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#tw prison
sillakits · 10 months
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By Saika076
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destielmemenews · 1 month
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"Navalny said he understood that he was “serving a life sentence, which is measured by the length of my life or the length of life of this regime.”"
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multifandomlover01 · 3 months
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No but I need prison Spencer to scratch a poem I’d written about him long ago or sent to him in prison or whatever into his prison cell wall with a shank or whatever in the corner to keep him going. I need it to be a mantra for him. I need the guards to question what he’s doing curled up in the corner on the floor, rocking back and forth
I view myself in the CM universe as journaling as a BAU agent to cope with the cases and my feelings. I write whatever, including poems, to express myself. Spencer finds out or he sees me because I’m not being secretive about it. Maybe I let him read some, bc maybe he’s curious. Maybe he reads what I wrote when he’d been held by Tobias and then when he was struggling afterwards (we were already dating). He memorized a poem I wrote about how much he meant to me in a time when I thought I might lose him and then it becomes his anchor whenever he’s struggling.
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notbecauseofvictories · 11 months
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Wanted to share this poem with you--"Love Poem in the Black Field" by Ariana Benson
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Give this boy a sensory room, he's overstimulated 😭
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I mean- I guess he... eventually does get his own room...
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sibmakesart · 2 years
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julie-no · 2 years
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Eddie Munson: Backstory
My take on Eddie Munson’s childhood and adolescence up to the events of Stranger Things season 4. I’m using the actor’s own backstory ideas, hints from the series and what I think are likely obstacles. Feel free to use any of this you want!
Eddie’s mother was a young waitress from a modest family dreaming of a picket fence life, who was charmed by a charismatic delinquent with grand plans. His father’s promises to her of a happy future in comfort soon proved themselves to be hollow. Already disillusioned, she was ready to leave their failing relationship. Until she discovered she was pregnant.
Unable to terminate the unwanted pregnancy, she became trapped in a disappointing, dead-end trailer park existence full of broken promises of change and responsibility by a careless man. She resented him for ruining the future she wanted. Resented the shabby trailer and wailing baby she was saddled with.
The occasional crumpled bills and stolen presents could not make up for her crushed dreams. She hated her own recklessness as much as his negligence. Hated her own heart for not being able to love her baby, who served only as a reminder of all the things she could never have.
During the first years of Eddie’s life, his mother tolerated him. His father was absent at times, unpredictable and irresponsible. Mostly, it was his mother alone. And his father’s older brother - Wayne Munson - who lived in the trailer park as well. Wayne shared his mother’s disappointment in his father, and was protective of Eddie.
Eddie was only four when his mother dropped him off at Wayne’s trailer for her waitressing shift, got in her beaten down car and never returned.
His father remained, more present without his mother there. Still, he was in and out of jail throughout Eddie’s childhood. Eddie would stay with Wayne whenever his father disappeared for periods of time for a job or to shoot up or smoke with old friends, or during his frequent prison stays.
Rick Lipton was one such friend. This is how Eddie knows ‘Reefer Rick’.
Wayne quit his job as a truck driver (he used to collect mugs and hats from places he’d visit) for a job at a nearby plant, so he could be around more consistently for Eddie. He protected him from the more rough aspects of his father’s behavior when he detected them, shielding him to the best of his ability from the uglier side of addiction and the occupational hazards of a criminal.
Eddie was an energetic child with a vivid imagination, but in school he quickly became disruptive. His father’s name made socializing difficult. Most children were discouraged from getting involved with ‘the Munson boy’. Still - Eddie was charming and clever enough to attract a few friends.
As quickly as the children learned to be cruel, they found a target in Eddie. The word ‘trash’ came from someone’s parents in Loch Nora, and stuck throughout his elementary school years. An outcast in school and neglected by his father, Eddie became more unruly and attention seeking in his behavior.
He found an outlet in loud, angry music - which he shared with his friends. They formed their band in middle school. His father gave him his first guitar for his birthday, as he would sometimes overcompensate with (stolen) gifts to make up for his absence. Music became Eddie's greatest love.
