#tw: incarceration

[bee-bowen]

closed starter with @noahsinclaxr

As Bee listened to the phone ring, she felt a lump grow in her throat as she tried to think of what to say when Noah answered. Hey, sorry to wake you up, could you come get me from the local jail? Not something she wanted to say to her brother-in-law. Sure, she had made some stupid decisions in her life, but none had ever landed her up arrested. She could just imagine her parents' faces. Shit, and Nora's faces. It just confirmed her worst fear: she was the family fuck up.

Finally, she heard the click on the other side of the phone as Noah answered. "Hey, brother from another mother," she tried to sound upbeat, but her voice was shaking both with nerves and the tears she was trying to hold back. "So, in a bit of a pickle here. You free?"

#c: noah #tw: incarceration #?? i think

[raj-veerapen]

Phone Call 1 

Featuring: Raj and Xavier @xaviernottheprofessor  Time: 11:30 PM, couple days after Thomas and Celeste’s wedding Triggers: Incarceration, Mental Health Issues, Raj’s Ex-Fiancée, Raj and Xavier’s Breakup  Note: When I say this one is a roller coaster, I have to admit I did not expect the ending 

Raj: after Xavier picks up Hey...um sorry if this is a bad time.

Xavier: had take a while to pick,excited and worried about who was calling, he laughs hey! No,no. I was just lying in bed. I can't really sleep anyway. Are you alright? Everyone okay?

Raj: Yeah, I'm fine. Amaya's out with some friends and I got off about an hour ago. It's just....remember when you helped me with the insurance stuff? I had forgotten about that but my card showed up today and I was wondering if you could help me out with signing up for a plan because I have no idea what any of this even means.

Xavier: Wait. he sits up and smiles Raj, thats fantastic! I'm so happy to hear that! Of course I can help. Let me uh, let me get my laptop real quick. Anddd okay got it. I'm going on the medicaid choice site right now. Emmie's wifi is amazing so...okay first we have to see if your doctors par with the insurance so want to give me names? I can look them up.

Raj:  awkward pause I don't actually have a doctor.

Xavier: oh. Right. Right. That's why I pushed this in the first place. Have you spoken to your therapist? Maybe they can submit the claims to the insurance. I know some doctors do that out of courtesy.

Raj: Not yet, from what I could tell she doesn't take insurance, but I can ask. It'd help out a lot of she could

Xavier: okay, perfect umm well, for our county,it would be Anthem and thats a great plan. And Raj, you can get a lot of benefits actually. You should look into it when you have time. Like food stamps even housing vouchers to help pay rent. 

Raj: But there's people who need those resources more than I do, and I don't want to go through the approval process and take a spot that should be going to someone else.

Xavier: but its not like you don't need it. Yes, there are people that need it and maybe more and hopefully they're getting help. The help is out there. The bottom line is you do need it. You're not claiming anything that shouldn't be for you. You fit the criteria. And besides, fuck capitlism, right? Eat the rich. This is one way to do it...just sayinnnnn.

Raj: deep sigh I know, I'm just......one of the things that I've been talking to my therapist about is trying to figure out why my first instinct whenever someone offers help is to deny it and why I don't believe that I should be allowed to have more than just what I need to survive. And this just kind of hits both of those.

Xavier: closes the laptop Anthem. Don't forget it.  Well, its a good thing to dwell on. Look, Raj  you have spent a good amount of your life helping others. Its remarkable. If you dont do for yourself, you run the risk of no longer being around to do those things.  Think of Amaya. She adores and needs you. And I'm not guilt tripping you.  I'm just saying we all have our place in this world and if yours is to give to others always then you have to stick around longer. Can't do that on a Ramen diet and poor medical treatment.  And you have to nourish your mind too. That's why you're in therapy right? he clears his throat um, have you thought that maybe this a generational trauma type of thing? Maybe you've been conditioned to feel this way? It feels instinctual because its all you know. That may be where you need to start.

Raj: I don't think it was generational, like we didn't have a lot growing up, but there was always a sense of taking care of yourself before others, so it was a sense of volunteering and helping the community but not........this. And like this is going to sound so fucking stupid now, that was what I was trying to do back before I was arrested. My salary was to support Amaya and Saanvi, make sure that we had what we needed as a family, that we had enough to spend on the occasional treat or fun day out. It was just....................................pause that sounds a little like a realization after prison that I stopped.

