on topic with the police shit, i literally have gotten arrested before for having an autistic meltdown after police refused to listen to me (I WAS THE CALLER) for an hour straight. thankfully nothing happened with the case but spending a month in jail for mental health issues is traumatizing. the "mental health jails" are 1000x worse than regular ones, arent clean, have roaches and rust everywhere and so on.
fuck the police.
Sorry for the late response (mental health issues got in the way)
I’m so sorry you had to go through such an injustice. It’s horrible that the response to people experiencing crisis is policing and jailing. This reminds me of the fact that the three largest mental health facilities in my country (the USA) are in fact, jails.
Jails have become de facto mental health institutions. It's time for care, not cages.
The above link goes more into detail, but it’s important to take away the fact that incarceration and institutionalization are often hand one in the same, both part of racist, classist, and ableist systems of oppression.
She'd rearranged the furniture several times already since her release. Something always just seemed off to her, culminating in apartment Tetris, but only during the daylight hours. She wasn't a barbarian.
Julia had been dismissed from her hospital employment after the conviction, which had been a given. Her nurse manager had to follow policy as dictated from the powers-that-be, even if the whole accident and emergency department protested. Battery of a patient's father, no matter how warranted, brought bad PR to the hospital's media director. Bad PR meant less funding, and even though Her Majesty's government doled out the cash regardless, the board wanted to avoid the mess that was "Abusive Fucking Wanker v Davies (XXXX)". At least Julia had the assurances of several reference letters once she could look for a new job.
At least the child's mother had finally grown a spine and served said wanker with divorce papers during his trial, for being a scumbag who hurt his family. Justice had been meted out, and Julia's only regret had been dragging Gareth into it, even for that small part of bail.
Gareth was military, government, England's Poster Boy of an Officer and a Gentleman , and could've faced some inquiries. She'd gone as far as trying to tell him to forget about her, but Julia's self-martyrdom had been met with A Very Stern Look. So she dropped that nonsense.
He was due in several minutes, according to the alarm chirping from her kitchen, yanking the brunette from her preoccupation with the placement of her couch. She would just have to accept Pattern #62 of how the furniture squared off. Julia trotted into the kitchen and tapped the alarm off, eyes sweeping the counters before she went back to the living room. Tidy. Lived-in, but tidy.
She dropped onto the couch, flicking her telly on with the remote for something to stare at other than the coffee table. Leaning back, her pulled her braid over a shoulder, unwrapping the elastic tie before picking it loose while a newscaster spoke on screen. Her hair would be curly as all get out once loose, as she'd plaited the whole of it after her shower. Thankfully it wasn't humid, it wouldn't frizz into an unholy mop. The last thing she wanted was to look like some bohemian urchin ready to con Gareth out of his wallet.
I saw a post that said locking alters away is never okay, and I wanted to talk about it but didn't want to derail, so I'm making my own post.
Tl;DR I don't 100% agree with it because there's nuance there.
read tags for TWs
Broadly speaking, I agree. Locking up alters can be damaging in a lot of ways: it hurts them, and their relationships to other alters, and can hurt other alters if they disagree with the decision.
Broadly speaking, locking up alters is counterproductive to healing/functionality.
Broadly speaking.
There are also situations in which locking up an alter is the safest option. Times where you don't really get a choice.
I'm honestly glad that most systems never have to think about this, because you only really think about it if you (or someone you know) has lived it.
Alters can do really fucked up things, dangerous things, both in the innerworld and out.
Alters can hurt others.
Alters can kill each other or send each other dormant.
Alters can kill the body.
And yes, in many cases they're doing this because they're trying to help, or they think they deserve it, or because they were trained to do so, or any number of other perfectly understandable and 'healable' reasons.
But some also do it because they think its fun, or because it makes them feel powerful, or just because they can.
Speaking as a gatekeeper/protector, it's my job to keep the system safe. If an alter is not safe to be around, then I need to protect against that.
I think it's important to establish that keeping an alter away from the rest of the system doesn't inherently mean that we're keeping them somewhere inhumane.
