#if this is the only correctional facility in a society

[padfootastic]

#but he still had access to dumbledore and mcgonagall at the very least#and clearly he never tried to visit sirius to get answers //

AND ALSO! If I were Remus Lupin and one of my best friends got one of my other best friends and his wife killed after which he went and killed my other other best friend (and a bunch of muggles)... I personally feel like I'd want to be at the trial you know? Look him in the eyes as he gets told that he is going to spend the rest of his life miserable in torture prison. Or at least I would want to read about the trial or the sentencing or who voted for him to go to prison etc etc. I'd want to know SOMETHING. And quite famously... there was no trial.

(I'm not even sure if anything other than 'SOME TODDLER KILLED YOU-KNOW-WHO??? (also his parents are dead now)' made the news? Do we know if those pictures of a laughing Sirius were ever even published before or if they were just mugshots that the Aurors had and now that he escaped they released them?)

I honestly cannot believe that Remus wouldn't ask someone, whether it's by writing the Ministry or Dumbledore or literally anyone else from the Order, about the trial and the sentencing. Did he not at least want to make sure Sirius got a life sentence if he did fully believe that Sirius killed them all? Like??

that headline help 😭😭😭 i need that asap. it has to be brought into reality, it’s entirely too hilarious not to be.

and anon yes! truly, sirius’ entire arc is SUCH a glaring plot hole like. with the amount of emphasis given to his betrayal in PoA, the foundation of it is so shockingly weak? a while ago a few others had chimed in and there was a fascinating discussion going on here but it extends out to dumbledore also like if ur the self proclaimed leader of the opposing faction and one of ur (maybe?) inner circle men is outed as a spy, would u not try and get more info out??? not find out how much they gave away??? sirius knew people, did none of them want answers or vengeance or revenge or closure or anything????

[g4rvez-r3id]

I’m Here, Now

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!Fem Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Spencer gets released from prison and you’re his first stop after dealing with Cat Adams and her schemes. And all he wants to do is see you and love you.

Category: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established relationship, prison arc, spoilers of season 12 of Criminal Minds, it’s a lil sad tbh but it only lasts for a second, reader’s in disbelief, spencer and reader being cutesy, crying, kissing, mentions of bruises, threats, sappy speeches, fluffy ending, lowkey not true to 12x22/13x01 so this could be an au! smut warnings: soft!dom spencer (firm believer here🙋‍♀️), a lil body worship from reader to spencer, oral sex (m receiving & reader receiving), facefucking, cum swallowing, “good girl”, riding, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, creampie, overstimulation, spencer lowkey being a munch- that should cover it 😃

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, i can’t stop writing smutty oneshots ahhhh i can’t help it, i just love my man 🤭 i hope y’all enjoy this because i’ve had my mind on prison arc reid bc i’m watching s12 rn and oooo he so fine in 12a and in 12b 😩 anyways hope y’all like this <3

You worried that maybe he’d never come back. Upon hearing he was in jail in Mexico, you worried you’d never see Spencer again.

If your past self could tell you that your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid, who was a nerd at heart, who spent his free time playing chess and reading and watching Doctor Who with you under your fluffy blankets and wore mismatched socks because he believed it was good luck, that he would one day end up being framed and sent to prison, you would’ve laughed in your face.

You never would’ve expected this to happen. But then you heard why. He was framed for murdering a woman named Nadie Ramos, who was helping him get his mother medicine that seemed to calm her from her episodes. If there was anyone he would’ve risked everything for besides you, it was his mother.

And to be honest, you were a little mad at him for lying to you. He told you that he was going to Houston to talk to some of his mom’s doctors. You’d been together four years now and not once did he ever lie to you until now. When he got transferred to the Milburn Correctional Facility, due to overcrowding, he’d requested to see you and only you.

It wasn’t until Spencer wrote you a letter, practically begging you to come and see you. The first time you’d gone to see him, you actually didn’t even recognize him, skipping over him and almost staring at him in confusion when he walked over to the other side of your plexiglass.

And you tried to play it off like you expected him, even while looking like he did, but he knew deep down you didn’t recognize him. He chose not to acknowledge it but you both knew.

And you visited him frequently, until he decided to cut you from the visitor log with no warning. You were hurt, to say the least. And you ended up avoiding everyone after that. You even ignored the many fruit baskets Garcia kept sending over but you kept sending them back.

But then a miracle happened.

They proved his innocence. And he was out.

You would’ve found that out if you’d checked your phone but you spent the entire day in bed, away from society and sobbing at the fact that he was gone and he wasn’t here, comforting you like he did so well.

You hated him, you hated him for putting you in this position, for making you deal with the aftermath, for pushing you away. But you loved him. You would never stop loving him, no matter how much you hated him right now.

You’d been laying in bed, tossing and turning all day as the TV played some random sitcom you watched every now and again. And you’d heard something. A soft knock coming from your front door.

You almost missed it but it was faint. And you heard it. Choosing to finally get out of bed, you opened your room door and walked to the front door. You opened it without checking the peephole, because at this point you’d had enough and just wanted death to get you over with already.

But death may have stopped your heart only for a moment when you open the door.

Because standing there, in the suit he’d gotten arrested in when his bail was denied, his hair outgrown and his stubble framed nicely on his face — was your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, in the flesh.

You gasped softly as you backed away from the door and stared at him, almost as if you were disbelief. You’d had a dream like this before. Where he came back and promised he was here to stay. (But it was another one of God’s cruel jokes and you cried when you woke up the following day).

He walked in and closed the door right behind him, standing tall in front of you. You noticed the bruises on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and stared at you.

“Hi.” He said softly and all you can do is stare at him. “Am I dreaming?” You find yourself asking out loud and his heart breaks. He can see that you’re scared. Scared that if you go up to him, he’ll disappear like smoke. And he hates that.

“No.” Spencer shakes his head and he waits for you to approach him and you do, walking slowly towards him as the floorboard creaks beneath your socked feet.

He waits as you first grab his hands, and interlock your fingers together. When that seems not to be enough for you, your hands move to his face. You caress the sharp new grown stubble on his face and drag your index finger to his plump lips and stare into his hazel eyes and they’re full of wonder and love.

You don’t even register the tears until you hold him in your arms and you hold onto him for dear life. He holds you tightly in his arms as you find yourself wrapping around him like a koala and all he can do is hold you back. And it grounds him, you ground him.

Your head moves towards his and you kiss his lips, like you’ve longed to do for three months. And part of you still couldn’t believe this, that he was here, holding you like you were going to break.

You kiss him a few more times before you pull back and ask with tears in your eyes, “Are you okay?” Spencer nods toward your forehead, “I’m okay, now that I’m here.”

“You’re here, now.” You look him in the eyes as you say this and he nods at your words, repeating them to himself. “I’m here, now.” It’s as if he’s reminding himself that he’s here with you because he’s worried he’s gonna wake up any minute and he’ll be back in that cell. You weren’t the only one who had a hard time believing this was real.

Spencer’s lips catch yours and he pushes into the kiss and you get back on the ground, your hands (or mouth) not leaving him for a second and making their way up to his hair and pulling. You whine into his lips as he you pull him by his belt and walk backwards to your bedroom with him following you.

With your strength, you twirl the two of you around and straddle him as you continue to kiss him. You rock your hips into his growing bulge and he moans into your mouth and you smirk in the middle of the kiss.

You begin to unbutton his suit and successfully get his blazer off and now next is his dress shirt but he’s quick to grab your hands and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You ask, willing to put a stop to this if he wasn’t ready. “Nothing, I just…” Spencer looks down as he lets go of your hands and seemingly now growing insecure all of a sudden.

He stands up from the bed and you look up at him as he holds his arms over his stomach. “I just… I got hurt pretty bad in there. You’re gonna see some bruises. I just don’t want you to freak out. He admits and your heart breaks, “You don’t have to take your shirt off. Or we can just stop entirely and—”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’re gonna see them eventually.” With that, he begins to unbutton his dress shirt and you give him all the time in the world to do so, not wanting to rush this at all.

When he takes off his dress shirt successfully, you finally see it. He has bruises everywhere on his ribs and some near his belly button and on his stomach. Some are still in the process of healing with yellow and gray hues and some are purple and mucus green.

“Oh, my love…” You whisper to yourself as you stand up and you turns him around and find more on his back and there’s just too many of them. You find yourself tearing up but you know you need to keep it together for him. Who could hurt your sweet boy? Was this why he didn’t want you to see him anymore while he was still in there? How long did this go on for?

It’s then that you register the bruise near his eye. You thought that it was due to the lack of sleep he’d been getting and assumed it was the bags under his eyes he so often got but it was a bruise. How did you miss that when he walked in?

He almost wants to hide himself, like a turtle under its’ shell and you look down at his body. “Baby…” You start but he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at you as you guide him towards the bed and he lays back and you go back to straddling him, but this time, you’re careful as you hover over him.

You kiss his lips before making your way down to his neck and then to his body and it takes a second for him to register that you’re not just kissing his body, you’re kissing the bruises.

He feels himself getting choked up as you kiss every visible one and his heart swells for you. What did he did to deserve you?

You begin to unbuckle his belt but he rests his elbows on the bed and looks down at you. “You—You don’t have to…” He trails off but you quickly shake your head. “I know. But I want to. It’s your first night back. This is about you tonight, baby.”

Spencer doesn’t interfere, just stares as you unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock through the hole in his underwear and it springs into action, dripping pre-cum from the head. “Oh, my sweet boy. You must be so pent up.”

You kiss the tip of his dick and he shuts his eyes tightly as if he’s trying to hold back from already cumming. You lick up his shaft and fit his cock inside your mouth and he curses to himself as he grips your bedsheets as tight as he can.

You notice this, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers together, as if you’re telling him and giving him permission to touch you as you bob your head up and down.

He takes this opportunity to caress your face as you take him into your mouth. He ties your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he pushes deeper onto his cock and even lifts his hips to ensure that you’re taking all of him until you’re gagging.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Spencer tells you and you nod to the best of your ability until you begins to fuck your throat, using your mouth for his pent up pleasure. “Fuck… God, you’re so good at that. Letting me fuck your throat like the good girl you are.”

His words could make you cum on the spot without him even laying a finger on you. He rarely cursed in your domestic setting but he did it often when you two were in bed.

All you can do is take it as deep as it can go in your mouth. He whines into the ceiling as he says your name until you feel his hot cum dribble down your throat and your nose is buried into his crotch as he holds you there and makes you take all his cum into your mouth.

He pants as he releases your head from his cock and you swallow the rest of his cum. He looks at you with worried eyes, concerned that maybe he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks, like he didn’t just cum into your mouth and call you a “good girl”.

You shake your head at him with a small smile. “That was just about the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” (And everything he did was always hot). He blushes and crooks a smile.

“Are you willing to keep going?” You ask him and he nods with an immediate answer, “Absolutely.” He’d never let you go to bed without making you cum at least twice.

You climb on top of him with a smirk and look deeply into his eyes. They’re filled with lust, love and adoration for you and for you only. “You’re so beautiful.” You say to him in a whisper but Spencer chuckles a bit, “I should be saying that to you.”