Xavier: listens intently. Its the first time Raj has ever spoken about his family  its not stupid. The other stuff? It's not important.  Like these luxuries, all the nonsense. It's just...it's okay to have too. Especially if people are helping others. And it sounds like maybe what happened with Saanvi and then prison....maybe it all was just the perfect situation for all of this to get worse for you.   frowns do you feel undeserving or do you feel like you don't want to take away from someone else. I know its both but I think that first part hits harder. Like you said, before prison you at least lived within your means and did what you had to for the community. You have to figure out what happened to your mindset in that interim when you were away.

Raj: Maybe....I honestly hadn't even connected Saanvi to it much, or even my time in prison. I just don't like thinking about either of them all that much. I guess I just never really let go of the fact that when I was there, the whole you aren't really a person just gets drilled into you.

Xavier: has half a mind to get out and go to Raj.  I'm sorry that happpened to you. God, I am so sorry. You are a real person. A person that I care about and want to see get through this ...sadness that you have. sighs Do me a favor and remember this for your next session. Its so good and so important, Ba---Raj. I think that once you see this through, you won't have to think about them all that much. You can look forward to happier memories, Just fill yourself with the things and people that make you the most happy. You need to heal. You deserve to heal. Okay?

Raj: I mean, it was my fault that it happened so it just felt like the natural consequences of things. pulls out a paper and starts taking notes on their conversation I will, I'm writing it down so I'll remember. But I'm sorry that I ended up dumping all of this on you, I wasn't trying to.

Xavier: sure and that's okay but you're still a person. Prison reform is definitely something worth talking about someday. smiles oh don't worry about any of that. We're friends right?

Raj: That's honestly something that I've never worked with, I just don't think I can mentally handle doing that kind of work.........which I guess is a healthy boundary to know? So maybe that's progress? And yeah, we're friends, but I don't think this is a regular friend conversation. You just make me feel safe.

Xavier: it is very healthy so its great you recogize it.  It is progress. Pat yourself on the back. he stares at the ceiling once he's lying down maybe not but I guess that's okay. I'm happy I make you feel safe. Hearing your voice...well, it's so nice.

Raj: lays down on his air mattress which makes annoying air mattress sounds I've missed hearing your voice too. I was honestly feeling guilty about how much I've missed you because I was sure that after everything you wouldn't want anything to do with me

Xavier: laughs ehhhh well, confession time? I was close. Just bitter. I was getting to the angry phase. It wouldn't have lasted long. Just anything from you and I'd be yours. * closes his eyes* sorry sorry. I know that's bloody confusing. But you understand.

Raj: Honestly, I pulled out my phone to text you more times than I could count, but I just thought that you'd be too angry. Or we'd start a cycle of accidentally hurting each other again. But it is definitely confusing. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the wedding

Xavier: it took a lot of restraint for me to not continue texting but I thought it'd be badgering and I figured there was no use. I guess in the spirt of being confusing, I haven't either but it hurts less. I'm at peace with a lot of things now. I don't know. laughs nervously you have no clue how much I fucking adore you, do you?

Raj; I'm glad that you're at peace that I was a complete asshole because I'm not yet. smiles I think I have an idea of it, because it's probably about as much as I adore you.

Xavier: runs a hand over his face and laughs. i mean you were an asshole. smiles But i was inconsiderate. I'm sorry about all of that. The house, tuition. I don't know how to love sometimes.  takes a deep breath You don't know...if you were here. The friends line would be very blurry. swallows hard yeah, yeah source for nice dreams at least. You being here and all. chuckles And just like that I'm a hot mess.

Raj: I'm not mad about the tuition, I mean I was, but honestly I think I was just more mad I had no idea. Like Amaya had never given me any indication that she wanted to go to college, so it wasn't just the shock you paid, but the fact she'd kept that from me. And then the house on top of it............trails off and sighs I wish that I knew how to react better, but I'm working on it. But I know, so insanely blurry. Part of me wants to see you right now, but I also don't want us to do something we'd regret in the morning.

