's being smooth when he suddenly stops in front of the mistletoe with you by his side. He's not, but he gets points for being cute.

"Right this wa-" Daisuke was going to show you something in the other room, but stopped so abruptly you ran straight into his back. Stumbling backwards, you furrow your brows in confusion. Daisuke is now leaning against the doorframe, raising his brows.

"What are you doing?" You just so happen to glance upwards to see mistletoe above the doorway. You look back at Daisuke, "Are you serious?"

"Am I rizzing you up yet?" Its a good, solid debate in your head if you should leave him hanging or actually consider kissing him. Shaking your head at his silly antics, you give him a (teasing) pitiful look. "Is that a no-"

"Daisuke, just kiss me." You sigh, and he definitely doesn't need to be told twice. Excitedly, Daisuke swoops in and kisses you under the mistletoe. His hands a little shaky as they settle on your waist and pull you in closer, deepening the kiss.

SWANSEA

Who put this shit up? Swansea is not having any of it- hm? Oh, you like mistletoe? Well he supposes it isn't soooo bad.

Stood on a step stool, Swansea is taking the mistletoe down when you approach in curiosity. "Awe, don't rip it off Swansea!" You say, he sends you a small glare.

"You the one who put this shit up?" You giving a shrug, acting coy. Perhaps you were the one who put mistletoe up right under the Utility room, maybe you weren't. You definitely were. Either way it has Swansea faltering. "Ugh, as long as you take it down later, I guess..." He grumbles, leaving the mistletoe as he gets off the stool.

You gasp as he steps off the stool, capturing his attention once again. "Swansea! Looks like we're under the mistletoe, you know what that means~" You coo, mostly teasing, but when you see the light blush on his face you decide to double down on it. "Rules are rules, as they say."

"You're somethin' else, ya know that?" He sighs, looking at your excited face- you hide your intentions terribly. With a grunt, Swansea gives you a quick kiss, and when you whine, he snickers. "Hey, rules never specified how long." Damn, he got you this time, but you'll outsmart him next time!

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[the-modern-typewriter]

The villain, who doesn't typically celebrate much anything gets invited to an event (holiday, gala, birthday, etc) by hero with no strings attached.

This is a Secret Santa snippet gift @snowshowerwriting 😊 Have a great one! I hope you enjoy.

---

“…And I was just wondering if, maybe, if you’re not too busy, you’d want to go with me?”

The villain stared at the hero for a long moment, watching the colour slowly creep up the hero’s cheeks and all the way up to the tips of their ears.

Snow begin to drift and eddy lazily on the empty rooftop around them.

“Only if you want to,” the hero said. “Sorry. You’re probably too busy, what with being…you. Forget I asked! It’s not a big deal or anything I just—”

“—You want me to go to the peace ball with you.”

“Only if you want to!”

“Why?”

The villain could think of a dozen reasons why, but none of them exactly fitted with their impression of the hero in front of them.

The annual peace ball was a tinsel-strewn, glittering festive affair designed to promote good will across the city by forcing all heroes and villains to join together in a night of absolute truce. No fighting. So help anyone who tried scheming, though of course everyone still did. Good will to all super-powered men, women and others on earth!

The villain had been invited before, in the first few years that the ball was hosted, by a few of the boldest players on either side of the roster. They’d always said no. Never mind that they’d never been much one for making a big deal out of arbitrary times of year. The hero in front of them was not a particularly bold creature, though, heroics aside. Nor were they the sort to want to make some kind of statement.

The hero was bafflingly genuine. Too true to themselves to be of much use in politics, and too powerful for most to want to risk taking a run at them. Powerful enough, certainly, that they didn’t need the villain’s protection or the implication of an alliance between them. Good enough, surely, that the villain struggled to envision a scenario where the hero tried to enlist them over mince pies.

Indeed, as far as the villain could tell, the hero had absolutely nothing to gain by having the villain on their arm.

The hero’s head tilted at the question. “Because I think it would be nice?”

“I’m not nice.”

“Well, no. But it would be nice to spend more time with you. But only—”

“—Only if I want to,” the villain finished.

The hero’s blush deepened. It was possibly one of the most adorable things that the villain had ever seen. Still, the hero stood their ground and waited for an answer, arms folded grumpily against their own overly expressive face.

“Yeah,” the villain said, smothering a smile. “Okay. Sounds…nice.” They kept their voice light. Casual. Their heart hammered in their chest, giving an almost painful squeeze at the bright grin that shamelessly crossed the hero’s face.

“Yeah?” The hero raised their eyebrows. “Nice.”

The villain snorted.

The hero’s grin grew, delighted. “I’ll pick you up at seven? Unless you’d rather meet there?”

“Seven is fine, but I’ll come get you. What address works?”

They made the arrangements, the hero practically fizzing, like they really were looking forward to a night with the villain at their side. No strings attached. It was…well. It was really was so damn nice. There was a rare, warm feeling buzzing in the villain’s chest.

Still.

“You do know you’re going to get hell for turning up with me, don’t you?” the villain asked. “Whatever your reasons.”

“Mm.” The hero made a show of thinking. “I fought a literal mutated snowman last week, but you know what really scares me? Other people’s dumb opinions at the Christmas party.”

The villain found themselves laughing.

“Honestly,” the hero said. “I don’t know how we’ll survive.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You could get hell for turning up with me. Whatever your reasons.”

“It’s cute that you think anyone other than you dares to give me hell about anything.”

“I could be a terrible, hellish date.”

“Oh yeah?” The villain took a step forward, before they could stop themselves. A belated lightbulb flicked on inside their head. “Is that what you are then? My date?”

“I mean—" The hero’s eyes widened. They floundered. They bit their lip, drawing the villain’s attention immediately, and parties were lame but that mouth was absolutely not. “Only if you want me to be!” the hero said. “We can just go as friends. Long suffering colleagues. I’m not trying to—”

“Oh, no. You’re my date, darling. No taking that back.”

“Oh, thank god.”

That time, the villain utterly failed at smothering a smile.

“Oh, crap. I mean—” The hero scrambled for a more eloquent, less relieved, cooler response. They came up endearingly blank.

“Nice?” the villain offered.

The hero narrowed their eyes, playful. “You’re mocking me. Rude.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date.”

“No?”

“It wouldn’t be very festive of me.”

“Oh, yes. Because you’re such a big fan of festivity and seasonal celebrations.”

The villain blinked, mostly out of surprise that the hero had been paying enough attention to even notice that. Maybe they shouldn’t have been surprised all things considered. The hero was smarter than they let on. “And yet,” they said, “you invited me to a seasonal celebration.”

“Well.” The hero shrugged, mostly managing careless that time. “Limited opportunities to take you out anywhere else. I think people might panic if I just turned up with you for a dinner.”

“We’d be served very quickly. I do tend to clear our restaurants with my presence.”

The hero snorted.

“So what does one do at a peace ball?” the villain asked, voice a murmur.

“There’s food. Drink.” The hero recovered themselves, reaching out and taking the villain’s hand, drawing them a few steps closer, leaving footprints in the snow beginning to coat the roof. Their voice softened too. Liquid caramel. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“You done much of that before?”

“You might have to teach me.”

“Well, we start by you wrapping your arms around me like this…”

The villain might have shivered. The hero might have grinned, humming a made-up tune beneath their breath as they swayed together.

The weeks until the ball flew by.

***

People did stare when the two of them walked in. The villain chose to believe it was because the hero looked absolutely gorgeous, despite their dubious choice of wearing a festive jumper to what was clearly supposed to be a black tie event. The jumper was red and said ‘yule can do it friend’.

Maybe the hero was bold, in their way. The villain definitely thought, in the last few weeks, that they’d underestimated their sometimes-enemy.

There were a lot of people crowded into the city hall venue. Pretty much everyone. The villain abruptly missed their usual peaceful night of strolling around the city, relishing the way that the streets emptied as everyone bundled away to wherever their festivities were.

No panic. No screaming or nervous looks. No chance of some would-be-hero showing up demanding what the hell they were doing.

The hero set a steadying hand on the small of their back, studying their face, and their easy read of the villain’s emotions should have been alarming. It was alarming. It was also…

“You good? Do you want to go and grab a drink?” the hero asked. “What can I get you?”

“I don’t drink in public.”

“They have hot apple juice and hot cocoa too. Some fancy mocktails.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not joining you on the champagne?”

“Why would I?”

Some people, the villain thought privately, minded. They had specific ideas on what a party was supposed to be like and felt judged should the villain deviate from that pre-determined idea. The hero led them through the party, expertly weaving people.

“So?” the hero waggled their eyebrows. “What will it be?”

The villain retreated from the stand with an alcohol-free glass of sparkling. Easy to blend in, even if the taste was nothing special. The two of them watched the room for a while, trying out the various different canapes in the buffet, chatting.