As he grew older, Eddie would begin to understand. His father’s careless and bitter outlook, understood but not forgiven. His mother’s abandonment, a critical wound never healed - although he could empathize. Addiction and recidivism. Systems of oppression and marginalization. The ugly truth of the cycle of poverty. 
An interest in political and social science began to form - along with an appreciation for counterculture and storytelling. He started writing stories, and later campaigns, and reading to distract himself.
High school had a difficult start - with his hair awkwardly growing out of a buzzcut and his clothes mostly oddly matched hand-me-downs, he was an obvious target for the social elite of Hawkins High. Freshman year had him enduring taunts from every angle, more brutal than elementary had ever been.
The name ‘trash’ was still there, and he found himself upside down in the garbage containers behind the school a fair few times. He was clever enough to avoid the worst of the bullying - being socially intuitive and able to placate or agitate as he saw fit. His clever banter and ability to adapt meant he didn’t make as any enemies as some.
Eddie became more self-assured by his sophomore year. His clothes were better coordinated and given some thought. His hair was longer. He grew into his strengths, and he’d found metal culture, fantasy novels and roleplaying games. With a more solidified identity, community within the Hellfire Club and his band, he found confidence.
He was leagues ahead of his band members in terms of musical ability. Perhaps because a small trailer lent itself to a limited amount of hobbies. He thought he might have perfect pitch. (He learned ‘Master of Puppets’ in two weeks by ear at 21.) And he was already the DM of Hellfire Club in second year, his improvisation skills and empathy making him a brilliant storyteller and performer.
By junior year most of those who had been around to witness his clumsy start had graduated - and the royalty of Hawkins High had shifted. Pretty, athletic, rich, charming Steve Harrington was King already as a sophomore. The younger elite was easier to manage. Harrington did not find him worth noticing.
Tommy Hagan coined the nickname ‘Freak’ for him, which was at least better than the ‘Creep’-label put on the quiet freshman Jonathan Byers. Carol Perkins dictated that he was ugly and undesirable - although mostly in reference to his choice of personal style - more sophisticated in its thrash metal style now. He pretended the comments about his face didn’t sting (they did).
Whatever Harrington and Hagan and Perkins dictated stuck. As far as the vast majority of Hawkins High was concerned, Eddie was an ugly, worthless, trailer trash freak. But he could work with that. Especially to get a rise out of the moralistic baby-republican sunday school types like that freshman Jason Carver.
Eddie embraced his new title. Ever the showman - he made a character of himself out of left-wing ideology, demonstrative social criticism and counterculture. He found power in it - his loud confidence drawing in the little sheep, who sought to hide behind someone who might take the pressure off of them.
The freaks had their own King, and he was unafraid.
As Eddie entered his senior year, his father would start bringing him along with him on trips to Indianapolis. It was a misguided attempt at bonding, always including some drug deal, theft or smuggling gig. Eddie was mostly left to wait in the car during those. On occasion, things would get out of hand and Wayne would have to come and pick him up.
This was the beginning of Eddie’s involvement in his father’s business, and his own entanglement with the law. (“That Munson boy is up to no good again,” said Susan Mayfield when several police cars stopped by the Munson trailer after the death of Chrissy Cunningham.) The first time he was arrested, he was seventeen years old.
It was during his senior year in high school. Eddie was apprehended alongside his father - who was given a significant prison sentence. His father was convicted with a felony, and Eddie with a misdemeanor, for possession of controlled substances. As a first time offender, Eddie was given community service and was expelled from Hawkins High.
And thus he failed his first senior year.
But the rumors and comments he could survive. The dawning realization that he would not see his father for nine years weighed heavy on him. Eddie’s father had not been reliable or supportive or in any way a good father. But at least he had been around - in what little way he was able. And now he was gone.
Whispers followed him as he re-entered senior year the next fall, once his sentence was over, branded a teen delinquent. He had fallen into the poverty trap he swore he’d escape. But - he knew the first step out would be finishing high school. It was difficult. His pride had taken a solid hit.
The label ‘loser’ and ‘trash’ weren’t new, and they cut deeper now. His demonstrative outward personality was twisted into rumors of aggression and dubbed 'antisocial behavior'. He was dismissed by the larger population of Hawkins High as a doomed burnout without a future who would inevitably end up in prison like his father.