We put people in their own area, with space, light, good food, pleasant living conditions, and the ability to choose how they spend their time. We give them access to their hobbies and their favourite medias and comforts. If it's safe, we give them non-physical access to social spaces, guidance, and support. If we think it's safe, we give them in person visits with people we know they cannot harm should they try something.
Locking alters away is not always cruel and violent and brutal, even though you may consider it immoral or unethical.
And quite frankly, even if it is done in ways that are cruel or violent or brutal, if that is what is required for the body to remain functional and alive, then so be it.
You can't do 'better' if you're dead.
What I will say, is that locking up alters should not be a fix all. It should not be what you jump to or immediately reach for when conflict occurs.
It is the final option or it is an emergency stop-gap.
We have a very long list of things to try before we start considering locking someone up. We work with them to understand why they are doing what they're doing, and whether they're open to changing.
If they are not open to change, we respect that and do the absolute bare minimum necessary to keep everyone safe.
A lot of times, they will not be open to changing, and then after some time of us respecting their autonomy and boundaries, they approach us requesting help to change.
I am scared of the response this may garner, but I'm saying it anyway.
If an alter reacts violently to something out of fear, keeping them to one area with none of that thing can be a kindness.
This is a paraphrasing of something said to me by an alter I had 'locked away' for safety.
She reacted badly to change/uncertainty, and said the predictability helped her to learn how to work through her fear and manage it without violence. The system proper was too overwhelming for her to be able to change.
She's now happily living in a quieter part of the innerworld and no longer expresses those fear responses as violence.
This is one example i picked at random, but i have many more stories of locking alters away while they are learning to manage themselves, and then releasing them once they are no longer deemed dangerous.
If you want to judge someone for what they do when they have both time and options when making a decision, then fine.
But judging people on split-second decisions when (potentially) their life is involved, or when they've exhausted all other options, just seems to me to be picking on the vulnerable target.
"Waiting For The Axe To Fall" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic (part 1/?)
Months after Ajax's release from prison, Rembrandt is trying to get her back to the way she used to be. Ajax is learning to live as the person she is now. Throw in a long lost friend showing up at a peace meeting and everything only gets worse.
Huge shout-out to @asthedeathoflight for the title, the beta reading, and the torment nexus we have created. Enjoy!
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Rembrandt wasn’t paying attention to the conversation around her as they walked. She kept her eyes on everything, making sure there were no faces watching them from dark windows, no one peeking around a corner waiting for the chance to jump out, no one but the Warriors on the street at night. It was a short trip up at least, just a ride on the N train and a short walk bordering a cemetery. None of them were super excited about that. Cowgirl in particular had been harshly voicing that the whole night. Everyone remembered the last time they found themselves in a graveyard, excluding Cleon and Mercy, who walked in front while Cleon caught their newest recruit on everything the other Warriors already knew.
Rembrandt watched the posts of the iron fence pass by in the corner of her vision. Beside her, she watched Swan stalk forward with her eyes front and her jaw clenched. She brushed the back of Swan’s hand to get her attention. Swan glanced down at her, nodded reassuringly, and then jerked her head towards the back of the pack.
Trailing far behind them, Ajax walked with her head down and her hands shoved in her pockets. With a heavy sigh, Rembrandt slowed down, falling back through the group to join Ajax. She nudged Ajax’s arm, and without looking up, Ajax grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers.
“Are you okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.
Ajax nodded. Months had passed since she was released from prison, and in all that time, she barely spoke. She kept her head down and her eyes averted, her voice low, her fists tucked away in her pockets instead of out and ready to spring into action like she used to be. Rembrandt had done her best to get her to open up about what happened while she was in prison in the hope that maybe, maybe Ajax could start to work through it and become some semblance of herself again. So had Cleon, and even Swan and Cochise at some points. It just… wasn’t working yet.
Rembrandt was really clinging to that yet.
“We’re gonna be fine, you know,” she continued. “It’s just a peace meeting. They want to join the Riffs’ alliance.” Ajax nodded again. “It’s not like last time.”