It felt better with the hero at their side. They so obviously knew what they were doing at a party, smoothly carrying conversation with anyone who came over, but not in a way that made it seem like they were schmoozing. It didn’t make the villain’s skin crawl. The hero mainly got excited about and asked for pictures of everyone’s pets. Whenever anyone tried to comment on the fact that the two of them were there together, the hero said cheerily that it was “nice, wasn’t it?”

They’d catch each other’s eyes as whoever it was left. An inside joke. It had been a long time since the villain had been in on an inside joke. With the hero, it was a little thrilling.

Of course, as the evening wore on, there was dancing.

The movements were familiar, after all of the hero’s ‘lessons’ in the lead up to the ball. It made it easy to ignore the rest of the room, and the gaudy tree, and the awkward feeling that they might destroy their reputation for the sake of a party. The hero didn’t care about their reputation, did they? They just did what they wanted to.

“So,” the villain said. “What else does one do on a date?”

The hero’s eyes lit up, better than any fairy-light or candle. They stroked their fingers along the nape of the villain’s neck. The music took the opportunity to change to something slow and intimate, inviting everyone to press a little closer. It should have annoyed the villain, but with the hero in their arms, grinning at them, it couldn’t possibly.

“Well,” the hero made a show of considering. “There’s hand-holding.”

“Indeed.” Their fingers wrapped around each other as they moved.

“And kissing.”

“Ah, kissing,” the villain said. Their gaze dipped, inevitably, to that mouth worth going to parties for. “You might have to teach me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve kissed before,” the hero said, amused. “But I’m always happy to provide a refresher.”

“Part of being a good, heroic citizen I imagine. Helping out the needy.”

“Needy, are you?”

The villain opened their mouth. They registered what they said.

“You’re blushing,” the hero said.

“It’s rude to point it out and mock your date.”

“I would never dream of mocking my date,” the hero said. Then, finally, the hero leaned in to kiss them. Sweet, honeyed, and the warm thing in the villain's chest glowed. They dragged the hero closer, wanting more, more, more. The hero laughed with breathless pleasure and nipped at their lips.

The next year, the villain vowed right then, they were taking their hero somewhere private.

[comicsohwhyohwhy]

I love this moment, thank you for the screenshots. You know, I always kinda just read Viktor's soft smile as being the moment after the shot of his face we got in the show? I mean, it cuts back to Jayce, who shoots Viktor - what was Viktor doing during that shot when we see Jayce's face? I thought that it was this facial expression, and Jayce took it in while he's shooting, so he has a memory of it, but we haven't seen it.

That also works for me because I like headcanoning that Herald Viktor didn't just let Jayce through with his hammer because he thought Jayce would never hurt him - there's also 'real Viktor' still within the Herald-form that does realise that what's happening is deeply fucked up, that he's not really healing, but killing people, and real Viktor wants Jayce to kill him. So that little smile - real Viktor happy that it's finally happening, that Jayce is finally keeping his promise to destroy the Hexcore and stop him from hurting more people (which of course doesn't work in the end).

But I also love all the other explanations I've seen, from 'this is Jayce's memory making things softer and torturing him even more, it's how Jayce sees Viktor' to 'this is what an alt Jayce saw before getting converted into the commune'.

what really happened vs how jayce remembers it

[livelaughlovesubs]

oh my gosh need sub!choso bent over and taking it like the princess he is! want to pull his hair and make him cry IM BEGGIMG 😵‍💫 making him go non-verbal and babble absolute nonsense LIKE PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME 😩😵‍💫

a little dumbification and feminization doesn't hurt anybody 🥺

So fucking self-indulgent that I am ashamed

Dom!reader x sub!choso x reader is gn

Warning: pegging (I use dick for strap), teasing, dacryphilia, hair pulling, feminisation, subspace, dumbification lul

You panted, slightly exhausted as you reached your hand out. Using only your index and middle fingers, you gently brushed them over the line following his back. From the top all the way to the bottom, feeling his hot and sweat covered skin underneath your touch, going until your hand was resting right above his ass. There, you moved it to the side, finding a nice place to rest it and squeezing his waist with just the right amount of strengh.

And Choso shuddered and withered oh so sweetly, head pressing against the already wet pillow as he arched his back even more. Shoulder jumping upwards while his muscles tensed, trembling like a hurt animal. “Didn’t like it?” You asked, reaching your hand out again, this time to stroke his black hair. His buns had come off, and it was hanging loose over his shoulders. The man beneath you didn’t manage to answer your question, in contrary, he whined out, “ah- aHh..! Y/n-~~ too mu- muUuchh, too faaast..!!♡♥︎”

How could you expect him to even register the fact you asked him something when you are currently pounding him like there’s no tomorrow? Like a hungry beast trying to devour him whole? Taking advantage of all his weak spots while he’s in such a vulnerable position, you’re too mean to him! “Oh dear, can’t say anything other than that?” You asked in a condescending tone, scraping his scalp as you held him tighter with your other hand.

“I’ll help you then.” A cheeky giggle before you pulled back enough for the tip to slid out of his puffy hole, watching him clench onto nothing as a dissatisfied whimpers ripped from his throat. “Nghh~ please… s-stick it back in—” you pulled on his fairly long hair, causing him to moan out loudly and throw his head back, “ah- annNghhh.?!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from him biting on them too much. His cheeks flushed so cutely as he hiccuped.

“Such a needy thing, you really want to be fucked dumb?” Your grip on his hair loosened a little, and his head fell forward. He gritted his teeth, hands bawled into fists and kept right below his mouth as he sound back into the pillows, nodding furiously. “What a pillow princess.” You chuckled, kissing his hole with the tip of your dick. Just testing him, watching his body squirm in anticipation before pushing it all inside him with a swift movement of your hips.

That wasn’t difficult at all, considering he’s been so stretched already, so good and prepared, just for you. He was so eager he basically sucked you right in, that cute little boy cunt of his fluttering around you, taking you so good. You subconsciously licked your lips at the gorgeous view in front of you. He had such a nice body too, pair that with the most adorable expression and lewd noises he’d make, lord he was exactly your type.

“Aaarghh— ♡ nnNnggg…!! Please, y-y/n ♡♥︎♡~?!!” The moment you re-entered him, he felt like he was in heaven. Tongue rolling out, eyes teary as he groaned, not knowing just how loud and erotic his voice was. If he knew, he’d be so embarrassed. “Oh? Such a pretty sound you made there, so cute, just like a girls moans~” you hugged him from behind, head pressed against his shoulder, whispering sickeningly sweet, “should I change to calling you my good girl?”

It took a bit until he understood your words, you helped him by slowing down your thrusts. Then his ears turned red, and he cried out, “n-no, m’not a g-girl..??” Then his brows furrowed and eyes rolled into the back of skull, al because you hit that sweet little spot inside him with such precision he was trembling all over. “Are you sure~? Don’t you love it when I fuck your pussy like this?” You rolled your hips in a slow, steady motion, and it made him see stars.

God, his mind if so foggy, so mushy he couldn’t handle all this ecstasy. The pleasure was too overwhelming…! And if you were to start calling him your— ah — your good girl too, he definitely will melt. “Please, j-just fuck me and shut u-up..” ah, there it is, now he’s being self aware again, feeling humiliated just by having sex. Well, you’ve toyed with him enough for now, haven’t you? Any more teasing and he’ll really come~ but the night is still so young, he still has to last for a bit.

“Haha,” you couldn’t help but chuckle loudly, which only added to his frustration and excitement, then you mumbled, “whatever for my princess.”

[alchemistc]

Part One

The loft is sadly undecorated. He'd tried, is the thing. Gone to the same novelty store they'd found on a random walk after a date, in late September, where Tommy had spent twenty minutes worrying a foam pumpkin in his hands while Buck tried to decide what sort of decor would fit his utilitarian loft.

They'd spent so long lingering over the sculpted white candles, Buck thrilled because Tommy's straight face broke every time Buck pointed out which ones looked like incredibly expensive dildos, that he'd felt bad enough to buy a whole set of them just to appease the girl at the counter who'd been watching them with a half annoyed, half wistful expression while Buck made a comment about dragons that had had Tommy biting his lip so hard he'd actually gone red in the face trying to hold the laughter in.

But every time he'd picked up a glass tree and thought how much fun it'd be to try to make Tommy go full Tik Tok Paramedic on him, every time he'd found something soft or plush enough that Tommy wouldn't have been able to resist running his fingers over it, plucking it up to toss it between his palms - well.

It wasn't like there'd be anyone in his loft long enough to really appreciate his decorations.

"Why'd you kiss me?" he asks, rounding on Tommy as Tommy takes a tentative step towards the kitchen.

"You were being annoying." At Buck's look, he elaborates. "Force of habit."