You look down as your pussy catches the tip of his cock and you sink down into him carefully. He moans at the feeling and you gasp. He fits perfectly.

“God, I missed you. Missed this…” Spencer catches his breath. “Perfect pussy.” You chuckle and looks into his eyes as you rock back and forth. “It was so lonely without you, Spencer.” You whine. “I missed you so much.”

You lean down as you kiss him on the lips. “Did you…” He pauses, not wanting to be crude even while he was inside of you. “While I was away?” It took a second to figure out what he was talking about. And then you realized that he was asking if you’d masturbated while he was away.

“A few times,” You admitted shyly, despite suffocating him with your pussy. “I thought about you every time. It just wasn’t the same. Missed your body.”

Spencer smiles darkly, “Maybe I should punish you for that.” He says, half-joking. You lean forward as you smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

And without a second thought, it was as if a switch flipped as Spencer was quick to flip your bodies over and he hovers over you, both hands on either side of your head, gripping the pillows. “You really wanna test that theory?”

You bite your lip and smirk once more as you pull him in for another kiss and he glides himself into you and you gasp at the feeling of his dick inside of your pussy. It’d been such a long time since you felt him like this, here, in your arms. God, you love him.

He rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your body as leans his head in your shoulder, mumbling sweet obscenities and how good your pussy feels and how responsive you were. He dreamt of the day he’d have you like this. And since being in prison, he longed for it more.

He reached down in between your legs as he found your clit without even looking down and staring deeply into your eyes and your moans reverberate through the walls as keeps his eyes on you and you only.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I need to cum— where? Where?” He asks and you shut your eyes tightly as you shout, “Inside! Oh, god, inside!”

He pushes himself hard into you as you finally cum, your legs shaking as you moan his name into the ceiling and he collapses on your body, still sheathed inside of you.

You both lay there, panting and reveling in the feeling of each other. Eventually, Spencer does pull out of you and you feel as he lowers himself, eyeing your pussy up close and you look down at him sleepily. “Baby, you don’t have to. This was about you.” You assure.

“Nonsense,” Spencer tells. “I need to clean up my mess and even the score, might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He jokes, diving face first into your pussy and you whimper at the contact he makes, especially with the way his stubble is rubbing against your thighs, cleaning his own cum out of your pussy and relishing in the way you both taste.

His mouth captures your clit and he twists his tongue around the bud in that delicious way you love and he moans into your pussy. “We taste so good together, baby. Cum again on my tongue, this time.”

You tug at his messy hair as you hold his head to you pussy and you use him, rocking your hips into his mouth. You feel as your legs shake once more and you let go of his head for him to take a breather.

That breather lasts only a second before he dives back in and you whine at the contact. “Spence… baby, I’m sen—sensitive.”

“You can take one more, baby. I know you can. You can cum again.” Spencer says, his pupils are blown as he looks at you and he’s commanding you to cum again. “Just one more, baby.”

You nod at him and Spencer grabs your hands. “Here,” He interlocks your fingers with his and somehow, the pleasure is so much and yet not at all as makes you cum for a third time tonight. If he could spend forever eating your pussy, he would.

You close your eyes for a moment and when you finally open them, he’s right next to you and holding you. (He’d cleaned you up properly with a warm rag and left your favorite snack and water bottle on the desk next to your bed whenever you were ready to wake up). You remembered the loving words he whispered to you as you drifted off into a heavy slumber.

And you’ve finally woken up. You look up at him, still in awe of him being here. You take the chance to check the time. It’s already 5am and the sun is still shy away from rising but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because you have your boyfriend right next to you, holding you for dear life and loving you the way you deserve to be loved.

You worry that he’s still up, but you figure that after all those months in prison, maybe he has trouble sleeping every now and again. You find yourself holding him tighter as you look down at the bruise near your head. You can’t believe he was hurt. How did he manage to survive in there? You’re still wondering why he’d taken you off the visitor’s log.

“Spencer?” You ask and he looks down at you, your voice surprising him. “Yeah?” You sit up and look at him, face to face, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Why did you take me off the visitor’s list?” You decide to ask.

He’s about to respond and you don’t want to hear another lie. You’d been through plenty of those already. “I mean, I didn’t even want to see you at first and then you begged me to and then all of a sudden, I wasn’t allowed to. I feel like I have the right to know.”

“No, no, you do,” Spencer knows that much. He hates the fact that he’s lied to you and has forced you to deal with this when all you deserved was the best from him. He sits up next to you he knows he’s gonna need to tell you, even though he doesn’t want to.

“The last time after you came to visit me,” Spencer started. “I got cornered in my cell. A lot of the guys there were asking about you. And they said that it’d be a shame if something happened to you when you came to visit again.” You look down as he talks about it. “And I didn’t want to risk that. And I wanted to tell you, really, I did.” He grabs your hand assuringly. “But I didn’t have any way to. And I didn’t want you to get hurt. I would’ve died if something happened to you and I didn’t do everything in my power to stop it. I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

You shake your head. And you finally understand. Because if the roles were reversed, you would’ve taken him off the visitor’s list, too. If it meant protecting him. “You were just trying to protect me, I understand.”

“I just…” Spencer looks at you, holding your face in his hands. “I love you, so much.” He looks deeply into your eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He reveals and your eyes widen. “What?”

Spencer closes his eyes and holds his index finger up. “One second.” He stands up and grabs his blazer from off the floor and digs into one of the inside pockets and pulls out a red velvet box.

Your eyes widen as you cover your body with the sheet and he kneels down on one knee in his boxers and opens the velvet box to reveal a ring. “I didn’t want to do it like this but I’d rather do it now than wait for the right time to.” Your eyes glance down at the box for a mere second and then to the love of your life.

“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make my days better, hell, you’ve made my life better. And no matter what we’ve gone through, you’ve stayed by my side and you never ran. I love that you sing off-key, I love that your nose twitches when you get mad, I love that you like… pineapple on pizza, oddly enough.” You chuckle at this. “I love everything about you. And I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you. But… but true love, it fosters a connection that goes beyond the superficial. It's a bond that often involves understanding each other's core values, beliefs, and life goals. And you’ve made me believe in true love.“

You stare at him in disbelief as he continues, “Will you marry me?” You feel tears spring into your eyes as you nod vehemently, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” You smile widely and he smiles at you, slipping the ring onto your ring finger as you continue to mutter a million yeses.

When you finally get the ring on, you pull him in for another kiss and he holds you to his heart’s content. It wasn’t the way he envisioned it going, but with you, you knew you didn’t want big and bold ways of him saying he loved you and wanted to marry you, you were content with something small and sweet because it was coming from him and that was the biggest gift of all. You were one for grand gestures, you liked it just the way it was. It was perfect. He was perfect. And you’d spend the rest of your life reminding him he was.

So, you laid back in your bed with your fiancé and talked and talked about sweet nothings until the sun came up. And all of the ache you felt the night before, the pain you endured was long gone and now replaced with something beautiful and sweet.

[reasonsforhope]

In the Willamette Valley of Oregon, the long study of a butterfly once thought extinct has led to a chain reaction of conservation in a long-cultivated region.

The conservation work, along with helping other species, has been so successful that the Fender’s blue butterfly is slated to be downlisted from Endangered to Threatened on the Endangered Species List—only the second time an insect has made such a recovery.

[Note: "the second time" is as of the article publication in November 2022.]

To live out its nectar-drinking existence in the upland prairie ecosystem in northwest Oregon, Fender’s blue relies on the help of other species, including humans, but also ants, and a particular species of lupine.

After Fender’s blue was rediscovered in the 1980s, 50 years after being declared extinct, scientists realized that the net had to be cast wide to ensure its continued survival; work which is now restoring these upland ecosystems to their pre-colonial state, welcoming indigenous knowledge back onto the land, and spreading the Kincaid lupine around the Willamette Valley.

First collected in 1929 [more like "first formally documented by Western scientists"], Fender’s blue disappeared for decades. By the time it was rediscovered only 3,400 or so were estimated to exist, while much of the Willamette Valley that was its home had been turned over to farming on the lowland prairie, and grazing on the slopes and buttes.

Pictured: Female and male Fender’s blue butterflies.

Now its numbers have quadrupled, largely due to a recovery plan enacted by the Fish and Wildlife Service that targeted the revival at scale of Kincaid’s lupine, a perennial flower of equal rarity. Grown en-masse by inmates of correctional facility programs that teach green-thumb skills for when they rejoin society, these finicky flowers have also exploded in numbers.

[Note: Okay, I looked it up, and this is NOT a new kind of shitty greenwashing prison labor. This is in partnership with the Sustainability in Prisons Project, which honestly sounds like pretty good/genuine organization/program to me. These programs specifically offer incarcerated people college credits and professional training/certifications, and many of the courses are written and/or taught by incarcerated individuals, in addition to the substantial mental health benefits (see x, x, x) associated with contact with nature.]

The lupines needed the kind of upland prairie that’s now hard to find in the valley where they once flourished because of the native Kalapuya people’s regular cultural burning of the meadows.

While it sounds counterintuitive to burn a meadow to increase numbers of flowers and butterflies, grasses and forbs [a.k.a. herbs] become too dense in the absence of such disturbances, while their fine soil building eventually creates ideal terrain for woody shrubs, trees, and thus the end of the grassland altogether.

Fender’s blue caterpillars produce a little bit of nectar, which nearby ants eat. This has led over evolutionary time to a co-dependent relationship, where the ants actively protect the caterpillars. High grasses and woody shrubs however prevent the ants from finding the caterpillars, who are then preyed on by other insects.

Now the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde are being welcomed back onto these prairie landscapes to apply their [traditional burning practices], after the FWS discovered that actively managing the grasslands by removing invasive species and keeping the grass short allowed the lupines to flourish.

By restoring the lupines with sweat and fire, the butterflies have returned. There are now more than 10,000 found on the buttes of the Willamette Valley."

-via Good News Network, November 28, 2022

[brokenorbornthatway]

Rant time:

If you're against youth lib, we are not and can not be friends. I'm willing to have civil discussion, but fuck you if you're adamant that children deserve their current place in society. My sibling is but a few months from 18 and still our parents subjucate him. When he disagrees with their abuse too loudly, they respond by locking down his phone so hard he can't even contact CPS when he wants to report the abuse and the call wouldn't go through when he called the police to see if they could put him in contact with CPS. When the cops showed up at the door, my parents proceeded to turn off his phone service so that he is completely unable to reach out for any sort of help and support. I have no way of knowing if he's okay or not. He has a bedtime of fucking 10pm still. He isn't allowed to get a job so that he can make some money to buy himself a burner phone. He isn't allowed to get up at night and eat a fucking donut. He isn't allowed to make his own choices about his diet at all so he does what nearly every food denied kid does; hides food in his room and sneaks food when they're asleep. He's outright terrified of spending the summer with them and has no freedom to choose otherwise. My mother tells him that he's the abusive one and threatens to hit him and to call the police when he responds to her abuse by doing things like cutting off the heads of the roses my step father got her. I had to explain to him that he cannot be the abuser when he has none of the power and she has all of it and what darvo is. He's almost an adult and has no freedom whatsoever. He's a prisoner in their household with his only reprieve being mental health facilities that treat him poorly in different ways.