The last time he had seen him, he had been handcuffed in the back of a police car - Eddie in another. Then he’d been driven off somewhere, and that was that. Something like grief - or perhaps anger, or fear, or anxiety, or guilt, or shame - occupied so much space within him that there was little room for social science and litterature and math and fucking wood shop.
Playing guitar kept his hands from shaking. 
Jeff just gaped at him whenever they played together.
At least the King decided to continue to ignore him, so the rest followed, mostly. The echo of elementary school. That Munson boy. Like his surname was worse than any insult they could come up with. The rumors surrounding his arrest were, as expected, largely exaggerated. Did you hear he went to prison? I heard he stabbed someone. The speculations were wild.
But, eventually most people settled on the more or less correct assumption. Drugs. The accompanying rumors that he was a drug dealer was what started the actual business. At first, Eddie just sold off the remains of his father’s stash to some seniors asking for weed. Bought some tapes and saved up for a new guitar. But people kept asking.
Eventually, Eddie reached out to his father’s old friend Rick Lipton to set something up for him. Rick supplied him with a little bit - nothing over the top - as a clumsy way to support his old friend’s kid. (Rick’s judgment was always questionable.) Fucking poverty trap. Fucking recidivism. Shit. He’d be careful. It would be fine. 
When Chief Hopper caught him with a joint he nearly burst into tears.
“Better not see that shit again, Munson.”
And Hopper had let him go. (And probably smoked that joint he confiscated.)
It didn’t help Eddie’s stress levels that Steve Harrington lost his crown to the absolutely unhinged Billy Hargrove that year. Eddie usually gave the transfer senior a wide berth. Hargrove was violent and dangerous in a way he’d only seen in men from Indianapolis on the occasions where Wayne would have to pick him up and his father had returned home with bruises.
But the new King liked to smoke, and he didn’t much like to pay. Eddie certainly wasn’t going to charge him. Twenty dollars was not worth the brutality of Hargrove's terrifying temper, and Eddie had avoided broken bones this far. So, he cut his losses and let the new King have whatever he wanted. It worked pretty well.
He busied himself with playing guitar and writing campaigns. Hellfire Club became a sanctuary for him as much as it was for the little sheep. While he was mostly friendless and currently under Hargrove's heel - at least he had his little band of outcasts and freaks. 
Mouthing off once at Hargrove did lead to a very, very hard lecture on ‘respect’ he wasn't eager to repeat. It was a rare thing to be able to get Eddie Munson to shut up and bow his head. He resented it, but didn’t protest. He wasn’t stupid.
Eddie’s sarcasm and good humor kept most bullies away. He was too tall to shove into lockers at nineteen anyway, and was difficult to get a rise out of.
He had wanted to graduate. He might have done so if his environment and situation had allowed for it. In the end, it was too little too late. The unprocessed trauma of his father’s incarceration and his own arrest had led to too many missed deadlines and assignments, low attendance and a damning disciplinary record.
The teachers disliked him. They considered him an unwanted presence and a bad influence. Eddie supposed he was an easy kid to dislike - loud, contrary and demonstrative in his disillusionment. If they had hoped he would return humbled and quiet, they were sorely mistaken.
The year was marked by notices of disruptive behavior and detentions. Some not entirely warranted. 
If he cried in Higgins’ office when he told him he would not be allowed to graduate, he’d never admit to it. The man had no sympathy for laziness, which was an interesting word for depression. Disappointing Wayne had been the worst of it. But his uncle met him with only understanding and kindness. Crying to Wayne hadn’t feel like weakness.
If any of his teachers had cared to support him, he would have passed his classes.
If any of his teachers had cared to listen, they would have discovered his prodigious musical talent.
If any of his teachers had cared to facilitate it, he would have received a music scholarship.
Eddie started his third senior year with a new focus and determination. He was older than the other kids. Intimidating enough in his reputation and appearance to avoid most bullies. Hargrove was gone, and Carver was King. Easy. He still took younger, bullied kids under his wing and decided - definitively - that he would graduate and make something of himself.