Ajax turned to look at her. She used to have such an expressive face, every emotion written across her features, but now it was empty and dejected and blank. Rembrandt didn’t push the matter any further.
“Warriors!” Cleon’s voice rang out from the front of the group. Everyone stopped, forming a circle on the sidewalk next to the cemetery. “We’re hopping the fence here. Remember, the Tombstones want to be on our side. So no fighting, no aggression, and no smartass remarks. Mercy, I’m talking to you.”
“I don’t make smartass remarks!” Mercy protested.
“Girl,” said Cowgirl, “you so do.”
“No I don’t!”
“Y’all! Focus!” Cleon said. “Game faces on, alright? We’re making peace. Act like it.”
There was a chorus of “got it” and “understood” in response. Cleon flashed a confident smile, one Rembrandt had seen so rarely since Cyrus’ summit and calmed her heart every time.
Ajax boosted Rembrandt over the fence, not that she needed the help. But Ajax always did it, anyway. She had since Rembrandt’s first mission, helping her reach fire escapes and window ledges to tag where she needed. As Ajax hopped the fence after her, she immediately grabbed her hand again, smiling up at her before they followed the others up the path into the cemetery.
“How come the Riffs aren’t down here?” Mercy asked. “Isn’t this Masai’s project?”
“It’s all our project,” said Cleon.
“That’s right,” Cochise agreed. “We can’t expect them to come all the way downtown every time a new gang wants to join up.”
“Even though we had to go all the way uptown in the first place,” Swan grumbled under her breath.
Cleon lightly elbowed her in the side. “What did I say about smartass remarks?”
Mercy threw her hands in the air. “See? It’s not just me!”
“Wow, babe, thanks for the support.”
“The Tombstones paid off the security guards, right?” Cowgirl asked. “I don’t wanna get jammed up in a graveyard.”
Cochise said, “The Tombstones practically own the security guards. There’s no payin’ off shit.”
Ajax’s grip on Rembrandt’s hand tightened, squeezing hard for just a moment before she let go and shoved her hand in her pocket again. Rembrandt looked up at her. Ajax wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“We’re going to be okay,” she whispered. Ajax only nodded.
The meeting place was high on a hill, standing beneath a lone lamppost and surrounded by graves on either side. A memory flashed through Rembrandt’s mind, of distant sirens and rain soaking into her clothes, of hiding behind cold stone and praying the cops and everyone else who wanted the Warriors dead that night would pass them by. She remembered watching the others walk away while she stayed behind long enough to paint their tag across the back of a grave marker.
Shaking her head to clear it, she touched the spray can sitting in her thigh pocket. She was tempted to sneak off and spray their tag but ignored the urge. Now was not the time to be leaving marks in enemy territory.
Ally territory, she mentally chided herself. It’s not like last time. We’re safe now. We’re going to be fine.
Standing beneath the solitary lamppost, the Warriors walked up on a small group of people, half men and half women, from what Rembrandt could tell. She knew the Tombstones were one of the few rising coed gangs. It was a sign of progress. After dealing with the gangs chasing them through the city on that horrible night so long ago, it was at least something to settle her nerves.
The leader of the Tombstones looked up as the Warriors approached. She was a tall, lanky woman, standing eye to eye with Cleon, with short slicked back hair. She kept an easy smile on her face as she shook Cleon’s hand.
“Nice to finally meet the legend in person,” she said.
“Not a legend,” Cleon chuckled, “but thanks. Nice to finally meet you, too, Ziggy.”
And just like that, Rembrandt was tuned out. She busied herself taking in every detail of the other Tombstones. Two whispered between themselves, another fidgeted with her gray and green canvas jacket they all wore, the marked second-in-command was sizing up Swan, and then who Rembrandt assumed had to be their enforcer…
Wait.
Rembrandt knew that face. Her eyes roved over her rolled up sleeves, the numerous metal bangles around her wrists like broken handcuffs, the proud set of her shoulders, and as she finally looked at the woman square on, she found herself staring into wide familiar eyes.
“Oh my God,” the Tombstone gasped. She stepped forward as the two warlords paused their conversation, both frowning at her in confusion. “Rembrandt?”