The finger comes up without any input from Buck, his voice tipping into that same flirty, bickering rapport he'd always pushed as far as he could. "I knew you did it to shut me up."

Tommy expression shutters. He recognizes Buck's tone. A few months ago that tone would start with a round of banter that usually ended with at least one of them with their pants around their ankles.

He looks spooked. He's staring at the island stool closest to the door like he's replaying the last conversation they had here, and Buck feels all his ire rear back up.

"You promised me clarity, Tommy." It's an accusation, and they both know it, because he looks ready to fucking bolt.

Slowly, he steps in. Half a yard closer to Buck, close enough to curl his hand over the island, and Buck is struck again by how goddamn unfair it is that Tommy looks this goddamn good in a suit.

"I did."

Buck's pretty sure he has some muffins he hasn't frozen yet that wouldn't actually damage Tommy, if he threw them at him.

"Can we...?" He gestures, vague as his half a question, and Buck wants to throttle him. Or kiss him again, which is -

"I need a beer. You?"

Tommy sighs. His grip on the corner of the island makes his knuckles go white. "Evan."

"No beer, got it." He swings the door open and doesn't wait for the reaction to either his snippy little rejoinder or the stacks and stacks of baked goods filling up the shelves of his fridge. He pops the cap with his back still turned, let's the fridge door fall closed. "Not like you drove here, but sure. One of us should be sober, I guess."

The switch back to Evan doesn't do anything for him at all.

Buck leans back against the counter and tries not to think about how he'd had this half formed idea of getting a real tree this year, finding some novelty kiosk that made those hokey ornaments for people to mark the years they'd been a family. He'd thought -

Tommy blinks guiltily when Buck catches him eyeing the way he fills out his slacks, a toe to groin drift of his gaze that makes Buck ache for when he could respond to that by dropping to his knees.

"That's a lot of bread," Tommy notes, eyes focused somewhere over Buck's shoulder.

"Why'd you break up with me, Tommy?"

Tommy freezes. Shifts from foot to foot. Sighs, and takes a few steps to the fridge, swings it open to grab a beer of his own. It's still the stuff Tommy likes. Buck's not picky, really, and it'd been habit to grab the six pack he always kept for Tommy.

The last five times he'd restocked.

Tommy takes half a step back to lean against the island, just off center from Buck, so they both have to twist their necks just a little to actually look at each other.

"You terrify me," Tommy murmurs, a few swigs in, when the silence is just starting to make Buck's skin itch. "Evan, I'm not -." He grimaces, frustrated. "I'm not some Super Gay who fights for justice and equality and the ability to make horrible television with Hummel doll sopranists."

"I don't know what that means."

Tommy's smile is wry. He'd had a running list of movies Buck's never seen on a note on his phone - every time Buck missed a reference, he'd added it to the list. They'd gotten through maybe twenty before -

"I led on a good woman for years because I convinced myself I could live my life ignoring a huge piece of myself. I hurled slurs with my buddies just to make sure no one noticed me. I fed into every toxic stereotype I could just to avoid anyone realizing I wasn't one of them. I'm not - I'm not some Gold Star Gay, paragon of the community. I didn't do shit. And even when I made the decision to let myself just be who I always was, I waited until no one in my life was close enough to me to question that I hadn't always been this way. I -." He winces. Shakes his head. "I run instead of fighting. I hide every time someone tries to see me. I'm not - this comfort you're so convinced I have I took at the cost of other people who were braver and stronger than I could ever be. Do you - is that an admirable quality, to you?"

Buck wishes they'd sat, like Tommy seemed to have been hinting at. He wishes he'd spent the ride over preparing himself for this, instead of stopping himself from crawling into Tommy's lap and getting a horrible rider rating for his trouble. He wishes -

"Do you think I don't already know all those things about you?"

It's - actually, it makes him a little furious, to think that Tommy spent six months thinking he'd successfully hid all those things from Buck. And - sure, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about more than a few of those things, but like -

It wasn't like Buck didn't actively find ways to pry stories from Howie and Hen, even Bobby on occasion. It wasn't like Buck hadn't noticed the clipped way Tommy spoke of his past, his family, always tucking away more than he revealed. It wasn't like Buck wasn't well aware that Tommy Kinard had the capacity to be a total fucking asshole, if he wanted. Just because he'd kept it cool around Buck, made it just flirty enough for plausible deniability -

"You deserve better than that. Than me."

"Then be better than that, Tommy." It's not the best way to get his point across, but... "I've had multiple serious relationships, Tommy. I'm - I've been in love, before, and I've had my heart broken before, and I've had my trust broken before, and I've made people I love feel like shit. You weren't new and exciting, Tommy, we were - we were boring and domestic and it was the best six months of my life. It was what I -."

And this, of course, is where the words start to crest over, too many at once while his mouth tries to keep up and his throat is too tight to -

He swallows. Stares at his toes until his vision swims. Maybe those are tears, or maybe he's just stared long enough to go cross-eyed. His throat feels like he might be able to scrape a few words out

"I go too fast sometimes. I - I get scared I'm falling behind and so I clear a few hurdles too fast to catch back up and it -." Frustration rises through him as he remembers the way Tommy had levered himself up, spun away, broken things off without even a hint of the careful consideration Buck had grown so used to. "And you just - you tell me you want more than anything to be my last but you can't even give me the closure of a clean break! What the hell was that about?"

"Evan, I -."

"No! Okay, no. It's my turn to - it's my turn to be mad. It's my turn to - do you know how lonely I've been? How - how much I'm in my own head about where I went wrong, and what I could have done differently, and why you won't just fucking text me when you clearly want to? Do you know - do you know what it's like to think you've finally found something worth the humiliation of being known and then have it vanish in a single night? Over - you never talked to me about any of the shit you brought up that night, Tommy! You never - if you were so scared of not being enough to keep me interested, or so sure you weren't a good enough man, or so sure I couldn't possibly know what I wanted out of this, you could have saved us a hell of a lot of time and - and hurt by not being exactly the person I thought I could spend the rest of my life with! If that was all a - a smokescreen, some act, then why did you - are you actually so cruel that you convinced me we were falling in love while you had one foot out the door the whole time?"

Tommy's grip on the bottle looks painful.

"It's your turn to talk," Buck snipes, and he takes a little satisfaction in the way Tommy blanches. Just a little. Just enough to ignore how much he wants to rip Tommy's suit jacket at the straining shoulder seams and bite a bruise into that spot below his collarbone that even Tommy's undershirts hid well enough to keep the team at Harbor from putting him on blast for coming to work covered in hickeys.

"Six months with you was more devastating than two decades of hiding who I was, Evan," Tommy says, and it's a horrible opening that makes Buck feel like he's being drawn and quartered but he'd given Tommy the floor, so -

Tommy's eyes are a little too misty to call them anything but welling, and Buck hates it as much as it satisfies the pieces of himself he's spent weeks trying to pick up and glue back together.

"Evan, I lived with Abby for years and I don't think I saw her as much as I saw you. You -." He swipes a hand through his hair, and rustles one of his Superman curls loose to drape tauntingly over his forehead. Buck wants to bite him. He wants it to hurt. "You burrowed in and you just kept digging and I didn't take a second to question it until it was too late."

"Too late for what?"

"For me to take the cowards way out and leave before it hurt."

"Maybe I should have dug further," Buck snaps, and Tommy's gaze flits to his. Holds, for the first time all night. He's breathtaking in the best and worst way possible. He's spent weeks now trying to imagine anyone else ever making him feel the way prolonged eye contact with this man makes him feel.

"You did," Tommy admits, a confession that sounds like it's been gut punched right out of him. "You still -." Another grimace, Tommy pulling back, pulling away, hiding, running, and Buck can't -

"So what is this, Tommy? Is this - are you -?" He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs. Rears up, pushes off the counter, and Tommy's eyes widen like he's just now realized he doesn't have an easy exit. Buck just stands there, though. "If this is it, let this be it. If you don't want - if you're not willing to fight for this with me, tell me now. I know I'm - I know I'm a lot. I know I push for more when I'm scared. I know I'm overwhelming, and I sometimes can't stop talking to save my life, and I know I'm jealous and petty and - I know I'm not perfect."

Tommy sets his bottle on the counter beside him. Worries his lip between his teeth and rolls his jaw.

"You snore. You're a bitch sometimes and every once in a while it's not even charming. You hog all the covers and then you complain that it's too hot. You're vague about every single thing in your past that you think makes you seem like a bad person. You always think food needs more garlic and sometimes you're wrong. Sometimes when I spiral you just give me that stupid indulgent smile of yours and I know you stopped listening two reddit threads ago. When you're grumpy sometimes it takes everything in me not to pick a fight because you're such an asshole. You get cagey every time I pick at a thread you don't want to unravel and I - I hate it. I wanted a life with you and you couldn't stick around long enough to tell me why you were too afraid to go for it. So if - if you think I'm seeing you with rose colored glasses, or whatever. If you think I'm not - if you think being the first guy makes you too special for this to be real then just..." He sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose and feels the ache in his chest that's half remnants of his earlier panic attack and half fear that Tommy will actually turn and walk out at the end of this. "If you don't wanna fight for this I'll fill in the hole I dug as best I can and I'll leave you alone, okay?"