Xavier: I'm sorry. I hope she's spoken about things more now? I've talked to her about that. She's just always afraid you'll feel obligated to do something for her and she worries about you too. She's such a good kid, Raj. nods I mean, it was a lot. And a commitment and just...a lot. sighs I didnt have much growing up and I just want to give as much of myself as I can. Especially to someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I got overly excited. Oh God, Seb was right. I'm a golden retriever. laughs you'll get there. You're already making so much progress. I can say with my whole chest that the entirety of my being wants to see you right now. And we would absolutely do things we'd kind of regret. laughs softly But you'll definitely be in my dreams. I'll take that for now.

Raj: We have, we had a really long conversation about it about a week after....it all happened. And I know, and I just wish I could have just accepted it, but at least we both understand a little bit more as to why I reacted that way because it kind of took me by surprise too. The way that it all just bubbled over. chuckles You know, with how you keep mentioning these dreams, I'm kind of curious about what exactly you're thinking is going to happen in them.

Xavier: Good. I guess it wasn't the time. I can understand the universe telling us things. pauses a bit before letting out a soft sigh  Well, we're most definitely not friends in them.

Raj: I figured that part, considering that we're definitely not friends in any of my dreams either.

Xavier: that....well, that's just unfair. laughs and takes a moment to collect himself I'll help you relax and tell you all about my dreams as long as you tell me yours.

Raj: laughs back I think that sounds like a deal

FADE TO BLACK FOR PHONE SEXY TIMES because the two of them collectively decided phone sex isn’t real and if it’s not real you can’t regret it

#xavier #phone call #tw: incarceration #tw: mental health

[archer-graham]

FAMILY & FRIES

👪 FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

my family situation is... complicated. my mom did everything she could for me and my two younger sisters when we were kids, until she was arrested. after she was released she kind of just... disappeared. i do have a decent relationship with my sisters, but we're in no way as close as we were when we were kids.

🍟 FRIES - do they order food often? or they prefer to cook their own food?

i prefer to not to order food, but i'll be honest... i do it more often than i'd like to admit. however, whenever given the chance? yeah, i'm a decent chef.

#meme day #tw: incarceration

[star-anise]

Fun upside of rats and spambots fleeing Twitter for Tumblr are all the new fucking, uh...

They're not TERFs this time, they're "not feminists" because "feminism is cancer", they're, uh...

"Violent Misandrists"?

Like, huge use of Judith killing Holofernes vibes. 15yos posting "Kill all men (except my male mutuals lol!)" and insinuating that banning pornography will end child abuse forever.

(deep breath)

Look.

If you are a teenager from the USA, and your parents are Republicans, please consider that EVERYTHING you were ever taught about media, politics, gender, sex, feminism, and the advisability of mass murder as a political tool

has been carefully tailored to make you feel enraged with the state of the world, which is full of Good People and Bad People (groups it is very easy to sort everyone you meet into) and the way to Fix Society is to criminalize, incarcerate, or brutally murder as many Bad People as possible. You have probably seen several different sorting systems proposed, and may not have seen much political discourse beyond debates about "Which PART of society are Bad People who should be punished?"

And yes, I realize you've also been taught that people like me insisting on bullshit like "nuance" and "tolerance" and "educating yourself" are literal Satan and probably in favour of ritualized child abuse and puppy-kicking.

We're not. I'm not. I'm like a lot of people you wouldn't think are Good People, who nevertheless work to make the world better in what we understand to be the best methods available.

I don't know why I'm saying this. I'll probably end up a target of vitriol and regret ever speaking up. Just.

You are not smart for coming to the conclusion that the world is full of Bad People who just need to be killed. You did not figure out (or find the true prophet of) The Secret Truth of the Entire Universe. You haven't figured out how to fix the world. You just followed the fucking breadcrumb trail laid down by people who want to recruit you to commit atrocities in their name.

The world is so much more complicated than you've been led to believe. Fixing its problems is so much more tedious and difficult. Cruelty is so much less useful. And you've got so much more learning to do.