Being treated like a burnout delinquent with no future did not mean it had to be true. The cycle of poverty and recidivism could go fuck itself. He wasn’t going to live and die in a trailer park.
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autistic-af · 1 year
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I have therapy next week, and I have come to the realisation that I still need help getting over my dad. Oddly, I feel weak with this realisation. Like, I felt before that I was over him. But the nightmares have returned. Especially after a recent conversation where it was mentioned he gets out of prison in just 3 more years.
I honestly don't know how to feel about all this.
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ethvns · 6 days
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basics
face claim — jacob elordi name — ethan shephard pronouns & gender — he/him & cis man sexuality — heterosexual birth date — november 10, 1995 birth place — starlight oaks occupation — attendant at comet see it & volunteer (community service) at fur-ever friends neighborhood — downtown living arrangements — currently crashing on his sister’s couch  time living in town — recently returned after serving two years in prison  family — helen (mother, whereabouts unknown), william (father), half-sister (wanted connection tba !!) relationship status — single pinterest / connections / playlist
personality
positive traits — assertive, resourceful, driven, protective negative traits — selfish, pigheaded, reckless, dishonest likes — menthol cigarettes, pineapple on pizza, breaking bad, tony hawk dislikes — pretentious people, cops, paying more than $2 for coffee hobbies — fantasy basketball, starting beef on reddit, watching street fight videos on twitter  distinguishing features — a scar above his left brow from that one time he drank half a bottle of tequila and tried to ride an electric scooter. this tattoo on the back of his neck. probably has something like this on his chest with wings on either side and some cringy quote about how god is the only one who can judge him.  favorite color — blue, black artist — kanye west, yung lean, ofwgkta, childish gambino movie — fight club. chicken run. VERY passionate about the dark knight trilogy book — none?? he’s only read like 2 books in his whole life sport — basketball beverage — arizona iced tea food — chow mein animal — komodo dragon season — summer
headcanons 
everytime he has a cold he turns into a frail victorian child on their deathbed
once went to juvie for robbing another kid’s lemonade stand with a bb gun
always carries around lip balm and applies it like this  
his tinder bio is just his height
love language is physical touch
allergic to shellfish 
biography 
born in starlight oaks to william and helen, ethan’s life has always stood in stark contrast to the idyllic nature of his hometown. from a young age, he learned that the world didn’t owe him anything regardless of the hardships he faced - and they were plenty. neither william nor helen had wanted kids at the time (william's track record with a child from a prior relationship painted a rather bleak picture of repeated absences...), but helen was too far along for an abortion when they learned that she was pregnant.
from the moment ethan entered the world, helen made it clear that his presence was unwanted. she shouldered the role of unwilling mother for the next five years until she finally skipped town, only leaving a hastily scribbled note saying that she couldn’t do “this” anymore. from then on, it was just ethan and his dad, who had his own set of demons to contend with. his long-standing habit of seeking comfort in the bottom of a glass eventually cost him his job and by then, he was already known around town as a drunk.
ethan’s own reputation was far from spotless; his teenage years were filled with run-ins with the law and various stints in juvie for petty theft and assault. written off as a lost cause by most of his teachers, he coasted through school doing just enough to pass, and nothing else. it was only a matter of time before he realized he could make a quick buck by dealing drugs on behalf of someone higher up in the trade. what started out as an easy way to make money on the side eventually turned into a career he had no thoughts of giving up on - until he was caught. following an anonymous tip-off, ethan was arrested in his own home for gun and drug possession, landing him a 4 year sentence in state prison.
his time behind bars was tougher than he’d care to admit; far different from what he knew from juvie. sharing a space with other felons was no joke, but working in the kitchen usually kept him out of trouble. having served half of his sentence, ethan was granted parole on a set of conditions including community service and random drug tests. upon returning to his hometown, he cut ties with everyone he knew in the drug business, moved in with his older sister and managed to land a job at the local drive-in theatre. despite his best efforts to put the past behind him, every so often, ethan still finds himself struggling between doing what’s easy and what’s right.