The look on Tommy's face is one he's never seen before. They've done this dance, or parts of it, at least. Tommy'd left him outside Micelli's, breathless and confused and aching, before he ever knew what it was like to hold his hand, to press his nose into the join of his neck and shoulder, to curl a hand in his hair or be filled by him - with attention, with affection, with the weight of his body and the stretch of his cock. Even then, this had felt different. Real, in a way the misty edges of his time with Abby, or the way Buck's puzzle pieces had never quite fit with Taylor's had never been. Even then, he'd just wanted so desperately to know and be known by Tommy that he'd taken his second chance and run with it.

"I don't snore," Tommy says, when the silence gets too heavy, and Buck - god, Buck has missed that tone, the snappy little tilt of his head, the blatant lie that passes over Tommy's lips so smoothly it's hard to tell sometimes that he's not being serious.

"I have audio proof," Buck says, and then doesn't immediately admit that he'd played it on a loop two nights into the breakup when he'd wrapped his entire body around the spare pillows on his bed and still hadn't been able to sleep alone in his bed.

"It bugs me that you spent days following scraps of information about a dead outlaw you convinced yourself cursed you, but you didn't even know what a Kinsey scale was."

This is - progress. This is... not Tommy bolting.

"I'm a two. If that's - is that, like, gay enough for you, or...?"

"You go too fast for me, Buckley," he says, and Buck knows that's a fucking reference to something he doesn't have context for just as well as he knows he's willing to spend the next decade waiting for the reference to pop up on Tommy's list. It's a terrifying, exhilarating thought and it's probably exactly what Tommy means.

"I can slow down," Buck says, and he tries to mean it. Nothing about how he feels about Tommy is slow.

"I don't want you to," Tommy admits, and then lets the silence stretch. They're two and a half feet away from each other and the distance feels like the farthest he's ever been from Tommy and the closest he may ever be again. "Living together, making a life together..." He swallows. "Marriage." That stops him short just long enough to recall how he'd blazed right past the I love you and straight into how he could keep Tommy. "You scare the shit out of me every goddamn minute of every goddamn day and I've never missed being terrified as much as I have since I walked out that door."

"I'm in love with you," Buck tells him, and Tommy blinks back tears. Takes a shaky breath and nods.

"That's what scares me. It's never - it's never been enough, before."

He'd sort of expected this to end with either the echo of his KitchenAid or a frantic rush up the stairs, but when Tommy meets him halfway all he does is sink his nose into the curls behind Buck's ear and breathe.

His arms drag Buck closer, his feet shuffle beneath them, his chin hooks over Buck's shoulder and he breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

---

"Your morning breath is rancid," Tommy tells him, palm centered on Buck's nose when he leans in for a kiss, pads of his fingers curled just slightly so that his hand is nearly encasing Buck's entire face. He wants to be annoyed but it's mind numbingly hot and Buck has missed it. Missed the snark, and the comfortable way Tommy will shoot him down when his head is in the clouds, and exactly how fucking large Tommy is.

"I'm so tired of avocado toast," Buck bats back, and Tommy is distracted enough by his need to make a face at that for Buck to swoop in and press a kiss to his cheek. He makes sure to make it a little wet just to watch Tommy's face crinkle in mock disgust.

He's in one of Buck's hoodies, is wearing the pair of his own sweats Buck had buried in the back of his closet in a fit of pique three days post breakup. He still looks properly debauched and Buck wants to drag him right back to bed.

Except -

"You don't have to go," Buck repeats, for the fifth time since he brought it up somewhere between peeling Tommy out of his suit pants and rolling out of bed to warm a hand towel under the sink so that Tommy could clean the cum off his abs. "But I need to shower and leave in like - twenty-seven minutes."

Tommy catches him by the waist and drags him in. "I won't be able to stay. You baked and I took as much holiday overtime as I could, but if you seriously want me there -."

"I seriously want you everywhere."

Tommy raises a brow.

"I mean that in a horny way and a codependent way."

Tommy snorts. "Good to know we're approaching this in a healthy manner."

"You told me not to slow down," Buck reminds him, and he gets a smack to his ass for his trouble.

"When Maddie pulls me aside, do you think she'll just slip me a poisoned glass of wine, or is she gonna get up on a step stool and make me stand there while she strangles me to death?"

"She won't do that." Buck leans in again, rolls a loose curl between two fingers. "She'll just stab you in the middle of the kitchen and warn my parents not to step in the blood."

"That's comforting."

Tommy takes a utilitarian shower in the downstairs bathroom and doesn't let Buck join him, and then rifles through Buck's closet until he finds all three of his button downs Buck had tucked away.

He has to borrow a pair of Buck's slacks and Buck absolutely does not mind that his ass is definitely gonna stretch them out.

With about seventy seconds to spare, Tommy presses Buck to his front door and kisses him just long enough to screw up Buck's meticulous timing - by the time he pulls back and gives Buck enough room to glance at the time on his stove, Buck knows they're gonna hit just enough red lights to make them late.

"I love you too, by the way," Tommy murmurs, and just this once, Buck decides not to be a brat about being five minutes late.

[genderqueerdykes]

can the online lesbian community please stop treating butches like we're walking strap ons.

for years now i've had to avoid the butch lesbian tag on here because 80% of the posts are people yearning about a butch's strap on, or something else about a butch fucking them. it's fine and normal and healthy to express lesbian sexuality. being attracted to butches is good and fine, and yea of course its hot when a butch wears a strap. like duh

but when all i see people talk about is our straps (never our penises, only strap), or fantasizing about how big and strong we are, or all the things we could physically do to them, how we would be their Big Strong Butch and provide for them and take care of them and make it so that they don't have to go to work... it makes me wonder if people see us as. people. or if we're just walking workhorses and sex toys.

like, are you gonna be there for your butch in a way that doesn't involve sex when they're having a bad day? are you gonna be there to listen when they discuss butchphobia? are you gonna help them bring in their groceries because they're physically disabled and can't be strong for you? are you going to defend them when they lock up in an anxiety attack while they're being misgendered? are you going to be there to reassure them that they're still butch no matter what anyone else says? are you going to be accepting when they come out as trans, genderqueer, non binary, or another gender? are you going to treat intersex butches with dignity and respect and not immediately default to misgendering us?

are you going to be there to help them domestically? are you going to be there to help drive them to work, class or shopping because they're too disabled to drive? are you going to care about them as a person if they become too disabled to have sex anymore, experience reproductive health issues, or lose interest in sex? are you going to be normal about them telling you they're asexual? are you going to focus solely on their appearance? are you going to be normal about them being fat? are you going to listen to them when they talk about their interests? are you going to be the one that cuddles them when they wake up from a PTSD nightmare drenched in sweat and addled with fear?

or are we just walking sex toys? it's bad enough that none of the online lesbian community acknowledges that some lesbians have their own penis. god forbid a biopenis shows up. rubber dicks? a-okay. flesh and blood penis? THREAT! if folks are fiending so hard for dick, why's it gotta be a dildo? you really can't accept a butch that has a penis, whether they were born with it or got bottom surgery? you want a penis on the butch soooooooooooo bad but it has to be silicone? really? you're really gonna throw all the lesbians with dicks out despite how horny you are? what's the double standard here about? is it really that hard to treat butches like people? are we really just play things that don't have feelings to the uninitiated?

this shit's a joke. treat butches better. don't be like this. we're people. we're not walking (fake) dicks.