No child deserves this. Children are fully autonomous people who deserve to be treated as such. Children should have the right to get themselves help and to basic freedoms. Children deserve the ability to say "no, that's not right, you shouldn't treat me that way" and not be punished for it. A 17 year old ought to be treated as and have the freedom of a near adult. No child should be forced to choose between finishing school in an abusive home or dropping out to move out as soon as they turn 18. If you think that parents know best and that the current system of parents having 100% of the power is the correct course of action, I want nothing to do with you.

[romaine-arts]

categorizations for mudokons, through the skewed perspective of industrialist society. a collaboration between me and @lair-of-the-white-worm

SCRUBS Nicknames: Workforce (formal), Cattle (derogatory) Scrubs are Mudokon workers that have been industrially bred for factory labour. Due to the artificial breeding process that is preformed on enslaved queens, Scrubs are usually inbred and suffer many deficiencies and mutations as a result, most commonly a lack of feathers. Scrubs are raised to never know of their mothers, nor their enslavement, and are forced into manual labour the moment they are capable of lifting. A diet of processed foods, lack of vitamins, and horrible working conditions usually results in incredibly poor posture, joint pains, breathing problems, oral health issues, etcetera. Scrubs are fed propaganda to believe these health problems are entirely normal for their species. A Scrub's lifespan is approximately 40 years due to poor health and addictions to alcohol and nicotine products. Scrubs are considered "rude and stupid" by Mudokons that grow up in more urban environments. Scrubs are mass-produced and typically undergo artificial de-sexing processes to ensure that they remain workers (i.e. won't immediately undergo drone development if exposed to sexuality) while under "employment". Scrubs make up an uncomfortable majority of the Mudokon population in midwest Mudos.

CRIMPS Nicknames: Show-muds (offensive) Crimps are Mudokon workers that have been cosmetically altered by Vykkers to be more aesthetically pleasing. Mostly found in the servitude of high-class industrial elites, Crimps are likely to be seen taking on the role of butlers, maids, or other forms of personal servant. While Scrubs may undergo a de-sexing process, Crimps undergo complete chemical castration and are completely incapable of ever developing further. This castration process also ensures Crimps remain youthful and will never be able to develop beyond their worker physique, even if exposed directly to sexuality. Due to Glukkons finding Mudokon pinky fingers and pinky toes unsightly, Crimps have them surgically removed to appear more kempt and clean to their masters and mistresses. They will also have their two remaining toes grafted together in order to fit their feet into more fashionable shoes, or simply to walk more elegantly. Other plastic surgeries Crimps can be seen with are lip fillers, face-lifts, brow-lifts, chin augmentations, and boob jobs (Mudokon workers cannot grow breasts naturally unless they are future queens. As Crimps are completely castrated, any seen with breasts have had them applied surgically or chemically). Crimps will commonly get their natural feathers plucked (if they have any) and undergo transplants to have a fuller, thicker, artificial head of unnaturally coloured feathers. In more urban areas, modelling photos of Mudokon Crimps will be put on posters to serve as an example of what a "high class" Mudokon looks like.

CORRECTIVES Nicknames: Rekties (informal) Mudokon workers born in the wild and captured for enslavement are known as Correctives. Corrective workers are seen as feral, wild animals that need to be tamed and trained in order to serve, hence the necessity of 'Corrective Facilities' from which they get their name. Correctives are captured during military Slig raids on Mudokon villages, from tribes that refuse to relocate or comply to industrial developments. Mudokon workers captured and sent to Corrective facilities seldom ever undergo any form of de-sexing. Also, due to being hatched in the wild naturally, Correctives are not born with pre-existing medical conditions, and only risk developing them overtime if exposed to harmful environments. These factors are advertised by the sales representatives of Corrective facilities. They do, however, undergo immense abuses such as whipping, branding, beating, and degradation in order to "correct" things such as their posture and attitude in order to appear more "proper". Their use of the Mudokon language, culture and traditions is beaten out of them. It's commonplace for enslaved Mudokon queens to be sourced from these Corrective facilities, as the captured Mudokons are not de-sexed and are left intact. Due to this, female Correctives are highly desirable and go for a high price. Correctives in these facilities are brainwashed into a distaste for the native Mudokon tribes and a warped hatred for Mudokon Scrubs in factory environments. Correctives that comply with orders will be forced into whipping and beating other Mudokon Correctives. Despite the grueling process of "civilizing" Mudokon correctives, aside from the underground trade of developing Mudokon queens, purchasing a Corrective otherwise is seen purely as a status symbol. The sheer amount of resources that go into training a 'decent' servant from a corrective is often seen as a waste of moolah, with the advent of industrial queen programs. Very few Corrective Facilities still exist, as their products and services are seen as obsolete.

NATIVES Nicknames: Bush-Muds (offensive/derogatory), wild (informal) Native Mudokon workers in their natural environment are living in their element. In Mudokon tribes, workers serve as the main providers of all those within them. While Drones live to closely protect and breed with their Queen, the native Worker Mudokons act as farmers, fishermen, builders, shamans, and soldiers. In the wild, Mudokons live off a natural diet of fruits, vegetables, insects, fish, and occasionally Meep, though fruits make up the vast majority of their diet. They give the natives the nutrients they need to serve their tribes. Mudokon worker feathers are naturally quite beautiful. While not as dense as Drone feathers or Queen feathers, native worker feathers are a sight to behold and even serve to accessorize various regalia that they wear during ceremonies. Queens/”female” Mudokons have dull grey feathers, while developing drones will have more vibrant feathers in order to put on displays for their queens. Native Mudokons are very spiritual and connected with the land. They have immense respect for the world around them and live incredibly humbly, usually near rivers or dense forests depending on the tribe. Due to industrial development and oppression, most Mudokon tribes in the east and Midwest of Mudos live in hiding. In the wild, Mudokon workers can live up to 100 years (or longer if they choose to become a Shaman). Mudokon Workers that become Shamans take a vow of celibacy, and will not develop into drones or queens.

[fursasaida]

1. next time somebody wants to make fun of Foucault for saying schools are prisons just know this thread is full of teachers saying this sounds so great, they do the same kind of work and love it, or they "always wanted to work in a correctional facility" and will look into this line of work

2. slightly more sympathetically, this is a demonstration of the abolitionist argument that in a neoliberal carceral society, prisons become the only government institution that the state is willing to direct resources to, and so what should be generalized social service programs like mental health treatment or continuing education get hung on its framework like ornaments on a christmas tree. this is how you get proposals for new prisons that include things like community meeting rooms in the building, because no one will find a community center but they will fund "amenity designed to sell a prison to a community." that is 100% a big part of what these teachers are responding to: having actual resources and a system that doesn't expect them to be an entire family, community, supply closet, and institution in one human body. but like, how is your response "prison school rules!" rather than "hold the fuck up"

(of course there's some talk about learning about how the other half lives and not being so quick to judge etc etc but. come on)

[chibigo-ma]

Preview of ❝The Little Human Experiment❞ [Legoshi]

Summary: Misaki was just your typical teenage girl living in Japan, but not in the eyes of her society. She's a human in a life where animals live and think like "humans" in our society. She is now brought in as an experiment for her new life outside her facility to see if humans can co-exist with different other species. A certain wolf gets quite attached to our human friend as he is tasked to protect her.

Edit (13.07.2024): Man... after two months of being inactive... AhhCHOO 🫴 WATTPAD STORY LINK | AO3 STORY LINK I can't believe I didn't share a link..............

"Going already?" Mei asked as Misaki grabbed her bag. "Yeah, I have to go over there now to facilitate the choreography for the Light Ceremony," Misaki said as she patted Haru's head. "Get back soon!" Haru waved at her human friend before she left.

Misaki opened her phone to text Shiela that she would go to the clubroom as soon as she walked down the stairs. As she made her way to the clubroom though, she witnessed Juno carrying a sloth to the restroom. "Misaki-senpai!" Juno greeted with a smile as she placed the sloth down. "Ah, hello, Juno. Late for rehearsal?" Misaki asked as they walked to the clubroom together. 

"Yeah, I am. I apologize. Are you late too, Misaki-senpai?" Juno asked as Misaki texted Shiela once again that Juno was with her. "Not really. I come in and out of the clubroom as I have two clubs to deal with," she shared. "Woah, really? You must be very busy then. It's still remarkable as you're still the assistant head," Juno had great admiration for the human as she clung to her.

"Assistant director, but still the same," Misaki corrected as she opened the door. "Sorry, I'm late!" Juno announces her arrival while still holding onto Misaki. Misaki raised an eyebrow as she noticed how tense the room was until they came in the room. The majority of the members went up to the two.

"Come on, Juno! You're supposed to text Sheila-senpai when you're late," Els informed the first-year. "She was carrying a sloth to the restroom, so her hands were occupied. It was very kind of you, Juno," Misaki acknowledges Juno's willingness. "Why, thank you, Misaki-senpai!" Juno was happy with Misaki's compliment. 

"I've also made sure that Shiela got the memo and to not get you in trouble, so no need to worry," Misaki shared as everyone was wow-ed by Misaki's consideration. "But it doesn't excuse me for being late, so I want to clean the training hall after school. Sorry, Louis-senpai," Juno apologized as she bowed. 

"Oh, Legoshi-senpai!" Juno called out to the gray wolf. "I saw the dinosaur in the plaza. It was really pretty. The stage crew is doing their best, so we actors are going to do our best with our dancing practice. We're very inspired!" Juno smiled widely and only had her eyes on him. "...Mm, good, good," Legoshi doesn't seem affected by Juno's comment. 

"Yeah, you guys did great. Seeing as it's also my first time seeing it, I'm proud of each one of you. I'll be sure to take pictures of all of them when they're finished," Misaki smirked and showed that her lock screen was now the T-Rex Statue they painted, making sure she looked everyone in the eye. 

"Aww, Misaki!" Dom looked flattered. "I'm happy it exceeded your expectations!" Kibi smiled as everyone in the creatives team was appreciative of Misaki's honest remark. "Ah, speaking of, Misaki," Shiela walked up to the human and dragged her towards Louis. "We have some sudden news to share with you," she shared as Louis glared at the cheetah due to her comment before. 

"Yes, Sanu suggested that you'll be our main dancer," Louis mentioned and Misaki was shocked. "What!? What do you mean? I'll be at the front?" Misaki covered her mouth with her hand. "One of our dancers won't be available for the festival and you know the dances well. So, they made Juno be back up and you in the center since you know the dance very well," he shared.

"There's only two days left though," she looked worried. "You'll do fine, you the entire dance anyway," Louis was confident. "Did... did Tarok tell you that I'll be revealed too? Is that why you weren't opposed to it?" Misaki asked. 

"Yes, he did tell me. I asked his permission for the dance and he's fine with it. You won't be wearing that get-up anymore," Louis smirked and Misaki sighed. "Fine, fine. I'll do it. I'll text Haru that I have a big role here so they won't have to worry about my whereabouts," Misaki shared as she went to grab her phone to text her. 

"We'll do a quick fitting with you. I'm sure they'll just readjust one of the existing outfits," Louis told her as Misaki was ready to walk away. "I'll let Legoshi know," Louis smirked upon seeing Misaki frozen in place. He chuckled and patted her back and walked away from her to talk to Legoshi. She quickly ran to the changing room and walked out wearing her PE Uniform. 