The recognition finally clicked. “Sly?”
“Yo, holy shit!”
Both assembled gangs jumped as the two of them flew to each other, throwing their arms around each other and laughing wildly as they spun around. They held onto each other’s forearms as they pulled back and spoke frantically over each other.
“I haven’t seen you in years, I almost thought you died or something!”
“When did you leave Bushwick?”
“Have you been living in Coney Island this whole time?”
“You got fuckin’ jacked, man!”
“I should’ve known all those crazy murals people talk about were yours!”
Cleon cleared her throat. The pair were snapped out of their reunion, separating and regaining their professionalism in an instant. Rembrandt struggled to keep the grin off her face, and, risking a quick glance at Sly, saw that she was, too.
Ziggy raised an eyebrow at her enforcer. “Is there something you forgot to mention?” she questioned.
“Zig, I didn’t know she was a Warrior,” Sly said.
“Yeah, Cleon, I had no idea I even knew anyone in Greenwood Heights,” Rembrandt added as her own leader stared her down.
“Where exactly do you know each other from?” asked Cleon. There was far less danger in her voice than Ziggy, reminding Rembrandt once again how much she lucked out having Cleon as her warlord.
“We lived on the same block in Bushwick for a long time. But then I moved to Coney Island and we-”
“Lost touch,” Sly finished. She flashed a smirk at Rembrandt. “Which was your fault.”
“Bullshit!”
“Alright, alright.” Ziggy waved her hands, grabbing Sly by the shoulder and giving her a rough shake. “Cleon, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with my enforcer.”
“And I need a word with my tagger. Rembrandt, with me.”
Ah, shit.
She followed Cleon away from the group, down the path and out of the glow of the streetlight. In the dark night, she was just able to make out the suspicious frown on Cleon’s face as the warlord crossed her arms. She jerked her head towards Sly and Ziggy embroiled in their side conversation.
“Be honest with me,” she said. “Did you know that you were old friends with a Tombstone?”
“Cleon, I swear I didn’t,” Rembrandt insisted. “I haven’t talked to her in years. Last I knew, she still lived in Bushwick. I didn’t even know she moved here, much less that she was running with them.”
Cleon nodded thoughtfully. She turned, studying Sly from afar for a minute before looking back at Rembrandt. “Is she trustworthy?”
“Yeah. And she’s tough, too. If we ever need help from the Tombstones, we’re good with her on our side.”
“Alright.” Putting an arm around Rembrandt’s shoulders, Cleon leaned down and lowered her voice. “Do me a favor, talk to her, see if she’s still the friend you remember. I’m not saying I don’t trust the Tombstones but I’m doing a lot of diplomatic nice talk right now and I want all our boxes checked.”
Rembrandt nodded. They returned to the group at the same time Sly and Ziggy did, Warriors and Tombstones alike looking at their comrades with nothing but utter confusion on their faces. “Alright,” said Ziggy. “Anyway, as I was saying…”
Sly laid a hand on Rembrandt’s back and led her away again. Rembrandt resisted the urge to hug her old friend again, reminding herself that she was on duty and that display of affection wasn’t called for at the moment. Stepping off the paved walkway, amidst the ornate grave markers, they stood close, side by side, angled in towards each other while they watched the warlords continue their conversation.
“It’s really good to see you,” Rembrandt said with a smile. “How you been?”
“Good, I’ve been good,” Sly replied. “I left Bushwick a little after you did and I’ve been rolling with Ziggy for a couple years now.”
“So, who’s who?”
Sly pointed to each of the Tombstones as she spoke. “Ziggy’s number two, soldier, soldier, scout, scout.” She pointed to herself, smirking. “And enforcer. What about yours?”
Rembrandt went down the line. “War chief, soldier, soldier…” She paused at Mercy. “Not sure yet, she still kinda floats where we need her.”
“And, uh, how ’bout the one staring daggers at me?”