[jakesyluslly]

sylus 𖹭 my headcanons

SFW

𖹭˙ his love language is physical touch. even when you're watching a movie with him, you can't focus because his breath tickles the back of your neck, he runs his big hands over your stomach and places soft kisses on your skin. at the end of the movie you can't understand what you're watching

𖹭˙ he does things he would never normally do because you ask him to. he let you put cute stickers on his motorcycle and helmet, he didn't even take them off. he even lets you put makeup on him (of course no one is supposed to see him) he has a soft spot for you, he can't say no to you

𖹭˙ he takes care of you like a baby. if he could, he wouldn't let you take care of anything, he would take care of everything himself. he helps you apply your nail polish, sometimes he even does your manicure because you bleed your cuticles. he kisses you after every move, he places tender kisses on your skin

𖹭˙ he never leaves you alone during your period. he can only imagine how painful your cramps are, but he does his best to make you feel better. he whispers sweet things in your ear, strokes your hair, makes you rest your head on his broad chest, caresses your stomach, his touch is gentle, kisses the top of your head, inhales the scent of your hair, makes the room smell nice, does whatever you want

𖹭˙ he enjoys preparing food for you, he makes you taste what he makes with his own hands. he puts effort into it, he looks at special recipes and thinks about them. he looks at you when you sit at the table and start eating, he tries to understand your thoughts about the food from your facial expressions. when he is sure that you like it, he just watches you during the whole meal

𖹭˙ he loves you as you are, he doesn't try to change you. he loves your childish side and your emotional side. he embraces you as you are with your scars and traumas. even if he can't take your pain away from you, he knows he can share it with you. he always shows his support for you

𖹭˙ he enjoys even the most ordinary moment with you. for him it doesn't matter where he is or what he is doing. even the simplest things become meaningful to him if you are with him. sometimes it's walking down an empty street, sometimes it's lying in bed. as long as he feels your breath on his skin, nothing else matters

𖹭˙ sometimes he wakes up before you and watches you quietly. he smiles as he looks at your peacefully sleeping face, gently brushes your hair out of your face, takes your hand and kisses you up to your wrists. he does it all slowly, without waking you. he realizes that he can look at you for hours, a smile appears on his face spontaneously

𖹭˙ you feel that he protects you even with his gaze. he envelops you with his eyes, he watches your every move carefully, he is always alert to his surroundings. in crowded places he brings you closer to him by wrapping his arm around your waist, he doesn't want anyone to touch you even accidentally

𖹭˙ you have cats that you feed together, and this is one of the moments that has meaning for him with you. you look with happiness in your eyes at the cats feeding their hungry bellies, and he looks at you. he feels himself drowning in the beauty of your heart. as you watch the cats, he approaches you from behind, hugs you and kisses your shoulder

𖹭˙ some days you both make little dates for yourselves on the balcony. he takes you in his arms and wraps you in a blanket. he makes you feel so comfortable and safe that you can behave however you want around him, you can tell him anything. he listens to you, he really listens. his eyes never leave you, from time to time he leans his head down and kisses your cheek, whispering “sorry for interrupting, it's hard to resist you. please keep going.”

𖹭˙ he spoils you, a lot. he likes to see you wearing the accessories he bought you, and that pushes him to buy you more gifts. your house is full of huge bouquets of flowers and stylish accessories for you. “i buy everything i think will look good on you. and the problem is, i haven't found anything that doesn't look good on you.” he says when you say you don't need more gifts

[goopgirlie813]

Fair, I guess. I see where you are coming from. 

From my perspective, the reason serial criminals like Dahmer get brought up is because it is the situation where prisons seem the most necessary. Like, at least temporarily, if someone is killing and raping other people they should be separated from society so they can't access victims, right? Even if just until they finish some form of rehab. And in my mind, none of the things you proposed seemed like they would actually deny serial criminals access to victims. Forceful detention, even just temporarily, seems in my mind like the most reliable way to keep someone like Dahmer from having an opportunity to reoffend. That's the key, opportunity to reoffend. I find it terrifying to imagine a society where someone can be caught and convicted and sentenced for horrific crimes and still have the opportunity to access victims if they want. I think that's what most people are trying to do with that argument. Not an infinite loop but an (admittedly poorly executed) expression of the fear that without prison people like Dahmer could just continue killing. Intuitively it seems like these people won't stop unless they are incapable of continuing and prison is an easy to understand way to make their reoffenses impossible. Its scary to imagine taking that away and reintroducing that possibility. 

That said, now that I've cooled off a bit I think I can better see why you are frustrated. You have been answering to the best of your ability but there have been layers of uncommunicated assumptions beneath the questions we were asking that we (or I, at least) didn't even realize were there. I thought I was being more straightforward than I was because I took for granted the ways your perspective differed from what I am familiar with. 

I assumed that it was a given that Serial Criminals need a forceful denial of access to victims in order to be adequately addressed and I also assumed that it was a given that prisons are the only way to guarantee that. The way it has always been presented to me, prisons are the definitive method of stopping a crime and those crimes can only continue harming the public if the perpetrator is outside of the prison. So follow that logic train, if someone won't stop reoffending you need to be able to draw a line somewhere by putting them in prison or else it will never end. Therefore, if you abolish prisons, some criminals will never and can never be stopped so we will be forced to accept the fact that we may be murdered or raped or whatever at any random point and there will be nothing anyone can do to stop them. (Except extrajudicial violence, of course, but that's really no way to run a stable society.)

And I'm sure you will see some glaring issues with that train of thought that aren't so obvious to me, but hopefully that makes it make a little more sense.

The key problem here, I think, is that we believe that some form of detention is the only way to definitively stop certain people from re-offending. Specifically for the scenarios where the crime is a serious danger to others, like rape and murder. We want a definitive solution to exist somewhere because if it doesn't then the mere existence of Dahmer types evokes a feeling of terrified helplessness, "what if we can't change them? What if there's nothing we can do to be safe?" 

Detention seems like the only truly definitive answer (or at least, the most definitive available) so what's really being asked is, "is there a point in which you will allow prison in emergencies or do you have a different, equally definitive way to stop them?" and no number of rehabilitation or reduction options listed will ever satisfy that question. There needs to be something that can forcefully prevent killers who want to kill from killing (or raping or stealing or whatever) in that time period between conviction and reform, or else we will never find complete prison abolition an acceptable option, no matter how much we support rehabilitation as the primary approach (as I do. I only argue for detention as an emergency back up plan for repeat offenders of horrific crimes, to keep them from hurting people if or until they can be successfully rehabilitated). Without that, it seems like a gaping hole, an oversight, a blind spot, a loophole for the worst of the worst to terrorize us without adequate consequence or barriers.

I was getting really frustrated that you were treating the "what if they reoffend?" question like a rhetorical trick because in my mind it was asking, "How do we prevent people who want and intend to kill us from actually being able to kill us?" (big fear for those in marginalized groups who face frequent hate and threats) but to you it seems it sounded like "how can we trick you into supporting prisons and admitting you're wrong?" And while you seem to have been trying to say, "I'm not budging on my opinion unless you can convince me that prisons are valuable," it sounded to us like, "so what if they kill people? Prisons fail too much anyway so letting them go on murder sprees really isn't any worse if you think about it. Allowing a little murder and rape here and there is just the price of a fair and just society." And while that probably sounds bonkers to you I hope it explains why you're getting the reactions you are. I mean, imagine how you would react if you thought someone was telling you that, if they couldn't just talk him into being a good person, they would have shrugged it off and willingly let Jeffery fucking Dahmer continue roaming free for the sake of "improvement" and dismissed his victims as collatoral damage. Not what you were saying, but the miscommunication sure as hell made it sound that way. In reality, we are all talking past each other and having two separate conversations and the same time without realizing it. 

(Hope I understood what you were trying to say correctly.) 

so yeah I apologize for making you pull out your hair, I've been doing the same. Hopefully this helps at least a little bit. Even if you still think we're being irrational and foolish for this position I hope it gives you a little more clarity moving forward.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.

[writersrkive]

Light | Aaron Hotchner

summary: since a few days ago, you have been distracted. Something about the holidays and Christmas is triggering to you. Apparently, the team doesn't notice this, but your boss, of course, does. He is troubled, but when you say that you are sick on Christmas Eve, right before dinner, he is ready to go with you and keep you company. He also appears with a small gift that can cheer you up.

genre: angst, hurt, comfort.

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!gn!reader

warning: holidays and Christmas being a nostalgic/sad holiday to reader, mention of reader not being from Virginia, family issues (reader), reader is new member of the team, allusion of an age gap (not specific), reader being called "kid" two or three times.

a/n: so... maybe I projected myself a bit into this fic. I hope whoever feels like the main character feels some comfort and understanding here. I'm sorry if there's anything wrong with the writing, I haven't edited yet, but I wanted it posted before Christmas (it's 11pm in my country). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3. Merry Christmas reader, thank you for being here one more year! I'm proud of you.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Christmas isn't what it was a few years ago, but neither was your family. When you decided to move to Virginia, far from home, it was hard for you because despite having a broken family, the feeling of wanting to fix everything for everyone was still there. The holidays, especially Christmas, brought back memories of when everything was fine —or so it seemed—.

The dynamic of the team was like a family, but as the newest member —and one of the youngest— it was hard to feel completely into it. However, you didn't feel as isolated as you did at first. So, they didn't notice how nostalgic and sad your aura was the days before.

Oh, but Aaron, your boss, did.

It started the day that some workmates decorated the office with a mini Christmas tree, lights and bows. Everyone was heading home, except him, as usual. The paper work ended so the stoic man was closing the door of his office when he noticed the way you were standing in front of the tree, almost giving him your back. He could see half of the profile he caught himself admiring often. The lights were reflected in the sad look similar to that of a child hoping to obtain something impossible.