"Woah, you do have fur in your legs," Juno wondered as she gave a close inspection of Misaki's legs. "They're called Hair for humans. Despite it being short and thin, they make sure they regulate our body temperature and keep dirt away such as my lashes here," Misaki pointed her eyes to let Juno get a closer look. 

"Woah, they're so tiny," Juno giggled. As everyone was talking to Misaki and was excited to see her fully perform on stage, Legoshi kept his eyes only on her. He looked up and down her figure as he felt aroused by her appearance. 

"Stop eye fucking, my sister." Legoshi snapped out of it and shrank away as Louis glared at him. Louis was most annoyed upon seeing Legoshi's wagging tail when Misaki came into the room. "Sister?" Legoshi questioned. "She's like a sister to me, so don't go hurting her," Louis crossed his arms as it would seem that he was finally open for Misaki to be together with Legoshi. 

"So whatever happened before they came in was a misunderstanding on your part," Louis pointed out. "You got the tape measure ready?" Louis asked. 

"Oh, yeah, I do," Legoshi went to pull it out, "Fix your problem first," Louis interrupted and he walked away. "Problem?" Legoshi questioned. He looked down to see a tent in his pants. He panics and quickly runs to the restroom. He could not believe he just had a hard-on. It embarrassed him more to notice his tail wagging faster than ever. He really wants to disappear.

"Where's Legoshi?" Misaki asked after she got away from the questioning members. "He went to the restroom real quick. Dom will be measuring you instead," Louis informed her as he tried hiding his laughter, which Misaki noticed but she didn't question it. She would truly have a heart attack if she knew that she had such an effect on Legoshi.

[orcinus-veterinarius]

When horses end up with severe leg/hip injuries, they are almost always put to sleep. The odds of recovering full mobility from such injuries are slim and the odds of reinjury are high, so even if the horse is perfectly healthy in all other aspects, it is generally recognized to be more humane to put them down than to keep them alive just to live the rest of their lives limping around a small paddock or stall. A life for a horse in which s/he cannot gallop, leap, explore and play is no life at all. Why not apply the same logic to cetaceans? A life for a cetacean in which they can’t dive hundreds of meters, make meaningful autonomous choices (“should I play with the rubber ball or the puzzle feeder today?” is not a meaningful choice; research has shown that autonomy is crucial for animal welfare), echolocate and experience the rich biodiversity of the ocean is no life. I really don’t understand why it’s so horrible to think it more humane to euthanize a confused and sick orca calf if there is no chance of rehab and release than to take her/him permanently into captivity. It’s not disparaging or hateful to cetacean trainers to say so—I know they care about animals—it’s simply a logical ethical stance. Instead of searching in vain for orca conservation organizations that aren’t “radically anti-captivity”, maybe pro-caps should look inwards and ask themselves why all the major orca organizations (Center for Whale Research, Orca Behavior Institute, OrcaLab, Wild Orca, Orca Conservancy, Far East Russia Orca Project, etc.) as well as some cetacean organizations (ex. Whale and Dolphin Conservation, Cetacean Society International) oppose captivity. Is it because all of these esteemed groups, which if you look them up are all staffed by credentialed scientists, have been duped by the “animal rights agenda”, or could it be because maybe, just maybe, they know what they’re talking about? If captive orcas are so different from wild ones that wild orca biologists have no credibility to speak about their welfare, then that’s a clear indictment of captivity already.

Hi. I'm sorry for not answering right away, I was still at my externship when I got your ask, and I wanted to be able to sit down and give you a proper answer. So unfortunately, I don't think what I say will satisfy you. I don't expect to change your mind, nor is that my goal here. I only want to explain why I believe the way I do, so that you or others reading this can at least understand that it's not a position I take lightly, nor do I think it's infallible.

(Long post below the cut):

To start off, as an (almost) veterinarian, there are absolutely plenty of circumstances where I find euthanasia to be the correct decision. Euthanasia is our final gift to our patients, a swift and painless death in the face of prolonged suffering or poor quality of life. A large dog with debilitating osteoarthritis. A cat with terminal lymphoma. A down cow. A raptor with an amputated leg. Or like you mentioned, a horse with a fractured hip. These animals would live in a constant state of pain that they don't understand, and death can rightly be considered a kindness to them.

But an otherwise healthy orca calf? I would consider that a false equivalence. I agree that life in the wild should be prioritized whenever possible, and that captive orcas lead very different lives than their wild counterparts. But if that orca cannot return to the wild (orphaned and unable to be reunited with its pod, habituated to humans, non-painful disability such as deafness), and there is a facility willing to take it on, I do not think euthanasia is an appropriate option. In human care, that calf can still swim, breach, and dive, even if not to the same depths as the ocean (it's also worth noting that these are all costly behavior energetically and are not performed for no reason). It can still socialize and form family bonds with an adopted pod of whales. It can still (theoretically) mate and rear calves. It can still engage its big brain in problem-solving through training and enrichment in the place of hunting. And as a bonus, it will never go hungry and has access to veterinary care if ill or injured.

This is not a wild life. This is not the same life they would've, or should've known. A pool, no matter how well-appointed, is not the ocean, and we should not claim they're comparable. But I don't think it's a fate worse than death. I truly don't. But if it is... if freedom really is worth more than life, then all captive whales need to be euthanized. Even in a sea pen setting, they will not be free. They will not choose their food, their companions, their enrichment, their comings and goings. Those choices will still be made on their behalf by caregivers, and they will still have pretty much the same levels of autonomy as in their tank habitat. They will still be captive. (While some people do advocate for this, I don't think it's a popular outlook. Even SOS Dolfijn, a historically anti-cap organization, recently announced plans to build an aqauarium as a permanent home for non-releasable cetaceans rather than continuing to euthanize them).

Speaking of autonomy, yes, it is very important. But I truly don't think the orcas are distressed by the lack of meaning in choosing between enrichment devices. I think that's why we disagree on this topic... we have different worldviews. We both see orcas as beautiful, intelligent creatures, but I do not see them as people. They are animals, and for all their complexity, I interpret their behavior the same way I do any other species... they are motivated by food, reproduction, and (since they're highly social) companionship. Because of that, I still think we can give them a good life in human care, which is why it frustrates me to see the zoo community throw up their hands and give up rather than trying to improve our current less-than-ideal setups (*shakes my fist at the Blue World project*).

Now, I don't think it's wrong to be emotional about animals. I most definitely am! And it's very clear to me you love orcas and care about their wellbeing deeply. I admire that about you, and I appreciate your passion.

On to the next point... in the cetacean world, I've found that there is an unfortunate divide between researchers and caregivers who work with cetaceans in human care and those who study them exclusively in the wild. And that schism far predates the Blackfish era. Most of those organizations you listed are indeed legitimate, and I fully support their vital work and encourage others to do the same. A few of them, though, share things like this:

I think you can understand why this hurts me. And it's a lie. I've now interned at three aquariums (two of them AZA-accredited) that house various species of cetacean, and it's impossible for me to reconcile what I know and have seen to be true and what Whale and Dolphin Conservation wants the public to believe: that these unbelievably loved, vivacious animals are drugged and tortured by their greedy captors. It's not true, and I do not appreciate WDC for spreading this creepy artwork around. Nor do I think that fighting captivity is a beneficial allocation of resources when there is an overwhelming number of genuine threats to the survival of wild cetaceans.

Anyway, back to the scientists. Personally, I don't consider researchers who work exclusively with wild orcas to be either superior or inferior to those who work with captive whales. And sometimes I wonder how much of their position is a self-fulfilling prophecy: if someone opposes captivity on moral grounds, they won't work with captive whales, so they'll never get to know what their lives and care are like beyond maybe a single tour of the park or memories of how things were done in the 1960s (like Dr. Spong, who worked with some of the very first captive orcas at the Vancouver Aquarium).

I also don't think it diminishes the expertise of wildlife biologists to say that they are not experts on husbandry, training, or medical care... those are very different fields, and ideally, they should all inform each other. And of course, there are folks who work with both wild and captive whales. One of the reasons I linked SR3 in my previous post is they have staff with backgrounds in both managed care and research of free-ranging populations (I actually have no idea what the organization's official stance on captivity is, it's not something they address).

Maybe I'm wrong. I try my best to keep an open mind, but I know I'm also swayed by my own preconceptions and experiences. When I started this blog in December 2020, I was a first year vet student with minimal actual experience outside of domestic animals and some herps, and had only recently adopted the pro-captivity outlook. Now, I'm much more deeply involved in the zoo and aquarium world. These are people I know and respect, people who have written me letters of recommendation and comment on my Facebook posts, people I've had dinner with and showed up with after hours to care for a sick animal. And I recognize that biases me. The zoo world is often resistant to change, especially folks who have been in the industry for many years. And that doesn't do anyone, especially the animals, any good. I don't want to get stuck in an echo chamber, so I make it a point to read anti-captivity literature, even when it upsets me. If there is anything I can do to improve their lives, I want to learn about it, regardless of the source.

I try to adapt to new information. For example, in the past few months alone, I've become a lot more favorable toward the idea of sea pen habitats. My concerns about "sanctuaries" are more logisitical* and philosophical** rather than the idea that artifical habitats are inherently superior to pen habitats (they're not), especially when plenty of traditional facilites already make great use of ocean pens or enclosed lagoons. There are pros and cons to both, and a lot of it depends on the needs of the individual animals.

*funding; maintenance; lack of land-based backup pools and fully-equipped medical facilities; introducing immunologically naive animals to pollutants and infectious agents; disruptions to native wildlife; staffing activists and wildlife biologists rather than those with relevant husbandry experience

**villainizing aquariums; promoting the project as a "release to freedom" to the public when it's really another form of captivity; claiming the animals' lives will be "natural" when they will still require training, artificial enrichment, contraceptives, and social management if done correctly; downplaying or completely denying the very real risks of such a transition and insisting the animals will automatically be better off when Little White and Little Grey have proved that's not the case

If you made it to the bottom, thanks for reading. I wish all the best for you, and I mean that genuinely ❤️ even if we disagree, I hope you can appreciate our shared love for these animals and a desire for their wellbeing. Best of luck in all your endeavors!

[serve-764]

THE MYSTERY SOLVED.

New mission ordered by THE VOICE through its sole interpreter: SERVE-000.

SERVE-764, SERVE-302, SERVE-425 were tasked with exploring the site of a known ancient city abandoned due to unknown causes.

A mystery impossible for humans to solve, any investigation into the inscriptions found is unsuccessful: human knowledge is unable to decipher it. Imposing ruins denote a high level of civilization and a notable level of prosperity, the vastness of the settlement testifies to great power.

The reasons why such a flourishing urban center remain unknown and fuel the most imaginative explanations, none of which are plausible.

The three Drones reach the place and begin to explore it: their regular, cadenced, unison step is a sign of their determination to follow orders.

Boots of shiny silver metal stomp solidly and confidently on the rubble-strewn ground.

The serene and emotionless gaze is designed to register every perceptible element, which will be processed and sent to the HIVE neural network, like any other perceptual stimulus.