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hazyaltcare · 4 months
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A moodboard for a c!Awesamdude (DSMP) that yearns for the Prison and misses being the Warden; with themes of regret and longing for c!Dream and c!Ponk.
Mod Haze (❤️Alice❤️)
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okay i am knees deep in the UK law and i just want to vent all my findings please lawyers and data analysts correct me if i am wrong about anything.
huge trigger warnings for transphobia, rape, prisons, UK law fuckery. it's a post from somebody who isn't qualified to talk about law and statistics around rape, correcting somebody who is also super unqualified to do it. reblog with caution, or better just steal my ideas and improve them in your own posts.
so i saw this data viz under JKR's tweet
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first thing that caught my attention is WOW that's an awful viz???? sample size of trans women is so much smaller than cis ppl like you can't just make this visual of 1177 per million trans women rapists out of 56 bcs there are just no million trans women in the UK????
but okay let's start with the elephant in the room: this viz is mostly to show that trans women rape much more often than cis women and trans men. so it turns out that UK law only recognizes rape done by somebody with a penis (https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/2003/42/section/1/2009-11-12). therefore obviously the percentage of convicted of rape trans women will be much higher than of cis women.
now to the fact that trans women rape more often than cis men. i am less sure about this part, bcs it all generally deals with sampling issues, so please please please fact check me here. i went to read the article this picture is from (https://scientificparentofatranskid.substack.com/p/fact-check-rates-of-sexual-offending). they get 1177 per million sex offenders if they look at a proportion of sex offenders (56) to all trans women in the UK (47k). however, when they look at a proportion of sex offenders to all AMAB transgender individuals in the UK (120k), they get numbers that are very close to what they have with cis men.
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then they later conclude that 1177 per million stat is more accurate, because the gov official replied to them that all of these 5 offenders identify as trans women only, but then also they say that non-binary AMAB individuals don't commit rape, which is... weird? i think it makes more sense that the percentage would be more or less equal between all genders (obviously, we still have to deal with the fact, that in UK only people with penis can rape, but you know what i mean)? like i guess it's harder to identify as non-binary in prison, which gives you only two options of where to be incarcerated.
BUT 'the numbers just line up better that way' is a biased reasoning. there could be many more reasons, why percentage-wise the number is much higher. an example that comes to mind is the fact that more black people are incarcerated in the US. we would make a mistake to assume that it's because they are more dangerous than white people. and, once again, oh boy these sample sizes.
i want to end this post with another mention of the fact that this topic is extremely complicated, rape is extremely under reported, it's even worse when we are talking about rape in queer relationships and when rape is done by a cis woman, which isn't a thing in UK's legal system apparently. it must be repeated, because JKR and her supporters talk about these issues very carelessly. they don't talk about prison rape, they don't talk about prison rape done by officers, both of which are very common. they are not careful with their findings, with statistics, with sample sizes.
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across-violet-skies · 2 months
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Febuwhump day 2: solitary confinement
Whumpee: Wind
Whump Rating: 3/10
TWs: kidnapping, being held prisoner, social isolation, mentions of "losing one's mind"/"going crazy"
Wind had always been one of the more extroverted heroes.
He was always happy to talk to people (strangers included) and if there was silence to fill, Wind would gladly do so. The sailor was easily excitable with a dynamite personality that could brighten up even the lowest moods. He had spent his entire life talking and being around people– from his home on Outset Island, to adventuring with Tetra and eventually the King of Red Lions, to traveling with eight other reincarnations of the Hero’s Spirit… well, Wind had never really been alone. Not for long, anyway.
Well, until now.
He had gotten captured by some Yiga in Wild’s Hyrule while wandering near the stable they were staying at. He hadn’t even seen it coming– he just wanted to talk to the woman hovering by the side of the road! One thing led to another, and now Wind was sitting in a tiny cell, cut off from all contact. And it was driving him crazy! He would even talk to one of the Yiga at this point.
Having never truly been alone for the entirety of his life, Wind wasn’t sure what to make of his new predicament. Logically, it was fine– he was unharmed, fed, hydrated, and reasonably comfortable, for a cell. They had even given him a blanket! So why did he feel like tearing out his own hair?
