#i am back to my regularly scheduled programming

[thelawfulchaotic]

What is very funny about being a specialist in juvenile law is that I never... actually liked children?

(Ok there is some possibility I am fooling myself about this, given that there has never been a single child client I got to know that I didn't love and root for and 100% support, but.)

I'm not a "kid person." I don't have the gift of running around and imagining with them. I babysat much less than equivalent older-millennial girls.

I just got into court, and I --

Okay, let me back up and talk about my first public defender's office. It was a rural office that covered several geographical jurisdictions, including multiple cities and counties, five total. Each of these had three courts that regularly needed to be covered: a juvenile/domestic court, a general court, and a slightly higher and fancier level of court. They all operated to varied schedules (general court A was on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but general court B was on Wednesdays and Fridays; juvenile court A was on Wednesdays and Fridays but juvenile court B was on Mondays and Wednesdays).

So, fifteen total "courts," and there were... hmm. 8-10 attorneys. And a boss who wanted us to be able to substitute for each other, and thus rotated us through the courts every month. On week 1, I might be doing general court A on Tuesday and general court B on Friday. On week 2, I might be doing general court A on Thursday and juvenile/domestic court A on Wednesday. I might have one day a month where I do general court C.

So on.

The court schedules cases not according to our schedules, but according to police officers. Do you see the problem yet?

Public defenders were fungible. For those who don't know that very academic-specific word, it means that we were exchangeable units. One case could go through four different attorney's hands because it would get continued, show up on someone else's date, get continued again, show up on someone else's date, and so on. Juvenile cases were particularly bad about this because they tended to linger in court for a long time, while the court monitored the juvenile's progress.

Here's another fun problem: the department in charge of things like child protection, custody, etc., would only come to court on Tuesdays. We did not have a spare attorney to cover an extra day on Tuesdays in which criminal cases would happen with children who happened to also have custody issues or a foster care prevention plan in place. They would put the criminal case on the next day, Wednesday. Effectively, this meant that we were not present for the decisions about where our clients went and what programs they would have to do.

So I'm dropped into this, a baby attorney, having watched a DVD about How To Juvenile Law. I feel my training is wildly inadequate, and I'm doing reviews on cases that have never had the same attorney twice. Zero trust between me and the kids, and why would there be?

I complained loudly until my boss gave in and ordered me the several-hundred-dollar Juvenile Practice In This State book, and then I read it cover to cover. I learned a bunch of really interesting things! Like all the stuff we'd been doing wrong!

My boss was shocked. "You actually read that?"

"What did you THINK I was gonna do?"

"Well, you're the juvenile expert now, I guess."

oh shit, I thought. oops. fuck.

But I leaned in, and not in the ambition way. I proposed a way to rearrange my schedule so that I would always be free on Tuesdays for DSS cases. Instantaneously, there was a change in the environment of the court -- before, it was the guardians ad litem, juvenile probation, and the attorney for DSS deciding what to do with kids. Now I was there. Making suggestions. And arguments.

We changed how we did the schedule, and how we put individual cases on that schedule. Keeping them on our days became a priority.

I instituted a weekly detention center visit, for myself. (I made it about half the time.)

I went to trainings. This area of law is wildly unpopular among a lot of public defenders, because it's complicated and sad and you don't get to do jury trials about it. Every new thing I learned just pissed me off. It wasn't that I liked kids. It was that kids deserved better. So I got to take over pretty much everything with regards to juvenile law in the office.

But like, I stumbled on this, I didn't know shit. I didn't have a passion for protecting children. It's just that every bit of law I learned made me go, "What? REALLY? Fuck off!"

[coincidentallyafandomblog]

[thewisestdino]

[shouyuus]

view, 7:17 on a thursday night

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.

[dani-the-toad]

harutaka baby moodboard because i think ive fully lost the plot and couldnt make the gif of blowing up shintaro like i wanted

[ofspacecrafts]

After the shooting, Buck comes over one night after Eddie is discharged and they’re playing video games with Chris . It’s something sports related. But after Chris goes to bed they switch to something else because he’d be mad if they went to the next level without him.

It’s a game with guns and explosions which never bothered Eddie before, even after the army. But the volumes on loud and the first time Buck hits a target they both drop their controllers.