#genocide tw #mass murder tw #incarceration tw #misandry tw #terf shit #csa tw #child abuse tw #us politics tw

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

#*hip checks through the door* hey losers! Guess who uses Arabic numbers!! Two earths!! #also if ANYONE is shitty about stoma bags or ostomy bags on this fic or in this chat I'm going to fight you. Lots of people have them. #they're usually a temporary procedure and even if they're not they're pretty normal and a lot of people have them. I knew at least one #like haha this is a body horror fic but ostomy bags are a REAL THING that people HAVE as part of their medical journey DO NOT be rude!! #So what we know of his injuries now: messed up legs. Messed up guts. Messed up chest. Is there more...? Who can say. 👀 #health and hybrids #dp x dc #dcu crossover #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline #His healing is speeding up and his language is getting better! When can we get a Diana POV?? <- me to me

[onearthwerebrieflygorgons]

#jokes #bad jokes #puns #rainbows #tw prison #incarceration #dad jokes #but my mom sent this in the family group chat so #mom jokes

[trans-axolotl]

reading writing from other people who have also survived solitary confinement (in so many different places, prisons + institutions + more) and sometimes the grief overwhelms me. i feel such a strong connection through the page--they put words to this swirling mess of emotions that lies under my skin when i think back to those weeks. they've found a way to talk about what it does to you and what you become and what it's like to try to come back to the world afterwards. i still can't speak about most of it. some days i wake up panicking because my door is shut; I'm glad my walls are thin and my roommate plays music slightly too loudly at night--it's easier to fall asleep when i know she's there.

this quote: "I am filled with the sensation of drowning each and every day."

and this one: "When he walked out of the SHU, he saw his first tree in 12 years."

and this one: "Solitary confinement is a living death. Death because it is the removal of nearly everything that characterizes humanness, living because within it you are still you. The lights don’t turn out as in real death. Time isn’t erased as in sleep…"

(from shane bauer reporting on solitary confinement in California: x)

i don't have words for the kind of rage i feel when i think about all the people being tortured in solitary right now and every single fucking day; loved ones + activist acquaintances + people i have never met. i want to start breaking things. i want to tear it all down. some days i feel so incredibly guilty that i saw the leaves fall outside today--how is it that i get that and she's still in there. there are no words.

#personal #solitary confinement tw #abolition #prison abolition #vent #sorry. stayed up all night reading about prisons + solitary + open air prisons + a million different fucking things. about incarceration #there's been a plethora of studies. showing that for just about everybody. 10 days is enough to start serious symptoms of distress #it's been three years since i was in solitary. i have a friend who's been in solitary confinement for seven years. #she has not been outside in seven years. there is nothing for me to do with that. except rage + fight. abolition is practice + abolition is #justice and abolition is rage and grief and love.

[rotzaprachim]

Under cut for traumatic content but

Yesterday whilst biking home from my job at rush ish hour I was full on hit by a car that ran past speed limit through a stop sign/four way stop and hit the side of my bike full on. I was biking through a pedestrian crosswalk when it hit me. So far it seems like I had a miraculous survival in terms of I have a broken leg and various torn things, some head stuff, but - it’s overall shockingly good. Still processing that it happened and hit me and for a while my brain was so stuck in the half second of it Happening. For what Happened, a stroke of grace - there were several pedestrians including children in the area and the car hit only me, who was wearing a helmet and protective footwear for my commute.

the driver hit and fled the scene of the crime. Later the police came to collect by bike and helmet, which had both been destroyed, for evidence. The person who hit and ran was driving under the influence, and non receptive to external information and stimuli. Because they do not have the financial resources to pay the $5000 dollar bail they are being held until trial. I don’t…. For a while my mind was so stuck in the half second of the crash, replaying it over and over again. I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m so angry. I’m so angry at the situation. I’m so angry I almost died and that someone cared so little that I was almost killed by somebody. I’m so angry at the situation and the local situation that ended up with someone barreling through a pedestrian commuter area while intoxicated. I’m so angry about inequalities and the violence of drugs and alcohol and I’m so angry at the police and how they got involved and I’m angry about the incarceration. What does that do? What does that do for fucking any of it? I hate that person. I hate that person for how close they came not just to killing me but the middle aged woman and the children on the crosswalk. But I didn’t die, and my injuries I will recover from, and so there’s someone else whose life will be ruined from this, and it isn’t me.