“Why are you still here?” He asked, not scolding, but rather with curiosity.

“Oh, good night Hotch. I was finishing some paperwork.” Your expression showed that you had come out of a trance.

“Are you done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Maybe we can walk to our cars together.”

“Sure.”

He didn't try to make small talk. The feeling of tiredness was in the air, but he also felt that he shouldn't try to break down any kind of personal barrier that you had at that moment. Because despite showing a friendly smile, it was obvious that your mind was somewhere else.

Then, a few days later, you were distracted by something peculiar.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked when he noticed that you weren't listening to his theories. Hotch was talking to a police officer, but he was looking at the way your workmate and you were analyzing the crime scene. “Are you cold?” His teasing smile made you chuckle slightly.

“Yeah. I still haven't gotten used to the weather, sorry.” The lie went unnoticed by your colleague. They were profilers, but you were one too, so it was kind of easy to fake certain things. It wasn't right, but at that time of the year you just wanted to survive. Besides, you couldn't tell them anything, not because you didn't trust them, but because it was too much to handle.

Across the street, Aaron looked in the direction you were looking before Derek spoke to you. It was a park a few blocks away. There was an ice rink, giant decorations, and lots of families gathered around. What could that place have to distract you so much?

There were many other occasions like that. The last time was on Christmas Eve. Months ago, Penelope had decided to buy an instant camera to take photos of the team inside and outside of work, when they had days off.

“Here it is, my beautiful fellas!” The blonde said excitedly. “Your handmade Christmas gift!”

She made all of you sit around the table, so she could put in the center the sparkling red notebook, with silver letters. 'Memories at the BAU' could be read.

“Garcia! It's so beautiful!” Emily said, smiling. Derek hugged his friend in appreciation and JJ got closer to Emily so she could see better.

“Look at that. Always a great time for pasta.” Rossi joked looking at one of the pictures where he could be seen making pasta for dinner after a heavy case.

“Always looking good.” Derek said pointing at a picture of him posing with one of the plushies García had at her office.

“Look at us! But why do you look so sad?” JJ joked looking at a group photo. You could be seen at the back with a forced smile.

“I was a little tired, sorry.” You answered, but the reality was that you had received some messages from your family minutes before that photo was taken.

“Hey, why did you take a photo of me taking a nap?” The confused tone in Spencer's voice made you laugh a little, but Aaron noticed the way your eyes didn't light up.

“Does anyone know where our newest member is?” Derek asked, smiling. He can't help but remember the way Emily, JJ and he teased you before. You started to get late to a few compromises —it happened at work once or twice—, but your boss didn't scold you like he would scold anyone else on the team. “He has a soft spot for someone.” Derek playfully twitched that time, thinking the bags under your eyes weren't caused by anything but work —he was wrong—.

“The kid just sent a message to the group chat.” Rossi announced.

“Sick?” Penelope showed her worry, reading your message.

Aaron felt a weird pinch on the chest. He immediately got even more worried than everyone in Rossi's house, even if his face just tensed a little bit more than usual. In his mind he debated whether to go with you to make sure you were okay, even though it might be intrusive.

Maybe you needed space….

Or maybe there was something else you weren't telling them, just like he noticed before.

“Am… I think I'm a little bit sick too.” He whispered after a while.

“What? We are about to eat dinner.” Emily said a little sad. She was worried about the team's health now that Aaron and you were sick.

“I'll be fine. I'm going to take some food with me in case I get hungry later." His movements were a little fast, as if in a hurry.

“Are you sure you don't need a medic, Aaron?” His old friend said and the boss could sense a little teasing in his tone.

“I'm good, I just need to go right now. I'll see you tomorrow. Everyone, please be safe.” The team could sense sincerity in those words when he gave them one last look, after he took the food, his jacket and his keys, and before stepping out of the house.

“Kid is gonna have some company.” Derek teased and everyone, including Reid, smiled knowing what was going on.

Both of you were surprised when you opened the door. He didn't expect to see you with red puffy eyes and nose, and you didn't expect him there, in front of your house, holding some tuppers with food and something else tangled in his arms.

“Hotch?” Your furrowed eyebrows and tilted head made his chest feel warm. You looked confused and also cute. He felt a little bad to think like that when something was wrong with you.

“I needed to make sure you were okay.” That's all he said.

“Oh… Am… I'm just a little…”

“Sick? I don't think so. You have been acting weird, and Christmas has something to do with that. I know because apparently it triggers something that makes you… sad.” His voice was soft. It felt like he didn't want to expose you, but he needed to show how much he knew about the situation. “I don't think you actually fool them. At least, not now. Maybe in the beginning, but that wasn't my case.” But you did feel exposed, even a little ashamed. The lack of movement told Hotch that you were uncomfortable. “I'm sorry…”

“It's okay. I guess it's impossible to fool S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner.” You showed a sad smile, it was more like a grin. “Wait, what about Jack?”

“He's with his aunt. They were on a trip I couldn't join because of obvious reasons. I guess we can keep each other company.” Little by little he had begun to show a smile that was contagious to you.

“Sure.”

When he walked in he noticed the lack of decorations on the surroundings. There was just a small tree at the back of a hall. It had a start at the top and had some lights and spheres. That was it.

“I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive, but can I ask what's wrong?” he asked when you started to help him to put the food on two plates.

You sighted thinking about all the things you needed to explain so you could give him an answer. “It's complicated. I don't know if I wanna talk about that.”

“That's okay. Then, can you tell me how you are feeling?”

You smiled, knowing he changed the question so as not to make you feel uncomfortable, while still keeping in mind the fact that he needed to know how you were feeling. “Everything brings memories. I'm supposed to be with my family, but what family?” I asked, sitting next to him in the kitchen. “Sometimes I wish things were like before, like having a time machine and just going there: where everyone was. Now I know how heavy the family issues were, but I was a kid so at least I was living in a lie… a good lie.”

“I know family is complicated. There's people who hurt other people, and that's not right, but there's too much.”

“Exactly…”

“But you have a family here too, now.” He whispered. And the way he looked at you made you feel like you weren't alone, at least not how you have thought.

“That's why I bring Rossi's lasagna with me. He's gonna be sad if you don't get to try it.”

Dinner was good. Of course you loved Rossi's cooking, but you came to the conclusion that it was because of the company of your boss. He helped a lot by distracting you, chatting about Jack, some plans outside of work and various things. After a few hours you couldn't handle your curiosity anymore.

“Hotch, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?” Apparently, your question took him by surprise, perhaps it was the tone in which you spoke to him, almost tenderly.

“What is that?” You pointed at what he left coiled up on the armrest of one of the sofas in your living room. It looked like a silver wire with transparent stuff on it.

“These are Jack's favorite lights. We bought it a few years ago. He loved them until we bought a set of identical, larger lights. Do you want to see?”

“Yes!” Your childish tone made him smile.

He untangled the lights and plugged them into the nearest socket, quickly his hands and the place where the lights rested shone brightly.

“Wow…” It was almost a whisper, but Aaron enjoyed the answer as if it was a shout of joy. “These are beautiful.”

“I knew you liked the lights.”

“Huh? Oh! You mean the night when you caught me staring at the…”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, I liked lights. I think I've always liked them, but at some point the feeling became sad."

“They are for you.”

“No, but, Jack…”

“Like I said, he has new ones, so, there's no problem. He will love that you have them.”

“Can you help me to…” You hesitated.

“Sure. Let's go, where do you want them?”

A fun playlist invaded your house. While Hotch held a ladder and watched your back to see if you lost your balance, you placed the string of lights in the living room window.

“Can you turn them on?” You asked him gently. The decorated window came to life as did your eyes and Aaron couldn't feel calmer as he admired your excited countenance.

“I'm glad you liked them.”

Suddenly, cries of excitement were heard from neighboring houses and some Christmas songs began to play from the speakers of nearby restaurants even louder.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch.” You said when you came down from the ladder. The man who came to brighten your night didn't think that seeing your expression would fill his chest with warmth.

“Merry Christmas, kid.”

You definitely didn't know or would have imagined that the man who watched your back at work was what you needed to feel better. He brought the light you needed for days.

[winonaparadise]

Maybe I’m somehow super unaware that I missed it but where’re you posting GWH nowadays? ;3;

Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading GWH! Unfortunately, it basically doesn't exist right now outside of like, the things I'm trying to make behind the scenes. I lost a lot of steam when the new format I worked really hard on lost a lot of traction and didn't sell as much as i had hoped (not anyone's fault besides my own and, maybe also Elon Musk's for kind of fundamentally destroying twitter dot com as we knew it) and also the second installment of it being 90% finished and then just being entirely lost to a hard drive failure also really just sent me into a spiral. And I also kind of just started hating my own work and art after that, have been working to try and improve, and keep my chin up despite watching a lot of my peers find success before me. Which is admitting one of my very selfish, ugly thoughts - but I do feel like maybe my webcomic was stupid and a waste of effort because it was never "legitimized" via publication like a lot of others surrounding me have been.