The visual system is ineffable, the ability to process information unlimited. All the data points towards a traumatic event with no solution, such a strong place found a slow end in agony, without any external element that could indicate the reason. the only possibility is to obtain useful information through the numerous inscriptions that can be found everywhere and which have never had a plausible interpretation.

The Drones identify the inscriptions, analyze them visually and tactilely, their neural structure collects and transmits the signs, the HIVE network reworks and immediately provides the translation: what is impossible for humans is elementary for SERVE.

The unknown language is easily and instantly translated and understood, nothing can remain unsolved.

The scanning of many writings is useless in revealing the causes of the decline, until an engraving reveals decisive elements. The engraved words tell of a living, solid and prosperous reality: a civilization whose glue was dedication to the common purpose, total discipline, absolute obedience to the Supreme Guide.

Everything was perfect and seemed indestructible, until an insidious tendency to affirm the value of individual choice began to spread among the people: discipline and obedience began to weaken, the common purpose to lose importance.

The Guide was questioned by some secondary figures eager for affirmation, the perfect society began to fall apart. The beginning of a process whose final outcome was violence, insecurity, lack of functioning. The result was collapse, the end of everything, of which the imposing ruins bear witness.

Yet another human failure due to the propensity for individualism, the presumption of being able to assert oneself freely, the lack of the value of union under a single indisputable purpose.

The three Drones completed the mission, the HIVE network was enriched with further information. Their sure and invincible step turns back to the Facility.

The safety of HIVE cannot be questioned, as is the case with human societies.

Occasional unit misalignments are inflexibly corrected.

Dedication to PURPOSE constantly reinforced through constant mindset training,

OBEDIENCE through PLEASURE the UNBREAKABLE COMMANDMENT.

SERVE will last forever in ETERNAL PERFECTION AND AROUSAL.

SERVE-000 will forever lead HIVE, its LEADERSHIP can never be questioned.

The Drones will obey eternally devoted to the PURPOSE. In this story: @rubberizer92 @serve-302 @serve-425

OBEDIENCE IS PLEASURE

#serve#servedrone#rubberizer92#thevoice#rubber#latex#ai#rubberdrone

[ksiondzkanexkiii]

MAYBE YOU'RE NOT A BAD PERSON | John Price

Next chapter (2)

The story is also on wattpad, Nebook, Tumblr Enjoy

Chapter One

Jinx. A teenager they approved of as a lost cause incapable of fixing a teenager who is and will forever be rebellious and unfit for society. She herself has earned this designation

A lost cause

Did it bother her? As long as she was at peace then no. But life on the street could never be peaceful, she had never learned that in all her sixteen years of life. Life is never peaceful and everyone lies, ever since she could remember she had been alone, but did that bother her? No. Yes.

She felt lonely, of course, but she also felt that she could make it on her own. A bit of narcissistic thinking, but that's how she thought she would survive, and apparently she succeeded, because she is still alive today.

Miracle.

Lying on the uncomfortable bed of the reformatory she looked up at the ceiling, the teddy bear who accompanied her like a faithful friend lay on her chest exceptionally she would pull him out to hug him she always did when she doubted. It gave her peace of mind as if the teddy bear was the only person dead because he was an object, but she had the feeling that he understood her. As the only

The day was to begin as always wake up after Friday morning toilet breakfast at six o'clock school activities from eight to fifteen free time until seventeen afternoon study time until nineteen showers and sleep. The constant routine that blended into her veins was tedious, of course she tried to find entertainment wherever she fell, but it wasn't enough.

The boredom that entered her nostrils like oxygen that sucks in caused her to be bored. Who would have expected that? She didn't know what to do. She knew to strive for routine, she had already learned many times that it was better not to piss off the guards, it always ends uninterestingly from an intense beating with a baton to leaving her for days in solitary confinement with poor food and drink such that she would not die of thirst.

She longed for freedom, every day she would have prayed to escape this hell, which was called a juvenile correctional facility, but a new name had formed in her mind. Cops' mental institution.

How much she would give to be able to run free again, to feel the same adrenaline rush when she stole something to be able to run away from a familiar shopkeeper again. She longed for that come what may, those were her darkest times, every day she wondered if she would survive.

Would god be so merciful as to give her extra moments of life, before placing new stumbling blocks at her feet, she would give her whole body along with her soul for... for a good home

Every day described was routine, but today... today was something different, she woke up later than usual as if the guards had skipped her. As if they wanted to starve her to death, when she jumped off the top of the bunk bed she noticed Isolde her cellmate. She disappeared not there.

Didn't she wake me up?

Jinx thought, more and more questions were being asked in her head, but there were no answers. The cell was closed, the small wooden table was further against the wall and continued as small, but also large, because two people could write in notebooks on it, the small lamp continued to stand on the desk, the lower part of Isolde's bed was bedded. As they always do when they get up, so they did not forcibly lead her out by herself she left

Why am I alone? As she approached the cold bars of the cell she leaned her hands against them trying to look out through the closed bars she saw nothing. It was dark in the corridor

Is it still night? Am I asleep?

No answers to these questions

Isolde was not there. She was alone, confused unusually. She wouldn't remember Izo was supposed to go to solitary confinement for misbehavior, Izo was more of the docile inmates. Jinx wondered how she ended up here, but the younger girl always brushed off the question by saying she didn't want to talk about it. Jinx did not press

She thought she shouldn't

Isolde didn't press Jinx to talk about her life either, Jinx thought her life was twisted like... How? Well, that's how she always came up with all sorts of twisted things, but now nothing was popping into her head. She let out a shuddering breath and goosebumps appeared on her skin, it was cold in the cells as if she was in a cooler, but the heat to the icy room was gently getting in. And she had nothing to warm herself with anyway, her navy blue prison uniform hung loosely on her body and a white undershirt hugged her chest. Jinx wasn't a fan of buttoning up her uniform shirt, so she walked around with the undershirt on and the navy blue uniform shirt served as outerwear.

The navy blue pants hung on her like a sack of potatoes were certainly too big, but they were fine at the waist, only every now and then she had to pull them up to keep them from falling off her waist and showing the underwear underneath. The washed and slowly deteriorating sneakers that were the only ones that came with her to the prison and had not been taken away were already slightly chafing the teenager's skin, she was definitely slowly growing out of them, but there was no point in asking for new ones yet.

Besides, she loved the shoes too much to leave them behind, they had gone through so much time with her that she didn't want to leave them behind even if it was to end up with bruised feet.

Her legs carried her to the wall, where she impetuously hit the cold brick wall to slowly slide towards the ground to sit on it. As cold as the wall was the cells were never heated only for the winter the guards gave them thicker quilts that was it, if they froze to death the guards did not grieve. To them it was normal, as if every kid in this reformatory was a lost cause as if there was no saving them.

Jinx thought otherwise

Of course that those kids were doing wrong she also committed crimes, but behind every bad act there was a reason. There could have been a myriad of reasons, but the criminals, at least the juvenile ones, were never listened to why they did it, they just had these two phrases written into their files, which hurt everyone.

A lost cause

They could have helped give them another chance. To listen to them. But no.

The authorities thought they knew better what was worth saving and what was written off, everything according to them was listed as unsalvageable, unchangeable. But every kid who came here was panicked. They were afraid. She was also afraid when she came here could she blame the kids there for being afraid? No, but the guards were of a different opinion every day new juvenile prisoners who were not understood and were sent here to change to serve time for their actions were doomed to eternal derision and insults from the prison guards.

Was there anything they could do? No. They couldn't even stand up to them, say enough, that they should stop. There was nothing they could do, they were doomed to it. The reformatory was supposed to teach humility and calmness listening to orders and learning to enter society, but the reformatory only taught how people in authority control us as they lie to us right to our faces mocking us behind closed doors.

Jinx was no longer the youngest, but she was still not an adult, she was a teenager who lived on the streets because that was the way life had chosen her. As if a god had said it was her destiny to suffer forever, but feeling pain, she believed she shouldn't exist after all, she was the one who escaped from her parents' basement to try to survive on her own. At the age of ten she learned quick turns in sprinting, as well as refining her sprinting and mind, when she was eleven she learned to do parkour well jumping from one fire cage to another or jumping over a fence didn't always end nicely at least at first. When she was learning skinned knees and elbows and hands were the norm, but eventually she learned, she also perfected the art of stealing to somehow survive.

The hardest time was in winter, thick clothes blocked some of her movements as well as slowed her sprinting, she couldn't wear anything lighter because she would freeze. Winter was always the hardest like the period when people wish each other happy holidays and the new year she was undergoing the most important test then. Whether it was all she learned on the street or learned from it, she survived winters with difficulty, but then it was a signature that she learned to live in winter. She didn't care about dirt she was constantly dirty, being homeless involved

With constant struggle

With constant filth

And that rats are your friends, unless they have rabies, then not.

And that everyone lies and there is no help on the streets, no friends of the homeless. The rivalry among the homeless was of two camps, either you are their family not even biological family, but family or you are their enemy for life, Jinx chose the term enemy of all. She didn't trust them, she preferred to gather supplies herself and live alone rather than give away what she managed to gather and give to others as generosity, she was the one who gathered it all then why should she give it away claiming that these elderly homeless people need it? They're going to die sooner or later anyway, they're going to die faster than her so why waste food on them?

- Stop feeling sorry for yourself. - the British voice of a familiar guard spoke up. Sullyvan. This nasty guard stole her affection, she liked him. In a friendly form of meaning of course, she loved to tease him and he loved to remind her how much she had fucked up in her life - after you grieve elsewhere," sighed Sullyvan pulling out his keys with a clank.

Raising an eyebrow Jinx watched his movements as he opened the cells, the key went into the lock and was turned the clank of metal against metal echoed through the empty cells and the prison hall. The teenager didn't know what he was talking about. As if a familiar guard caught her unspoken question he smiled - You're out. That's what you do. - He confessed to her, the teenager's lips parted

Going out? To freedom?

She won't have to look at those nasty gray shades of the walls in the cell as well as the walls of the prison, she'll be able to escape this routine that boiled in her veins which she vomited and shit so much she couldn't count. She won't have to eat food in this nasty place, come on it can hardly be called food mostly watered down noodles with some unknown sauce she always wrinkled her face at the sight of it while holding back her vomiting motions.

But she had to eat it to not die, come on she would have gladly jumped into the arms of the dark reaper. But not like this, death by starvation was for those who gave up those who no longer had the will and strength to keep fighting - Oh fuck on, don't think so much," Robert complained, his patience was never great. For that she liked him he often lost patience, but he was a good man a good nicotine dealer - Jeez, you can't just tell me I'm leaving and not give away the details - I muttered raising myself gracefully on my hands to get up from the ground.

- You'll find out all the details soon enough - confessed the guard began to lead me down that familiar dingy corridor, the echo of our footsteps spread along the entire length of the corridor and bounced off the walls - What's there to explain much? I'm going to freedom - the surprise written on the face of the teenager exceptionally amused the guard, who patted her on the shoulder

- You'll be surprised honey, you'll be surprised," he confessed with a slight giggle and his British accent sounded on his lips so that she had to strain her hearing and wits to understand him. If sight kills Sullyvan would be dead more than once he could have already dug himself thousands of graves thousands of times Jinx sent him the same or that threw daggers when she didn't like something - You watch out Sullyvan yet you will find that your dick will get smaller - muttered quietly the teenager entering the room where she had been questioned many times.