#Tw trauma #Tw intoxication #Tw incarceration #Dark but you know what? This is my DIARY and I’m processing it/ #Personal #When I say lucky I mean lucky in terms of being alive and no major surgery. Not lucky in terms of. Jesus everything hurts #Differing accounts of using social media and reading/writing I know but listen. I need to Distract myself. I will go off this #But I needed to Process and typing is so much easier than writing

[3-2-whump]

TW/CW: mentions of death/murder, incarceration

Whumpee kills whumper and ends up in prison, regardless of whether it was done in self-defense or in defense of others. They don’t even try to argue their innocence, they won’t deny they killed them.

Maybe not so surprisingly, whumpee adjusts extremely well to life behind bars. It’s nothing they haven’t already been through.

#just a little Drabble I put together last night #whump #whump writing #whump prompt #whumpee #vengeful whumpee #whumper #tw death #tw murder #tw incarceration

[allthecanadianpolitics]

The Provincial Health Services Authority (PHSA) did not consistently provide access to mental health and substance use services for Indigenous people in British Columbia correctional centres, according to B.C.'s Office of the Auditor General.

A statement from the office of Auditor General Michael Pickup says the PHSA — which has been responsible for health care in B.C.'s 10 correctional centres since 2017 — "could not confirm whether Indigenous clients entering correctional facilities were provided necessary mental health and substance use services, assessed appropriately or if discharge care plans were in place for their release."

An audit of 92 files of Indigenous clients from 2019 to 2021 found gaps in monitoring and oversight by the PHSA attributed to limited capacity of its client health information system and a lack of client file reviews. [...]

"After looking at these files, we found that the PHSA Is not fully delivering on what it is supposed to do," Pickup said in a news conference on Thursday. "And frankly, the PHSA needs to do better to care for Indigenous people in correctional centres." [...]

Fewer than half of Indigenous client files in the sample had a complete care plan for mental health and/or substance use services. About 80 per cent of clients received some services, while around 20 per cent received no services. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #British Columbia #healthcare #mental health #Indigenous persecution #incarceration #addiction tw #drugs cw

[onlytiktoks]

#tiktok #more perfect union #tw slavery #slavery #modern slavery #prison #incarcerated people #incarceration #capitalism #late stage capitalism #capitalism kills #modern day slavery #prison labor

[qwuilty]

Hey wait a minute.

#sorry for. potential inconsistencies this is a quick sketch #postal #postal dude #postal 1 #ive been thinking and researching into post game ideas w like hospitalization and potential incarceration #and most of it is just sad and pain (and so much research into like medically feasible wounds) but there is at least this funny #tw hospital #tw scabs #i think thats about it. let me know if you need any additional tags.

[serickswrites]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing!

I was wondering if you could write something with a prison setting, with an angry whumper (because I feel like I never see those). Ignore this if you don’t like the idea haha

Anyway I hope you have an amazing day! ❤️

Hello! Thank you so much!

I can definitely write this for you (I hope this is what you are looking for/wanting). Please enjoy and have a great day!!

Warnings: incarceration, degradation, physical violence, threat of physical harm, threat of noncon

Whumpee kept their eyes on the ground. They followed along closely behind the guard, towel and limited toiletries clutched to their chest. They couldn't believe this had happened. Couldn't believe that there had been such a miscarriage of justice that they had ended up here, in prison, while the real villain of the story, Original Whumper, walked away free.

Whumpee had spent their whole life trying to dispel beliefs about them. About what they were. What they could be. And it didn't matter. Because they still ended up in the place that everyone thought they would end up: in prison.

The guard was talking, but Whumpee wasn't listening. They could hear the calls and jeers of their fellow inmates. That was all they could hear. Until they heard the clanking of the door behind them as the cell door swung shut.

Whumpee looked up, heart instantly in their throat. On the bottom bunk of the cell sat a face that they had never hoped to see again: Whumper.

Whumpee had been responsible for Whumper ending up in this place. And Whumpee was sure that Whumper had remembered from the look on their face.

"You," Whumper growled as they stepped off the bunk.

"Please," Whumpee whispered.

"You are here? Now?" Whumper stepped in close to Whumpee, so close that Whumpee could smell their sweat, their foul breath. "Oh this has got to be some sick joke, huh bitch? Come to get more from me."

Whumpee shrank back, making themself as small as possible. "Please. I--"

"You don't get to speak, pig. You don't get to do anything!" Whumper roared. "I am going to end you!"