Eddie is still almost like he’s barely breathing and he’s staring at the floor.

Buck is wide eyed , gasping for air, shaking.

Eddie looks at him and reaches out a hand.

Eddie speaks first. “I don’t remember much. But guess you do?”

Buck nods.

Eddie continues “I remember the sound. And I remember you.” Eddie’s breathing is heavier and he’s shaking his legs nervously.

Buck chokes back a sob. He still can’t speak. So he moves closer, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s back and pulling him back toward him .

They stay like this for a while in silence. Eddie’s hand on Buck’s knee and Buck’s in Eddie’s hair.

Buck speaks first “You asked if I was hurt. You were bleeding out and you asked if I was hurt.”

Eddie inhales sharply “It’s all I remember . You covered in blood and I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“Wh-what..?” Bucks voice is barely a whisper.

Eddie tilts his head back to look up at Buck. “I meant what I said. You think you’re expendable and you’re not.”

Buck blinks back tears , trying hard not to have them fall in Eddie’s head.

It’s silent for a few minutes.

Eddie let’s out a shaky laugh “Guess we should get rid of this game?”

Buck laughs too and pulls them back further onto the couch , Eddie resting his head on Buck’s chest. In this moment, Eddie knows they’re going to be ok.

Hours later Eddie blinks awake. Buck is snoring softly , his hand still resting in Eddie’s hair.

Tomorrow I’m going to tell him I’m in love with him, he decides. And he’s no longer scared that he won’t be loved back.

[alibonbonn]

do you think all biotics glow blue when they're plastered, or is it just an L2 thing? Do you think this could've happened in the Citadel DLC where Kaidan is surrounded by his drunk crewmates

[azure-clockwork]

“I can dry swallow the Zoloft this once; there’s enough spit in my mouth that it’ll be fiiiiiiiiiine—” no. That’s the devil talking. He’s lying to you. Go eat food and drink water.

[orangesnail]

If The Deep Roads has a million fans, I’m one of them.

If The Deep Roads has 5 fans, I’m one of them.

If The Deep Roads has 1 fan, that one is me.

If The Deep Roads has no fans, I’m no longer alive.

If the world is against The Deep Roads, I’m against the entire world.

Till my last breath, I’ll support The Deep Roads.

[pancakessart]

some fun bookmarks I painted for my last market! none of them sold, so I put them up here on ko-fi! Super proud of how these colors turned out!!!! they're SUPER bright and i am obviously addicted to my neon paints :DDDD

rbs and likes super appreciated!!! <3

[threadpull]

piri came back and wisteria made bec, so this is just a jawn/becky bullshit blog now. goodbye

[storytellering]

i posted about this on twitter so I guess I should be saying this here too. But anyway when my current art backlog is all uploaded I'll probably be posting some dbh, no idea if its gonna be a longterm thing or just the one off pic or two but yeah, dont be alarmed by the change in program lol

[midoristeashop]

4, 9, 11 🤸🏽‍♂️

ALSO HNY <3 !!!

HI REN HII

4. Was thinking of my favorite character(s) I’ve drawn for a while now, and then I was drawing my hijack coded ocs and decided this is the perfect excuse to show them off LMAO (besides jack and hic they are all I think about 🥹)

9. New art mediums/Styles

Amazingly enough I’ve tried tons of trad mediums this past year (gouache and ink being the newest!) just anything that has the texture I need to replicate my digital style 😭 and ofc you’ve seen all my spiderverse studies those were so so fun to do <3

I did a trad piece for my portfolio (thats eh but whatever it’s progress) w/ watercolor, ink, colored pencil, etc. so here’s a snippet!

11. Artists that have influenced my style:

Literally tons I could have a whole post dedicated to my inspirations but here are the first that pop in my head…

Ami Thomson, Alberto Mielgo, whoever made that opening sequence to dance central/ love death n robots ice, tomm moore (song of the sea + secret of Kelly’s director!) james r woods, and so so many more!!

[runawaymun]

I am FREE

[iero]

How did you manage to find that url? I thought some MCR fan would've taken it

I AM an MCR fan and I have taken it. :)