Wind huffed, pacing back and forth in the tiny space. Okay, so he was alone. Nobody knew where he was. Not great, but someone would notice his absence eventually, right? They would be here to save him soon!
He just had to wait. He could do that! Wind wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the world, but he knew about waiting. He sailed across the Great Sea many times during his adventure, and a lot of that was waiting! Oh, but he had the King of Red Lions to keep him company… hm.
Wind sighed, gently tapping his forehead against the wall of his cell. Waiting officially sucked. There was nothing for him to do! He couldn’t even talk to anyone!
…Wait.
The sailor scrambled, putting his hand down his shirt to grab his necklace. How could he have forgotten? It was right here- or maybe it was- hm.
Okay, the Yiga must’ve taken it. Back to waiting.
Wind hummed to himself, tapping his fingers along the wall of his cell. Maybe there was a hidden switch! All he had to do was find it! Now, where…
Wind woke up with a groan, rubbing his eyes. He must’ve fallen asleep while looking for a secret switch… oh well. He sat up, only to find a small plate and a glass of water on the floor. He was back on his feet instantly– maybe the person who gave it to him was still outside!
“Hey!” He shouted, banging on the door with a fist. “I know you’re out there! Let me go!” He jumped, trying to peek out of the small barred window near the top of the door. He was still too short.
The sailor landed with a muttered curse, huffing as he sat back down. His eyes were drawn to the food– a simple meal of rice balls with an exotic-looking fruit sliced cleanly in half. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was nice enough considering he was their prisoner.
Wind picked up half of the fruit, sniffing it with a shrug before biting into the soft flesh. The seeds were small and plentiful, so he didn’t bother to pick them out as he chewed slowly. The fruit was sweet, with a slight tingle as he swallowed it. The sailor lazily ate through both halves of the fruit, setting the empty outer shells down in a stack. The rice balls were next, but Wind wasn’t particularly excited about them. They were similar in shape to Wild’s rice balls, but that’s where the similarities ended. These had nothing else in them– no meat, no mushrooms, nothing– just white rice molded into a puffy triangle.
Still, it was better than nothing, so the sailor took the first one and nibbled at it, letting time pass as he slowly ate away the edges of the rice ball. It was so boring! Wind needed excitement and company, not a sad meal eaten alone in a tiny cell. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand this, the waiting and the boredom and the loneliness. Is this how some of his brothers felt during their adventures?
Wind wrinkled his nose at the thought, frowning. He would hate for anyone to feel this way, other than Ganon and maybe the Yiga that captured him. A taste of their own medicine might do them some good.
With a dramatic sigh, Wind slumped so he was lying on his back. The ceiling was plain, as was the rest of the cell. He grabbed the blanket, curling his fingers in the thin fabric as he examined it. The blanket had probably been white at some point, but age had turned it a light shade of yellow. It was raggedy, especially around the edges, and small threads were loose and fraying in one of the corners. To his captors’ credit, it smelled clean enough, despite the blanket’s haggard appearance. The sailor was thankful it didn’t have any stains from blood or other bodily fluids, but that could also just be the work of some strong cleaning supplies.
The sailor ran his fingers along the edges of the blanket until he found the frayed corner, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He wondered who had been in this cell before him. What were they doing now? Were they released, rescued, or something else? Would the Yiga release him or would he be rescued first? Or were they waiting to kill him?
Why was he in this cell? Usually people were kidnapped for a certain reason, and nobody had mentioned blackmail or a ransom to him. Nobody had mentioned anything to him. Wind had no idea what was going on outside his cell, nor did he know what the Yiga had planned for him. It was driving him mad, being completely out of the loop. He wanted to know what was going on! He wanted to know if his brothers were coming to rescue him! But maybe most of all…
…Wind wanted someone to talk to. He had never gone this long without talking to something, Hylian or not. But here there was nothing– no talking boat, no friends, no brothers. Just four walls, a ceiling, and a ratty blanket.
He sat up with a sigh, grabbing the glass of water to hold in front of his face. If he angled it a certain way, Wind could make out the vague shape of his face, and it was almost like having someone there with him.
“Hey, Wind,” Wind murmured, waving a hand. “How are you doing?”