Whumpee could feel Whumper's spittle land on their cheek. They hunched over themself, trying to shield themself from Whumper. "Pl-please," Whumpee whispered. No one was coming to help them. No one was coming to save them. The guards didn't care. Caretaker wasn't there. Couldn't get to them. They were at the mercy of Whumper.

"The only thing you are going to do," they leaned over Whumpee. "Is be my bitch!"

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw incarceration #tw degradation #tw physical violence #tw threat of physical harm #requests #queue #tw threat of noncon

[vantonovas]

[ lily-rose depp, cis woman, she/her ] — whoa! VENUS ANTONOVA just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for HER WHOLE LIFE, working as a STRIPPER & ASPIRING ACTRESS. that can’t be easy, especially at only 25 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit ERRATIC and IMPULSIVE , but I know them to be ALLURING and BOLD. whatever. I guess I’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to THE BRONX! — (gia, 27, aest, she/her, none)

tw: violence, incarceration, mention of guns, sibling death & drug addiction.

full name: venus antonova.

age: twenty-five years old.

hometown: the bronx, ny.

neighborhood: morris park.

occupation: stripper & aspiring actress.

orientation: biromantic bisexual, femme leaning.

status: single.

named after her mom’s favourite planet, venus was born and raised in the bronx. she’s is the daughter of russian immigrants, but was solely raised by her mother after her dad was put in prison for attempted murder and gun trafficking with a 27 year sentence.

her mom did everything she could to provide her kids with everything they needed and worked 3 jobs to be able to put food on the table. at times it was tough, but as long as they had each other, they were happy.

venus has always been interesting in performing. she has a natural presence about her, paired with confidence that could kill and a talent to charm just about anyone. for as long as she can remember, her dream was to become an actress. she attended la guardia high school and thrived there. she was considered one of the most promising students and had been offered a scholarship at juilliard.

she was ecstatic about getting into juilliard… until a few weeks before she was set to start, the unthinkable happened. her older brother died unexpectedly and her entire world shattered. she had to drop out before she could even start due to debilitating depression and the advice from a psychiatrist.

seven years later, she never ended up going to juilliard. instead she took several acting courses and continues to go to acting classes and auditions while juggling her job as a dancer at one of manhattan’s popular strip clubs.

while she isn’t where she hoped she’d be by now, she’s doing what she can to still make her dream happen. obviously stripping wasn’t what she had initially envisioned for herself, but it helps pay the bills and then some.

for the last few years, venus has been abusing illicit substances. her drug of choice being cocaine. it started out as a way to numb her heartache surrounding the death of her brother, as well as other traumas that have occurred in her life. it has got to the point where she uses pretty much everyday, but refuses to believe that she has a problem.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !

regular clients

roommates (2)

best friends / squad (0/3)

childhood best friend

exes

flings (current or former)

neighbours

#boroughs.intro #violence tw #guns tw #incarceration tw #death tw #sibling death tw #addiction tw #drugs tw

[hazyaltcare]

hi hi! I just wanted to let yall know your content is really helping me get through my bf being in jail, its such a comfort for me since we'd ship proships together and it reminds me of him. thanks for all you do!

I'm so glad to hear our content has been a comfort for you in this trying time.

I would also like to note, however, that, as a whole, there is no such thing as a proship. What you are referring to is what I suppose most would call a "problematic ship." I think I have heard of some calling their "problematic" ships comships, but I am unsure if that was the intention behind the creation of the phrase comship or if it's another bastardization.

Proship just means you are pro-shipping. You believe in letting people ship as they please and not harrassing others over ships. Some proshippers have "problematic" ships, but not all do!

All of that aside, we wish you well, anon! I am glad our content has been helpful to you in a time of need.

Mod Haze (🪛The Doctor (11))

#fanmail #🪛 #mod haze #tw jail #tw incarceration

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine. 

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him. 

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again. 

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt. 

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary. 

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably. 

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat. 

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh. 

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him. 

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it. 

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!” 

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!” 

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though. 

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower. 

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning. 

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of. 

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay. 

But. 

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

#Medical team: CAN YOU WRANGLE THE TEENAGER?? #Diana: yes of course— #Bart: Whee! :D *items crash* #Medical (sheltering in place): CAN YOU WRANGLE HIM HARDER??? #health and hybrids #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover #incarceration to elopement to healthcare pipeline