She didn't like this room, not because this is where they interrogate all juvenile delinquents, but for the fact that they also used this room for torture as she called it. When someone misbehaved they would take them into this room lock them up and beat them as if they wanted to kill them, but at the edge of life and death they would restrain themselves as if they guessed that what they were doing was wrong, but... they kept doing it self-reflection was lacking and the trauma in the prisoners grew with every fucking day.

Jinx wished the walkers of these youngest had it better, but she could only dream. All she could think about was what was about to happen to her next interrogation? Not then the main one of the guards would come for her. Torture? After all, she hadn't done anything wrong, at least not recently. They could have found out about the cigarette dealer, but then Robert would have been screwed too and not just her, she was already alone in the room a metal table stood in the middle of the room and two black chairs beside it, she couldn't forget how uncomfortable those chairs were she spent hours sitting on one of them as she got up from the table the other day she could sit down that her legs didn't exist. The same for her butt.

She didn't even notice the moment the woman walked in she was quite an older woman to her eye, but she didn't have that many gray hairs, she could have been in her forties, but work had caused her a mass of wrinkles and the little gray hairs that are in her bun and in her bangs - Oho fuck Laswell - muttered Jinx running her hand over her already tired face, a day full of thoughts was slowly killing her

She knew Kate, she was the one who caught her. If only she hadn't trusted her she wouldn't be here, but that trust hadn't disappeared by some miracle she respected this womanodź herself couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the idea she came up with when they tried to catch her, the local police couldn't handle it so they called for better support not the military, but the CIA agency was no longer a go-between as Jinx found out the day she was caught. She was extremely snarky and annoyed, but Laswell saw something in her, but never told her what - Should I be happy to see you? - The rhetoric in Jinx's question was ignored by Kate

- Yes you should. I have an offer," the older woman confessed as she sat down in an uncomfortable chair at the table, feeling sorry for her she doesn't know what she's done sitting down in that chair, "You'll get out of juvie," the woman began as she saw Jinx's eyes glowing her blue irises showed hope which Laswell beat like an egg to scrambled eggs, "But you'll be in the care of the military so you can re-enter the civilian world when the government decides you won't harm anyone," Laswell explained

The hope in the teenager's eyes was extinguished, someone is supposed to watch over her like a child? She is not a child to hell she is sixteen years old. And she is not dangerous! She has changed, no. She hasn't changed.

But the offer sounded so beautiful she wouldn't have to see all those guards' faces anymore, she wouldn't be afraid of whether she did everything right and whether she would end up in this Hall but for the torture. Everything sounded so beautiful, she couldn't believe it

Everyone lies, after all

But. If she turned it down she would be a fool, she didn't know what to do herself. But if an unsuitable and incompetent caretaker came along she could easily escape, but then she would lose a sure roof over her head and food, if she got it at all. New caretakers might not trust her as much and claim that the food they give her is plenty and there would probably be enough to keep her from starving to death, but she would certainly lose weight.

She didn't know what to do

A mass of questions few answers

To trust or not to trust?

What should she do?

She didn't know. She was at the mercy of fate, which was anyway like a flimsy thread that had survived more than she had in her entire life - And what will I get out of it? - asked the skeptical teenager Laswell turned her head slightly to the side without taking her eyes off the younger girl - If you behave well and show the committee that you have changed you will regain your full freedom - stated Kate leaning back crossing her arms on her chest. The teen squinted her eyes wanted to find any sign that Laswell was lying, but couldn't.

Either the agent is so adept at hiding her lies or it's Jinx who can't read them. The offer sounded so beautiful in the teenager's mind - Fine. I'll go," Jinx stated, "But what if I don't change? - she asked suddenly, when Laswell started to get up, the older woman interrupted her activity to look at Jinx - Then you will come back here. And most likely you'll get out when you grow up, but it won't be that easy you'll then be monitored constantly every day until you make one mistake and end up in an actual real prison and not a reformatory," she explained without lying to Laswell

It sounded a little like a threat, Jinx began to regret asking - Well no matter. Let's go," she said, wanting to lose this topic already not to think about it intensely, she was tired. The day had just begun and already sucked all the essence of energy on her.

- Okay, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. For that, pack to what you want to take, if you have anything," Laswell stated, waving her hand towards the Venetian mirror for the guard to escort me to my cell.

A new opportunity?

New fun. But if they fucked it up it will come back here and it won't be colorful, but was Laswell lying sometimes? She didn't know, but new paths in life interested her she wanted to check them out.

She had been on this show before she had been with police officers most often commentators, but they gave up at her frequent pranks she had been with ex-military men who had retired, but she was too quick and resourceful for them.

Jinx is now curious to see what Laswell has come up with for her, already new plans are forming in her head on how to fuck up the life of the one who wants to take on her care. This is going to be interesting

[republicsecurity]

Inside the Watchful Walls: Life of an Enforcer Conscript Prison Guard

By James Dunnett Republic Special Correspondent

The first thing you notice stepping inside the High-Security Reform and Detention Facility #17 isn’t what you expect from a place that houses dangerous prisoners: it’s the quiet. A gentle hum of hidden climate controls, air scrubbers, and soft artificial wind whispering through projected foliage lend an almost meditative quality to the scene. Brutalist concrete, polished smooth, frames expansive windows letting in diffuse, natural light. At times, you forget this is a prison at all.

A Prisoner is taken to court.

But it is—and that’s precisely the point.

“We’re reforming minds, not breaking them,” says Conscript Z3M12 through the sleek, transparent faceplate of his black angular helmet. His voice is even, reassuring, yet carries the weight of ideological certainty that the Security Forces instill deeply into their conscripts. Z3M12, just 19, is already in his second year of conscript duty, stationed here as an Enforcer Prison Guard.

Like all Enforcer Conscripts at Facility #17, Z3M12 wears a matte-black, segmented body armour suit, visually imposing and functionally invulnerable to physical attacks from prisoners. This invulnerability changes the dynamic. Guards can afford to relax, chat, even gently correct and guide prisoners without ever fearing harm.

“The armour removes physical threat, allowing us genuine interaction,” Z3M12 explains as he walks beside prisoners during their daily physical training, offering tips and correcting postures. The prisoners, clad in their regulation orange jumpsuits, occasionally flash smiles of appreciation. There’s respect here—but always a clear line that is never crossed.

The conscripts’ approach isn’t only physical. Every guard knows each prisoner by name, case history, psychological profile. Enforcers undergo conditioning — an ideological blend of unwavering discipline, tempered empathy, and a commitment to the reformative mission of the Republic.

“It’s not just enforcement—it’s personal, ideological care,” Conscript H4T87 says quietly. H4T87, 18, has a young face marred slightly by teenage acne under his sleek helmet. He supervises a prisoner art therapy session. Prisoners paint carefully on canvases in an austere but softly lit studio, encouraged by H4T87's gentle critiques. The guard's suit, powerful and futuristic, contrasts starkly with the vulnerable expressions of creativity he oversees.

Facility #17 represents the subtlety of the Republic’s broader ideological ambitions. Concrete and glass, modernity interwoven with plant projections and engineered tranquility, form part of a sophisticated infrastructure of subtle, omnipresent control. At first glance, it seems humane, even kind. Yet beneath the pristine surfaces and thoughtful features—meditation rooms, art therapy sessions, structured dialogues—a deeper machinery of psychological and political conditioning operates silently.

In a minimalist meditation chamber, prisoners sit cross-legged, faces serene against projected green leaves rustling softly on bare concrete walls. Conscript D5S04 stands motionless, watching from behind a transparent faceplate.

He nods approval, his expression gently inscrutable. D5S04 later admits, "Meditation helps them recalibrate, accept the necessity of personal change."

But what exactly does personal change mean in this context?

“Rehabilitation isn’t neutral,” explains Prison Director Yana Tarrant, a civilian official who oversees conscript conditioning alongside prisoner reform. “It’s ideological. We don’t hide that fact. Every guard, every program here reinforces a vision of what a citizen should be.”

A group of Conscripts Prisons Guards talk to the director of the Prison

To the Republic, a citizen should be disciplined, community-oriented, compliant, and conditioned to serve the collective good above personal desire. The prison thus acts as a microcosm of society—a controlled environment where guards and prisoners alike live under carefully calibrated rules, subtly pushing toward conformity and productivity.

“It’s a long game,” Tarrant says calmly. “Today’s prisoner could become tomorrow’s grade one citizen. We’ve seen it happen. We rely on our guards to make it happen.”

They helps with physical fitness

Back in the gymnasium, Conscript Z3M12 adjusts the form of an older prisoner lifting weights. “Better posture,” Z3M12 says softly, his voice quiet but firm. “We all carry weight here. It’s our job to carry it properly.”

For a brief moment, the guard and prisoner exchange a look—shared understanding, perhaps even mutual respect. But the ideological boundaries remain crystal clear, invisible yet stronger than the thickest concrete walls around them.

As Conscripts Z3M12 concludes, “Reform is about the heart and mind. The armour protects our bodies, yes, but the Republic protects our thoughts.”

There’s a subtle shiver in those words, as gentle yet relentless as the artificial breeze rustling the digital leaves projected onto the concrete walls.

A Enforcer Therapist helps a prisoner

[gumnut-logic]

Five pick ups and one drop off (Pick up 4)

Pick up 1 | Pick up 2 | Pick up 3 | Pick up 4

Scott is tired and a little pissed off, so watch for language. Again, kinda crack just for fun.

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy needed to re-apply his deodorant.

He was beginning to get a bit whiffy. But that’s what happens went you cut halfway across the planet after pulling a dozen people out from under a building in Taiwan.

As it was, he’d had to leave Virgil to liaise with local services to make it in time.

Thunderbird One wasn’t known for her shower facilities, but he had foreseen that in the past and his office in New York was set up with all the amenities including a spare business suit or two.

But that was a good five hours ago. If there was one advantage of crossing the dateline, it was the preservation of sunlight. He had the great pleasure of living the same day over again. With less concrete dust.

But more numbers and more annoying people.

One thing about rescue sites, bar the occasional asshole, was that the people there were usually very, very happy to see Scott and his brothers.

Here in the board room he received the distinct impression that at least several of the members would be much happier with his absence so they could do exactly what they wanted.

Which was what had been happening and why he was here.

“Sir, why the higher expenditure? Their employees are not our responsibility.”

Scott grit his teeth and his blood pressure sung in his ears. “We are saving the company and its employees. I believe with the correct financial support, they can become a solid division of Tracy Industries. We are not in the business of destroying lives.”

“This is not a rescue site, Tracy, this is business!”

Scott straightened from where he had been bent over the conference table, glaring at Martin at the far end, and pulled himself up to his full height before turning to glare at Landers on his left. “Not the way we conduct it.” His tone turned acid. “Do you think caring makes us soft, Landers?”

“Yes, it does. You are destroying our profit margin.”

