white out

Your job as an ally is to step aside and give the mic to a member of an oppressed community, because they have first hand experience with the oppression they face.

Your job is not to run across stage with sparklers screaming shit like “not all [privileged group]” “I don’t see color” “we’re all just human” and “all lives matter.”

You are helping no one and you don’t get a gold star for taking up our stage.

Daily Toony Circumstance: Today, top toon scientists (pictured above) are working on getting New Toontown’s CGI up and running after a white out spill yesterday afternoon. If we (or TPD) ever end up catching the guy that did this, damn right we’re gonna go medieval on his ass for making us do all this work! -Greasy

tomorrow...

We had to turn on a space heater in my office and that made me think of “White Out’, so here’s some post-ice wall cuddling… TGIF!


There’s a low murmur coming from the kitchen, the quiet but firm voice of Mary Margaret helping to soothe Elsa’s guilt over all that has occurred and her fears of a sister possibly lost forever. Emma knows that this is where she should be stepping up as Savior, but she’s cold and tired and honestly – completely unwilling to pull back from the comfort of Killian’s arms. That damn ice wall might still be up on the edge of town, but the one she’s been keeping up between her and Killian is currently nowhere to be found.

He shuffles slightly and she feels a gentle tug as a few strands of her hair get snagged by the short scruff of his beard. It’s in that moment that she realizes just how tangled up they are and her fatigue-clouded brain begins to try to make sense of how that could be. With her alone in the chair, he must be poised on his knee on the hardwood floor and has been since they all got back to the loft. There’s no way his knee isn’t killing him, but he hasn’t complained and has only jostled her twice, both times moving his body even closer. The thought of the obvious pain he must be in just to hold her has her leaning her head further into his coat to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks.

She’s given him the opening to show her the depth of the affection he feels for her without fear of her rebuff and the strength of it is warming her faster than the pile of blankets draped over her lap. She should let him get up; even if she knows in her heart he doesn’t want to leave her side. What’s even clearer is how much she doesn’t want him to go. She almost died tonight. He could die tomorrow. It’s just the course her life has been set upon and there’s still a needling part of her that wants to push him away before it’s too late. It’s selfish, indulgent, and potentially harmful to them both, but she just wants him here, close, in this fragile bubble of warmth and unguarded need.

“Hey…”

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