I've been kind of struggling with what to make lately. I have tried a lot of things that didn't really take off and it's left me confused about what to do. I feel like every shot I take at something isn't really met with much enthusiasm (again, nobody's fault but my own but if you want to blame this one on Musk as well sure why not) and I don't know how else to gauge if I'm doing the right thing. I think and write something for GWH almost every day, though. I am slowly chipping away at this vague idea of a "visual novel" version that will hopefully allow me to tell a contained story in one piece rather than falling off like I've done in the past. I really, really want to make that.

And in all total complete probably unsurprising honesty I'm just very depressed. Like seriously-considering-suicide-every-week-depressed. I'm sorry if that is a flippant way to express it, but I don't know how else to than to try and couch it in some flippant language. I don't have a lot of money, my health hasn't been very good, and I spend days and sometimes weeks entirely by myself. Making stuff is very difficult with these conditions and unfortunately (fortunately?) the cure to at least some of that is probably making more stuff! It's just taking some time and I really apologize for that. I hope you can forgive me and you'll like whatever I manage to make next. Thank you.

[rose24207]

May I request a George Weasley x reader where they are dating in secret because she's a Slytherin and their friends and families wouldn't approve their relationship, but reader gets tired of it being a secret but George wants so keep the secret so they fight and then reader gets injured in a Quidditch match and George doesn't leave her side while she's in the hospital wing? with a fluff ending please

Love beyond house colors

Summary: After a secret relationship strained by house rivalry, George proves his love for his Slytherin girlfriend by standing by her side after a Quidditch injury and publicly declaring their relationship.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: arguing, secret relationship, mention of prejudices

A/N: love the idea and here it is! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Keeping your relationship with George a secret had been thrilling at first. It was sneaking around corridors, stolen kisses behind bookshelves, and whispered confessions under the cover of darkness. But over time, the secrecy had grown heavier. You weren’t ashamed of him—far from it. You adored him. What hurt was the idea that George might be ashamed of you.

You were a Slytherin. And as much as you hated the stereotypes, you knew the world wasn’t kind to your house. You could only imagine what the Weasleys would say if they knew George was dating you, and the thought of your own housemates’ ridicule made your stomach twist.

But the secrecy was becoming unbearable.

It all came to a head one crisp Saturday morning in the library. George had slipped into the seat across from you, his red hair unmistakable even under the hood he’d thrown over his head to stay incognito.

“Morning, love,” he whispered, his grin crooked and infectious.

You barely looked up from your parchment. “Morning.”

George tilted his head, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

You set your quill down and looked at him, your heart pounding. “I can’t keep doing this, George. The sneaking around, the lying—it’s exhausting.”

His expression faltered, and he leaned closer. “Y/N, we’ve talked about this. You know what people would say if they found out—”

“I don’t care what people say!” you hissed, keeping your voice low. “George, I’m proud of you. I want to hold your hand in the halls, sit with you at meals, go to Hogsmeade without hiding in the shadows. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do,” he said softly, reaching for your hand, but you pulled it away.

“Then why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” he said quickly, his jaw tightening. “But you’ve seen how my family talks about Slytherins. Fred would never let me live it down, and Mum—” He sighed. “I just want to protect what we have. I don’t want anyone ruining it.”

Your chest ached at his words. “You don’t trust us to be strong enough to handle it?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, George?”

He hesitated, and in his silence, you stood, gathering your things.

“Y/N, wait—”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice trembling. “When you’re ready to stop hiding, you know where to find me.”

You left before he could respond, blinking back tears as you walked away.

The Quidditch match later that afternoon was brutal. Slytherin was playing Ravenclaw, and tensions were high. You were determined to throw yourself into the game, hoping it would distract you from the ache in your chest.

The last thing you remembered was a bludger heading straight for you and a sharp, sickening pain as it collided with your side, sending you spiraling off your broom.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the throbbing pain in your ribs. The second was the warm hand clutching yours.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, your vision clearing to see George sitting beside you, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed.

“George?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

He exhaled a shaky breath, squeezing your hand tightly. “You scared the bloody hell out of me.”

“What happened?”

“You fell,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “The bludger hit you, and you fell off your broom. Madam Pomfrey said you’ve got a few cracked ribs, but you’ll be fine.”

You winced as you tried to sit up, and George immediately leaned forward, helping you gently. “Easy, love. Don’t push yourself.”

“Why are you here?” you asked, though you didn’t mean it harshly.

“Where else would I be?” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “I couldn’t leave you, Y/N. Not after—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot. I should’ve never let you walk away this morning.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding for a different reason now.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Not of what people would say, but of losing you. I thought keeping us a secret would protect us, but all it did was push you away. I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore. I love you, Y/N. And I want to be with you—no more hiding.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, leaning closer. “I’ll tell Fred. I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell the whole bloody school if you want me to.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping your eyes. “Maybe start with Fred.”

He chuckled, his grin returning as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Deal.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “I’m so sorry, love. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to.”

“You’re already forgiven,” you whispered, your heart swelling with love.

The next day, George made good on his promise. By breakfast, the entire Great Hall knew about your relationship. Fred’s initial shock gave way to teasing, but by the end of the day, even he was begrudgingly supportive.

And as you walked hand-in-hand with George through the castle, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d finally found the freedom you’d been longing for—all because of the boy who wasn’t afraid to love you, no matter the odds.

Thank you for reading!

[eggfriedricedwasian]

I just finished reading

and Im just imagining that in the time between Tim and Damian being closer and Bruce coming back, the public has just started calling Damian the "Drake's boy". As in he's Damian Drake rather than Damian Wayne.

Dick's too busy with cases and what not to even look at the media, Alfred is much the same, and Bruce comes back too focused on catching up on case work to even bother with media.

So when Bruce makes a public appearance after being pronounced dead for a year, the media still continues to call Damian Tim's kid. Because Tim still picks Damian up from school, he still goes to Tim's apartment or office after school, or Tim picks him up early. Tim is also still registered as Damian's first contact.

At a gala, the Waynes are shocked, well, minus Damian and Tim. Damian's gotten his last name switched to Drake at school to further his protection in it.

Random Socialite: Mr. Wayne, it's good to see you back.

Bruce: It's good to be back, yes.

Same socialite: Do you plan to take back custody of Damian soon?

Bruce: What? I already have custody.

Socialite: No, everyone knows he's a Drake. He's Tim Drake's kid.

Bruce is too shocked to speak further, so he goes and asks Dick about it, to which he gets an equally as shocked reaction at the news.

They go ask Tim and Damian, they don't get the response they wanted. Then again, what response did they want?

Bruce: Tim, did you adopt Damian?

Tim: What? No?

Dick: Then why are people calling him your kid? Damian Drake?

Damian: Something happened at school that threatened the family name, mostly me physically, so to protect myself I changed my last name to Drake. Everyone there seems to fear Timothy and his surname so I have changed mine to that that way no one will mess with me or talk bad about us.

Tim: Damian, why didn't you talk to me first? We could've worked this out before you changed your name.

Damian: It doesn't quite matter if I changed it or not, the media already seems to think I am your kid.

At that, they check online and do find that, yes, headlines of Tim potentially adopting Damian and Damian Drake being spotted entering Wayne Enterprises during school hours is shown.

Bruce and Dick don't know how to feel about this, Tim doesn't know whether to laugh at their expressions or gain permanent custody of Damian just because.

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 702

The time has finally come for me to talk about my boards for the last season of the Dragon Prince! Wow, time flies!

To be honest season 7 was such a hard season to make. Telling a good story is always a challenge, but ending one, oof! that is an herculean job!

I remeber everyone being super stressed during the production of this season, because time was always in short supply, and it is really hard to produce great art with little time, haha.

Also, I think that after a year and a half working non stop doing boards for the show, most of us where starting to feel exhausted, and you can see it on my boards, they are much less polished than usual.

But, no matter the context and circumstances, we always try to deliver the best we can and tell the ending of this arc in the most satisfactory way possible.

Lets start with my sequences. First one is the one with Ezran's council in the Banther Lodge.

This one starts with the little exchange between Soren and Corvus, I really like these two. I think they grew on me as a duo during my time in the show. Soren was already one of my favorites, but by the end of season 7, Corvus and Soren was a top pair for me, too.

I think that, whatever you think their relationship is, physical touch is a thing between this two, they are always touching each other, there is some vulnerability that they allow with each other that is endearing.