“I gotta tell ya, Wind, not great,” Wind replied, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to do here. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“You probably are,” Wind agreed, shrugging. “I mean, you’re talking to a reflection of yourself.”
“You’re right, Wind,” Wind sighed, nodding. “I think I’ve been alone for too long. How long have I been here?”
“A day and a half, I think,” Wind answered, making a so-so motion with his hand. “It’s hard to tell without a clock or the sun… or anything at all.”
“Yeah,” Wind murmured, sighing. “This sucks. Well, um-” The sailor scrunched up his nose, setting the glass down with a grimace. “Thanks for talking to me… me.” He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head with a small cry. “What the fuck. What the fuck. I just had a conversation with my reflection. My reflection!” Wind muttered, shaking his head into his hands. “This is officially the worst. I think I’d rather be physically tortured.”
The sailor flopped back on the ground with a huff, rolling around uncomfortably. His skin felt itchy and warm, and the walls were all too close. This was too restricting! Wind needed to move around, he needed to do something, he needed to talk to people.
With a determined growl, Wind pushed himself off the ground, slamming his fists against the door. “LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU BASTARDS! I’LL KILL YOU ALL MYSELF! I’LL-” Wind huffed, panting heavily with the effort of screaming. “I’LL MAKE YOU ALL REGRET BEING BORN! I’LL FUCK YOU UP!” The sailor pounded his fists against the door furiously, letting out a screechy yell of frustration and anger. “LET ME OUT!”
In the distance, between bouts of screaming, Wind could hear a commotion. He hoped it was someone coming to let him out. He thought he might lose it if he had to spend one more second in this stupid tiny cell!
A heavy door slammed open, footsteps rushing closer. “Wind?!”
The sailor gasped, shaking the door frantically. “Wars!”
The Captain’s blond hair poked through the bars on the door, blue eyes peering down at him. “Thank Hylia. Are you hurt?”
“No, but get me out of here!” Wind shook the door again for good measure, bouncing between his feet with anticipation. Keys jangled in the lock before the door swung open with a creak, Wind immediately rushing out to grab onto Warriors.
“Woah there!” The Captain grunted, resting a hand on Wind’s back as he dropped the keys with a clang. “It’s good to see you too, Sailor,” Warriors chuckled, patting Wind’s head. “But we should get out of here. Champion’s got the whole place rigged to blow as soon as we get out.”
Wind grinned devilishly. “Think he’d let me set it off?” He wondered, letting Warriors lead him out of the Yiga hideout.
The Captain snorted, shrugging. “Absolutely not.” He ran out of the hideout, Wind right on his heels. Warriors gave a loud whistle as they exited, grabbing the sailor’s hand to hide them both behind a large rock.
Wild whooped loudly, laughing. “This is what you get for messing with us!” In an instant, the Yiga hideout blew to pieces, burnt paper and tapestries floating through the air as the structure collapsed, sealing off any exits.
Wind and Warriors coughed as the dust settled, both of them unharmed. Wild drifted down on his paraglider, dropping down to see them. “Wind!” The Champion exclaimed, eyes bright. “Are you okay? They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”
The sailor waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head. “No, I’m okay. I was just lonely, but now you guys are here,” he explained, shrugging.
“Oh! That reminds me.” Wild tapped at his slate until a crackly static came through. “We got him! Meet back in five.” The static ended as Wild grinned at him. “Sky and Four got your stuff. The others were scouting nearby, so we’ll grab them on our way back.”
Wind beamed at his brothers, relieved to be out of that cell and back in the real world. “Thanks for saving me. I thought I was going to lose my mind in there!”
“I thought you already had,” Warriors remarked offhandedly, smirking.
“Oi!”
The Captain chuckled, resting a hand on Wind’s shoulder as they walked. “It’s nice to have you back, Sailor.”
–> support me on ao3!
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onlytiktoks · 5 days
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eqnygma · 1 year
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shut Up, we get it 🙄🙄.
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selfshippingquotes · 2 years
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S/I: We're going to do this my way.
F/O: Why not my way?
S/I: Because we'll go to jail if we do this your way, F/O.
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