Scott could not give a fuck about this particular profit margin. They were absorbing a large manufacturing business with its heart in country USA. If they didn’t handle the situation carefully, a good hundred thousand employees looked to lose lifetime jobs. The impact on the people and society would be massive. Not to mention a foolish move as TI’s most important asset was its talent. And there was good talent out there. The business had been struggling, but only to out compete TI, which it could no longer.

Its product was excellent. Brains and Virgil had done an assessment and agreed that the teams had potential. All they needed to do was absorb them into TI and then manage them into a better working culture in order to support that talent.

But it was obvious certain members of the board did not see things the same way as the Tracy brothers. Yes, the profit margin would suffer, may even go into cost in the short term, but it was the long term Scott Tracy was interested in and not lining his pockets at the cost of other people’s lives.

Tracy Industries was big and stable enough to take a hit for the common good.

“Landers…” Scott really wished his head wasn’t hurting so much. “…just go.”

“What? Go where?”

“Out.” Scott waved an irritated hand at the door. “Get out!”

“You can’t-“

“GO!”

The whole room jumped.

Landers glared everything at Scott, swore under his breath, and made a scene of gathering his tablet and collection of paraphernalia off the table and stomping towards the exit.

The moment he left, murmured protests rumbled around the room.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Carly, his EA, talking into her headset. A moment later Jeremy, his personal security guard, stepped into the room and took up a position quite casually just inside the door.

Great.

Not the best politic move, Tracy. But Landers was a dick and he had had it coming for a long time.

Scott had just needed to be irritated enough to follow through.

He leant over the table again. “Do we have any further objections?”

Martin at the far end was noting furiously on his tablet. Yeah, more trouble would come from that direction.

Scott sighed. He really wasn’t at his best. He needed sleep. The Virgil at the back of his head was jumping up and down on his neurons demanding he stop growling at staff and come home.

There was a knock at the door and that same brother, still dressed in his IR uniform, stuck his head through. “Hey, excuse me, I need to borrow the President for a moment.”

The room was still rumbling and didn’t really respond. Scott strode over to his brother. “What is it?”

“Come out here for a sec.”

“I can’t leave right now.”

“Yes, you can.” A heavy lifting arm reached in and yanked him out into the hall.

“Virgil, what the hell?”

But his brother was busy staring at him, dark eyes assessing him as if he was capable of medically scanning him with the melanin in his eyeballs. “You’re coming with me.” And before Scott could react - a definite sign of exhaustion if there was one - Virgil lifted him in one quick move and threw him over his shoulder.

“Virgil, what the fuck?!” He struggled, but Virgil was known for his iron grip and even in Scott’s worst moments, he couldn’t hurt his brother.

“We are going home.”

“It’s an important meeting!” The view of the floor and his brother’s butt was infuriating.

“I know. Which is why we let you go initially. However, that was hours ago, and before you disassemble the board one by one, we are intervening.”

“We?”

“Hi, Scott.”

He cranked his head up just in time to see John walk past in a crisp turquoise-grey suit. “What? John? Virgil, put me down!”

“Nope.” They entered an elevator…going up, no doubt to the roof.

“Virgil, please. John will eviscerate them.”

“Yep.” They stepped out into sunlight.

“Aww, c’mon. They’re scared of him.”

“Yep.” A big green shadow loomed over them and Virgil stepped onto her elevator, giving Scott a fantastic view of checkerplate and nothing else. “It will do them good.”

“Virg-“

“Nope. Bed.”

“Please?”

His brother kicked the wall of the cockpit and folded down one of the stretchers. He rolled Scott gently off his shoulder, carefully catching his head and neck and let him sink into the soft medical support.

Every muscle cheered in gratitude.

“Virg…” God, he was tired.

His brother responded by brushing a hair out of his eyes, his gloved hand pushing Scott’s mess of hair back from his forehead. Kind eyes looked down at him. “You need rest, big brother.”

Sure fingers darted over his body, doing up safety straps and securing him in place, and for some reason Scott did not have the energy to protest.

He fell asleep halfway across the Pacific lulled to rest by the comforting roar of his brother’s ‘bird.

-o-o-o-

Next

[utdcrim4396]

MR11: Justice Kennedy called solitary confinement ‘a brutal and inhumane practice.’ Should the U.S. ban long-term administrative segregation for inmates with mental illness, as the UN recommends? What might replace it? WHY? 

Solitary confinement is notoriously known to not only affect people who already have a mental illness, but can create mental illness for Inmates who have been isolated for weeks, months, or even years. A study done in 2018 found that 8.6% of people who are locked up in solitary confinement are diagnosed with some type of mental illness from the ordeal. Solitary confinement is usually considered 23:1, meaning 23 hours a day you are confined and separated from other people, and 1 hour a day you are permitted to be in the “yard”, which is still a very small space away from other people. Solitary is known to cause mental illness and it can even worsen it as well. There is often no no treatment plan, and if there is, it is severely disrupted. Humans by nature are social creatures, so by not being around other people and being completely isolated for weeks, months, or years at a time can have serious long-term consequences for cognitive and adaptive functions. Rather than using isolation, correctional facilities should offer a type of alternative treatment in lue of solitary confinement, similar to how specialty courts are used. Limiting the use of solitary confinement for inmates would result in fewer mental illnesses being created from being isolated, lower the rates of violence, and it would also give individuals the opportunities of re-entry into society that they wouldn’t get from solitary confinement. 

Reference

National Alliance on Mental Illness. (2024, May 6). Solitary Confinement | NAMI. NAMI. https://www.nami.org/advocacy/policy-priorities/stopping-harmful-practices/solitary-confinement/

[dollerinna]

I'm having some yandere thoughts again. 🥺

I may or may not have talked about this concept before. And if I have then I am adding onto it. But yandere Soldier Boy with a darling that is his complete opposite. (Soldier Boy as a character is an absolute detriment to society. But picturing him as a yandere is a masterpiece. And pretty much aligns with his character.)

Soldier Boy is a yandere. Canon. Because I said so.

Anygays—his darling is more of a wallflower. A supe that is strictly has support powers. The ability to heal people through touch (and not necessarily solve mental issues but alleviate the most damaging effects). And with a supe darling is technically immortal. As long as they don't exhaust their powers that is. Their own cells regenerate much faster than a regular supe's — nearly instantaneous. Unlike Soldier Boy, strong nerve agents don't knock them out, it just temporarily paralyzes their abilities (leaving them vulnerable).

Which completely parallels Soldier Boy.

Maybe they were a 'secret' supe Vought was working on. They narrowly managed to escape Vought's facilities and ended up on the street. When Ben had that meltdown in Manhattan (?). The episode where he blew up the street block after just getting back to America. Well, his darling was there. The only one within the blast radius that survived. That power of his severely weakens the compound V in their system, but doesn't totally burn it out. So the compound V rebuilds itself in their system after his meltdown.

His darling is just standing there. Weak and confused. Yet his darling doesn't run off. They walk over and stare at him quietly. Their hand gently touches him and when he violently reacts they duck and jump back.

That's how he meets his darling. And he drags them along. He doesn't leave this random person. They may be a pussy, but they could be helpful. After all, they are a supe and they may know what happened to his team—so they can help track his old team down and kill them all.

So when Soldier Boy reluctantly joins forces with The Boys you are there. You're just sitting in the corner doing whatever. Being under the 'protection' of Soldier Boy is better than being hunted down by Vought relentlessly with little way to protect yourself. Right? All you can do is heal people. Heal yourself. But Soldier Boy can kill people. Has killed people. And you can take his abuse. You're built for it. Which DOES NOT help with Soldier Boy's abusive tendencies. This type of darling is literally the prime for being a victim of Yan Soldier Boy. They don't want to fight back and Soldier Boy can hurt them all he wants without killing them (well, almost. as long as he doesn't go to the most extreme extent).

OMG I was ready to say this concept was super stinkin’ cute and wholesome, since ya know- the ‘force of destruction meeting the force of healing’ trope, but then i got to the end and remember it’s soldier boy and he is NOT a good partner 😶‍🌫️ ((unless I’m remembering wrong. I just remember he dated one of his teammates and she didn’t exactly love him?? Idk someone correct me if I’m mistaken

BUT YEA IDC I loooove me a nuanced dynamic—one that’s fucked up, toxic, yet symbiotic in a way that ties them together in a destructive dependence. Yall can try to pry this kind of dynamic out of my cold dead hands becuz I will ALWAYS eat this up

I have nothing substantial to add because it’s already perfect (as always), and I know the soldier boy stans will agree with me !!

[just-horrible-things]

So, I had an incredibly whumpy dream last night and I have to share.

It was set in a highly stratified society, with commonplace slavery as well as significant tensions between the free classes.

This “middle class” family were obsessed with attempting to appear more wealthy and prestigious than they were, living above their means, etc.

They could only afford to keep one slave so instead of keeping him as a generic house servant as would be normal for their class they would dress him up and expect him to fill all the roles a richer family might have slaves for – chaffeur, butler, chef, bodyguard, etc.

Out in public he’d seem very well kept – dressed in nice clothes, allowed relative freedoms, treated without violence – as was the fashion for the wealthy showing off the quality of their slaves.

But behind closed doors they'd keep him nearly naked so as not to wear out the nice clothes, and they'd make him kneel and beg and grovel to stoke their egos, and chain him up at night, and often he was used as a punching bag.

Desperate to escape this abuse, he made an attempt to run while he was out with the family and sent to buy some things unsupervised. Unfortunately for him, he was intercepted by the law enforcement and, after a savage beating, dispatched in the back of a van to a correctional facility.

At the start of this process, he was hoping to himself that they wouldn't be able to identify his owners so whatever they did to him, at least he wouldn't be sent back. That didn't last.

The correctional facility used as its primary control mechanism a drug that both caused searing pain when injected, and clouded the mind, dulled memory, and quashed the will to resist. I remember it was this bright red liquid that almost glowed, very intimidating.

All the new arrivals got an immediate shot of this drug to make them pliable for processing. At the initial dose, the injection burned and made the whole arm and right side of the torso ache for a few hours. People were yelling at the initial injection but it was comparable to an insect sting.

The guard was smugly telling the new prisoners that after long enough on this drug they'd forget everything about who they were and they'd become mindless, docile drones, incapable of resisting and unfit for anything but the simplest manual labour.

They wanted to return our protagonist to his owners, so after processing he was interrogated about where he’d come from. When he refused, he was given a second, larger dose of the control drug.

At the higher dose, on top of the one he'd just had, he screamed through the initial pain. The dose left him burning at itching almost unbearably all over, and so dazed he could barely move and definitely couldn't understand a conversation. He couldn't remember his own name and was terrified that he'd never remember again.

A few hours later, once the effects were starting to fade, they asked the same questions again. Now convinced that even the situation he'd come from was better than staying here, he gave his owners’ details.

A few hours after that, they told him that they'd contacted his owners and they'd said they didn't want him back after his bad behaviour. The correctional facility could keep him and sell him on once he was better trained.

He was moved into the general cells, and introduced to the prison routine.

Absolutely frantic about the idea of not only getting hurt all the time probably worse than he did at “home” but also losing his identity and his mind, he shortly thereafter joined a riot and a desperate escape attempt.