Rembrandt cringed. She looked over to see that Ajax was indeed - God fucking dammit - scowling at Sly like she wanted to toss her into an open grave. Rembrandt watched her pull her fists from her pocket only for Swan to grab her by the collar and pull her aside, saying something to her but getting no response as Ajax kept her eyes locked on Sly.
“That’s our enforcer,” Rembrandt said, “and my girlfriend. Her name’s Ajax.”
Sly nodded. “Good for you. She’s hot.”
“Yo, the fuck!” She shoved Sly, doing nothing much at all to actually move her. “I thought you were strictly butch for femme? Why you lookin’?”
“I’ve got my preferences. Doesn’t mean I can’t call out a handsome butch when I see one.”
“Okay, well, my handsome butch-”
“Wow, harsh on the my, dude.”
“She’s currently looking at you with the wrath of God in her eyes so maybe stop staring back?”
“Aight, my bad!” Sly laughed, raising her hands as the pair turned their backs to the others. The humor faded from her expression as she lowered her head. “She’s the one that got jumped by the undercover cop after the summit, isn’t she?”
“How did you-”
“DJ Penn was getting updates and sending them out over the radio all night. Everyone heard everything that happened after Cyrus was murdered.” She made a face. “Even the gangs that the Riffs didn’t invite uptown.”
Rembrandt sighed. “Masai told Cleon they weren’t trying to slight anyone. They invited the gangs with the most conflicts happening at the time or something. Does Ziggy know that? I’m guessing she’s not having you talk to me just for sentiment.”
“Nah, Ziggy knows, but there’s still a lot of warlords out there who don’t. Riffs might want to clear that up if they’re trying to make peace.” Sly glanced over her shoulder. “Why’d Cleon send you to talk to me?”
“To make sure you’re still the same person I remember. To make sure we can trust you.”
“That’s fair. And don’t worry, I am and you can.” She smiled softly and bumped their shoulders together. “You know I’m too stubborn to change that much.”
“Yeah,” Rembrandt giggled, “I figured.”
There was a sharp whistle. They looked up to see Cleon waving them back over and everyone else watching them expectantly. “And we’re back to business,” Sly mumbled. She held her hand out for a fist bump. “I think Ziggy and Cleon have each other's numbers. We should catch up soon when we’re not on duty.”
Rembrandt smiled. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
They returned to their gangs, Sly falling into place on Ziggy’s left, Rembrandt giving Cleon an all good nod before standing beside Ajax. Ajax immediately slung an arm around Rembrandt’s shoulder, pulling her close and continuing to glare at Sly over the top of her head. It was the most emotion Rembrandt had seen her express in weeks. She held Ajax’s hand and smiled up at her, but she didn’t get any response.
The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, with Cleon and Ziggy leaving a few final details to be ironed out over the phone, and the Warriors headed back to Coney Island with a new ally on their roster. Cleon and Swan talked quietly about the night’s events, both wearing relaxed smiles. Mercy and Cowgirl were messing around up and down the empty subway car, Cowgirl trying to teach Mercy how to keep her balance as the train rocked around a curve, Cochise laughing as she watched them. The mood was light. Mostly.
Rembrandt and Ajax sat in two of the forward facing seats. Ajax leaned on the wall. Rembrandt leaned on Ajax. She linked their arms, idly tracing random patterns on the back of Ajax’s hand resting in her lap. Ajax just stared out the window at the passing graffiti in the subway tunnels.
“Hey.” Rembrandt squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”
what if Henris actually got caught and put in jail AU...it's a working title.
time accurate mugshot photo quality under the cut
they're not all of his crimes but just the ones they got solid evidence on.
they managed to raid his house and find 11 of the 23 bodies behind his murder charges by an incinerator that contained traces of human remains, though because of the non-existent genealogy of the time they weren't able to determine anything further than that
one day I'll win the award for "most evil and fucked up protagonist" just you wait
Whumpee kills whumper and ends up in prison, regardless of whether it was done in self-defense or in defense of others. They don’t even try to argue their innocence, they won’t deny they killed them.
Maybe not so surprisingly, whumpee adjusts extremely well to life behind bars. It’s nothing they haven’t already been through.