If you read my comments about my boards in season 6, one of the things I was talking about is how sometimes the expressions we draw in boards don't translate that well to the final animation (This happens in a lot of shows, and it's because of limitation on the face rig of the characters, nothing related to the talent of our crew, because they are all super talented) This little shot is another case, I wanted Callum to feel like "Oh boy, shit is hitting the fan!"

I think this scene is mostly about the conflict between points of view, Callum and Rayla wanting for Ezran to free (and forgive) Runaan as soon as possible, while Ezran is struggling with his emotions. It's a hard one.

To be honest I understand Ezran 100% and I know that the right thing for him would be eventually to forgive Runaan, but is not something that could happen inmediatly. Grieve and angry are feelings that can get poisonus really easily, and they need time to heal and allow perspective.

I think Ralyla made the wrong choice bringing Runaan to Katolis.

Anyway, I wanted to play this sequence (and the next one) a little as a power play between the brothers. There are two forces pulling Callum rigth now, and the tension is growing because of it. I like this shot, I think, is cool.

My next sequence is the continuation of the Banther Lodge Council scene. Rayla is out of the building right now, and Callum is deeply distracted.

But we start with a little coment of comedy with Soren "testing" the bread. This shot ended flipped, but the idea is still the same, I am glad the keept the moment of Soren putting the bread on his mouth, haha.

Again this scene mix two trains of though or conflicts together, in one hand you have Ezran trying to figure out how to lead his people in a way that makes sure a tragedy like the burning of Katolis doesn't happen again. And in the other hand the struggle between Callum loyalties, and his inhability to be what Ezran needs him to be right now.

This is not hate to Callum, I think that his desicions are pretty ok taking in consideration that is he still a teeneager. But I feel that he gets tunnel vision when things are related to Rayla, and he failed miserably as a brother and member of the council during this time.

While I think Callum is right, Ezran should forgive Runaan, he should be there to provide love and support to his brother, and advice and perspective to his king. Space for Ezran to come to the conclusion that forgivenes is the right path.

Anyway, I had this gesture boarded with Ezran hitting the air, but they ended adding the cup there for him to toss. I don't know how I feel about it, It's fine (specially if you talke into consideration that the Anya pick up the cup and give it back to Ezran) but feels a little off to me. Not sure why, tho.

I like Anya and Ezran relationship. I think I would appreciate it if she also took the place that Callum was failing to fulfill and gave some space to Ezran to grieve and process his sadness in a more intimate level. Like as friends more than as "heads of state". But anyway, she is cool, I am glad Ezran had someone as his side during this time.

I remember that one of the instructions I got for this sequence was to make sure that Ezran feels like a mob boss. Hahaha. Funny, tho. But besides that, I think that something that I was glad to see and board was Ezran taking more action and having more agency.

Maybe we can disagree with his point of view, but it was great to finally see him taking the reins of the kingdom, being active and assertive with his actions.

My last two sequences in this episode were the talk of Callum and Ezran close to the fireplace. I think this was an instance of Callum trying to be Ezran brother, giving him support and love and helping him to see the erron of his ways.

BUT, and this is a big but, I feel that all of this feels empty and, from Ezran point of view, manipulative; because after this talk Callum right away decides not only to "betray" Ezran but also to leave him alone. And that was not pretty wise of him, imo.

It is always a pleasure to draw any character making a suspicious face, hahaha "I don't trust you":

I think during the first part of the talk, the sibilings are on pretty opposite sides, there is a rift between them, and it is hard to close. But then there is more space for vulnerability and trust.

I think a really significant momen is for Ezran to remove his crown. "I am not talking as the king, but as your brother" kind of moment. Humanizes him a lot and shows the sincerity of his words.

He is confesing here, how he is tired, how this dury felt on his shoulders even when he was not ready for it, and how much he is trying to carry the burden, but oh boy, how heavy is the crown!

And I feel that this is the part when Callum made a mistake. Instead of listen to him, to recognize his pain, to offer his aid and support, some kind of "you don't need to do this alone" kind of thing, he brings the topic back to Runaan.

And then he shots the shot: "You forgave Zubeia" And ouch! I mean, he is right, that is something that Ezran did, but I don't think this is the moment to bring it. But again, the conflict here is that none of them can see the other right now. Callum is too worried about Rayla and Runaan, and Ezran is too hurt and overwheelmed.

And I wanted to make the shift clear, so Callum literally points fingers at Ezran. He demands action, he expect his brother to do what he wants him to do, not what Ezran needs to do. In an ideal world there would be a trial for Runaan, one where we can hear both parties, where Ezran can express his feelings his doubts and grieve, that could end in him finding forgivenes in his heart.

But it is not an ideal world. Things are falling apart, and the struggles between the needs and wants of characters are in conflict. So, people make bad decisions. That is good writing if you ask me.

Then Zym intervines, he wants Ezran to forgive Runaan, not for the same reasons than Callum, tho.

I think in Zym's mind is more an attempt to get "the old Ezran back". So Callum and Zym try to make their point together. I wanted to paint it as if Zym has this naive approach to the stituation, while Callum is a little more manipulative (I don't think that on porpouse) being like "look, even Zym agrees" failing to see why Zym is agreeing. I think the sin of Callum in all this episode is blindness (or tunel vision as we said before)

And kinda works. Not because Ezran is ready to forgive, but because I feel that there is something inside Ezran that thinks like Zym too. That maybe there is a way to go back to be like he was before.

And that is the thing, pain and grieve change you, and accept that change is part of growing up. Aaravos talk about that a lot this season. So there is a little truce, a moment of "maybe" from Ezran. I really like to draw this two together.

Sadly this moment gets interrupted by Soren asking for help. And from here is downhill. I think Callum's actions after this point did not help at all to Ezran to heal or change his mind.

The fact that Callum decided to leave probably made Ezran wound worst, and any hope that this conversation could bring for the brothes to get back together gets shattered.

Great setting up of their conflict for this season, imo.

Well that was my work for 702. Thanks for reading this brickwall of text! Hope you like this! And feel free to ask if you have questions about the storyboard process!

See you for 705 boards soon!

[anarchomitsumi]

going back to the big question on ch65—when shima is disappointed that what mitsumi likes about him is his "kind façade"—i find it such an interesting problem.

shima HAS put on the kind facade to get mitsumi to like him. but the thing is—that's just what you do when you have a crush !! you do nice things for that person to get them to like you !

shima seems completely incapable of differentiating when he's putting on a front, and when he's being genuinely kind. he picked up the people-pleasing habit as a child, and now he doesn't know when he does it as a reflex and when he genuinely wants to be nice to someone. he doesn't understand how his kindness towards mitsumi is any different.

what he doesn't realize though, is that he's been genuinely kind to her since the beginning.

accompanying her to the student council even if he wasn't going to join himself

going to starmax with her because she said she'd always wanted to go, and helping her to become friends with makoto.

taking her goals seriously and promising to support each other with their future aspirations (my fave scene forever and ever)

going to the zoo together and hoping she'll come to love tokyo !

and he's not only been kind to mitsumi, but to mika too. noticing when she was feeling insecure and acknowledging her great style. telling her to aim for top during the volleyball tournament, and in the process reassuring her that she doesn't need to hold back her ambitions or her strong character to be likeable. and many more—to many people around him.

at some point in the upcoming chapters, shima is gonna have to realize that "being kind to someone so they'll be kind back" isn't emotional manipulation—it's just what getting to know someone is like. plain and simple. he isn't sick n twisted and tricking his friends into liking him, they just happen to like him.

the fake kindness was a problem in the begging, when he genuinely used it as a facade and didn't express any of his actual feelings. or with many of his classmates, that—like I've talked about before—see him as a status symbol rather than a person. but with mitsumi and his friends, he's kind to them and they're kind right back.

shima's problem with his own kindness doesn't really stop there, though. the actual underlying problem is the sentiment that he isn't a good person. he sees himself as a manipulative monster (re: self-identification with frankestein's monster), so no affection coming from him could ever be well meaning.

however, if he stopped for a second he'd realize that his wishes to become a better person—"i want to be as emotionally brave as mitsumi", "i want be confident in my kindness", and "i want to encourage others more"—have more to so with....self-confidence than anything else (i say at the risk of sounding like a scamming life coach). he ought to accept he is good, too. not he "could be good", he is good. already.

and if skip and loafer is good at something, it's at making its characters change their perspectives on others. like in the first chapters makoto stopped thinking of yuzu as too popular to understand her, mika stopped feeling so jelous of the other girls or looking down at mitsumi, and shima stopped thinking of mitsumi as naive—or how ujie has recently stopped viewing shima as shallow—skip and loafer tells us new poeple are usually not as antagonistic as we initially think. maybe shima will apply that sentiment to himself soon. after all, when mitsumi says she's been saved by his kindness, it's because she has her reasons.