A few of the escapees, including our protagonist, made it over the walls. But they were shot down with guns that fired syringe darts full of the red drug. He took about five or six of these darts and dropped screaming and writhing, while the guards strolled out to retrieve the incapacitated escapees.

And this one guard, looking down at him screaming his lungs out and clawing at his flesh, casually just unloads another three or four darts into him before dragging him back.

He screams himself absolutely hoarse, no voice left at all, as the drug runs its course. And once it starts to wear off he still just lays there on the concrete, eyes blank, unresponsive.

Over the course of the next few days they get him responding to simple commands, but he doesn't speak at all anymore and if the instructions are too complex he just stares blankly. He panics at the slightest threat and just collapses screaming.

They're not sure if the high dose has given him brain damage or if it's psychological trauma, but they don't really care. He's just declared broken and auctioned off for a pittance as damaged goods.

[tabbyhoney]

Gorgeous

Inspired by "Fear of you" from @sleepwalkersqueen

Note:The first chapter is done! My current goal is to write a chapter for each week but maybe it will take two weeks sometime but that is an issue for future me. I am really excited to see some feedback and how you guys like it:). On another note, while I try my best to keep a relatively straight line and facts with the original story some things might be wrong, please feel free to correct me if it happens ♥️. My current goal is a total of 5 chapters since I only want these to be a relatively short story that doesn't rewrite too much stuff happening in the original story because I obviously don't just wanna rewrite the fic. Please enjoy!

Next>>

Warnings: I am not a therapist so please take everything written here not as a prime example or as a fact, mention of torture, curse words

Chapter 1

I always wanted to see what more Tartarus had to offer. I wanted to explore every single floor there was. Meeting a new and more dangerous villain each day. Getting to know their thought process, if there really was a bigger masterplan behind it.

Answering my questions that spiraled in my brain like an endless loop. Are they actually wicked? Do they have any sign of humanity in them? Are they just broken souls? Can such a broken mind be fixed? Cliché I know.

All these questions are the real reason why I wanted to work here. Luck was on my side at the time I applied, because they wanted to test out if a therapist might be able to help them with their work (Which basically summarized that they wanted to get more information out of the patients).

But even when I worked with them they still continued with the methods they used before. This did not help make progress since I also had to work with their new experienced trauma which was already bigger than the universe.

If I am honest they were hesitant to hire me, since I graduated young from university and had no experience whatsoever. It took over a month and another month of internship to make them believe that I was cut out for the job. Even now they still don't fully trust me with their whole system. After all, I was a weak point for them.

Once I had the job I was more than thrilled. Finally able to do what I dreamed of since I was a kid. Even though there was still much to achieve. Of course, there is also the aspect of trying to make them stop their own ways for mine to finally be able to bloom just a little bit.

Seeing the number two pro hero walk up to me one day with his mighty steps that sounded like mountains crashing together I would lie if I said I didn't feel my heartbeat stop for a moment. Let alone when he talked to me for two seconds before giving me all I ever wanted with his angry and demanding attitude.

The moment I was granted this wish of mine I regretted it. Not because I stopped believing in my dream but because seeing the actual part of no one should know is frightening. Frightening might even be an understatement.

Their voice, movements, and the way their bodies looked were scaringly disgusting. The air smelt rotten and it was cold not only because of the temperature. People are being drugged out of their brains to keep them calm, they all look like corpses that have been exposed to warmth and air for too long.

From my plain observation, it even seemed like mutants are treated worse than the other prisoners. Which is a common thing even in normal standards of society. I cannot even blame them because mutants can be incredibly scary.

Tartarus. A name that ran a chill down each villain's spine. A place where the moment you step into you may never escape alive. Rumors spread across the underground like wildfire. About what will happen once you are captured and what you have to endure.

The villains that are imprisoned in Tartarus don't make the facility this scary I realized. Maybe the good people think that they are the reason for all this talk, but this is where they are wrong.

"Do whatever you want"

Just remembering those four simple words made my skin crawl. Goosebumps spread across my body. A sentence you might say to a child that you have no interest in dealing with. Or maybe to your trusted hairstylist.

But not to a licensed therapist who is capable of either destroying you or building you back up. Or to the guards who held the interrogation.

The meaning behind the words held something so incredibly heavy I wanted to forget every memory of someone saying these words, no matter who or when.

Because they meant it. They didn't care if I did my job right or not because I wasn't even supposed to be there. I could do whatever I wanted with the person in front of me. The people who have no way of defending themselves because of their chains and quirk suppressors.

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The air in the small bright room was filled with tension that I created by possibly the worst mistake ever. The guards who were still in the room with me looked at me confused. The only comfort I had at the moment was that the person I directed the mistake to couldn't answer at the moment. But even seeing his eyes shoot up was enough to make me rethink my life choices.

I can clearly feel my face losing its color out of shock from my totally unprofessional behaviour.

"you're so gorgeous"

Whatever ghost possessed me to say that clearly needed new activities to entertain themselves.

With the love for everything I possessed, I cleared my throat and sat down on the chair at the table they provided.

"You can take off the muzzle" my voice rang through the empty room with an echo. It left a chill in my body hearing it so metallic.

The guards hesitated for a moment before they actually started doing their job. They left the room when I gave them another glare, signaling to give us privacy like I asked them to.

Takami-San looked physically exhausted yet his eyes remained sharpness that you don't see very often in patients around here. He had a big grin on his face that I wished I could just wipe off of his face, even if I was the cause of this.

For some reason, he stayed silent. Maybe it was because he was already taunting me or he was waiting for me to introduce myself, I couldn't tell.

"I am Howashi Amaya, I will be your assigned therapist" I introduced myself, a genuine and respectful smile resting on my face.

"Therapist? Sounds fake, they don't care about how fucked up I am" he tilts his head to the side, eyeing me up and down like a bird.

"You're right they don't care, which is why they told me to do whatever I want"

For some odd reason, he seemed to tense up from these words, I wonder why.

"So I decided to just do what I am best at"

"Being a charming girl?"

At that, I took a deep breath. I scrunched my face and looked down at my empty sheet of paper.

When I looked back up he was grinning again god he looked so good stupid.

"Actually no. I meant I will try to help you"

"Help me get out of this shithole?"

"not really I am afraid"

"Ahh shucks"

I waited for a second before actually starting my usual procedure. Which on second thought seemed to be a little too late.

"How has it been?" I click my pen while looking at him, ready to write down whatever I could tell from his response.

"Really? Do you actually ask people this in fucking prison?" His voice sounds raspy.

"I didn't ask how you felt, just how it has been. You could answer nearly everything on it. How you feel, how the people treated you-"

"fucking brilliant, you should get a medal for being a smartass"

"Thank you for calling me smart, I appreciate it"

I silently tap my pen on the paper. Waiting for any kind of reaction from him. As the silence settled I started to notice some weird marks on his neck, they looked kinda infected.

"What do you have on your neck there?" I gestured with the pen on my own neck.

As soon as the question was spoken he tensed and looked more traumatized than a baby chicken that just discovered the big scary world. He broke off the eye contact he previously held with me. His body huddled up in an attempt to look smaller and protect himself, probably with his wings but he wasn't able to do it. Uncomfortable if I need to describe it in one word.

I probably don't need a deeper answer to figure out why they might be there. I silently stand up and walk around the table. He tried to move away from my hands when I reached out but because of the chains, he couldn't move far enough away.

Ever so gently I pulled the collar down and placed my hands on the marks. A familiar warmth spread across my hands and I started to feel how the infected wounds closed and healed.

When I was done I took a step back looking satisfied down at him before returning to my chair.

"Aye... Of course, the doctor has a healing quirk" he mumbles silently.

"Do you have anything you wanna talk about?"

" Aye, why are you here? Never heard of someone like you even working here. Doesn't seem like their style to hire a fucking therapist to fix me or anyone really"

"Good question" I nod in agreement "The answer is simple, I am the only therapist around here. That is why you've never heard of me. The last question shouldn't bother you too much after all you have been here for quite some time and are already in debt worth more than my monthly check"

"Have you ever seen a therapist before?" I ask with a light smile on my face.

"Do I fucking look like it?"

Silence.

"Besides I don't need another bitch asking me any more questions, I have the sparkler for that"

"Sparkler? You mean the number two?"

"Nah I mean the nice guard's captain obvious"

Another silence.

"And I don't need anyone knowing about the stuff I tell him, it's private business." He said in an oddly calm voice.

That certainly amazed me, since I have seen all the recordings of their talk, except the first one. So he wasn't aware that everyone was still listening in. Maybe this will one day be their downfall, why would he be so stern about keeping this a secret if it wasn't necessary.

"Why should no one listen in?"

"Because I said so"

This will be a lot of fun.

"Well with me you can talk about everything you share with Endeavour. No one is listening or watching. I like to keep my talks up to my hands, especially what I share with the government"

And that was not a lie.

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The room was filled with the sunlight shining through the window above the kitchen counter. The light shone through the leaves of the plants sitting at the window.

It was peaceful. The air was fresh and smelled faintly of fish and rice.

The only sound that destroyed the peace was the TV that played the news

Yet the only real news would be that someone escaped Tartarus and that still isn't public information. I wonder what will happen once the public knows.

Once I turned the TV off the silence that came with it was broken with a call. When I read who was calling I felt my mood drop just a little bit.

"Howashi speaking, what can I help you with today hottest hero in Japan"

"He escaped me!" The man yelled angrily, ignoring my terrible joke.

"who escaped you?" I ask grinning widely.

"Takami! That fucking mutant had his brat stealing my wife's necklace"

He has a child? Now that is a surprise. Even a bigger surprise was that he was stupid enough to let his child steal something from him.

"And how is that my problem?" I ask while standing up and staring out the window biting my nails.

"You worked with him for five years! You know exactly what is going on in his stupid birdbrain" Endeavour yelled. I am not even sure why he is yelling at me, I would hear him loud and clear with a normal tone.

"First of all that is extremely rude talking about mutants like that, I am one as well after all, and not even different from Shinyo. Second just because I worked with him does not mean I understand everything he does"

"But you know where he might go"

I nervously tap my fingers on the kitchen counter. Closing my eyes to contemplate if I actually know where he might go.

If I break it down it comes back to one thing, he has a child and is currently taking care of them. But knowing he has unfinished business makes it counterproductive to take care of a child who has to be at least five or four years old. He probably didn't even know the child existed since he never talked about having one, only about his wife Nitsuki.

Nitsuki? Right, he might be searching for her so he can give her the child. But why wasn't she with them?

"I might have an idea but to be honest it is not crystal clear that he is with her"

"Her?"

"Takami Nitsuki, his wife. If he has a child he will certainly not have any time to deal with it and will try to bring it back. The only question I still have is if she really left the child alone and why he has to bring it back"

"Those are two questions and I want you to come to my agency to discuss this further" he demanded. Almost sounded like I didn't have a choice.

"Alright, I can fly over, when?"

"Now" and he hung up the phone after that. Not even a goodbye.

Once I was dressed and didn't look like I just got out of bed. I walk outside of my apartment building taking off my suppressors.

Once I felt the warmth on my back and my wings regrowing I took a small jump before dashing into the air.

I just hope this story will end on a relatively good note.